#i assume we can blame baring-gold for this one also

[keepthemacramesecret]

now that i think abt it, i think the reason im always a bit eyeroll-y at the adoption of 'Violet' as a name for Holmes' mother purely based on its repetition as the name of a few clients is that actually it would be a very sweet and clever move for Watson. He's the one writing and choosing pseudonyms!! Why would it be Holmes' relative that gets a tribute??

[iamthecomet]

Maybe this will help with your car ride?

Aether and Ifrit regularly lift at the gym a few mornings a week. Ifrit likes to keep his Ifritties big and Aether does lots of squats to keep his thighs thicc and ass shapely so it looks best while bouncing around on stage. The two are gym buddies so that they can spot each other when they lift the really heavy weights (because gym safety!)

One morning, Dew decides to tag along...because he's scrawny and hey, it seems to work for those two so why not? Ifrit and Aether roll their eyes but agree - as long as he stays out of the way. (Also - the only clothing that resembles work out attire that Dew owns are the pink Ghost hot shorts...so he wears them)

But...

Dew is NOT an early riser - so there's that but he's also known to be kind of physically lazy and impatient. As soon as he realizes that any meaningful results from the gym is a long game and takes time and effort he thinks "fuck this shit" and decides that lighting up a cigarette and watching the other two is more his speed.

But...Dew is ALSO always base line horn dog...and cannot keep his eyes off Aether and the squats and Ifrit and those chest presses.

Comet - What happens next?

I did not manage to work on this during my car ride. But that's fine. It's here now <3.

Dew is staring. He'd be the first to admit it. But really, can you blame him? It's early, the sun still fresh and new on the horizon and Ifrit and Aether had told Dew that he could have coffee after his workout. Ifrit had even gone as far to say that he wouldn't need it when they were done with him. But Dew gave up fifteen minutes in when his lungs started to burn uncomfortably and he realized that he is not anywhere near as strong as he thinks he is and it all just started to seem like a way for him to embarrass himself. So, he's sitting on the stone wall in the courtyard instead. Bare, scrawny, legs tucked underneath him against the sun warm stone. He puts his cigarette back to his lips and pulls the smoke into his lungs.

The only thing close to work out clothes he owns are a pair of too-short black and pink shorts with the Ghost Project logo on the ass. He doesn't even know where they came from, but he assumes they're a prototype of one of Terzo's merch ideas that he picked up somehow. He wears them to sleep in sometimes, usually garnering a raised eyebrow from Zephyr and a swift slap on the ass from Ifrit whenever he stumbles into the common room with them on. He could go in now. There's nothing tethering him here now that he's abandoned his very short-lived plan to get "ripped". He could get a nice big cup of coffee and go back to his room, curl up in his bed. He could lay in the sun and just forget about all of this. Go back to sleep like he wants so desperately to do. But, he's not doing any of it.

Ifrit and Aether are mid-push up contest and at some point Ifrit lost his shirt, and Dew...well...Dew has eyes and libido that doesn't quit even at 7 in the morning. He tugs at his hair, still french braided the way Zephyr left it when they all went to sleep last night. He drags his fingers over the ridges of it idly while he watches. Ifrit's skin glimmers in the morning light. Like he's been crafted from spun gold. In the dim halls of the Abbey Dewdrop forgets how bright Ifrit shines, the fire under his skin always sitting right below the surface. Dew swears at the right angle, he can catch flecks of gold in it. Ifrit just tells him they're freckles. Looking at Aether doesn't help. His gray skin is flushed purple with exertion, cheeks and chest turning towards violet. "What are we at, Dewy?" Ifrit asks. Dew ashes his cigarette and looks at them, startled. He swallows. "I...what?" "You're supposed to be keeping count." "You didn't tell me that."

Aether pushes himself back onto his knees. He wipes sweat from his brow. Dew watches. He isn't thinking about licking a line up his chest to taste it--not at all. "He did," Aether says, pinning him with eyes the same color purple as his flush. Ifrit stands, Aether follows, and before Dew's ready for it they're both standing too close, towering over where he sits. He feels smaller than usual like this, legs under him, hunched over his cigarette. "What's got you distracted, Droplet?" Ifrit asks. When Dew doesn't look at him, Ifrit makes him, pressing two fingers under Dew's chin and tilting his head up to meet amber eyes. Dew's half hard already and the look in Ifrit's eyes isn't helping. He tears his eyes away from the two of them, glimmering with sweat, smelling like cardamom and lavender, and sunlight. He finishes his cigarette and moves to stand. Ifrit boxes him in, bending down, one hand on the stone wall on either side of Dew's skinny thighs.

"Where are you going?" Aether asks, he crosses his arms over his broad chest and Dew feels his dick kick against the thin fabric of the shorts. He licks his lips, looks up at the two of them, eyes darting between two sets of predatory eyes. "Coffee," Dew says, simply. He doesn't trust his voice to stay solid for a full sentence. Not with Ifrit this close. "Coffee after," Ifrit whispers. He drags his nose up the side of Dew's neck, over his hammering pulse, up, so he can catch a fang on Dew's earlobe. "We're not done with you yet. Are we Aeth?" Aether laughs, low and dark, it sends a jolt of arousal straight into Dew's chest, he can feel himself get slicker as the sound breaks through Aether's chest. "Not even close."

[angel-thoughts-dump]

here’s some goading you to talk about angel and clothes for hours 🙏

adsfsafd my pleasure!

being serious tho, I don't think I have anything new to add that hasn't been said before, but I mean I could talk for hours bc the subject fascinates me! Looking at angel's clothes is a good tool to interpret his emotional state, and he is a character that goes through a lot of states in the course of the show.

this got long ofc so I'm putting it below the cut

First let me say, Angel gives me the vibe of a person that as a little kid loved to play dress up with the clothes of his family, because secretly he loves acting and drama and art, and I think his father saw him one time with something of her mother on, and he screamed and unloaded his rage on him "a man is not supposed to do/wear that!" and well, this added to Liam's issues in the long term.

Ok, but that's just my head canon, what we do see in those few flashbacks before he got turned is that he is wearing a normal sort of outfit for the times, but he is usually wearing it in a messy way. He knows what he is supposed to wear, but he refuses to wear it right, just like all the other staff he knows he should be doing as a good man in the eyes of his father, but he refuses to do.

In this stage Angel is acting as a revel but only to a point that's not scary for him.

He was a big and healthy man, he could have run away from the town if he wanted to see the world, or joined a sort of boxing club if he liked to fight, or wore her mother's stuff if he didn't like his clothes, but that kind of rebelliousness takes more courage than he had, it also means taking himself more seriously, and it seems like until this point no one - not even himself - did. He lacked that confidence, so instead of trying to change hard things he didn't like, he chose escapism with sex and alcohol. He wore the clothes in a messy way, yes, but still in the same style he was supposed to.

Another thing to note is that Angel and Spike, wore light tones before getting turned, and then started to wear more dark colors and black.

Above that, Angel also starts to dress more elegant and sharp, and I'm totally blaming the need to impress Darla and exude power for this one.

The thing is Darla cares just as much, if not more, about clothes, style, and image as Angel. She probably had little choice about them in her life because of her profession and lack of money, so I like to think as a vampire she enjoyed wearing luxurious things, and of course the partner she made for herself had to get on track with the plan! it's funny, in the flashbacks you can easily assume they were color coordinating:

His red vest for her red dress. His black suit and dark blue scarf for her deep purple dress with black details. His greenish vest for her green dress. His gold vest for her gold dress

But one thing I'm sure of is Angel LIKES clothes and thinking about style/image... Even if Darla was the mastermind after this, I'm sure he enjoyed it and even learned from it.

Then after he gets his soul and becomes overwhelmed with guilt we see he barely cares anymore, it looks like he just grabs the simplest cheapest inconspicuous clothes available and runs with it. This gets worse when he tastes blood again and hates himself so much he starts living on the streets, avoiding absolutely everyone, he doesn't care about clothes OR being clean then

[ sidenote for his hair OH GOD when he was born it was normal to have long hair for a man, and he had a beautiful long hair! In the flashbacks as Angelus we see him keep it and just style it different depending on the times. But it looks like he cuts it really short, shortly after getting his soul back.

I can totally imagine his dramatic ass having a Mulan scene cutting his own hair while "not" looking in the mirror -also cursing himself for that- and being like "I don't deserve my long beautiful hair after all I did!!... And its not even in style any more btw".

But then like 100 years go by and having long hair as a man is normal again, and being that he successfully avoided so many years of evil doing, maybe he gets comfortable enough to grow it back in the 70's (but look at the horrors. I guess he forgot how to take care of it properly). THEN he tastes blood again -> hates himself more -> cuts his hair short again.

Then the first thing he does when he jumps into a dimension where he has a reflection is worry about his hair, lol He cares a lot about hair too]

Lets keep going. Sunnydale:

Angel gets some funding and a purpose, I think you mentioned this in your own post, he goes to get clothes directly out of a sexy male model magazine from 90s lmao. In my mind he is using the same logic as when he first got his soul back: grab the simplest cheapest inconspicuous clothes available and run with it, except! this time the objective is not to be inconspicuous and totally blend in the crowd, but to get this stylish teen girl to trust him.

I love the ep Lie to me, among other things, because it has one of my fave jokes with Angel(I don't mean that ugly brown shirt lol, but that's a plus). He goes to the club where a bunch of teens are pretending to be vampires, and he finds one dressed exactly like himself! This kid, that knows nothing of actual vampires, was able to deduce an old as fuck person who wants to blend in would probably look at those same magazines. So even if its not obvious you can still asume a lack of care about his outfits.

One thing to note is that Angel never stops wearing black and dark colors when he gets his soul back, and it makes all the sense in the world as a symbol, he is still a vampire, dangerous, intimidating, with a dark past. The soul doesn't make him Liam again. Same with Spike.

(also I just noticed how funny it was that the first thing Angelus did when he returned was literally change clothes in front of Buffy. He just changed personalities in front of her when he lost his soul, and now he was literally changing again, putting on his dark shirt in front of her as he told her lies to hurt her. ok . nice)

Then Angelus is the fun part. It's obvious that he shares the same brain, tools, knowledge and Taste, as Angel, but because of the "not caring about anything but having fun making others suffer" part, he has less repression! and because of that hard tendency in the buffyverse to have bad guys wear dark eyeliner, I can totally say Angel likes to wear make up, but he only allows himself to do that with no soul!

But not only that, we also see him experiment with textures, and sometimes flashy things like that weird belt in the s2 finale, and wearing more expensive materials like the silk shirts, plus rings and dare I say more fruity gestures? lmao call that old tv homophobia the way they would only let villains act kind of gay, but I'm a young bi woman from the now and I totally get to say those are also Angel´s gestures with less repression on them. I mean, he is finally being more expressive with his gestures in general instead of being a wall all the time, and he does this ?? this limp wrist thing and others ugh this single shot drives me insane

the way even Cordelia took notice of this

And if Angelus wasn't proof enough consider the way he was so eager to go undercover and pull a flashy shirt, like the Hawaiian shirts he seems to keep in his car for emergencies ??

And this time... those were his clothes... the other guy he was replacing wore something else

And if that wasn't enough, Cordy says this after Angel buys her clothes :

He likes flashy colors and clothes and style so much its unreal, but at the same time he is repression man ! So what he does is usually keep it simple. Simple and practical while tsill looking good.

After he gets his own show(maybe just after he and Buffy break up) he is more authentic in what he wears, goodbye male model magazines. Even if more boring or simple, his style is also more mature. He is struggling but on his way to building some self estime. He wears simple dark clothes of soft materials and usually a nice black leather jacket... you can tell he doesn't allow himself to have as much fun as he probably wants, but the simple clothes he has - as Cordy says- hung well on him.

Ok one last comment because God this is too long already.

I see Angel wearing expensive clothes as a way to symbolize corruption. He wore expensive clothes for the first time because of being turned and groomed by Darla, when he gets his soul back he never thinks of that again, and when he looses it with Buffy Angelus starts wearing more jewels and things made of silk, is season 3 and after in his own show he only starts wearing expensive suits once he makes in s5 the deal with the devil basically, but once he goes against them in the end he is wearing his common clothes again.

[sukirichi]

reckless [01.]

With a lackadaisical playboy as your boss, being reckless wasn’t an option. But on the one time you let loose and made mistakes, your life is shattered, and now you’re playing house with your insufferable boss who is the father of your baby.

✘ cw. explicit smut, accidental pregnancy, playboy! gojo, slight angst

✘ note. dedicated to wifey @7tsumurai​ who also made the banner and always supports me and showers me with love aaaa i love you baby <3 also this fic is mostly romance and fluff so i hope you enjoy this as much as i did writing it! thank you to @chosonore​ for pr-ing UWU. and we get like...10-15 chapters of this?!

one  ✘  two  ✘  three

You shouldn’t be doing this.

The night was young; streaks of gold flashing with the shimmering jewellery collared on your neck, the romantic humming of the violins pairing perfectly with the champagne that fizzed in your hand. It was supposed to be another day at work where you accompanied your boss to one of his events, considering the Casanova refused to bring his girlfriends in fear they might get the wrong idea he liked them outside the bed. It should be just another day at work; you’ve accompanied him hundreds of times before. Today wasn’t any different.

And yet it was.

You blamed it on the alcohol. On the slow dancing. On the fact he hadn’t stopped complimenting you all night and you’d been so stressed, the amount of planning and sleepless nights sacrificed in exchange of preparing for this event made you grab for three more flutes, the touch of your undeniable attractive boss permanent on your waist.

Satoru was equally aggravated. You’d worked him long enough to recognize even the smallest of cues, and the fact you’d spend nearly every hour of the day working with him for weeks straight in the office let you know he needed to let off some steam.

And what better way to relieve both of your tensions if not to give in to the cloud of lust?

The sultry gazes, the clashing perfumes between rose and musk, and the alcohol – the fucking alcohol – that gave way to you succumbing to your desire just this once.

There were no more thoughts – or if there were, they were muddled – as you kissed him back just as passionately, forgetting the fact his stylist spent an hour gelling his hair back to perfection as your eager fingers traced over his scalp. How you ended up in the back of limousine was beyond you, and neither was it your biggest concern when Satoru insisted you kept your heels on; his large hands caressing all the way from the ankle pressed beside his waist up to your waist.

You felt his daft fingers move the lacy thong you wore especially for tonight (not because you expected something, but the boost in confidence felt necessary) before he slides inside almost too easily.

Both your gasps and moans are swallowed in the stuffy compartment, windows fogged saved for the handprint you’d left when he hit a sensitive spot. He was moaning in your neck, skin slippery and sweaty as you slid from one another, seemingly never staying from one place as your hands treaded through his hair down to rake your nails on his back; his touch angry on your hips before his thumb found home in your clit.

As much as you hated him, hated his reputation, you couldn’t deny he really earned his title for being an absolute god in sex. You were no virgin, but you’d never felt this good, never felt this alive as bruises began to form in your skin and his lips hungrily sought out yours.

“S-Sir...”

“Satoru,” he corrected through your lips, the kiss barely even one when you were too busy moaning left and right. Satoru hitched your leg up to fold it right beside your waist, allowing him to explore deeper territories that not even you could mark.

His stare on you is perverted; openly wanton as he lets his empyrean gaze snake down to where your bodies connected. It was embarrassing to be this spread wide open for him, though it didn’t matter much, not when you clutched onto his bicep for dear life and panted breathlessly. He was kissing you everywhere – smearing your lipstick all over your lips and his, a stain of red on his hard, white collar and love bites marked deep into your collarbones and under your breasts. You tightened around him once he changed his rhythm into a more sensual one; the quick pace replaced with him pulling out slowly – inch by delicious inch until you felt empty with each growing second – before slamming back inside with fervidity that he never quite possessed behind his desk.

He groaned at your walls clenching down on him, his hips stuttering in the process. “Call me Satoru.”

“Satoru,” you moaned out, and his next sounds were pained. Pained because you sounded too gorgeous, felt too good, and with you following his hips thrust by thrust, neither of you would last any longer. Not even as you shake your head, lips swollen as you remind him, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“We shouldn’t,” he agreed with a curled lip, sweat beading from the streaks of his white hair. “But I want you – god, you’re so beautiful tonight. Need to fuck you good—”

Gojo Satoru, one of the most eligible bachelors in the entire South East Asia and ranked as the second richest man in his early twenties, was a man of his word despite his reputation. Just as he was praised and fawned over for his beauty, charisma, and power, he was equally hated for breaking the hearts of women and treating his past ‘lovers’ like they were objects. The news were so confident of it; that he fooled them, played around with them, but behind the scenes, you knew Satoru wouldn’t do such a thing – from the first time he laid his eyes on someone, he made it extremely clear they were not to be attached. Everything with him was physical and sensual – anything beyond that would simply be out of character.

You weren’t surprised that he really did keep his word and fuck you good, because you couldn’t feel your legs the next morning and even though it had been hours, you still very much felt the shape of him carve through you.

The bastard wouldn’t stop laughing, of course, snickering under his breath every now and then each time he saw you grimace from doing simple things such as standing up and giving him the files he asked for. Perhaps it was because your dislike for him was apparent that Satoru quickly went back to fooling around, pretending you didn’t exist and only approaching you when need be. There were still moments you had to clean his mess up for him; taking his drunken phone calls at 3am because he got wasted in a bar, or doing the same for his current sex buddy who he didn’t want to stay in his home.

He was terrible, terribly awful that you despised this part of him.

You were only grateful enough that neither of you brought that night up ever again, for no matter how immensely hellish of an experience it had been, it was also something you’d really rather not be reminded of.

But now, there was no more running away from it. The truth stared at you blatantly in the form of two white lines that had appeared four times already from previous tests.

You were pregnant.

The world had never been that heavy on you. You had a rough upbringing, but it was a household filled with love and patience that it was innate in your nature to keep strong, be levelled, continue moving forward even during the times it felt like everyone and everything was going against you. You’d been through so much worse and you can do this, but you still couldn’t stop the tears that pushed from your eyes, your heart shattering the same time you dropped the stick.

“No, we won’t cry, it’s okay. I can handle this – I’m strong,” you repeated to yourself like a mantra, taking deep breaths to stabilize yourself. Clearly, this was unexpected, but you wanted to do your best, had to do your best. You didn’t have time to lose your composure, so you quickly fished your phone out your purse to dial the person you trusted the most.

“Rei...?”

Your best friend picked up on the second dial. “Sweetheart, where have you been?! I’ve been calling you for like hours now and you’re not picking up, I heard you called in sick for work and you never do that even when you’re about to pass out!” Some shuffling could be heard from the background before she spoke again, her tone a lot more gentle in response to your muted sniffles. “Is there something going on? Do you need me to drop by there right now? Tell me what you need; I’ll be there right away.”

“No, no, Rei, it’s fine, I just...”

“Sweetie,” she sighed, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

You nodded even though she couldn’t see it. Rei had been there for you in everything, starting from when you newly arrived in the city; fresh-eyed and hopeful for new opportunities. She’d been there when you first complained your boss was a creepy flirt, all the way until you’d made peace with said boss and remained firm in your boundaries. But those boundaries had clearly been crossed – no, rather, you erased those boundaries. You were drunk enough to give in to the need to be touched, but sober enough to consent to everything that happened. You couldn’t place this all on him.

“I’m pregnant,” you said eventually, voice barely above a whisper as you added, “And Satoru’s the father.”

Rei stopped munching on her – you assume – bagel.

“Satoru? Gojo Satoru, your boss, bonafide casanova, the face on billboards and one of the most “eligible” bachelors in the country, billionaire Gojo Satoru?” she let out in one breath, the image of her flipping her hand out in the air in disbelief as clear as day. “Am I really hearing this right? I’m not going crazy, am I?”

You sighed.

“We were drunk. I slept with him.”

“Did that bastard force himself on you?”

“No, gosh, never,” you defended with widened eyes, sitting back down on the toilet with the lid now closed. You couldn’t look at the tests even if you dared yourself to, the plastic bag concealed in the garbage or else you’d feel sick all over again. “I-I wanted it too...we just got carried away and the night was just...I don’t know. I don’t know what came over me and why I did that, but there’s no point in fretting about it because I’m carrying his baby now.”

“Well,” she started unsurely, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m keeping it. There’s no way I would even consider abortion.”

“But what about him?”

The back of your head throbbed in pain. Just thinking about his stupidly handsome face made you want to throw up once more. “I don’t really want to tell him, but he has a right to know that he’s going to be a father.”

“Will he even take responsibility for it?”

You swallowed nervously, nibbling on your thumbnails before snatching your hand away. Composure was something you didn’t struggle with; you were the more reliable one in the duo of you and Satoru, but you had a bad habit of picking on your nails whenever you were anxious. Had it not been for Satoru flicking your nails away from your mouth each time you dazed out a little bit, you would’ve never gotten rid of the habit, but it all came crashing back down on you in an instant.

A heavy knot formed in your belly.

“Most likely not, I know how he’s like. He loves his single life so much that he’d never allow to be tied down like this. I wouldn’t even be surprised if he tells me he doesn’t want it.”

“What an asshole!”

“Yeah, he is, but I don’t need him in my life,” you reinstated, finally feeling more confident the longer you talked to Rei. She was your instant hype machine in more ways than one; her presence itself gave you the reassurance you could handle everything your way. With hope blooming in your chest, you picked yourself of the toilet and wiped away your tears. You could do this – you can handle this. Not just for you, but this baby growing in you as well.

“In our life. I’m more than capable of taking care of the baby myself,” you told her, gaze hard and determined as your sunken reflection stared back at you in the mirror. Sighing, you shook your head and pictured Satoru’s face, already picturing a thousand ways this could go wrong. Only one way to find out.

“I have to go now. He needs to hear about this and then I’ll resign. Probably move back home – anywhere that’s away from him.”

“Doesn’t the baby deserve to meet their dad?”

“Their dad doesn’t even want to be one,” you muttered bitterly and threw your sweater back on, refusing to kick yourself around any harder. Now wasn’t the time to be illogical; you were now a mother and had to be responsible now more than ever. But first, you needed some well-deserved rest after endless agonizing of missing your period, along with the baby drop that until now, had shook you to your core. “I’ll call you back, Rei. I’m very tired.”

“You let me know if you need anything, okay?” Humming in response, you ended the call and crawled back to bed.

It wasn’t that you felt lonely, but you didn’t feel particularly belonging anywhere. You were far from home in a city that felt like the future, and each day you come home, it was mostly just a place to rest before you went back to work the next day. It was a dull, empty routine that you’d gotten used to, but never had it sunk deep into you that you did felt completely hollow.

But not anymore.

You were with your baby now, and as much as it scared you shitless to be a mother with zero preparation and knowledge, you were confident things were going to be okay.

Wrapping an arm around your belly, you had the best sleep you’d had in years.

You’d just have to worry about tomorrow. Hopefully, and you quite prayed harder than you ever did before, Satoru would let you go and keep things less complicated than it already was.

“No,” Satoru shook his head, his words dropping like a heavy boulder in the middle of nowhere. You stood in front of him shock still, hands wrung solid beneath your belly. Satoru merely shook his head, brushing back his gelled hair with a dry laugh. “No, what are you even thinking? You’re not resigning.”

You pursed your lips. “I wasn’t really asking for permission, Sir.”

Truth be told, you expected this sort of reaction from him. It may be true that you and Satoru never got along in personal levels since he was too crass and you much stiff, but it couldn’t be denied you worked well together. You balanced each other’s flaws and brought out the best in one another. If someone had asked you years ago prior to you being employed by the heir if you could even tame the renowned free spirited man, you would’ve said probably not, but after sharing struggles and quite literally forcing one another to do better, you both reached highs neither expected to achieve.

It was an experience and a whole lot lessons learned working with him.

Unfortunately, all things must come to an end, and you had to leave even if Satoru negated to it.

“We’ve been working together for years. Do you know how many people I fired and have resigned all because they’re not equipped for the job?” he plopped down atop his desk, loosening his tie out of frustration. The simple gesture made you swallow and look away – it felt impossible to look at him any other way than a boss now that you had his baby inside you. Thankfully, Satoru was mouthy as usual that he pulled you back from your train of thoughts as he gestured between the both of you. “You and I are perfectly compatible – I can’t let you go like that. I’m sorry, but I need you. There’s no one else I can work with this functionally. No one else is as willing to tolerate my bullshit except you and...I need you to stay.”

You clenched your teeth at the desperation in his voice.

Satoru admitting he needed people was one thing. But him asking others to stay? It may have just been for your value as the only person who had put up with him in both his best and worst times that made him feel that way, but you had to keep your foot down on the ground.

You wouldn’t let him sway you like this.

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and willed all your energy to spring forth. “Sir...I’m more than thankful for all the opportunities, it truly was a pleasure working with you but—”

“Is this because we slept together?” he cut you off, your shoulders tensing. Upon your silence, Satoru heaved himself away from the desk and took cautious step towards you, stopping a foot away when you stepped back defensively.

You almost wished you didn’t know him so well. His eyes shone with a flicker of hurt before he masked it just as quick as it had came – for Gojo Satoru was a master of many things, and a great actor was one of them. Cautious, you had to be cautious, and you clenched your fists behind your pencil skirt as you tore your gaze away from his pleading ones. “It is, isn’t it?” he affirmed with a clear of his throat, looking just as lost as you did. Satoru stuttered for a minute before he eventually composed himself, but even then, he didn’t sound half as sure as he wanted to be.

“Listen, whatever happened that night, we can forget about it if you want. We’re both adults and professionals – we can put this aside us and just go back to normal. You don’t have feelings for me, right? So then it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Satoru...it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” he demanded, aggravated. Satoru began to round his desk and pulling out little white envelopes, stacking them before you in a haste. “Do you want a pay raise? A new car so you could get to work easily? O-or perhaps a bigger house where you can work more comfortably, somewhere nearer to the office? All you have to do is tell me and I’ll give you what you want. There’s no need for you to resign, this company has given you everything and we’ve got so much offer just as you could still be great—”

“I’m pregnant.”

Satoru’s slender fingers halted around the pen hovering over a cheque slip. “What?”

“I said I’m pregnant,” you exhaled, biting down on your bottom lip to prevent yourself from quivering. A quick sweep from your face to gather sincerity trailed down to your belly, staring at you hard enough as if he had the ability to look through your soul. “And you’re the father.”

“Is that true? Is...is it really mine?”

“Yes sir,” you nodded, “I’m not telling you this because I expect that you’ll be responsible for it. No offense, sir, but I’d really rather raise the baby alone. Plus, I understand that you’ll never settle down or suddenly abandon your old ways just to—”

“Stop right there,” he raised a palm, “You mean to tell me you’re resigning because you thought I wouldn’t take responsibility for it? For you?”

The hurt in his voice and expressions were evident, lip curled in disgust; not for you, but rather of himself. Satoru was the type of man that couldn’t be withered down even with the harshest of rumours; you’d never seen him be affected before by tabloids and nasty ex-girlfriends who only slept with him for money or fame, only to talk smack about him afterwards. But now, he was crumbling before you, and you didn’t know quite what to say or feel over the vulnerability present in his cerulean eyes. It almost pained you know that you caused this – for the comforting, blue sky to be tainted with a thunderstorm that hinted of anger, of disappointment, of betrayal.

But could he blame you for not thinking the best of him?

“I’ve worked with you for years, sir, I know you.”

“Clearly not well enough,” he chuckled sarcastically, “Admittedly, I’m surprised, but not upset. The only thing that I’m upset about is that you actually believed it would be better to raise the baby – our baby – alone like I don’t even have a right to be in their life. Sure, it was an accident, but we made that. That’s our child and I’m going to take care of you and be a great father, even if you don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“Sir, I didn’t mean—”

“That’s the first time you said something stupid. That’s our baby. We’re a family now,” Satoru’s hesitance had vanished into thin air as he was on you the next instant, hands shaky before they landed on your shoulders. It was meant to be a comforting gesture; a reassuring one, yet you couldn’t help but flinch and falter under his gaze. As if getting the message, he quickly retracted his hands and shoved them deep inside his pockets with a sigh. “You don’t need to resign or worry about anything else. I promise I’ll give you both the life you deserve, just...just please don’t go. Now that I know we have a baby, there’s just no way I can let go of this and pretend I never heard of this at all.”

You swallowed, rubbing your sweaty palms on your skirt.

Out of all the different scenarios you stayed up late at night to turning your head in one by one, none of them included this. Undeniably, he was an asshole to most, but maybe he was right.

He hadn’t done anything wrong to you and he was still the father of your baby; he deserved a chance. Satoru had the right to be the father he was willing to be. You could already tell this might completely turn into one big mess, but his eyes were so hopeful, his smile so nervous yet expectant that you couldn’t help but say –

“Okay,” you relented.

His reaction was instantaneous. Satoru beamed and lounged at you, arms wide open for an embrace before realizing at the last second you could stab him with a pen and not regret it. One warning glare sent his way and he was retracing his arm behind his head, pretending to stretch with an off-tune whistle.

The sudden switch between pained and enthusiastic gave you whiplash, but you really shouldn’t be surprised. This was Gojo Satoru in the first place – he was as unpredictable as nothing was permanent and lasting to him.

It could be both a blessing and a curse.

For the sake of your baby, you genuinely hoped it was the former.

Not wanting him to get too ahead of himself since you still didn’t trust him enough, you raised a finger to poke him in the chest. Right now, you were no longer his secretary that openly despised him but added six sugar cubes in his coffee just as he liked anyway, but rather a woman who shared this mess with him, and as the mother of his child. You had to be strong. Being with Satoru felt like playing with fire, and you had far too much at stake – both of you did – but you weren’t privileged and fortunate like Satoru. One bad thing thrown his way could be brushed off, but for you? Everything you worked hard for could disappear just like that.

If you really chose now to play with fire, you had to be careful not to be the gasoline that ignited things to burn down into ashes.

“Satoru,” you stressed with your lips pressed into a thin line, “The only thing I expect from you is to be is a good father to our child. I know that it would be difficult for you to be a new person in a day and that your old habits won’t die right away, so please do what you can to be a good parent, and I’ll be with you every step of the way. I promise you don’t have to worry about me getting in the way of your life as well.”

His smile slowly vanished.

“Is that how low you really think of me?” he echoed rather sadly, “That I would still sleep around knowing I’ve got a family now?”

“We’re not a family, Sir. I have no intentions of marrying you nor would I ever want it. I’m just staying for the baby.”

“Fine. For the baby, let’s both do our best,” he crossed his arms on his chest, pumping out the hard muscles from how tight his shirt was. You were stuck between wanting to slap him or be closer to him; the hormones too much of a mess that you had to grip your thigh for restraint. “But tomorrow, you’re moving in with me. I’m going to take care of you from now on – I’ll get you whatever you need so whatever it is, just tell me. My credit card is yours to use as well.”

Move in with him? You wanted to laugh. That was the last thing you would want to happen.

“Sir, it’s fine, I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, but I want to take care of you both,” he reiterated, growing slightly annoyed from your rigidness. You professed that you were being difficult right now, but it was much better than being easy around someone like him.

“We don’t have to be friends or lovers, alright? I know you don’t see me that way and I’m probably repulsive in your eyes – which is understandable since you always clean my mess up for me – but as a father, at least, let me do my job. There doesn’t have to be anything between us other than a mutual want to be good parents. Is that alright with you?”

You mulled the thought over in your head. So he was capable of being sensible sometimes, and after a few moments of silence, you narrowed your eyes at him.

Still suspicious and your guard was most definitely still up, but he was right. You both had a mutual want to be good parents and that was the most important thing right now. Everything else that complicated matters would be handled afterwards.

“I’m okay with that, but I would have to set down lots of boundaries if I’m living with you.”

“So you’ll really stay with me then?” You regretted nodding in response because Satoru was now fishing his phone out, a goofy smile on his face.

He took the news...surprisingly well, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

“Perfect! I’ll have your room prepared!” You tried to grab his arm to stop him from going overboard; knowing full well Satoru always had rushes in which he impulsively overdoes things. He might turn your room into some sort of grand suite that you wouldn’t really like, but he was far too excited and lost in his own thoughts that your words went from one ear and out the other. “Fuck,” he laughed to himself, “I’m going to be a dad.”

Whether it was relief or anxiety that bubbled through you, you had no idea.

It was definitely anxiety.

Satoru felt like a hyper child to be around, and as much as you were grateful that he was happy about this, you also wished he would calm down. You didn’t even have enough chance to settle in before he’s shoving you inside room by room, announcing that what was his was also yours and he would have a baby room set up next week.

You followed him around like a puppy as he marched into the kitchen, mumbling incoherently to himself about baby proofing furniture.

“Sir,” you called out, “Sir, listen to me. We need to talk about boundaries.”

Satoru blinked owlishly at your tired eyes, sheepishly smiling at you. It must’ve dawned on him that his speed tour of his penthouse felt a lot more overwhelming than welcoming, and he sat you down on the island stools before drumming his fingers impatiently on the cool marble. “Sorry, you were saying? I kind of got carried away.”

Carried away was far an understatement.

“I said, we need to talk about boundaries.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” he paused with a furrow in his brow. “Also can you just call me Satoru? We’re going to be parents anyway and it’s awkward if you keep uh, calling me Sir.”

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes, not really in the mood to argue with him right now. You had to keep intact with him while you still had his full attention. Taking out a little notepad you prepared the night before, you slid it over Satoru who tilted his head to the side rather cutely to read it. “So here are my boundaries. One, I don’t want this pregnancy to be announced in the media unless I’m ready. I understand that we can’t keep this a secret forever but I need time to process this. Two, just because we’re living in the same roof together doesn’t mean that I get to go anywhere and everywhere with you. I’m going to work by myself—”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I said no,” he repeated more firmly this time. “You’re pregnant and I want to make sure you’re safe at all times. I’m driving you to work.”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said? I don’t want to be seen with you.”

“You’re my secretary. People see us together all the time.”

“But you never drove me to work! I live far from the office and I most definitely don’t drive an Audi.”

“Things change, that’s your life now,” Satoru shrugged nonchalantly, stealing the pen you twirled in your hands. The sudden contact sent jolts of electricity from your knuckles, one that had you recanting your hands back to yourself. Satoru didn’t seem to notice as he crosses out the second rule, “Sorry not sorry but I don’t want to let you go places like that. Fine by me if you don’t want me to drive you, but at least have one of the chauffeurs take you somewhere if you really don’t wanna be seen with me.”

“Fine,” you gritted your teeth. Compromise, compromise, meet in the middle – you repeated to yourself to keep your sanity. “Rule number three: I don’t want you changing your attitude around me. We may have a baby on the way, but you’re still my boss and I want to keep our relationship professional.”

“You’re saying I’m not allowed to fall in love with you?”

You flicked his forehead, effectively erasing the teasing grin he wore. “That’s not going to happen,” you interjected irritably, although your heart skip a beat. That was a massive red flag already; you could never be too comfortable with him. For Satoru, his little comments here and there may come naturally and probably meant nothing to him, but there was a chance you could receive it with different interpretations. Shaking your head at him, you ignored his grumblings on how ‘mean’ you were. “We’re never going to be a couple. We’re just raising a child together. I don’t want you acting weird or too comfortable with me.”

Satoru scratched the side of his head as he mulled about it, “Are we allowed to be friends, at least? I understand the professional part, but I can’t imagine the both of us getting along for nine months and more when we act like boss and employee even alone at home,” before you could say anything, Satoru raised his hands in surrender. “I promise I won’t do anything weird to you. No offense, but you’re not really my type, so same as you, I view you platonically.”

Right. The heart surely was stupid and confusing.

You didn’t want him getting any ideas that this could lead to something more, but at the same time, it hurt a little to know you weren’t his type.

Hiding that pang of hurt behind a tight lipped smile, you forced yourself to agree with him. “I view you professionally, Sir.”

“Satoru.”

“Whatever,” you grumbled. “Rule number four: don’t bring home any of your fuck buddies or flavour of the night. I really don’t care if you sleep around, but respect my privacy and my standing as the mother of your childIf you’re really desperate to get your dick wet, go fuck them somewhere else.”

“You’ve never been this vulgar with me.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. Despite countless of times that he tried being friendly with you to ease your stiffness in the office, you always shot him down.

You came to the city to work and provide for your family, not to be friends with your annoyingly hot boss who enjoyed his life way too much. Unlike him, you were more work than play, and eventually Satoru respected the fact you would never speak or treat him casually.

Until now.

“Try being in my shoes and see if you’d still have the patience of a saint,” you mumbled under your breath, sighing when Satoru’s smile got more awkward. “Listen, Satoru, I don’t mean to be difficult, okay? It’s just...this is a lot. This isn’t just us about anymore – we’re going to be parents and that’s a huge responsibility. It’s not only our lives changing here, a child will be relying on us in the future and I simply want to be a good mother, but I also don’t trust you very well to be comfortable enough to act like we’re suddenly friends.”

“I understand that.”

“Good.”

“Do you have rule number five?”

“No, not really, but I can add more as we go.”

“I have a rule number five,” he piped in, flipping the notepad his way as he scribbled something down. “And it’s that if you need help – and I mean with anything – you would let me help you. I’ve worked with you for a long time and I’m not dumb enough to not notice you like to do things by yourself. Like you said, things are different now, and especially with this pregnancy, you’re not alone in this. You need to let me take over the wheel sometimes. I can’t be just a passenger in the car – you and I are both in this together.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself.”

“That’s easy,” he chirped, and there was that uncomfortable knot in your chest again. However, it didn’t sink in too deep because Satoru was blatantly staring at your belly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So do we have a name for them already?”

“Satoru, I’ve only been a few weeks pregnant, I don’t—”

Conflicting his previous statement that he’d keep his hands to himself, Satoru suddenly dropped to his knees. You watched with wide eyes, too flabbergasted to move as he places his ear on your belly.

“Hi there, little one,” he spoke in a soft tone, large hands caressing the tiny bump beginning to form. You couldn’t move; hell, you could barely breathe from how comforting his touch seemed in contrast to your mind ringing warning bells above. His voice quickly pulled you back to reality as he flattened his palm, white lashes fluttering against the cotton of your shirt. “I’m your daddy; I can’t wait to meet you. Daddy promises to take good care of you and make you the happiest kid ever, alright? You don’t have to worry about anything as long as I’m here.”

“D-don’t spoil them too much, Satoru.”

“I’ll try not to,” he chuckled. Satisfied with that small moment he had, he straightened up and trudged over the dining table that was far too big for a man who lived alone. In that moment, an image flashed in your mind – that someday that table would no longer look empty as you and your child shared meals with him. You could already imagine how heavenly the sun would shine on the glass windows behind it, the flowers gathered in the middle of the table blooming to life.

Out of nowhere, it struck you.

Could it be that this was why he loved this baby so much after only knowing about it for a few days? Could it be that Satoru really was alone?

“Okay, we should probably have a welcoming dinner! The chefs left me something tonight. I forgot what it’s called but I think you’ll like it. Grab some wine on the cellar for me?”

“Satoru, I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, right! My bad,” he clapped his hands together before pulling out ceramics and a cold pitcher, “Just water for mommy then,” Satoru said absentmindedly, completely oblivious to how your mind short-circuited a few feet away from him. He went about his way ignorant to it all and gently tugged you to sit with him, eagerly digging into the heated meals as you realized both of you hadn’t eaten.

For a guy who talked a lot, dinner with him was surprisingly quiet. Other than the occasional clinking of utensils against the plate, you enjoyed the silence with him.

You wouldn’t have believed it to be possible since Satoru made it his daily business to always fill in the gaps. Peace and comfort stretched before you the whole time, however, that for a moment, just a short moment, you found yourself letting your guard down. Even when you both caught each other’s in the middle of a bite, you found no tension or awkwardness in it. Perhaps it was the familiarity of being beside each other for years now that this should feel natural, or maybe it was because you both mutually agreed on wanting the best for your baby. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to overcomplicate it right now.

“You know, I’m really excited about this. I can’t believe I’m actually going to be a father,” he mused through a bite, swirling his red wine through his glass. Satoru gazed at his reflection almost dreamily, seemingly too deep in thought that he felt far from reach.

Or maybe you were the one who was detached, the one who kept pushing him away, because you could offer him nothing but a lame nod. “I’m glad to hear that...”

“What about you? You don’t look too happy.”

Your eyes widened at his worry. “No, I-I’m happy, of course. It’s just...it’s unplanned, and I’ve had my whole life planned out that I’m not really sure how this will all fall into place together.”

“Hey,” he laced his fingers with yours, squeezing warmth back into your skin that you hadn’t noticed turned cold from the nerves. Unlike his usual self with eyes brimming with glee, you could only see tenderness in him now, some sort of silent vow through a private smile shared only between the two of you in that moment in the solace of his home. Your home. “I promise I’ll be there for you and the baby every step of the way. I know that I haven’t had the best reputation and I have zero idea on parenting, but you’re not alone in this. You can trust me on this one, just like how we always trusted each other during work. Being a parent and running a business are both responsibilities right?”

“Yeah...”

“Well then you already know we work well together. We’re great partners!” he cheered, patting your shoulder way too bro-like. You resisted the urge to cringe. “We’ll be great parents, Y/N. I’m sure of that.”

Unsure of what else to do, you squeezed his hand back. He was right, you would be great parents as long as both of you never gave up. The thought of eating meals with him again with another addition to the table made you smile, and you hadn’t noticed you were spacing out, thumb running over his knuckles that were smooth for a man who never knew a day of hard labour. It wasn’t until you felt something prodding at you metaphorically, and you chuckled nervously as you saw Satoru smiling mysteriously at you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” he grinned, “I’ve just never seen you this close before; not so much that I paid attention anyway. But this is nice – having you here, I mean. It gets lonely here sometimes.”

“Don’t you bring your girlfriends around?”

“I never make them stay,” was all he said, and just like that, whatever thread that was beginning to form snapped. Satoru released his hold on you and gestured to your plate, carrying the dishes in his hand before leaving you alone on the table. Like always – a whiplash. “I’ll clean up, you can rest in your room now. I’ll take care of the dishes.”

“Do you even know how to do them?”

“Yeah, my mother forced me to wash dishes because she didn’t want me to rely on the house help too much,” he informed, the new information shocking you right to the core as he put on dishwashing gloves and started scrubbing. From this angle, he sure looked damn nice and domestic in just a white shirt, hair ruffled down to bangs.  “I’ll be right there with you,” Satoru announces casually, spinning on his heel with red cheeks once he realized what he said. “For just a goodnight, I mean! We’re not sharing rooms!”

“Yeah, no,” you coughed out, “We’re definitely not.”

It felt…surreal, to wake up in a room much grandiose than yours yet felt like home even for the first night. Satoru handled your moving in rather happily; you found him singing to himself this morning as he brewed his own coffee before realizing you were right behind him, sleepy as you lazily made waffles for the both of you. Everything flowed nicely and normally, like this had always been a normal thing that for a moment, you questioned once more what would happen next.

You were now getting ready for work, hands tugging at his tie because he was such a man-child who couldn’t even properly knot his own tie. His suit was custom tailored and he looked effortlessly gorgeous – beauty ripped straight from magazines he was constantly a front page of, but his tie was skewered and loose that it irritated you.

“You’re such a mess without me.”

Satoru bent down to wiggle his brows at you, thought you didn’t notice because he wouldn’t stay still for you to fix his tie fast enough. “Isn’t this sweet; you fixing my tie for me as we both get ready for work?” he teased, “We’re like a married couple already.”

“If you don’t shut up, I’m kicking you in the nuts.”

“Then how can I give you more babies?” picking up the newspaper on the coffee table beside you, you rolled it and started whacking him, a string of profanities colorfully painting his otherwise monochrome and sleek walls. Satoru’s laughter boomed all over the room even as he wiggled away from you, clutching his bicep that had been the victim of your abuse. “Ow, ow, I was joking! Jeez, woman, you are strong. Fight men a lot like this?”

“I work with you. My fighting instincts are always activated.”

His laugh really was annoying. But it did help ease your nerves – though you’d never tell him that – as you sat beside him in his car, the expensive leather seats no longer strange to you. It would’ve felt like any other day where you accompanied him somewhere, except the reason was different now, and it came crashing down on you of your current situation that things were undeniably different from now on.

You immediately stepped away from him the moment you got out of the car, clutching your clipboard to your tummy when Satoru bumped his shoulder with yours. “Come closer, it’s fine. No one will suspect a thing,” he points to the crowded building with people bumping and walking past each other, everyone too occupied in their own heads to even notice you.

It wasn’t much, but hearing his voice and reassurances relaxed you, even for just a little bit. Maybe your first day at work after the baby news wouldn’t be so bad, after all, but it seemed you had spoken too early.

Satoru heavily insisted that you worked inside his office from now on.

Your desk was located right outside his office, the phone line always within reach in case you needed to pass calls to him or if he needed you to come. Satoru preferred the privacy of his own space – or so he said; he actually just didn’t want you to witness him slacking around and experience your wrath – but now he was dragging you inside his office, pushing your shoulders down until you were ‘settled in.’

You didn’t even want to ask where he got a new desk from, or why it had to be right across from him. His desk remained elevated on a few levels, the welcoming lobby of the room filled with couches and stacks of coffee with a rich amount of sugar cubes.

Safe to say, most of the morning was spent (or rather, wasted) on you telling Satoru off. The man was too persistent, coming in on the office at random times of the hour with either snacks or heaps of biscuits on his arms. He always greeted you with a wide grin on his face, only to be kicked out of his own office because you had his hellish schedule and events to deal with. That was around three hours ago when you’d asked him to shut up and go bother someone else. You were halfway around finishing your workload for today when the door swung open, a tuft of white hair and mischievous eyes peeking through.

“Hey! Just checking in on mommy—”

“Satoru!”

“What? It’s just you and I,” he defended with a shrug, welcoming himself inside. Surprisingly, he was empty handed, though the pout on his lips told you it was against his will. “Seriously though, do you need anything? Do you want snacks? Tea? Do you need help going to the bathroom? You haven’t moved in your desk for an hour now.”

“Satoru, I’m pregnant, not disabled,” you ignored him for a while, resuming to working back on his schedule for the month. There were a bunch of e-mails you still had to respond to, which normally wouldn’t be such a daunting task if Satoru wasn’t shifting his weight from one foot to another, the sounds of his shoes hitting the tiles in an annoying click-clack rhythm getting to you. “Will you stop fidgeting! Your anxiety gives me anxiety, stop that!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it, I just feel like there’s something I should be doing.”

“Shutting up and letting me work in peace would be great, thank you.”

“You really don’t need anything?” Sending him a warning glare, Satoru sucked in his cheeks and ran back to his desk where he hid behind the safety of his large monitor. “Nope, yeah, I got the message: leave you alone. Good luck with that then, I’ll need those archives to pull up for our meeting with the directors later at five.”

Muttering a sarcastic finally under your breath, you resumed working.

The routine was per usual – answer the calls professionally with a welcoming and sweet voice, a pen always in one hand to jot down notes in reminders, adjust his schedules, work out his plans, go to him whenever he needed to sign something before responding back to e-mails. You were focused as you always were, but someone wasn’t, and it was getting harder and harder to keep being placated.

It didn’t help that he made no effort to hide the fact he was slacking off, the tip-taps of him randomly pressing keys on the keyboard similar to a fork dragging down a plate.

“I can feel you burning holes at the back of my head,” you twittered, “What do you need?”

“Nothing at all. I’m just realizing how beautiful you are right now.”

You paused. Unable to deny your curiosity over how serious he sounded, you spun around in your swivel chair. Satoru had his chin on his hands as he stared right back at you, his face devoid of expression that you couldn’t pick up on a single clue. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

You rolled your eyes at him. Of course the bastard would be teasing you, his loud chuckles a painful reminder of that. It was best to ignore him, so you went back to reading e-mails and forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. “We’re at work. Please stop distracting me; I can’t focus when you’re staring at me like a creep.”

“Sorry, babe, I’ll try to be less distracting next time, though I can’t control my charisma, you know!”

You jotted your thumb to your desk outside, “I can walk back to my desk where you can’t see me. That’d be a great for both of us.”

“Stay right there, I was joking!”

“Do you promise to be quiet and actually do your job if I stay?”

“With you disciplining and ordering me around like that, why not?” Mouth open for another heated retort, Satoru stopped you before you could say anything, his aura more serious this time. He was always like this; fooling around and maturing the next second, only for the cycle to repeat and test your patience. “I’m just teasing you, Y/N, I’ll shut up now. You’re free to end work as soon as you’re tired though; the driver is waiting in the parking lot whenever you want to go home.”

“I’ll go home with you.” Home. It felt weird to say that, but also…natural.

“You’ll stay with me at work today?” He sounded genuinely surprised, and you responded with a one-shoulder shrug. That seemed to be enough for him, however, and it wasn’t long before Satoru found the oh so rare and fleeting motivation to work hard.

Once he was settled, sleeves rolled up to expose his veiny forearms and brows furrowed as he centered all his attention on the pile of paperwork before him, there was no stopping him.

Roles reversed and positions switched, you were now the one unable to take your eyes off him.

In this light, in this moment, Gojo Satoru had never looked more beautiful. He was much the same as you in the manner you never really noticed each other this way before; not romantically, but even just person to person. In your eyes, he was nothing but your irritating boss whose boisterous self always crowded over your peace, and in his eyes, you were nothing but his secretary who he knew always silently hoped would leave you alone.

But things were different now. You were different now.

Boundaries there may be, you couldn’t help that fluttering forming in your stomach. Contentment, happiness, relief, nervousness – all of them jumbled into one big mess. Out of them all, however, there was most definitely adoration, either out of respect for his unexpected kindness, or simply because it felt nice to feel for once.

Turning away from him until your back was the only thing he could see, you hid your smile as you secretly held your belly.

You’d never been reckless before, but what was to be a good story when there wasn’t a mistake or two made?

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - October 1st

 Welcome back, and welcome to spooky season! Here’s what I read last week. I’m thinking I might start adding some of my notes/thoughts to the list--what do we think? 

***Marks my recent favorites 

~*~ 

Ser Sellsword and his Prince Troubadour by Areiton

“And you, my love? What would you do, in this life of freedom you dream for us?” 

“A sellsword needs a bard, doesn’t he?” Tony says and grins when Steve laughs. 

***Don't Blame Me by iam93percentstardust

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right

Lord, save me, my drug is my baby

I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

~

There’s a boy dancing in Steve’s club.

He catches Steve’s eye immediately—how could he miss him with that golden glitter dusting his cheeks and arms and bare stomach catching the light? He’s pretty, the boy is, long legs and sex-tousled hair and plush ass that Steve wants to grab. He glances up at the upper floor, where Steve holds court when he’s here, a slow, wicked smirk spreading across his red, red lips, eyes gleaming with interest and an invitation both. Steve shifts, spreading his legs further apart so the boy can catch a glimpse, limited as it is from the floor, of the bulge in his black slacks.

The boy’s mouth parts, and he runs his hands up his stomach and over his chest, ending at his nipples, and Steve just knows that he’s plucking at the metal rings in them—pure gold, of course. Steve wouldn’t buy anything less for the boy—his boy.

All Better by FestiveFerret, SirSapling 

The first time it happened, Steve almost clocked Tony in the face.

Boss Man by BlossomsintheMist

Tony starts calling Steve "boss," and Steve has all sorts of feelings about it. It ends up coming up in bed. The results open up some new areas in their sexual relationship, and maybe reveal a few things about Tony, and how he feels about Steve.

i am wide eyed with a penchant for running by theappleppielifestyle

Steve compliments him on his arms. On his craftsmanship. On his jokes. He makes the rare innuendo that get the whole team snickering after Steve leaves the room. He tells Tony he values Tony in the team, and as a person, and as a friend. He looks at Tony with big blue eyes and an easy smile that comes far too rarely.

Tony has no goddamn idea what to do with all this affection. He also has no idea how to respond to it.

hooked on you by theappleppielifestyle

"I’m sorry," Steve says miserably, but Tony holds up a hand.

"Whoa, hey, no, not your fault, kid. Um." Tony drops the hand, because Steve had started looking at his wrist, the mapwork of veins. "So what, it’s like, you open your eyes first thing after getting vamped and, boom, Imprint?"

"What?" Steve frowns again. "Tony, no. I’m not a baby duck."

Apartment 5A by toraten

An AU in which Steve Rogers edits comic books and Tony Stark is Tony Stark.

Namesake by missbecky

An innocent question leads Steve to look up Edwin Jarvis, the former Stark family butler who gave JARVIS his name, and bring him back to New York to see Tony one last time.

Sexypants by 51stCenturyFox

He doesn’t think he’d run across this person before, but he...is so arrestingly pretty that Steve feels his breath catch, and Stark’s by his side again, nudging his shoulder.

“Oh hey, my hooker pants!” he says, and Steve blinks.

Sleep Protocol by 51stCenturyFox

You might assume that Steve Rogers, a super soldier, wouldn’t have any sleep-related problems, since he is an optimal physical specimen in the bloom of health.

You would be wrong.

But you know, there are certain conditions.

Fake Dating is Worth it for the Cake by Heartithateyou

Tony convinces Steve to pretend to be his fiancee for the wedding cake samples.

Of course it doesn't end the way he thinks it will.

The Love Song of a Pair of Awkward Weirdos by MusicalLuna 

Tony flirts with Steve and then the strangest possible thing happens:

Steve starts to flirt back.

All of My Love is For You by blue_jack

The thing is, Tony totally knows that Steve’s interested.

Burn by orbingarrow

When Steve Rogers burns his dinner and sets off the sprinklers in the ROTC building, Tony Stark saves the day. Except this Tony Stark isn't the famous son of a billionaire, he's just a college Freshman on night maintenance for Work Study.

Or is he?

Featuring Phantom of the Opera references, a Human Centipede of office equipment, and lots and lots of fluff!

One-shot giftfic written for the SteveTonyFest!

Cold Making Warmth by sheafrotherdon 

Steve settles upon the few things he knows for sure: that the days are short, and it's cold, and he doesn't mind looking dumb for making the effort. So screw the protocol, whether it exists or not – he's giving gifts.

For America by autoschediastic

"Tony, for the good of the country, we should get married."

Who's Scruffy Looking? by JenTheSweetie

“I don’t know,” Steve said, after Tony finished a six-minute ode to The Dude’s beard. “I mean, I’m not really a fan of beards.”

Tony gave Steve a look of such horror that Steve almost wondered if he’d misspoken and casually mentioned that he’d been tossing puppies off the top floor of Stark Tower.

“You’re not,” he said, “a fan of beards? I mean – but you like my beard.”

Steve tilted his head. “Uh. No, not really a fan of yours, either.”

Truths, Lies and the Tipping Point by BlackEyedGirl

The news report seems more interested in the argument between the team during the fight than the way they eventually won. And then it gets worse.

Pillow Talk by FestiveFerret

It took Steve a while to realize how often it happened. How many missions or adventures ended with them forced to take refuge for the night in one bed. Sometimes, it was a luxurious king in a fancy hotel room. Sometimes, it was a tiny pup tent in the middle of the woods.

But he and Tony always seemed to end up sharing.

The Trial Run by Annie D (scaramouche)

Tony and Steve pretend to date, and enjoy it far more than they should.

***Slipping off the Page into Your Hands by Sineala

Soulmates have their first words to each other written on their wrists. This should make it easy. For Steve and Tony, it is anything but. Steve's problem is that the future he has awoken into is nothing he was ever expecting: he has a soulmate now. Who might be a robot. And if his soulmate is Iron Man, how can he be so attracted to Tony Stark? It should be impossible. Tony's problem is that he is Iron Man, his soulmate is a man whom he in no way deserves, and he is going to fight everything in his heart and do his best to make sure Steve never, ever finds out the whole truth.

Before I Knew You by somanyfeels (orphan_account)

When Steve came out of the ice, he was stuck in a bed for weeks, unable to move and talk and everyone around him assumed he was unconscious. But he wasn't, he was perfectly aware of everything going on around him, he heard everything the people around him said and very little of it made sense. Until a man came into his room by mistake and kept coming back to visit.

Admiring the Scenery by Annie D (scaramouche)

Steve’s used to people checking him out, but when Tony does it, it feels… different.

***Tabula Rasa by Sineala 

Sometimes superheroes save the world. And sometimes they're too late.

Captain America's longtime villain Superia had a plan for revenge. She stopped the Avengers from ever finding Steve in the ice, tore the Avengers apart, and turned the world into her own personal authoritarian dystopia. A team made up of Captains America from across the multiverse came to set things right: they united all the remaining superheroes, took down Superia, and made sure the world would find Steve again.

Tony spent Superia's hellish reign as her prisoner, a suicidally-depressed disembodied brain trapped in a jar for years on end, begging the Avengers to kill him and put him out of his misery. The Captain America Corps instead gives him his freedom, a brand-new body, and even the Avengers -- including his very own Captain America. But Tony's not entirely sure he wants to be here. He's walking wounded, and he thinks some wounds are too deep to heal. He thinks there's no chance the Avengers will ever be what they could have been. He thinks there's no way Steve will ever be the friend and partner he could have been on so many other worlds.

Luckily for Tony, Steve happens to disagree with that.

[inkyblinders]

Dancing with the Devil: Part II

Part 1

Pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader

Author’s note: This was so embarrassing to write not because of smut...but because I’m crushing hard on Adrien Brody right now. And I can’t even share this obsession with anyone because… he’s kinda niche? Someone please reassure me that I’m just going through a phase because dear God why can’t I stop watching Darjeeling Limited just to see him ahhh.

The story picks up right after the end of Part 1, so I recommend reading that first. Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated, let me know what you think!

Summary: Following your meeting with Luca Changretta, you face the Shelby family and Tommy's reaction. (2.6k words)

Warnings: Smut, angst, swearing

Tag: Let me know if you would like to be added or removed

@anythingwriter, @rrtxcmt, @shut-chan

_____________________________________________________________

You barely make it into your bedroom before he is all over you. The buttons of his crisp, tailored shirt fall like marbles. He moans when you nip the skin of his neck, right over his tattoo of the black cross, legs tangled together like a depraved waltz.

When he grinds into you, you shudder deliciously at the hardness that meets between your bare thighs.

How easy would it be for him to kill you after he fucks you, leaving your corpse twisted in the bedsheets. You know Tommy would find it when he eventually remembers that he has not seen you for days.

“Signorita, you know I come to you with the most honorable of intentions.” He murmurs, as if sensing your thoughts.

“You're not a very honorable man then.” A laugh that turns into a gasp as he trails his hand lower and strokes between your legs. No, not very honorable at all. And pretty soon all thoughts of honor are forgotten as he coaxes a moan from your throat.

His fingers are magic. The cold outline of his onyx rings scald your skin each time he crooks a finger inside you. Knowing exactly what you need, seeking your depths, swirling, rising to rub the clit, all the while exploring the flushed expanse of your body with his other hand.

Shoulder to breasts to hips and back again.

Without meaning to, you’ve let this stranger take control of your entire being. But God, do you crave this pure ecstasy.

It’s as if he wants to know precisely how much you can take before you're undone. So when you clench around his hand and feel the familiar ache he is right there, helping you ride the wave of pleasure, never breaking the rhythm of his thrusting fingers even as you curse, rake your nails down his back.

You almost cry out his name when you come. But you bite into his shoulder instead.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna have to hear you next time.” He growls.

His words barely register as you come down from the high. Aftershocks spark like tiny flames. Now you are wearing his scent as much as he is wearing yours.

“Be inside me,” You whimper, tugging at his soft hair, urging him for more.

He rasps an empty warning, “What's my name, sweetheart?”

Of course. All this time you've never acknowledged you know of his identity. There was no use in trying to hide it now.

“Luca,” you breathe. And his eyes gleam with approval.

With a snap of his hips, he plunges into silky warmth. The fullness stretches you to your limit, head thrown back. It’s good, so good. Every withdrawal of his thrust is a blessing because you know what follows next. It’s him inside you again, wrapping you with his touch and the scent of tobacco and roses.

“Does your Tommy fuck you like this? Like the way I do?”

“He’s not mine.” You choke out, punishing Luca with a bite on the neck that elicits a chuckle rather than a yelp of pain.

He kisses you, your foreheads pressed together. “A damn shame for him.” Soon he starts to quicken his pace, going faster, more erratic, his breathing heavy upon your ears.

Yes, you urge him, come on, now.

And this is your chance. In a flash you roll on top of him, pinning down his shoulders with your hands. He tries to arch up but you stop him with a knee.

“How many men did you bring, Changretta?” You ask, making your voice rough to mask the lust, pressing your hands around his jugular.

It's a pleasure to see him like this. Shocked at your actions, maybe even scared. Naked with want but unable to do anything to relieve it. Unless he tells the truth.

“Fifteen. Why baby, am I not enough for you?” He laughs breathlessly, hands trailing goosebumps along your hips, tracing the contour of your breasts. The jib doesn't hurt you. After all, men have said worse. He tries to surge into you again, and his hot member pulses on your thighs.

“Do you swear on your honor? That you’re telling the truth?” You insist, squeezing him harder. The touch brands his skin as much as it brands yours.

In a voice full of self-mockery he says, “Yes I swear on my honor. Now let me in, clever Isabel.”

You take him in you, the sensations amplify a thousandfold. You try teasing him, going slowly in and out, but soon you are caught up in the sensation of him completely at your mercy and you ride him, faster, until you keen his name, until he too is undone.

****

Through the haze of dawn, he stumbles out of bed and gets dressed. Before he dons his hat once more, Luca leans down to whisper in your ear, as soft as sin.

“You tell Tommy Shelby he may expect a visitor in the night. I'm coming for him as the angel of death. The vendetta has begun…” He kisses your hair.

“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

The door clicks shut. You rise from your pillow, and a small, hard lump rolls next to your hand.

It is a signet ring of onyx and gold.

****

“So we all get a death letter from the mafia, but Izzy gets jewelry?” Ada huffs as the family filters into the betting shop. As usual, Tommy holds court at the front of the table, brooding over a glass of whiskey. You roll your eyes as Arthur and John try to cover their snort of laughter with a cough.

“If you want it, you can have it, Ada. He’s probably planning on killing me too.”

“Doubt it. You’re not a Shelby, and we’re the ones who killed his father. Well, someone did, to be precise.” She shoots a bitter look at Tommy, who doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

Despite Ada’s matter-of-fact tone, the words cut to your heart. Not a Shelby.

It’s not her fault. No one knows you’ve been sleeping with Tommy, not even your dearest friend. It’s a lonely secret to keep, but at least you can look at the family square in the eye and not have to worry about the things they say behind your back. Or worse, pity you.

You can handle the violence and moral ambiguity of Tommy’s business. But to lose the love and respect of the Shelbys would break your heart.

“What was the mafia man like, Izzy?” Finn asks eagerly. It’s obvious the boy is thinking of the dashing, gun-wielding gangsters he’s seen in the pictures.

“He was a wrinkly old brute. Kind of like your arsehole brother Tommy.” A smile to take the edge off the insult. But Tommy only looks off into space. As if he hasn't paid attention to this entire conversation.

Arthur clears his throat. “Now, let’s get one thing straight. It was me who pulled the trigger on his dad, so the blame falls on me.” He pats Linda’s hand even as his voice is heavy with guilt.

“No one’s blaming you Arthur, you weren’t the brains behind the operation, no offense.” Ada says. He is about to say something when Polly cuts in.

“Stop squabbling like children. We’ve all voted for truce, despite everything Tommy’s done to us—” The words nearly having us hanged hover pointedly in the air. “—So let’s focus on the matter at hand." She fixes Tommy with a sharp look.

“What’s the news from Camden Town? Will Solomons help us?”

“No.” He says tiredly. And all of a sudden you feel sorry for teasing him. He look gaunt. There are shadows under his eyes, even more so than usual. Without you to remind him to eat, you can imagine his diet for the past few days consisted more of alcohol and cigarettes than anything substantial.

“Spent three hours on a fucking tour of his bakery and another pretending to drink his piss-poor rum. I think he was trying to get me sloshed so I’d forget what I came for.” Tommy rubs his head.

“He’s refusing to send his men to help. Said he’s not going to go after another oppressed people.”

“Did you tell him the Italians are rounding up Jews in their country as we speak?” Polly asks incredulously.

“Wouldn’t make a difference to Alfie. Besides, that’s just an excuse. He’s really just a fucking coward.”

Polly looks troubled at this, as does the rest of the family. Everyone had been counting on Alfie’s friendship with Tommy, however peculiar, to help them with the vendetta. What they hadn’t expected was his extreme sense of self-perseverance. How are they going to protect themselves now?

“Before everyone panics, I’d like to say something.” Tommy clears his throat, setting down the whisky.

“As you may all know, two nights ago our Izzy encountered Mr. Changretta in the Garrison. He bought her a drink and asked her to deliver an official beginning of the vendetta.” He chooses this time to finally look at you. You hold his gaze until he looks shiftily away.

“We can also assume that he has been scoping out Small Heath, looking for any weaknesses on our turf. Now, Izzy has something to share with you all.”

You stand up uncertainly. The last time a woman other than Polly tried to speak her mind at the table it had been Esme, who still refuses to come to the betting shop unless Tommy is not here.

“While Mr. Changretta was, er, indisposed at the Garrison, I found some items in his coat that I think could be useful.” You fish out a passport and a stack of papers from your skirt pockets.

“Good job, Izzy! Oh, I knew we could count on you more than my idiot brother.” Ada beams.

“Becoming a right little spy, eh?” John ruffles your hair good-naturedly. As everyone gathers around, Polly gives a low whistle.

“Goodness, if this is your definition of an ugly brute, I wonder who’ll really catch your fancy, darling.”

You flush. The documents were obtained shortly after Luca had fallen asleep. It was an exercise in agility, trying to extricate yourself from his tangle of limbs, especially when you wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, encased in his warmth.

To your own credit, the papers were highly useful indeed. Some were maps of Birmingham, circles drawn in places where the Shelbys are known to frequent. The Garrison. Charlie’s Yard. The Arrow House. There was also stationary from The Stanton, a hotel just outside of the city.

There had been another piece of paper in the stack, a letter. But you kept that for yourself.

“We all have Izzy to thank for bringing us this valuable information.” Tommy’s voice rises above the chatter. “I will be personally examining all the documents and think of a plan. In the meantime, everyone stay alert, stay armed, and stay together.”

“Now if no one has any further questions, I need to have a private word with her. Alone.”

*****

You twirl the onyx ring around your finger as everyone filters out. It’s much too big but you still wear it anyways. The thick band of gold is comforting in its own way. And despite what you told Ada earlier, you don’t want to give it to anyone else.

Tommy’s curt voice snaps you from your reverie.

“Was it good, then?”

A small muscle tics on the underside of his jaw. His previously blank expression is now cold. The coward in you compels you to feign ignorance.

“What do you mean, Tommy?” You ask lightly.

“Did it feel good to have that fucking wop inside you?”

You burst out laughing. “Christ, Tommy. Did you pick up that word from Alfie? You sound bloody ridiculous when you’re trying to be crass, you know.”

“Don’t fucking change the subject, Isabel.” Tommy snaps.

“Oh, so I’m Isabel, now? You only call me that when you’re trying to get me in bed. Is that what you want? A bit early in the evening if you ask me.”

“What I want for you is to tell me how it felt having that man inside you, inside---”

You blaze with anger. “My sex life is none of your business, even if you are an occasional participant. I did what you would have wanted, and now I’ve got intel on the Changrettas that could save your arse!”

“Do you know how dangerous it could have been? Fraternizing with the enemy is exactly what got us into trouble with the Changrettas!”

“And fraternizing with them again has given us an advantage. We know how many associates he’s brought with him, and where they are staying. Good God,” Your eyes widen as you see the mutinous look on Tommy’s face. “Are you jealous?”

The silence of the room presses in until it's almost palpable. Finally he rubs a hand over his eyes, looking utterly defeated.

“I have no right to.” He says, pained. “But I am, just the same.”

The admission of his feelings would have made your heart soar a few days ago, before you met a man who enchanted you in the Garrison. You only laugh bitterly.

“What makes this different from all those other times you made me seduce the men you wanted to spy on?”

He says nothing. But what else is there to say? The past is in the past, and so many hurts have been caused by the both of you, it would be impossible to untangle it all.

You soften your voice, laying a hand on Tommy's arm.

“Let me continue seeing him. He wants me, and we can use that. You know it will be help, you know it might save us all.”

A breath flutters in your chest as you wait for his decision. If Tommy allows it, you’ll do it in a heartbeat. The Shelbys are your family, whether you're one in name or not.

But if he refuses, then perhaps… Perhaps he might actually care for you, deeper than jealousy, deeper than he admits.

“Very well.” Tommy says finally, and something in your heart shatters. The corners of your mouth curve up in a wobbly smile.

“Thank you for trusting me, Tommy. I won’t let you down.”

“You would never let me down, no matter what you do. Just…Be careful, Izzy.”

He closes the distance between you and enfolds you in a hug. You enjoy this quiet warmth, as fragile as spider's silk. With a small laugh, you pull away, patting his arm before turning to the door.

You don't look back to see if he follows.

[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 :)

[jilytho]

strangers in a bar

Happy Jilytober!!!! "speaking of mothers, fancy becoming one?" cocky James meets Lily in a bar

Read below or on AO3

Longest day of work. Followed by the longest train ride. Followed by pushing through a throng of thousands of people seemingly with all the time in the world when she was already twenty five minutes late to meet Mary for a drink. All topped off with a venmo and message from Mary right as she was finally sitting down on a barstool ordering her wine.

Sorry love, just got a massive order, going to be here all night. Have a glass of vino on me!

Lily rejected the venmo immediately, of course. Mary’s bakery had just got off the ground and Lily knew how important orders were for her at that stage and there was no need to take her money. She’d drink her wine and get home in time for Bake Off reruns, not a bad day all in all. She signaled the bartender to close out her tab afterall and opened up Bumble. If she was going to sit here alone, might as well swipe on some potential matches.

“He’s a loser.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“He’s a loser.” the man repeated, shifting fully to face her, leaning his side against the bar. She hadn’t noticed him before but he must have been sitting somewhere along the bar.

“Who is?”

His glass was empty and even as his body was turned towards hers, his eyes remained focused on the bartender, signaling towards his glass and nodding towards her near empty one as well. It wasn’t until the bartender had nodded back to him and begun to grab bottles that he turned to look into her eyes. Dark hazel, thick tortoise frames, tousled hair, beautifully chiseled jaw.

“Whatever sorry tosser left you sitting here on a barstool all by your lonesome.”

“What exactly makes you think I’m here because of a boy? Can’t a girl just go get a drink by herself?” she wrapped her fingers around the newly filled wine glass and avoided eye contact, taking a sip.

“I’ll make you forget his name”

She spluttered into her drink and looked at him incredulously but he held her gaze steadfast, unwaveringly confident.

“You’re pretty presumptuous, aren’t you?”

“I prefer the term confident.”

“Mmmm a narcissist's favorite excuse.”

“You know what they say about narcissists,”

“That they’ll never love another more than they love themselves?”

He scoffed, “Sure, or that it typically doesn’t come unearned.”

“Not only is that literally not a saying but what I have heard is that lying to yourself can be even worse than narcissism. Causes premature wrinkles.”

“Please, look at us. Barely a wrinkle between the pair.”

“That’s because I’m honest. Never told a lie.”

“Now is that so?”

“Yep.” She punctuated the p sharply, smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she leaned back in her chair.

“So now if I were to ask if you were attracted to me, you’d have no choice but to tell me the truth,” he leaned in closer, eyes sparkling down at her.

“Now see, I don’t lie,” she dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned in closer, “but my mother also taught me that if I don’t have anything nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all. So perhaps it’s better if I bite my tongue on that one.”

He laughed earnestly, warmly, head thrown back in a way that filled her with immediate satisfaction, warmth spreading across her chest.

“Wow. Beautiful, clever, and cruel. You really were made for me, weren’t you? C’mon now, loosen that quick tongue for just a second. Tell me what you really think.”

She leaned back in her chair and made a show of looking him up and down, eyes slowly trailing his entire figure. He practically loomed over her as he remained standing, leaning closer and closer down over her seated figure. And damn if he wasn’t ridiculously fit. And exactly her type. Dark blue button down tight across his shoulders, sleeves sinfully rolled up to his elbows, seamlessly pressed grey trousers.

“Well, if I were to speak purely objectively,” he leaned in closer and nodded.

“You’re pretty fit.” His entire face lit up, pleased and smug, whole body shifting slightly closer to her as she leaned in closer. “Shame about the personality, though. Really ruins the whole vibe.”

He threw his hands over his heart and winced, “You wound me, deeply.”

“You asked! Don’t ask for the truth if you can’t take it, another lesson from my mother.”

“Well you can blame my mother for my inability to take criticism. While yours taught you sensible things like to only say the nicest and most truthful and deeply hurtful things, mine taught me that I had invented and then hung the moon and therefore the rest of the world existed because and for me.”

“Poor woman, she must have been deluded early on. A face only a mother could love and what not.”

“Prefer to think it’s the ‘what not’ part of it all. Speaking of mothers, fancy becoming one?”

She choked on her drink. He patted halfheartedly in between her shoulders - and no she did not notice how his hand was so big it spanned practically completely across her shoulders and why is that even attractive? - and passed her a napkin.

“I don’t mean tonight, of course, if that’s what you’ve stopped breathing over,” his pats turned to a light rub along her back. “I just thought maybe you’d like some additional practice.”

Her eyes narrowed as she regained control over her breathing and she twisted in her chair, forcing his hand to drop off her back, immediately missing the contact.

“I don’t go home with presumptuous and cocky boys.” Her words were biting, although traitorous butterflies were still running rampant in her stomach from their brief point of contact.

“Well, do you go to dinner with them?” His tone turned polite, mild even, as if they were discussing the weather and he hadn’t just offered to father a child with her. “Or maybe lunch or coffee? Coffee might be more the cocky guy from the bar date but really I’m partial to dinner.”

“Are you pleased with this turn of conversation?” she spat through gritted teeth, “Seriously, are you happy with how you’ve handled this?”

“I’m talking to you so I’m happy. And I’m happy I said whatever I said that gave you this lovely flush you have now,” his finger traced up from her neck to brush her cheek lightly as if tracing the blush, sending tingles shooting down her spine.

He caught her eye and her mouth went dry. Deep hazel, flickered with gold, filled with something that looked eerily close to hunger.

“I’m James, by the way. I feel like we might be on a first name basis now that I’ve asked you to join me for essentially every kind of meal.”

“Charmed, really,” she waved two fingers towards the bartender until he nodded in acknowledgement and moved to pour her another drink and ignored the traitorous conscience in the back of her brain screaming that she was only meant to be here for one.

“This is usually when you’d tell me your name, if you’re new to this,” he had leaned down to whisper the words in her ears, hot breath on her ear, one inch closer and his lips would be on her.

She chewed on her lip momentarily, hearing Mary’s voice screaming louder and louder in her head about letting loose as it spoke over the whispering voice of her mother reminding her that this was a strange man.

“Evans. Lily Evans,” she spoke into her drink and took a deep swig.

“Evans. I like it.”

She scoffed at him, eyes narrowing in on him instantly, “so glad you approve.”

“I do, really. Lily Evans. Rolls off the tongue, truly. But you know what might sound even better?”

He sat down on the barstool next to her now - finally, a voice in her head whispered as they were now perfectly aligned eye to eye - and tugged it closer to sit closer to her own. She tilted her head slightly, silently requesting he continue.

“Potter. Lily Potter.”

Her eyes narrowed instantly, “and I suppose Potter is what, the name of a good friend of yours?”

“I do consider my father a good friend so yes, I suppose in a way.”

“Dinner, a child, marriage. You’re really willing to commit to living a full life with a random girl in a bar. For all you know I could be a murderer. A serial killer. A lying, nefarious, arsonist with a family in three different counties wreaking havoc and crime along the countryside.” His eyes never wavered from hers as she ranted, crinkling in the corners, drinking her in and practically sparkling.

“What can I say, Miss. Evans, I trust my gut. And my gut says that if you truly are a lying, nefarious, philandering woman with likely multiple warrants out for her arrest, well then I guess I’ll be the Clyde to your Bonnie.”

Their heads were barely two inches apart, she could feel the warmth of his breath as his hand ghosted along to cover her own that rested on the bartop.

“Alright then, Clyde.” The words came out as a faint whisper, “You’ll probably be needing my number then. To organize our crime spree and what not.”

His grin overtook his face, eyes somehow turning more beautiful as they sparkled at her, “and what not, yes I think that’s for the best.”

She turned away from him and reached into her purse fishing out a pen, not allowing herself to think through her actions or words for another second, lest she hesitate. She scribbled her number on a paper coaster and stood up before turning to look at him, just barely taller than him for the first time that night. He sat there, perfectly patient, quieter than he had been all night.

She passed the coaster to him wordlessly, a fresh blush flaming up the back of her neck as his hand brushed hers to take the coaster and held her hand, not letting her pull back just yet. “It’s been a pleasure, Bonnie.”

“Likewise, Clyde.”

She squeezed his hand once before slipping away and out the door without another look, knowing that just seeing his face again would make her go back and go home with him that night instead of waiting for his call.

She had walked two doors down from the bar when her phone began to vibrate in her purse. She fished it out and pressed it against her ear while hailing a cab, assuming it was Mary checking in.

“Hello?”

“Go to dinner with me tomorrow night, Bonnie.” She almost dropped her phone in surprise at the deep voice that was decidedly not Mary.

“Don’t know,” She croaked out, “I thought coffee was the more appropriate meal for a cocky stranger in a bar.”

He chuckled lightly, “Maybe. But we’re not really strangers anymore are we? I even know your name now.”

“Alright then,” she breathed out as a cab pulled up, “dinner it is. It’s a date.”

She hung up without hearing his reply, swinging herself into the cab. She looked down at her phone’s call log, considering saving his contact when a Bumble alert came through with a match.

She didn’t hesitate, without looking at the match she deleted the app entirely.

[jaskierswolf]

Wolfie darling.... Doctor Geralt and mayhaps a girl he knocked up or something, but they keep making eyes at each other, and jaskier turn up alone one day (yes this is literally the summary you gave before but i crave it so i will send it becasue aahh) and there is such tension but Geralt doesn't want to break up Jaskiers presumed relationship, and Geralt is their doctor, and Jaskier is technically not the patient so they end up baning against the wall, please and than you! <333

Me: I will keep prompts short.

Also me: Here have 1.6k

This is based off the song 'Bad Idea' from Waitress

CW: pregnancy, cheating (geraskier both have partners), sexual content but not explicit.

_______

Bad Idea

Jaskier wiggled in his seat as he sat next to Priscilla in the waiting room. She was six months pregnant with his child after a one night stand that had gone wrong, and because he was a good guy they’d decided to give a relationship a go. His mother had been pressuring him to propose to Pris every time they spoke, which would have been a grand idea if they were in any way suited to each other. But they weren’t. Pris wasn’t even sure she wanted the kid but it was too late to turn back and Jaskier certainly wasn’t ready to be a father.

If he were being completely honest with himself then he’d admit that the only reason he even came to these appointments was because of the very hot Doctor Rivia.

Jaskier always found a way to stay after the appointment, which really had started out innocently but ended up with Jaskier being pressed against the wall, Geralt’s lips crashing into his.

One kiss.

That’s all it was.

And Geralt had practically thrown him out the room after. It was obviously a mistake that wouldn’t be repeated, so why was he so nervous? His leg bounced and he couldn’t sit still, a rush of energy making his hands shake and the world seemed all too loud and too bright around him.

The rest of the waiting room sat in silence between coughing or the odd sound of a child talking to their parent. The whole place stank of cleaning products and old people… so it was just even more humiliating that Jaskier was fighting to keep his dick under control.

Really he couldn’t be blamed, not when Geralt looked like that. He was tall, muscular, smart and yet such a fucking dork; just Jaskier’s type. Oh and let’s not forget unobtainable. They were always unobtainable and Geralt was no exception. He was happily married to a beautiful successful businesswoman and had the sweetest little daughter, or at least that’s what Jaskier assumed judging by the photographs in Geralt’s room.

Fuck.

Why hadn’t they been called yet?

“Jask?” Pris asked, startling him from his inner turmoil with a light touch to his arm. “I need to go to the bathroom. If I get called, can you let Doctor Rivia know?”

Jaskier nodded, chewing on his lips as he tapped out a rhythm on his leg. “Of course, dearest.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He’d been counting on Pris being there as a barrier between them, and of course as soon as she was out of sight the intercom pinged calling Priscilla to Doctor Rivia’s room. He didn’t even have time to panic as his head started to spin and all the blood rushed from his face. Jaskier swallowed and stumbled to his feet, walking in a daze towards Geralt’s room.

It was as if there was no oxygen left in the hospital, and he could swear he could feel the heat of everyone’s gaze burning into the back of his neck. His mind kept drifting back to the few blissful seconds of kissing Geralt, a passionate, desperate collision of lips, tongues and teeth. The memory seared into his brain, into the very cells of his body. If he lived for a hundred years he would never forget that kiss. He just couldn’t help himself. Geralt was a flame and he was the moth, the compass pointing to Geralt’s north.

Iron filings pulled towards the magnet…

“Nah, that’s shit,” Jaskier muttered to himself as he ran his fingers through his hair before taking a deep breath and knocking on Geralt’s door.

A shiver went down his spine as he heard Geralt’s gruff, incredibly sexy voice say “Come in.”

God, what Jaskier wouldn’t do to have that voice whispering all sorts of dirty things into his ear…

He licked his lips as he pushed open the door, fighting the blush that was no doubt painting his face as he met Geralt’s eyes. The doctor frowned as he raised an eyebrow at Jaskier, then smirked, cocking his head as he spoke.

“Priscilla, welcome, take a seat.”

Jaskier snorted, flopping down onto the table. “Oh haha, very funny Geralt- Doctor Rivia.”

“Geralt is fine.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier mumbled, unable to take his eyes off of Geralt, golden eyes dark as they dropped to Jaskier’s lips.

It felt as if they were bonded together, an invisible tie from Jaskier’s soul to Geralt’s, pulling them together. Jaskier’s heart was racing in his chest and he fell into Geralt’s arms before he’d even realised he was moving. Their lips pressed together for one amazing, mind-boggling second, Geralt’s hands cupping his face and holding him close. He tasted like sweet, delicious coffee and smelled like heaven; addictive, sinful… so very tempting.

A demon sent to claim Jaskier’s soul.

And then they stumbled backwards, both plastered against the wall on opposite sides of the room.

“Jaskier,” Geralt groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s a bad idea; me and you.”

With a nod, Jaskier bit his lip, hands tugging at his hair and making a complete mess of it. “I know, I totally agree.”

His heart didn’t stop racing and he had to grip onto the wall behind him to stop himself from launching back across the room. Geralt seemed to be having a similar struggle as their eyes met again, his face was flushed and there was barely a speck of gold left in his gorgeous, haunting eyes.

“It’s a bad idea, me and you,” he repeated, his fingers shifting from his nose to press against his forehead but neither of them could keep their eyes off each other for long.

Jaskier’s eyes flicked to the door where Priscilla could enter at any moment, licking his lips as he turned back to Geralt. He wanted to move closer but couldn’t leave the wall for his own sanity, so he ended up circling the room opposite Geralt. Both drawn to each other, neither allowing themself to give in.

“You have a wife,” Jaskier pointed out, as if he didn’t already know that.

“You have Priscilla,” Geralt agreed, and both of them spared another glance to the door.

The unlocked door…

Gold eyes met blue and then they both lunged for the door, dancing around each other in the middle of the room so they wouldn’t touch. The game would be over if they got too close, unable to separate with the torch that burned bright between them, melding their hearts and souls together.

Jaskier bit his lip, locking the door before turning to face Geralt once more, his back pressed against the hard wood behind him. “You’re her doctor,” he mumbled weakly but the protests were dying with every breath.

This was a losing battle and they both knew it.

“You’ve got a baby coming.”

There was a beat of silence where they both just stared deep into each other's eyes, searching for answers to unasked questions. Jaskier couldn’t seem to calm his breathing and his heart was beating so fast that he thought it might fly out of his chest. His hands were shaking in the effort to keep them from reaching out to Geralt. He wasn’t sure what it was about the doctor but he needed Geralt more than he needed the oxygen in the room.

“It’s a bad idea…” Jaskier muttered one last time, before his lips pulled into a smirk and he winked at Geralt. “Let’s just keep kissing until we come to?”

Geralt growled and they met in the centre of the room, Jaskier half kneeling on the examination table, his hands splayed on Geralt’s chest as the doctor held his face with a tenderness that surprised him. Their lips ghosted together, a breath away from touching, but before they could kiss Geralt pressed their foreheads together.

“Let's face it, making mistakes like this, it’ll just make it worse.”

“And it’s already pretty bad,” Jaskier sighed, his fingers gripping Geralt’s white coat tightly. “Just hold me close whilst we think this through?”

“Don’t have much time,” Geralt muttered. “Where’s Pris?”

“Bathroom.”

“Hmm.”

It was torturous, being so close to Geralt but not having what he truly desired, which was, to be blunt about it, to get fucked on the damn table before Pris could come back and find them…

But they really didn’t have much time.

Did they?

Jaskier’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he reluctantly pulled it out, unlocking the screen with his other hand still holding onto Geralt lest he disappear from Jaskier’s life forever.

I can’t stay in the bathroom forever, be quick about it. - P x

A laugh bubbled up and escaped his lips. She knew. The fucking bastard, he was going to buy her the most lavish present he could after this. He fucking loved her, just not in the way his darling mother wished.

Geralt looked at him, eyebrows raised as he cocked his head, his hands still pressed against Jaskier’s back. So Jaskier just grinned and showed Geralt the text.

“Fuck,” Geralt groaned, and then the dam broke.

Their lips met in a desperate kiss, both of them tearing and pulling at their trousers in a rush to get closer. It was clumsy and messy and possibly the hottest fuck Jaskier had ever had in his life, and when they were sat together after, panting as they tried to catch their breaths, Jaskier grinned dopily at Geralt.

“Geralt?”

The doctor’s fingers froze on the button of his trousers and his golden eyes flashed up to meet Jaskier’s gaze, looking flushed and completely indecent despite his best efforts. “Hmm?”

“It was a pretty good bad idea, wasn’t it though?”

Geralt chuckled, rolling his eyes as he pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s hair. The electricity between them hadn’t died down in the slightest and Jaskier was feeling completely high off the thrill and adrenaline of the affair. Geralt hummed as Jaskier pulled him into one last kiss before Priscilla knocked on the door.

A pretty good bad idea indeed.

[lin-nin]

Tribulation & Tenderness - Chapter 5

Ship: Main Technoblade x Reader, some Dream x Reader

Plot: You're a princess in a Kingdom suffering a years long famine. In a desperate attempt to help your people, you accept one simple offer: Marriage to the crown prince of a neighboring kingdom. Anything to help your people survive. Surely it can't be too bad, can it?

Chapter List: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Disclaimer:   Cross-posted on Wattpad (discontinued) and Ao3. This is based off of everyone's CHARACTERS. I do not write fanfic based off the actual people.

-- Chapter 5: Confrontation < | Previous Chapter Technoblade Focal Point The two of them had sat in the library for a while after that, talking about only a few topics in between long spaces of silence. Techno had used that time to observe the princess. He noted the way her hair fell, the nervous shifting of her weight in the chair. She even would chew her lip in thought. Whatever she was thinking about was horribly hard to discern, though it was easy enough to see she was worried. Not that she could be entirely blamed.

She had looked worried and stressed this entire time. From the moment he had walked into the throne room and made eye contact with her. She was intimidated. He imagined he wasn't exactly the norm to what she often saw here. Her kingdom was known for its softness. Its inclination to avoid conflict. It was a point of confusion for why he was being made to marry her. His father had said that there were powerful allies in peace just as there often was in war. It was true, yet it was boring, in a way.

He was pulled from his reverie as she stood, glancing to the window. "It's nearing dinner time," A wistful sigh escaped her after the statement, "Do you want to take your books up to your room first? You didn't touch them, I assume you'd want to read them eventually." She had turned back towards him, gesturing to the few books he had picked out. That was his initial plan, in truth. Yet she was sitting there with that worried look on her face. It would have seemed wrong to not at least speak to her.

Slowly, Techno rose to his feet as well, pausing to get his books. "Yeah, I'll bring them back come morning." He turned, waiting for her as she came to his side. Once she had, he started walking, occasionally glancing at her from his peripheral.

"Great! I mean, ah, obviously you can keep them longer if needed. I don't expect you to read them all tonight." She stammered over her words again, looking away. Techno laughed quietly in response. Seemed like the brief comfort didn't last. It was definitely amusing to watch, though. She had a habit of stumbling over her words.

"Depends how well I'm able to sleep. Either way I won't hold onto them for long." Reassuring her seemed to ease her some, her shoulders relaxing. She was certainly a character. She simply walked with him then, staring ahead of them. She stood and waited outside his room, letting him take the few moments he needed to set the books down. He set them down atop the trunk sitting at the foot of his bed, pausing for a few seconds. Hopefully their parents had worked out their problems. He warned his father long ahead of time that this arrangement wouldn’t be received well.

His fingers brushed the book and he sighed, head shaking. If they hadn’t, he just wouldn’t deal with it. It wasn’t worth it. He had little to gain from this. He had his doubts the marriage would be jeopardized under any circumstance. There would be too much worry about upsetting his kingdom. They also had the food that was desperately needed here. Even if they were unsettled about his presence as opposed to Wilbur’s, they would deal with it.

He blew out a small puff of air, leaving the room once more. He glanced at the princess again, and she offered up a smile. Did she know of the unrest among her parents? Perhaps she did, but she didn’t show it. That, or she didn’t know enough to give her reason to be afraid of him. Ignorance of some form, then. That or a good actress, but she didn’t exactly give off that vibe.

“You’ll have to forgive our dinner. As you know we’ve been rather tight of food lately. Of course, you’re helping with that and it means… a lot. To both me and my citizens, I imagine.” Moments like this, it shone that she was a princess raised with diplomacy and respect. When she had to be this way, she would be. Even though she seemed to be so bumbling and awkward outside of diplomacy.

“It was in our best interest. We aren’t exactly hurting for food ourselves,” He explained. They had quite a surplus, in truth. Their lands had been generous for a few years. It made sense to give extra to a neighboring kingdom. It wouldn’t do if someone took advantage of their weakened state for an invasion.

“All the same, you have our eternal thanks.” She smiled softly, wandering along towards the dining hall with him. The silence wasn’t entirely awkward like the past ones. This one was a touch more comfortable, even as they walked into the dining hall, which was filled with soft chatter. Almost immediately, he felt a gaze on him. His head turned, seeking out the holder.

At the same time he spotted the blonde-headed man, the girl beside him bounded forward with a shout of, “Dream!” She settled into the spot beside him, having left Techno as if he wasn’t there in the first place. Dream, as she had called him, offered her a smile. His green eye never left him, though. It bore into him almost resentfully. In a way, it was unnerving. In the same way it was familiar in a way he couldn’t name. His other eye was hidden beneath an eyepatch of gold fabric, the gold filigree lace covering some of the scar that tried to peak out from the bottom.

Other than that he was almost plain. His clothes were dark green and simple, fairly understated for someone sitting beside a princess. Techno pursed his lips, but moved into the seat across from his fiancee. She seemed fairly content with the set up, though the other did not.

“Right! Dream, this is Prince Technoblade. Techno, this is Dream. My best friend,” She introduced with a grin, reaching for a cup nearby to sip from. The two looked at each other for a long moment. Waiting for the other to say something first.

“Your reputation precedes you, Technoblade.” Dream spoke in a calculated tone, causing Techno to narrow his eyes. The princess nudged him, shooting him a look. Like she could tell he was not happy.

“I’m surprised you’ve heard of me. Everyone seems surprised by my arrival,” He mused. Prodding, almost. He could already tell Dream did not like him. He didn’t even care that much.

“We weren’t expecting you. I trust you’ll take care of her all the same.” An embarrassed expression crossed the princess’s face, nose scrunching a little. Like she looked dissatisfied with the implication she needed taking care of.

“I think I’m capable of taking care of her. I don’t let harm befall my family,” He fired back. A smug smirk curled his lips as Dream huffed. The girl across from him looked to the side with her own little huff, though they seemed to mean different things.

“I can take care of myself, thank you,” she grumbled, crossing her arms.

“You can’t even hold a sword.” Dream was quick to retort, causing an almost frustrated pout to cover her face.

“I can very well teach her, even if she doesn’t know. It’s good knowledge to have, regardless of status and who she’s with.” The look Dream sent Techno at this was dirty, clearly unhappy with the words. The princess, however, looked a little more interested. A light sparkled in her eyes, and Techno had a feeling she just hadn’t been allowed to learn. As expected from a soft kingdom like this.

Dinner proceeded a little more calmly, with the princess and Dream firing back and forth to each other multiple times. Techno only chimed in when he saw fit, otherwise resigning himself to his meal. As the meal closed, both he and Dream stood. He leveled Dream with a stare, resisting the urge to grab onto one of his swords.

“I’ll walk you to your room,” He finally broke the silence. Mainly just to irritate the man, and see the look on his face. She, however, smiled up at Techno, and gently patted Dream’s arm. This barely seemed to placate him as he huffed, turning to leave the dining hall.

“Thank you, Techno,” She hummed, waiting for him near the door. He nodded, walking with her outside of the hall. Habitually he put a hand on the pommel of one of his swords, well aware of the dangers that came with it being night. She led him towards the other side of the castle, seeming rather content with the silence for a few moments.

“Did you mean it?” She finally asked, looking up at him. He turned his head just slightly, looking at her curiously.

“Mean what?”

“That you’d teach me to hold a sword. Or fight with it,” She explained quietly, looking away. Like she was unsure about the whole idea.

“I’m willing to teach you to fight with something. It doesn’t make sense for you to not be able to defend yourself should you need to.” They rounded a corner, and she seemed extremely content with the answer.

“My parents wouldn’t teach me, and neither would Dream.” She hardly seemed happy at that, but the contentment she expressed at being able to learn at some point was rather nice. An eager student was a good one, truthfully.

“We’ll have to figure out what will fit you best when we get to my kingdom. Maybe after the wedding.” He tried to ignore how awkward it felt to say that, and she seemed equally flustered. She hesitated outside her door, as if contemplating if there were anything else she needed to say.

“That sounds good to me. Thank you, Techno. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.” She smiled up at him, and he nodded. Once she was safe inside her room, he turned to head towards his room. Silence fell around him, beyond the soft tapping of his boots. That, and a second, quieter pair trailing him. He wasn’t an idiot.

“You can quit trailing me and just talk to me,” He finally called out after a few seconds. He came to a stop in the hall, turning towards the sound. He didn’t technically need to look, either. He knew who it was. Dream slipped from the shadows, eye narrowed at him suspiciously. He eyes the hand Techno was resting on his pommel, almost warily. Like he would draw it at any second. Not that he planned to, unless provoked into doing such.

“Why get engaged to her?” He said bitterly, causing Techno to quirk his lips. Was that jealousy? Of course, he should have seen that coming. How cliche.

“What’s it matter to you? You clearly weren’t going to do it.” It was a cruel taunt, but deserved in a way. He wasn’t fond of Dream already, and he wasn’t sure if it was the possessiveness he expressed over his now fiancee.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Dream practically bristled defensively. He looked ready to attack, and in truth it was amusing.

“I have no reason to answer. Besides, you won’t even teach her to defend herself. You want her dependent on you, don’t you?” His head tilted, a grin on his face. It was too easy to read him from an outside view.

“No. She’s just clumsy. If you so much as hurt her, I swear I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Kill me. Good luck. I told you I wouldn’t harm her and I have no intention to. She is my fiancee, not yours, Dream. Let me worry about her.” He spun on his heel, the movement almost militaristic. He didn’t care to listen to Dream’s possessive and jealous ramblings. Whatever chances he had had at one point, he had very clearly lost somewhere before Techno came along. Next Chapter | >

[someonestolemyshoes]

The Keeper’s Introduction

Here is my fic for @levihan-drabbles Fluff Friday! 

Prompt: "I know I just broke into your apartment in the middle of the night but there are some bad people after my special power over alternate universes and I've decided to put all my faith on you to save everything."

They looked oddly at home, expertly navigating his kitchen. As though they had been there before. They grabbed the honeypot from another cupboard, and found a spoon in one of the drawers.

"Oi," Levi said. "How'd you know where I keep all my shit?"

The stranger waved their hand flippantly, "Oh, I'm well acquainted with your layout. It never really changes, wherever you are."

**

Levi had just settled in for the night when a loud echoing crack sounded in the street below.

It was well past midnight, far too late for such a racket. The sudden violence of it was almost enough to make him spill his tea. He waited with his breath held, his heart shamefully hammering in his chest. Levi prided himself on being the type who doesn't scare so easily—but one can't be blamed for being alarmed by an unexpected noise in the dead of night, can they?

The world remained mercifully still and quiet. Levi approached the open window slowly (carefully, not frightfully; there is no indignity in being cautious) and peered out into the night. The sky outside was almost full dark, saved from the pressing black by only a smattering of stars and the moon, a papery sliver of a thing hooked high over the distant rooftops. The window, open only an inch, gave entry to a gentle breeze, still balmy despite the lateness of the hour. The town was drowsy, dozing; only the occasional candle flickered in the darkness, and no sound, prior to or following the thunderous clap, could be heard.

The street, three stories below, was empty. Levi scanned the road, but found nothing unusual. The strangest thing, perhaps, was that his face was the only one peering out. None of his neighbours had deemed the explosion worth investigating.

It was, for all the world, a night as perfectly normal as any other. Levi had seen no reason to expect anything out of the ordinary might occur.

He blew out a breath. Maybe he had imagined it. He had been quite engrossed in his novel, and it was well past time for him to be sleeping. It isn't unreasonable to assume that the sound of a cat, perhaps, rattling the bins in the alley had startled his tired, occupied mind. Resolving to finish his chapter and go straight to bed, Levi gave the street one last cursory glance, and turned away from the window.

He had just settled back into his chair and picked up his tea cup and his book, when the doorbell rang.

The chime in itself was yet another oddity, for Levi received visitors only very rarely, and never at an hour so late as this.

He set down his drink and lowered the book to his lap with a frown. Better, he thought, not to answer straight away. Then they might leave without causing him any trouble—and if they rang a second time, and even a third, Levi would suppose it might be something urgent and might finally be pressed to receive his unwanted guest.

Much to his pleasure, the bell did not sound a second time. Levi waited, poised to stand, but minutes passed by with no sound at all, and eventually, mildly disgruntled now by the persistent interruptions, he settled back and tried, once again, to read.

He turned the page. Picked up his now lukewarm tea, and took a sip. Sunk down more comfortably into the plush armchair. He felt himself begin to settle. The peculiarities of the night drifted from his thoughts as he read, mind too engaged with the story in his hands to think too deeply over the strange events that had occurred.

And then, without any warning at all, a godawful shriek rent the air as Levi's window was wrenched open from the outside, the wood frame protesting with a violent screech. Levi jerked in his seat, book falling from his hands and his tea cup shattering as it struck the stone floor.

There was a person, making no efforts at all to be quiet, unashamedly clambering in through his window. Levi watched, too shocked to move, while they pulled themself over the sill and crumpled in a heap to the floor.

Levi could do nothing but stare as the intruder heaved themself up. They unfurled long limbs, straightening to their full height, and turned quickly to poke their head out of the open window. They looked left, then right, down, and most peculiarly, up, before pulling themself back inside and slamming the window closed. They drew the curtains shut, and turned to look into the room, casting their eyes about the place as though inspecting it.

They walked with a relaxed gate, seemingly unbothered by their rude intrusion. Levi couldn't be sure if they had noticed his presence, for they made no show of knowing he was even there, and Levi was still too stunned to announce it. He watched the stranger rotate in a slow circle, looking everywhere from the ceiling down to the floor. Satisfied, they slapped their hands to their hips and nodded once, and then their gaze fell on Levi, still sitting stiff as a board in his chair. The light from Levi's lamp cast half their face in shadow, glinting off the lenses of their glasses. Their mouth stretched in a wide, manic grin.

Levi swallowed hard. His courage returned to him swiftly, urging him to his feet. He faced the stranger head on with his face twisted in a scowl.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The intruder's grin only widened.

"Oh, Mike was right after all!"

They crossed to him quickly in two great strides. Levi twisted his head this way and that to watch them as they circled him. This close, Levi could better see the sharp hook of their nose, the angle of their jaw and the whiskey colour of their eyes, with strange, dark markings around their irises, like the face of a clock. He could also see the fingerprint smudges on their lenses. They wore all black, from their muddy boots up to the overlarge hood draped over their shoulders like a small cloak.

"Shitty four-eyes, answer me."

They let out a gleeful laugh.

"Oh, Mike my friend, you are a genius!" They said. And then, to Levi, they added, "Mike can sniff out you Guardians half a universe away, I swear."

Levi had no idea who Mike was, or what a Guardian was, and frankly, he didn't care. He levelled his home invader with a sharp glare. When he spoke again, it was through gritted teeth. "I said, what the hell are you doing climbing through my window? How? I’m three stories up!"

The stranger's smile finally faltered. They tilted their head. "I did try the doorbell."

"Why did you want to be in my house?"  

"Ah, well, you see—that's kind of a long story." They turned on their heel and strode into the kitchenette. Levi watched on, incredulous, as they filled his kettle with water and set it on the stove to boil. With one hand, they reached into the cupboard above the sink and rifled through the boxes until they found Levi's stash of chamomile tea, and with the other they reached for the draining board, and plucked up two clean cups by their handles. All of this, while they watched the water begin to simmer in the pot.

They looked oddly at home expertly navigating his kitchen. As though they had been there before. They grabbed the honeypot from another cupboard, and found a spoon in one of the drawers.

"Oi," Levi said. "How'd you know where I keep all my shit?"

The stranger waved their hand flippantly, "Oh, I'm well acquainted with your layout. It never really changes, wherever you are."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean, shitty glasses?" Levi tried to inject an air of disinterested anger into his tone, but the stranger’s words, said so plainly, raised goosebumps on his skin.

They chuckled. "I can't tell you how many times we've had this conversation. I'm Hange, by the way."

Hange brought the tea over to where Levi stood, and held one cup out for Levi to take. He clenched his fists by his sides instead. The tea, upsettingly, smelled perfect; brewed at the right temperature, for the right time, and sweetened with just a drop of honey. When he didn't take the cup, Hange shrugged and set it on the little table by the armchair. They spied the broken china on the floor and smirked, "you never have much luck with that one."

"Excuse me?"

"That cup. It's the one with the gold rim, right? And all the little forget-me-nots around the outside?"

Levi said nothing. Hange, irritatingly and unexplainably, for the cup was in many pieces now and the lighting was too poor to see it in any great detail, was absolutely right.

"You still haven't answered my question," he said.

"Right, right. Like I said, it's a long story. Do you want the unabridged version or are you happy with the footnotes?"

"A summary is fine."

Hange took a great slurp of their tea. "Long story short, I pissed off some very bad people, and now they are after me for my, ah—abilities."

"But why my house?"

"Mike told me where you'd be. And boy, am I glad he did! I barely made it in time. I was aiming to land right in your sitting room, but I guess my calculations were a little off…" they trailed away with a frown. Levi watched their lips work quickly, as though they were running numbers in their head. Then they stopped, and shook themselves off. "Doesn't matter now anyway. I didn't wake you, did I? World hopping can be pretty loud."  

That, at least, accounted for the sound Levi had heard outside. But...

"Hange," Levi said. "You've explained nothing."

"Give me a minute, Levi. It's complicated! There's a lot of history and I already know you don't want to hear any of it. Besides, we wouldn't have the time. We'll have to leave early in the morning."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Sure you are," Hange said. "I have to meet up with Erwin, and I need you to get me there."

"Where's there? Who the hell is Erwin?"

Again, Hange waved their hand at him. "Unimportant. Look, what matters is this: I might've messed with the timeline in another universe, and that may have caused some….upset, with some very important and very powerful people. I only changed a little bit!! I met this guy, Onyankopon—he's so cool, you know? Smart as hell. He had this idea that—well, it was the base model for an airplane."

"A what?"

"Well, see, that's the thing. Onyankopon asked the same question, and I just...told him. A little bit. I went a little too deep into the mechanics of it all, and he...well he might have developed a model that works. Two hundred years before it was supposed to exist in his universe. And now the Bureau is looking for me, but I’m not done with Erwin’s mission yet and so I am putting all my eggs in your basket. I need you to get me out of this in one piece.”

Hange looked more sheepish about this insane indiscretion than they had about breaking and entering.

"You're fucking insane," he said. Hange let out a bright laugh.

"So you've told me, more times than I can count."

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He felt a headache coming on.

"You look stressed," Hange said, sounding almost sympathetic. "Drink the tea! It'll help, though it's probably a little cold by now."

"You're the reason I'm stressed, idiot."

"Sorry about that," they said, not sounding very sorry at all. "I know the circumstances aren't...ideal. I'd much rather have come to you another time and explained everything properly, but—well, I was kind of in a hurry, and Mike sniffed you out, said you were the nearest you to my location. I didn't have much of a choice."

"Who the hell is Mike? Some kind of mutt?"

"Sort of," Hange said with a grin. "He's a Seeker. It's his job to locate people like you—people like us—when the Bureau needs us. Fortunately for me, Mike isn't overly loyal to our dear overseers—his allegiance lies with Erwin, as does mine. And Erwin is decidedly less strict about most of the timelines."

Hange circled around Levi and set their hands on his shoulders. Something strange sparked there, a heat that sunk through skin and muscle and settled right in his bones. They had already ushered him into his chair by the time he shrugged them off.

"What does any of this batshit garbage you're spewing have to do with me?"

"You are a Guardian. It's your role to protect people like me from harm."

"The hell does that mean, people like you? I’m not fighting anyone to save your scrawny ass from anything. You fucked up, you deal with it. "

Hange stood up straight and puffed out their chest. "I am a Keeper. I'm supposed to keep order in the timelines. According to the Bureau, at least. Erwin has other ideas—but that's a story for another time. For now, we should rest. Like I said, we've got to leave early in the morning."

"To go where?"

"To Erwin!" Hange said brightly. "I don't have my pocket watch anymore, so we're gonna have to take the traditional route. There's no way I'll make it on my own. And don’t worry, you won’t have to fight anyone. I’ll explain it all on the journey."

"Look,” Levi said. “Can't you just...drop out of the sky whenever this Erwin guy is? I'm sure he's got his own window you can climb through."

"No can do," Hange said. "I can only hop between universes. I need my watch to move fast within any one universe, and mine took a dunk in a river, during my escape."

"Magic bullshit technology that lets you, what, teleport across the damn globe? And it can't survive a dip in a river?"

"They aren't watertight," Hange said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And they still run on batteries. Moblit is working on improving the technology."

Levi's head throbbed. He rubbed his eyes and glowered up at Hange, who was watching him with a soft smile. Levi deepened his scowl.  

"What's that shitty face for?"

Hange's expression softened further. They looked at him with so much fondness, Levi felt his face grow warm.

"I've missed you, you know," they said. "Well, not you, but—you. It's been...a really long time."

"That makes no sense," Levi said. He meant it, too—nothing Hange had said to him made sense at all. It was the stuff of storybooks, fairy tales; the product of an imagination run wild. And yet, Hange's presence, alarming as it had been and frankly still was, felt oddly familiar. The warmth of their hands still rested on his shoulders. In spite of himself, Levi felt the corner of his lip begin to curl into a small, absent smile. He wrestled it back down.

Hange laughed, a light, lilting thing, and yawned. They crossed the room to Levi's small dining table and dropped heavily into a chair.

"I suppose you're right," they said with a lazy grin. "It doesn't make any sense at all. You'll just have to trust me."

"You broke into my house. You're not selling your reliability very well. And don't even think about it."

Hange looked over at him, surprised. "Think about what?"

"Putting your filthy feet on my damn table."

"Whatever gave you the idea I'd do something like that?"

Levi opened his mouth to answer, but snapped it closed swiftly as the thought, which had come to him thoroughly unbidden, fully registered in his mind. You do it all the time.

Levi pinched his eyes, staring at Hange. They sat with a curious little tilt of their head, watching him with an open, analytical look. Levi squirmed under their gaze.

"I don't know," he said. "Seems like the kind of shit you'd do."

"Like something I've done before?"

Levi flinched, and Hange smiled all teeth at him, a strange mix of impish and pleased. They propped their elbow on the table and rested their chin on their palm. "There it is," they said quietly.

"What?" Levi asked. Too eager. Hange looked thrilled as they straightened up in their chair, eyes gleaming in the lamplight.

"There are a lot of you's, one in every single universe, just like there are a lot of Isabel's, and Farlan's, and Petra's—"

"How do you—you know what, nevermind. Go on."

"But because you're a Guardian, all your you's are linked. And because you're my Guardian," Hange looked weirdly proud at this pronouncement, "it's only natural that you remember me. It'll happen a lot, I'm sure. Try not to freak out."

Levi snorted. "You say that now?"

"Would it have made a difference if I said it earlier?"

Levi mulled that over for a second. No, he supposed it wouldn’t. He’d have thought them completely unhinged either way. Instead of answering, he picked up the tea from the table and drained it in three gulps. When he looked back at Hange, they were smiling brightly at him.

"Just how you like it, right?"

"I prefer it hot."

Hange kicked their heels against the floor and shot him an affronted look. With a petulant pout of their lip, they said, " So unfair, Levi! That's not my fault."

He shrugged them off. He would never admit it to them, but he took some bizarre delight in watching Hange's tantrum. It felt all too natural. They slumped back in their chair, head tipped over the back rest to stare at the ceiling.

"Ah, you're as cruel as ever," they said. "It's good. Very you."

Hange pushed their glasses up to their forehead and rubbed at their eyes. The scene looked painfully familiar; Hange, smiling sleepily, bleary eyed in the low blush of candlelight. Only, in the image forming in his mind, they were resting against a plump, well-fluffed pillow, and their hair was down from its ponytail, still messy and falling over their face. In the image forming in his mind, Levi's own hand reached out to brush a few strands from their cheeks, and Hange turned into his palm, their lips brushing the sensitive skin there.

Levi shook his head, face a little warm. Hange was watching him again. He scowled at them for good measure, gathering up his own cup and theirs, and washing them in the sink. He let the water run cool over his hands for a long moment.

"You should rest, if you're tired," he said. From the table, Hange hummed.

"Good idea," they said. "The bed's big enough for two, right?"

Levi turned sharply to refute them, but Hange didn't give him the chance. They had already heaved themself up out of their chair and kicked off their boots, and now, with the practiced ease of someone who had lived in the house for years, they were wandering down the hall and straight into Levi's bedroom, leaving the door open behind them.

Levi dried his hands slowly on the dish towel. He looked at the armchair, big and well-cushioned, spacious enough for him to recline in for a few hours rest. It wouldn't be the first time, and he had no doubt it would be the last. And then he looked down the hallway, where Hange must have lit the lamp; warm light spilled out into the corridor, and Levi was reminded abruptly of his strange thoughts.

This Hange, they were crazy. Talking the most nonsense Levi had ever heard come straight from another person's mouth. He would be better off resting his eyes in his chair, and kicking Hange out at first light.

That was the logical thing to do. The reasonable thing. That was the desperate plea of his better judgement.

Instead, he blew out his lamp, and stormed down the hallway after them.  

"You lie on my fresh sheets in your filthy clothes and I'm throwing you back out the window, Guardian or not."

[alwaysfeelingsaintlike]

Just One Night [G.W]

description: George is out for his stag party and you’re out for your hen night, but the two of you just can’t seem to stay away from each other.

pairing: George Weasley x Reader

word count: 5.8k 

warnings: very light smut, oral sex, alcohol

taglist: @p0gues4l @amourtentiaa  (let me know if you want to be added!)

                                                           X

“George, it’s just one night. We’ll be fine,” you said as you finished packing your bags.

“Y/N, we haven’t spent a night apart since you finished at Hogwarts,” he pouted, as he lounged across the bed, watching your every movement.

“I repeat, it is one night. I think we’ll survive.” You didn’t want to admit to George that you’d miss him this one night, even though it was the truth. If you gave him an inch of indecision, he would convince you not to go at all, and this was not a night you wanted to miss. After all, it was your hen night. 

He sulked some more and you added, “George you will have a wonderful time out with the boys tonight and you’ll forget all about me.”

“Impossible,” he smiled. You shook your head as you zipped up your suitcase. George had moved from the bed and was now standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Don’t leave me darling,” he whispered in your ear. You took a deep breath, finding it difficult to resist him. He started kissing your neck and you breathed in, “George…”

Before you realized what happened, George had you pinned down to the bed and his lips were locked on yours. Both your arms were wrapped around his neck as his hands caressed your torso. Before things got too heated, you pulled away.

“George I really need to go,” you whispered.

He smiled and gazed into your eyes, “You can be a little late.” You couldn’t help but smile and his lips found yours again as he began peeling off your clothing. Moments later you were both exposed and you were straddled on top of George. After some mutual foreplay, you were both ready for things to get more intimate. You positioned yourself on his shaft and started slowly rocking back and forth, planting gentle kisses on his chest and neck. You increased your pulses as your breathing quickened and several small moans escaped from your lips. George smiled, getting off on your pleasure and he placed his hands on your hips, quickening your rhythms. 

George suddenly changed the pace, pushing you backwards so that he was on top of you. Your head was just barely off the edge of the bed, giving you the feeling of lightheadedness. George sucked on your neck as he thrust deeper inside of you. You felt your fingertips starting to tingle, knowing you were nearing a climax. 

“Oh George,” you breathed, running your fingernails across his bare back. He continued at his pace as your back arched and you started to orgasm. You felt George cum inside of you as his full body weight crashed on top of you. You laid there motionless for a moment, both of you catching your breath and recovering from your intimate moment. You ran your fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead.

“I love you, Georgie.”

“You know you aren’t supposed to say that after sex, dear.”

“I know, but it’s true and I don’t want you to forget it.” He lifted his head from your chest and kissed you lightly on the lips. You let out a big sigh and said the words you knew he was dreading, “I do really need to go now.”

“I know, I know. I won’t fight you this time. Have a lovely night with the girls and don’t forget about me.”

“Now you know I could never do that. Enjoy your night out as well. I want to hear all the stories tomorrow morning.”

“Yes of course, love. Now get going before Hermione apparates over here to retrieve you.”

You magically summoned your clothes and ran a finger through your hair to gussy up. “I love you,” you smiled as you apparated.

“Love you more!” You heard him shout as you were transported to London. 

                                                           X

“Y/N! There you are! We thought you’d changed your mind.” Hermione said, as she embraced you in a warm hug.

“Oh no, nothing like that. Just got caught up packing,” you lied as a slight blush crept up your cheeks. You hugged Ginny and Angelina, and to your surprise, Fleur. You had invited her out of courtesy, assuming she wouldn’t be interested, yet here she was. Hermione had booked you all a suite in a luxury hotel in the center of London. Her parents had some connection at the hotel and managed to get the room for you free of charge. You told the girls you wanted to do something different for your hen party and Hermione suggested you go out in London and explore some of the muggle bars, where you wouldn’t run into any familiar faces. You were a little enamored with the idea, as it seemed like you knew everyone in the local wizarding community. Venturing into London also gave George more freedom to bar hop along the usual spots. You imagined he would spend some time with Madame Rosmerta in the Three Broomsticks before returning to some of the bars in Diagon Alley. You and George both loved having a good time with friends, but it wasn’t often that you went out without one another. You were excited to have your girls’ night, but you knew you would miss George’s presence.

“Come on now, get changed. We’ve got dinner reservations!” Ginny urged. You found an empty room in the suite and magically unpacked the bag you had brought, evaluating your options. You had brought a selection of white dresses, all of different cuts and styles. After magically curling your hair, you selected a long sleeved white v-neck dress with a twirly, skater skirt. The top was made from lace that was sheer and snug around your arms. The flirty skirt was the perfect combination of classy, yet fun. You put on long gold chain earrings and a pair of gold heels. You stepped out of the room and found your friends all dressed in beautiful black dresses. 

“Shall we save the sash and the willies for the bar then?” Hermione said, holding up a bachelorette sash and some decorative penises. You burst out laughing and nodded, wanting to save the attention for the bar scene. With that you grabbed your things and headed out for dinner.

                                                             X

“I wonder what Y/N’s doing right now…” George said, falling distracted yet again.

“I’d say at this point she’s probably getting a lap dance from a male stripper dressed as a bobby,” Ron stated. Harry and Lee let out chuckles.

George snapped out of his daze and responded, “Is that where they’ve gone?”

“No, you wanker. I’m only joking,” Ron replied. 

“You need another beer,” Lee added, flagging down Madame Rosmerta. “Mate, this is one of your last nights as a single man. Stop harping over Y/N.”

“I know, you’re right. I just don’t like being apart from her.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re getting married,” Bill said, bringing a pitcher of beer for the group.

“Is this how you were with Fleur?”

“Sure. I never liked being away from her, especially when times were darker. I was so afraid that if we were separated I’d never see her again. Now I don’t have to worry so much about that, which makes it easier to be away. “

“George, if there’s one thing I know about you and Y/N, it’s that you can make it through anything. I don’t have a doubt in my mind that you two are meant to be together. Now, can you stop pouting over her and get drunk with us?” Ron commented. George couldn’t help that Y/N was his focus point of the night and he didn’t want to be a downer when his mates were all there to have a good time with him. He decided to try and shift his focus on the night ahead. He wanted to have stories to tell Y/N, knowing she would be enjoying herself tonight and would be eager to share her memories with him.

George responded to Ron’s comment by raising his glass and downing the fresh beer. All the guys cheered him on and started to get a little rowdy, preparing to finally get the night started.  

                                                            X

“Okay, give me a little bit of a break before the next shot,” you stated, letting the lemon drop shot settle just a bit. Dinner had ended and you had reached your first bar. It was very modern, with dim lighting and lots of sleek furniture. After some convincing, you had finally agreed to wear the bright pink sash. The girls convinced you that wearing it might get you a few rounds of drinks on the house, and so far they were correct. When the bartenders weren’t giving you free drinks, bar patrons were eager to treat you to a round after testing out their best pick up lines on the group. You didn’t hate the attention, but you would’ve preferred to be flirting with your husband to be.

You made rounds around the bar, moving between the bar itself and a comfortable table in the corner. Ginny soon convinced the four of you to head out on to the dance floor to let loose a little. You were feeling more than a buzz from the numerous rounds of shots and drinks and thus, you were easily convinced to go dance. Fleur and Angelina seemed to be willing to follow the group, but Hermione was the challenge, acting as your babysitter tonight.

“You all go dance and I’ll sit here and save the table for us,” she offered.

“Hermione….come on. Come have fun with us!” you contested

“Honestly, you all go out. I’ll come join you in a bit.” 

You were close to arguing further with her, however Ginny dragged you out on the club floor. Once again, you received looks from all the surrounding gentlemen. You couldn’t blame them, you were a group of good looking ladies. Thankfully, none of the admirers approached you, seeing as most of you were taken. It was then that it occurred to you to check on Hermione. You told the other girls you were grabbing a drink of water and would be back momentarily. Hermione seemed distracted but her face lit up when she saw you approach.

“Hi, are you having a great time?” she asked.

“I am, thank you for putting this all together for me. But I do wish you’d come have fun with us.”

She looked down before responding, “I’ll come join you in a bit.”

You furrowed your brow, “Hermione, is everything all right?”

She looked conflicted, which was unsettling. “It’s fine,” she said unconvincingly. “This is your night, I don’t want to make it about me.”

“So what if it’s my night, you’re upset about something. You’ve put so much work into this for me and I want to make sure you have a good time as well. So get on with it, what’s the matter?”

“I’m not sure it’s necessarily a bad thing, I’m just feeling a little nervous and unsure about things.”

“Is this about Ron?”

“Em, yeah a bit. I mean, things with him are great, better than I expected actually. It’s just…” she hesitated. You put your hand over hers to comfort her. She leaned toward you and whispered into your ear, “I think I might be…pregnant.”

“Hermione,” You responded with a surprised smile on your face. You instinctively wrapped your arms around her in a tight hug. “Is this a good thing?”

She giggled a little, “Yeah, I think so. You’re the first person I’ve told and now thinking about it’s made me very excited.”

“Ron doesn’t know yet?” you asked.

“I haven’t figured out the best way to tell him yet. You know how emotional he gets. I think maybe after the wedding. I don’t want to take away your spotlight.”

“Well I’m extremely excited for you. I promise I won’t tell a soul until you choose to announce it, not even George. And please let me know if you need anything at all.”

“I will, and I’m sorry that this is all coming up tonight. I didn’t mean for it to come out this way.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I just want to make sure you’re having a lovely time as well. Now come join us on the dance floor,” you took her hand and dragged her out to join the remainder of your group. The girls cheered as they saw you returning and you saw Ginny run off to fetch a round of shots.

                                                            X

“Oy, can we get out of here already? Madame Rosmerta’s staring me down…” Ron stated. He had just knocked over a few pints with his drunken storytelling and it was evident Madame Rosmerta was finished with the group’s antics.

“To Diagon Alley?” George suggested. The boys all agreed and they closed out the tab although their tab at the Three Broomsticks was never really settled. They owed Madame Rosmerta so much over the years. They all huddled together outside and apparated to the familiar street George called home. The boys found themselves in front of the shop. The lights inside were out and George could barely see the products lining the wall. He left the light on outside not only to assist him in getting home tonight, but just in case your plans changed and you ended up coming home.

Diagon Alley was bustling, like it had been previously. Except now it was home to more bars than shops. During the dark time, many of the shops closed down. How the joke shop managed to survive was a surprise to everyone. People seemed to need a place to escape and forget about the state of the magical community. They found solace in the joke shop, as well as the bar. Several pubs began popping up along the strip and once those that threatened the magical world were defeated, the pubs stuck around. You and George had made yourselves familiar with many of the bartenders in town, coming out for the occasional nightcap and sharing stories and laughs. It had been a while since George had been out with a rowdy group though. The boys fit right in with the weekend crowd, all witches and wizards letting loose and enjoying each other’s company. George offered to pick up the next round of drinks, despite several protests from his brothers and friends, while the guys found a table big enough to fit the group.

“Well, well, well…look who it is. How are ya, George? What can I get for you tonight?” Salvador asked. He was one of the bartenders you and George were very familiar with at this particular bar. He told you both stories about his experience growing up in the magical realm of Spain. 

“Just a pitcher of beer and a handful of glasses,” George ordered. Salvador quickly prepared the pitcher and the stack of glasses.

“What brings you out tonight? You don’t normally make an appearance on a bustling Saturday night.”

“It’s actually my stag night. The boys have dragged me out to get drunk and ogle random women.”

“You don’t say. So no Y/N tonight?”

“Sadly no. Missing her like crazy though.”

“I can imagine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two apart.”

“It happens very seldom. But I’ll survive without her for a few more hours.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“A few weeks from now. It almost seems silly because we basically are married as it is. But we wanted things to be official.”

“Well congratulations my friend! This round is on the house. Enjoy your night.”

“Thanks Sal,” George brought the beer back to the table and felt himself finally starting to get a little bit buzzed. Typically he held his alcohol pretty well, but it wasn’t often that he engaged in binge drinking. This was the first time he felt himself getting drunk in a long time.

                                                          X

After what seemed like hours of dancing and kind strangers buying rounds of drinks, you all settled down at the bar, trying to regain your balance somewhat. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this drunk. You and George were casual drinkers. You had a drink a night, but you never got overly drunk, unless it was a special occasion. And while it was flattering to have all this male attention, you were seriously missing your partner in crime. 

Fleur was sitting next to you at the bar and while you were waiting on your next round of drinks, she put her arm on your shoulder and leaned close to you. “Come to the bathroom with me?” she asked.

You nodded and embarked, as the others flirted with the latest round of onlookers. Fleur grabbed your hand and you scurried off. This was unique for you. You and Fleur had always been civil but you wouldn’t say you were ever close. You accepted each other because you realized you would one day be related. The only things you really had in common was your involvement with the Weasleys.

Once in the bathroom, you were alone and you saw Fleur reach for her purse to touch up her makeup.

“Y/N, thank you so much for inviting me. I’m having such a wonderful time and I’m just happy to be a part of this.”

Her sentiment was sweet and your drunken state got the best of you. You gave her a hug and said “Of course Fleur. I’m happy to have you here. Thank you for coming.”

“You and George are completely perfect together. I honestly can’t wait to officially welcome you to the family.” 

‘Thank you Fleur. I can’t wait either. Honestly being apart from him tonight has been tough.”

“I understand. I miss Bill too.”

“I wonder what the boys are up to tonight.”

“Oh, they’re in Diagon Alley. At The Den or something like that.”

The Dragon’s Den. It was one of the local bars you and George frequented. You smiled, knowing he was likely having a wonderful time with the boys.

“Y/N, come with me.” She took your hand yet again and a moment later you were apparating. Before you realized what had happened, you were in The Den.  Crowds of people were lined around the bar as you stood in the vacant hallway.

“Fleur! We shouldn’t be here!” you whispered through a giggle.

“Nonsense, we’ll only be a moment. Now stay here, out of sight.” She sauntered into the room and you saw her sneak up behind Bill at a high top table. The other guys seemed to be invested in something else and didn’t notice her. She kissed him several times and then whispered in his ear. The two turned toward your direction, with brilliant smiles. Fleur snuck away from Bill as he rejoined the group of guys. You saw him pat George on the shoulder and pull him away from the crowd. Moments later you saw George head your way with a puzzled look on his face. You hid in the hallway so you wouldn’t be spotted and soon enough you felt his presence nearby.  

He turned the corner and didn’t notice you right away. He looked like a confused and lost puppy, looking without a purpose.

“Psst…” you finally said to capture his attention. He turned around and his face lit up when he saw you.

“Darling!” he smiled as he picked you up. He planted several kisses on your lips and said, “What are you doing here? You’re breaking the rules! You should be getting drunk with your friends.”

“I’m full of surprises,” was all you offered.

“I’m so happy to see you. I hope you’re having a great time tonight.”

“I am but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss you.”

“I missed you too,” he said, kissing you again. “How did you pull this off anyway?” he said, still holding you in his arms.

“It was all Fleur actually. I didn’t even know where she was taking me. Suddenly we apparated and ended up here.”

“Well I’m very glad she snuck you here.”

“Me too,” you smiled up at him. He kissed you some more and it was then you realized he was more than a little drunk. He always got very touchy when he was drinking, which you didn’t mind one bit. He kept whispering sweet nothings in your ear between kisses and you couldn’t stop giggling. You were desperately wishing you could end your night now and head home with George, but you knew soon it would be time to head back to the bar with the girls. 

He suddenly pulled away and smiled down at you, “I can’t believe you came here.”

“I didn’t mean to crash your party, but I just missed you so much.”

“I love that you crashed my party,” he said, before kissing you again. You continued kissing for what seemed like mere seconds before you were broken up by Fleur and Bill.

“Alright mate, you’ve had your fun. Y/N better get back to London before anyone notices she’s missing.”

You both pouted as you said quick goodbyes and before you knew it, you were back in the bathroom where you came from. 

“Fleur, did you have that whole thing planned?” you asked with a smile.

“Oui,” she smiled and flipped her blonde hair behind her shoulder, “Bill and I both knew you’d want to see each other at some point in the night.”

“That was very thoughtful. Thank you,” you smiled and hugged her. She had surprised you tonight. She was invited as a formality, but she had proved that she knew something about you and what would make you happy. 

You quietly returned to your friends, who had barely noticed you were gone. Hermione was perceptive though, and her lack of alcohol didn’t seem to help your case. 

“You were gone a while…” she said with a smirk.

“Oh, long line in the bathroom,” you lied with a smile. She nodded, not believing your bullshit, but she didn’t press you any further. You could see her losing steam quickly and you felt the night begin to wind down. You had another drink or two before you collectively embarked back to the hotel. Hermione helped you navigate the unfamiliar streets as you all giggled together and stumbled in your heels. Upon arriving at the hotel you ordered room service and ate your weight in pizza and chips. Hermione, being ever responsible, forced you all to drink water to minimize your hangovers the next morning. You all knew she was preparing a hangover cure for the morning, so you didn’t take her suggestions very seriously. One by one the girls trickled off to bed until it was just you and Ginny. While you had stopped drinking a little while ago, Ginny popped a bottle of champagne for the two of you, even though you hardly needed it. 

“Y/N, I can’t wait for you to be my sister.”

“Ginny…” you replied, bringing her in close for a hug.

“My whole life I’ve wanted a sister, and now I have three. Although I never felt too close to Fleur, she's growing on me. And Angelina is such a dear, but tough as nails. She’s lived through the circle of life and she doesn’t complain at all. And then there’s you. You’re so happy go lucky and you bring joy to everyone around you. You’re just so calm and level headed all the time. You handle every situation with such grace. When we were growing up, you were my role model. You were so confident and sure of yourself and that was something I struggled with. I always thought of you as an older sister, even when we weren’t super close. And now I feel like I can finally call you my sister.”

“Ginny, you’ve always been a sister to me. And you know I’ll always be here if you need anything.”

“Thanks for being so great. And thanks for everything you’ve done for George. I don’t know if you realize how happy you make him. He never would’ve gotten through everything without you.”

“That really does mean a lot Gin. I can’t imagine my life without him. He’s made me happier than I could ever imagine.”

The conversation dwindled and you both sauntered off to bed. You changed into one of George’s T-shirts that you had brought with you and crawled into bed. You thought bringing this small piece of George would help you through the night, but it only made things worse. You kept smelling his scent on you and all you wanted was to be wrapped in his arms. You tossed and turned in an attempt to get comfortable but nothing was working. You even turned on the television to try and shift your focus to whatever late night show was on, but it didn’t help. After what seemed like hours you gave up trying to fall asleep. You moved to the common area of the suite in search of something to snack on.

To your surprise, Ang was seated at the table with a pack of biscuits open in front of her and a book in her hand.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked you.

“I can’t remember the last time I slept alone. I thought I might enjoy the extra space but…” you trailed off, unable to vocalize your thoughts. “What about you?”

“I’m okay, I just miss little Freddie. I know Molly’s taking good care of him, but it’s still hard to be away.”

“I hear that…the funny thing is, I was the one who brought this up. George didn’t want to spend the night apart but I insisted because it was tradition. And now I’m regretting it because I miss him laying next to me at night.”

“You should go to him,” she said, passing you a biscuit.

“What?”

“Go home and surprise him. Everyone else is asleep, they won’t mind if you sneak home.”

“It would be kind of fun to surprise him…are you sure?”

“Sure, do what makes you happy. But before you go, let me give you your bachelorette gift.”

“Ang you didn’t have to get me a gift.”

“Oh but of course I did. And now you can get some use out of it tonight.” She brought out a pink box tied with a black bow. You quickly pulled the bow loose and opened the box. Inside was a lacy black bra and matching thong. “I hope you like it. I know you like simplicity so I didn’t want to get you anything that was too much.”

“It’s perfect,” you smiled. You felt the booze come back to you again as you started to feel giddy on the inside. This was unpredictable which was something you weren’t great at. You tried on the lingerie and showed it off to Angelina. She gave you the compliments needed to increase your confidence. You threw on the long trench coat you had brought in case of rain and slipped on the gold heels you had been wearing earlier in the night.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you smiled to yourself in the mirror, as you touched up your hair and makeup. The action wasn’t completely wild, but it was out of character for you. You just kept thinking about how George would react and the thought of being with him brought a smile to your face.

“Go have some fun,” Ang said as she gave you a hug.

‘Thanks for helping me do this.”

“What are sisters for,” she grinned. After one more glance you apparated to Diagon Alley. 

                                                            X

You landed outside the shop and unlocked the door, careful to disarm the alarms before they sounded. Once inside, you locked the shop door and walked up the steps to the apartment. You stood at the front door, wondering how to best play this situation out. Even though you had a key to the apartment, you found yourself knocking on the door. George was a light sleeper so even if he was in bed, the knocking would wake him up.

You heard footsteps across the hardwood floor and tried to maintain your composure. The door swung open and you saw George’s tired face try to comprehend what was happening. 

“Special delivery,” you said with a coy smile. His tired eyes widened as a grin spread over his face.

“How did I get so lucky,” he smiled at you. A moment later his lips were on yours, kissing you tenderly. You stayed in the doorframe for a moment before he pulled you inside.  You managed to pull away for a moment and you pushed him back into the kitchen table.

“Sit,” you instructed. He quickly turned a kitchen chair to face you and sat down. You sauntered across the room and took a deep breath. With your back turned to him you used your wand to turn on the radio in the kitchen, which began to play some slow R&B. You turned around to face George and slowly started to take off the trench coat, first untying the belt then slowly undoing every button, taking a step forward with each button undone. Once the coat was completely unbuttoned, you dropped your shoulders and let it slip to the floor.

You weren’t sure what was coming over you; perhaps it was the last few glasses of champagne you shared with Ginny. You were never one to be overly dominant and in control. But you knew George was enjoying himself. His eyes were locked on you and he was taking in deep breaths. His face gave you the confidence you needed to continue.

You continued toward George and found yourself circling around his chair. You placed your hands delicately on his shoulders and slid your hands down his chest. You planted sweet kisses up his neck, gently sucking on his soft skin. When you reached his ear you tugged on his lobe with your teeth, slowly pulling until his skin slipped through your chiclets.  

“Oh Merlin…Y/N…” he whispered.

“Shhh….” you said, placing your finger over his lips. You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before quickly changing positions. You slung your leg across him so that you were straddled across his lap. 

You ran your fingers through his ginger hair before tracing his jawline with your knuckles. His hand was gently resting on your waist, but you casually slid it down past your hips, giving him access to your ass. Once again, you moved your lips to his neck and started slowly gyrating your hips on his lap. He tightened his grip on your backside and you moved from his neck to his lips. He quickly accepted your tongue into his mouth and you could taste his hunger, but you wanted to make sure you prolonged this experience for him. You slowly pulled away as he looked longingly at you. You failed to hide the sly smile that was slowly spreading across your face. You quickly unhooked your bra and gracefully flung it to the side. George let out a deep breath and you took that as a sign to continue. You pulled his shirt over his head and planted kisses down his neck and chest. You carefully slid down off his lap and knelt on the ground as you fished out his member from his sweatpants. You began massaging his shaft with your hand before taking him into your mouth. You heard him exhale, clearly enjoying himself as you continued to pleasure him. George was typically a giver in bed, so he wasn’t used to having all the attention on him. You only hoped he was enjoying himself and that you made him feel special. After a series of moans, George ran his fingers through your hair and pulled you up towards him. He placed you back on his lap and cupped your face in his hand.

“What are you doing to me, Y/N?” he said with a smile on his face.

“I just want to give you a stag night that you’ll never forget.”

“Well you are certainly succeeding,” he said, planting a sweet kiss on your lips.

“And now we are going to move to the bedroom where we will make love for the rest of the night.” You kissed him on the lips and stood up, grabbing his hand and pulling him up. Before you could lead him toward the bedroom, he picked you up so that you were facing him with your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs wrapped around his torso. He quickly found your lips and carried you toward the bedroom with a sense of urgency.

                                                             X 

“That was…wild,” George said, catching his breath. Your head was resting on his chest and you were struggling to breathe regularly.

“That’s a good way to put it,” you muttered. He chuckled lightly before tightening his embrace around your bare shoulder. 

“I can’t wait to marry you,” he said, kissing your forehead.

“Just three short weeks until I can call you my husband.”

“That is entirely too long.”

“Would it be crazy if we got married tomorrow?” You were kind of spewing off without thinking, but after you spoke you started considering this more and more.

He let out a big sigh, “Y/N, we’ve had this conversation before. I know you don’t want a small wedding.”

“Okay, but hear me out. We can still have the party and the wedding we planned out with everyone. But we’ll just already be married. It’ll be like our little secret.”

“You seriously want to do this?” he asked.

“I don’t want to wait anymore. And then this way it takes some of the pressure off of the big day. Who cares if things don’t go perfectly. We’ll already be married.”

“I’m having a hard time coming up with a counter argument.”

“Do you want to marry me tomorrow?” you asked. You sensed some hesitation from him and you wanted to ensure this was something he wanted.

“Y/N, I’ve wanted to marry you since the day we met. I don’t care what kind of wedding we have, as long as you’re happy. Is this something you really want?”

“Yes. I want to marry you tomorrow and I want it to be our little secret. This is for us, not for everyone else.”

“If that’s what you want then that’s what we’ll do. Although, I will check in with you tomorrow morning to make sure you haven’t changed your mind.”

“I can tell you right now, I’m not changing my mind.” George shifted underneath you and then moments later he was on top of you, squeezing you tight. You wrapped your arms around him and planted sweet kisses on his neck.

He popped his head up and looked in your eyes, “I really love you.”

You pecked him on the lips, “I really love you too.” 

[gamerwoo]

[Tales from the Pack] Hansol: Fire and Ice (Part Two)

Characters: Hansol x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angst, a little bit of fluff in there tho, a hint of crack, lots of talking about death, mention of stabbing

Word count: 1,964

Summary: You’ve always been one to let your emotions get the best of you – your power reflects that – and you’ve never been good at expressing them. That’s why you always thought you’d be awful with a mate, but you never thought things would be this awful.

Previous | Next | Fire and Ice Masterlist

It wasn’t until the mates at Jiung’s house watched the werewolves perk up and strain their ears that their heart started racing, the too-quiet and tense atmosphere being broken. Chanseong stood up to follow Rin – who had come home alone before everyone else after chasing after you – as she went straight for the door. But she still didn’t smile. Nobody in their pack had smiled once since you ran out with Chan chasing after you.

Rin turned to look at Rika, saying something quickly in English. The smaller girl understood, ushering the mates that had made it back on their own back into the living room.

“What is it?” Yeji asked worriedly as Mingyu rushed right out the door behind Rin.

Rika sighed, trying her best to get a look out the window, “I know you’ve all guessed something was wrong, but… Somebody didn’t make it back.”

“What?!” Jooyeon cried, already assuming the worst.

“Someone’s missing?” Jia asked urgently. “Who?”

Rika just shook her head before sitting on another couch between two of her pack’s mates. 

Then the front door opened, and everybody in the living room stood, waiting to see who would enter. But every face was somber, and some had silent tears in their eyes or sliding down their cheeks. 

The group in the living room watched as Hansol entered, carrying you, who was passed out in his arms with your face tear-stained and set in almost a scowl. Rika just stared at him for a beat of silence before wordlessly leading him out of the room. None of them were sure what happened to you, but they hoped you were okay.

They watched as Chanseong stood after seeing you, and walked out of the room with a loud sob escaping passed his lips. Jimin got up to follow him.

Eyes scanned each person one-by-one as they entered, everyone wanting to know who made it back okay. Were their mates okay? Was it the person they loved most who didn’t make it back? The group in the living room watched as members of Jiung’s pack entered, all silently crying as they filed in. Jaesang, Hanbin, Jinyoung, Baekhan, Hyojun – all of them had tears in their eyes and sliding down their cheeks. But even Seungcheol’s pack looked upset. The alpha himself entered, head bowed and tears brimming his eyes as he tried to not cry in front of his pack. It wasn’t until Jooyeon cried out his name and ran into his arms that he sobbed into her hair.

They realized once everyone was inside that it was the alpha of the pack that had helped them that didn’t make it back. Jiung had died.

The reunions were sweet, and almost made everyone in Seungcheol’s pack forget about whatever had happened. Jia clung to Minghao’s arm, frantically whispering things to him in Mandarin as she sniffled and kissed his cheek -- even giving Junhui a quick peck on the cheek and telling him she was happy he was safe. Wonwoo enveloped his sister and his mate in a tight hug, kissing both of their heads before taking his niece in his arms and cooing to her while she slept.

And of course, brothers and sisters hugged each other and said their forms of love and caring. Joshua gave a stern look to Soomin before he hugged her and complained for scaring him half to death. Jihoon gave Suvi a genuine smile as he patted her hand and told her he was happy she was finally safe. Seungkwan threw his arms dramatically around Chan and cried that their “baby is okay”. Even Soonyoung strolled up to Jooyeon casually, giving her a side-hug as he grinned down at her.

“Saw some of those assholes with knives in their chests,” he commented like it was nothing. “I’m proud of you, Yeon. You defended your pack.”

“I’d do it again if I had to,” she told him with a proud smile before Soonyoung squeezed her shoulder again.

“Let’s hope we don’t have to,” Seokmin spoke up.

-

“So, what happened in town?” Wonwoo had asked as the pack finally settled into the living room to discuss the aftermath.

Things were calmer now. Mates were relaxed together, Wonwoo and Danbi were sitting beside each other on the couch and softly talking to each other, and Eunjin looked peaceful as she looked curiously around the room. For once, things felt normal, which was a rare occurrence for the pack.

“I can assure you that the son-of-a-bitch Donghae is dead,” Soonyoung nodded. “Our little Suvi is safe – oh, and happy birthday, by the way.”

Chan held Suvi a little closer to his side – he had returned from disposing of the tracker, and Suvi’s arm was healed thanks to Joshua – pressing a kiss to her temple and making the girl blush. It made both packs happy knowing that he didn’t have to worry about her anymore. He could just be with her.

“Does anybody care to explain the _____ situation?” Danbi wondered slowly. “She freaked out before she left, and came back out cold.”

Obviously the pack had noticed Hansol hadn’t come back yet even though they’d seen Rika wandering around, so nobody was sure what happened to him or you. Those who weren’t there to see what happened did, however, notice Wonwoo’s gold eyes suddenly look down at the floor. Danbi just knew he did to you what he had done to Jooyeon her first night at the wolves’ house.

“Well…” Soomin began, since she was one of two mates to come with the pack.

Jeonghan clamped a hand over her mouth.

Danbi, however, knew that this was a dead giveaway that you being passed out was her brother’s doing, “Wonwoo!”

“It’s not his fault,” Hanbin suddenly appeared from the kitchen, carrying two mugs in his hand, which he started handing to mates. “_____ was becoming hysterical.”

“Somebody didn’t come back. Who died?” Jia wondered bluntly, though her voice was soft.

She was the only one who didn’t know because nobody wanted to be the one to tell her. Jiung’s pack was grieving and they could hear everything. Nobody wanted to talk about it and make it worse.

Hanbin sighed, a crease forming between his brows, “Our alpha, Jiung.”

“He sacrificed himself for Hansol,” Eunjin spoke up, her voice quiet and airy like her head was somewhere else – and judging from the spacey look, it was. “That’s why I thought Hansol was the death… He indirectly caused it…”

“But Hansol’s also _____’s mate,” Seungcheol continued, making the mates and Chan look up at him in surprise.

Before anyone could say anything, though, Danbi spoke up, “That doesn’t explain why Wonwoo had a vile of that sedative with him!”

Her brother just shrugged, “After Jooyeon, I just kept it on me.”

Hanbin continued to go back and forth from the kitchen – eventually assisted by his mate, Jimin – until each of the pack had a hot cup of tea in their hands. It had started pouring after the pack came inside, but the rain eased up as the tension in the room became less and less. Still, water continued to fall from the sky, and Seokmin refused to look at anybody as he sipped his tea.

“You can all stay here for a little while before going to the other house,” Hanbin said, mustering up a soft smile. “I’m sure Hansol wants to be with _____ anyway.”

“What happens to her?” Joshua suddenly asked. “From what I know, if the werewolf had a werewolf sibling by blood, the sibling becomes alpha.”

“An alpha can also denounce their alpha status if they leave their pack,” Soomin spoke up, being an expert on this thanks to Beom. “If Kyung chooses, she doesn’t have to be their alpha. However, if she wants to be alpha but chooses to come with us to be with Hansol–”

“Doubtful,” Jeonghan commented.

“–then she cannot be her pack’s alpha,” Soomin concluded, ignoring Jeonghan.

“Look, that’s _____’s choice,” Seungcheol spoke up, “and she’s not around, so let’s not discuss it.”

“Let’s discuss how Wonwoo drugged yet another girl,” Danbi spoke up, making the pack erupt with laughter, happy her comment could ease more of the somberness. “You’re really on a roll, Woo.”

“Yeah, he’s really a peach,” Soomin nodded, making Wonwoo’s face turn red as he smiled and rolled his eyes.

-

The pack started to fall asleep in various places of the living room, but Eunjin had noticed Seungcheol excused himself and never returned. She recalled him going outside, so since she was one of the only people still awake -- the voices wouldn’t let her sleep -- she decided to go see what was up. She figured he just couldn’t sleep, and she didn’t blame him considering the events that had occurred.

Eunjin opened the front door and poked her head out. Standing by the railing of the porch was Seungcheol, looking up at the stars. She stepped outside and softly closed the door, walking over to stand beside him. The wood of the deck was cold on her bare feet but it felt nice.

Even though Eunjin sometimes unintentionally snuck up on even the wolves, the alpha knew she was there and began talking to her, still staring up at the stars, “Do you believe in Heaven?” 

Her brows furrowed, “What?”

“I wonder if that’s where Jiung ended up,” he continued, his voice soft. “Or maybe ghosts exist and he’s still around. I don’t know if those voices are ghosts or just...something else.”

Eunjin frowned, looking up at Seungcheol, “You don’t feel guilty, do you?”

He shrugged, “I just feel…sad. He shouldn’t have died. He wasn’t just a leader and a pack brother, he was somebody’s twin brother. He was such a caring person, it just– The whole situation just sucks.”

They both knew the pack was worried for Hansol because of what happened. You blamed him, and Hansol even blamed himself. Not only that, but Joshua pointed out that you weren’t doing well emotionally, and clearly lashed out without thinking things through. If you did anything to yourself, nobody was sure what would happen to Hansol. Sure, he would be patient with you, but if you just flat out denied him, you’d both die. If you ran off and did something to yourself… The question that people wondered was if Hansol would be able to carry on like Joshua had, or if the heartache would be too much for him.

Seungcheol was probably more worried about that right now. Hansol was the second youngest in the pack and Seungcheol wanted to make sure he’d be okay. The alpha wanted to somehow help, but he didn’t know how to. What could he say to help the situation? What could anybody say?

“Where’s Hansol?” the banshee wondered quietly.

“He’s just waiting outside _____’s door,” he replied with a sigh, finally looking away from the stars to look down at his hand on the railing. “He wants to give her space, but he wants to be there for her, too. Jaesang told him that _____’s feeling just as conflicted.”

“Sounds familiar,” she murmured, raising your eyebrows as she recalled not only her own confliction with Seungkwan, but the stories she heard of the alpha and Jooyeon.

Seungcheol chuckled, his golden eyes looking down at his sister, “Kinda does, huh? I guess our pack has an issue with conflicting feelings.”

Eunjin let out a soft sigh and simply nodded. She thought it would be weird to tell Seungcheol that she had a feeling everything would eventually be okay because of what the voices were telling her, so she opted to just leave the conversation on a somewhat lighthearted note.

[robininthelabyrinth]

If you’re still taking prompts, how about an AU where Wei Wuxian is also one of Jin Guangshan’s illegitimate sons

Wei Wuxian’s life might have been different if his mother had gone onwards to visit the Jiang sect, following a glimpse of that handsome young man she’d met so briefly early on, but in the end she’d decided to go a different way – she ended up in Yunmeng after all, but that young man, a servant, had already gotten another woman to be his wife and Cangse Sanren was nobody’s mistress.

She’d made that clear once already.

The Jiang sect leader’s wife liked her on the spot – “Madame Jin conveys her thanks to you for putting her husband in her place, although regretfully that the doctors say his vital root will eventually recover from your well-placed kicks” – and the sect leader liked her, too; she made him laugh, and he liked the child she’d brought with her, a baby as vivacious as she was.  

She stayed there a few years, until the sect leader stopped merely looking a little too long and started looking at her instead of looking at his wife. That was unacceptable: it was clear that she wouldn’t be able to stay much longer without tearing them apart. Still, she wasn’t one to leave without making an impact: she took both the sect leader and his wife to bed for a tumble that lasted a week, and left while they were still stunned speechless.

Her only regret was how her little A-Ying cried for his shijie and his Jiang Cheng, who he’d grown close to, but she told him that he’d see them again one day and soon enough he found his smile again.

That was her baby boy, forgetting pain once it’d healed - just like her.

She refused to give his name to her precious son, but she was reluctant to give her own, having learned to her sorrow that this world of men was unkind to women and even less kind to the fatherless. In the end, she kept the courtesy name the Jiang sect leader had given him and stolen the surname of the handsome man who’d once offered it to her – she rather liked the idea of stealing someone’s name because of a rashly made promise. 

As she’d expected, it made it easier to pretend she was a widow rather than a silly girl who’d been deceived; an irritating pretense, but a necessary one, in this ridiculous world of men.

And so her A-Ying became Wei Wuxian.

She traveled around, aimless, knowing there was something out there for her to do but not entirely sure what, and it gnawed at her right up until the day her little Wei Wuxian ran over to her, shouting, “A-niang! A-niang! I found a brother!”

She’d assumed he was joking – he often tried to play tricks on her, and she played tricks on him right back – but in fact he wasn’t: little Meng Yao, a few years older than her son, had just enough of the same features to make the blood connection obvious.

Cangse Sanren sighed for the stupidity of her past self – so many good suitors, and she’d just had to pick the worst of the lot, hadn’t she? – and crouched down with a smile. 

“Where do you live?” she asked. “Where’s your mother?”

Meng Yao refused to tell her at first, no matter how many sweets and toys she plied him with. She didn’t want to embarrass him by following him home, so she rented a small house and waited; in the end, Wei Wuxian tried to beat up a passing boy for calling Meng Yao the son of a whore and Meng Yao had only been able to stop him by confessing that it was true.

“Well, that won’t do,” Cangse Sanren said, feeling rather cross about the whole thing. “Come on, lead me to her, or else I’ll go around knocking at every brothel in town asking for a girl surnamed ‘Meng’.”

Meng Shi was pretty as a peony and graceful as an orchid, and upon meeting her for the first time Cangse Sanren, who was quite used to beauties, blurted out, “He’s not only a dog but a fool.”

Sadly, Meng Shi preferred men, disappointing previous experiences or no, but she was nevertheless amenable to Cangse Sanren’s proposal of living together – night-hunting being more than profitable enough to buy Meng Shi’s life contract from the brothel within a few months – if it meant that Meng Yao would have the chance to learn to cultivate at the foot of a proper master.

In that way, Cangse Sanren got herself a friend and Wei Wuxian a brother, and felt quite pleased with it.

“We don’t need him,” she declared, full of wine and good company, arm around Meng Shi’s shoulders as the other woman rolled her eyes at her. “A-Yao, forget everything you’ve ever heard about him – he’s a waste of space, a wretch, a dog! Like a purebred horse, he’s fit only for breeding, which means your mother and I got the best part of him already.”

Meng Yao covered his eyes and groaned dramatically, and then went back to arguing with Wei Wuxian as to which one of them deserved to be called gege; Meng Yao took the position that he was older, with Wei Wuxian arguing that he’d become a disciple first.

Not that two small children who were also brothers made for much of a sect.

The thought caught something in Cangse Sanren’s brain, and the next morning she grinned at Meng Shi and said, full of mischief, “I wonder how many others there are out there.”

“No,” Meng Shi said firmly. “Night-hunting alone is dangerous enough, and barely enough to pay for our expenses –”

“It’d stretch a bit further if Mistress Meng were a little less accustomed to silk!”

“– and anyway who even knows how many there might be?”

“There can’t be that many,” Cangse Sanren said. “For all that he’s a scum, he’s also lazy – look at both our boys trying to get up in the morning –”

“Your boy can’t get up in the morning,” Meng Shi said. “Mine likes to have some time to himself. There’s a difference. Also, you can’t blame everything you dislike on him when it’s obviously a trait inherited from you.”

“Can’t I? I think I can. Anyway, as I was saying, he’s lazy: he stayed with me nearly two years and would have stayed longer if I hadn’t cottoned onto him, and you nearly four; and of course he doesn’t have any at home for fear of his wife…no, I’m telling you, a dozen at most.”

“You’re only counting the women he supported,” Meng Shi pointed out. “What about the ones that only happened once, or the married wives?”

Cangse Sanren dismissed these issues with a wave of her hand. “Let’s start with the ones like us. There’s got to be some other young would-be cultivators out there.”

There were, although little Mo Xuanyu, their next find, had been so terrified and tormented by all his relatives until he’d had the personality of a bowl of quivering steamed pudding – he wouldn’t make for much of a cultivator, Cangse Sanren divined at once, but even Meng Shi had to admit that taking him with them was better than leaving him back in the Mo household. 

His own mother had sold him to them for a gold coin, calling him a disappointment as she did, and Cangse Sanren had muttered for the next shichen about some people deserving the scum they hooked up with until Meng Shi started making sad noises just to make her shut up.

Damn that woman was good.

The next few they found were quite happy at home – it seemed that Jin Guangshan threw girls more often than boys, and that girls were able to live quite well on the promise of their children having a cultivator grandfather, so they didn’t need much help – and Cangse Sanren had just given up on bothering to find any more, three children with three very different personalities being rather a lot to deal with on top of night-hunting and keeping Meng Shi in her silks, when the Jiang sect finally caught up with her.

Apparently they’d been looking. Who’d have guessed?

“You had that and turned it down?!” Meng Shi hissed, her eyes full of the (admittedly rather handsome) Jiang Sect leader. “What is wrong with you?”

“Many things, probably,” Cangse Sanren admitted, and under the circumstances let herself be seduced back to Yunmeng with the promise of free housing, childcare, and all expenses paid, plus Wei Wuxian screaming “Shijie! Jiang Cheng!” at the top of his lungs at the first sight of a lotus flower sigil.

They’d stayed first at the Lotus Pier, but in the end got their own house: they’d gotten used to it the past few years, and anyway living with a friend was better than living with a lover - fighting over mundane things like laundry and did-you-remember-to-dust-behind-the-shelf was a lot easier when you didn’t have to think about being sexy at some future date.

Meng Shi never did get the hang of having a real job, teaching music and flirting to all the local children in equal measure, and perhaps most importantly she watched the children whenever Cangse Sanren went out night-hunting along with the Jiangs – along with the other things she did with the two of them while they were temporarily unburdened by the presence of nearly a dozen small, prying eyes.

At first Cangse Sanren was concerned about a repeat of last time, but it turned out Meng Shi was good for that, too; Madame Yu wasn’t as bothered about her husband sharing a bed with the witty, charming, pretty-as-a-flower Meng Shi when it meant she got to have Cangse Sanren to herself in her own.

As life went, it was pretty good, Cangse Sanren was willing to admit, especially when the discussion conference came around and she was finally able to rid Meng Shi of her remaining illusions. It was a good life, a happy life, and it was something she’d forged with her own two hands; she was very pleased about it.

Meng Yao never quite stopped wearing a smiling face that hid daggers, but it was a little easier to forgive his vindictive viciousness once he’d started doing it to defend his younger brothers as well as himself – it was good for him to spend time with Jiang Yanli, whose friendliness and innate goodness routinely caused him to question everything he thought he knew about human nature. 

They played a great deal of chess, which Jiang Yanli routinely lost with a smile, and in return he reminded her that she was still at the age to be adopted, not do the adopting herself – which she sometimes forgot.

Wei Wuxian finally agreed to Meng Yao’s seniority now that he had both Mo Xuanyu and Jiang Cheng to bully and lead around by the nose; he remained as high-spirited and vivacious as he’d ever been, but – and it was probably for the best – his reckless arrogance was tempered by constantly being outsmarted in the first instance by a well-prepared Meng Yao.

Mo Xuanyu, the family baby, spent a great deal of time clinging to Jiang Cheng; no one entirely understood why or how their quiet, shy wallflower had gotten attached to someone so abrasive and easily angered, but somehow Jiang Cheng routinely cursing him as an idiot and a useless good-for-nothing did more to wash away the scars left over from the Mo household than anything else anyone had ever done.

It was – good.

So when the Wens came to tear it all down, well.

None of them were going to put up with that.

[aethersea]

May I request 41 - First Kiss and 94 - Hair Brushing/Braiding for the Leverage OT3, please? (Also extra bonus points if you give Eliot beads in his hair like in The Ice Man Job, because we didn't get NEARLY enough of that in the show) Thank you!

I cannot believe I wrote this whole thing out and then never published it. I’m so sorry, it’s been at least twenty-four years since you sent in this ask, please accept my humble apologies and also this ficlet.

However, this prompt is just pure fluff, and I hate to tell you this but I am not a fluff writer. I just can’t pull off that unadulterated sweetness. I am in this fandom for the shenanigans, first, last and foremost! So this fic is now a 5+1 of Eliot and Parker trying to seduce Hardison.

1. Parker thinks they need to give him gifts, so she goes through her stash and picks out the largest, fanciest jewel she’s ever stolen. Then she realizes: Hardison likes stories. He spends hours giving their aliases histories and pets and allergies and favorite foods, he can get a whole sordid history of jealousy and betrayal from a single corporate email chain, and Parker knows for a cold fact that he writes little stories with his online friends about being wizards together.

She goes through her stash again and picks out the most cursed thing she’s ever stolen.

It’s a jeweled statuette, almost as tall as her forearm, made of gold and studded with precious and semi-precious stones. Mysterious deaths have befallen five separate owners of this thing. Its base is dented from the time it was used to bludgeon Owner Number Three to death. The tiny rubies it has for eyes follow you across the room.

Parker puts a bow on it and leaves it in Hardison’s room while he’s sleeping. He wakes up to this horrible little statue watching him from his bedside table.

He texts the group chat, Hey did anyone put an evil little gold guy in my bedroom last night? But Parker chickens out and says nothing (drunkenly betting Eliot that she can seduce Hardison is one thing, but admitting that she likes him is something else altogether). Everyone else texts back variations on “nope.” (Except Sophie, who just sends back a string of heart eyes emojis and a wikipedia link. She loves cursed artifacts.) So Hardison puts the statue away in a closet somewhere and figures he’ll deal with it later.

Parker is mildly offended that he put her gift in a closet. She goes into his room the next night and puts it back on the bedside table, where it clearly belongs.

This goes on for a week. Hardison puts the statue in a desk drawer, then in one of the cabinets in the office downstairs, then in the dumpster down the street. Every day he wakes up to those glittering red eyes watching him sleep. He’s asked his internet buddies if anyone knows a good exorcist. Hardison doesn’t really believe in curses, but also? What the fuck. What the fuck.

~

2. Eliot assumes the drunken bet will be forgotten by morning. What kind of world would it be if people always followed through on promises they made while they could barely stay vertical? So he spends the morning nursing his hangover and cleaning his knives. Cleaning guns is no good while hungover—all the snaps and clicks of popping things in and out of place sound like actual gunfire when you’re hungover, it’s a nightmare—but knives are quiet and have no moving parts. Buffing and polishing them is soothingly repetitive work, and every once in a while he can throw one at one of the dartboards on the walls and reassure himself that his reflexes are still sound even after that much tequila.

It’s only when he gets Hardison’s text about the golden statuette that magically appeared in his room overnight that Eliot realizes Parker’s actually going for it. After some internal debate about whether he’s going to stoop to this or not, Eliot decides what the hell and starts making plans.

Eliot agrees that gifts are the way to go, but not stolen gifts. Not things. Anyone can give a thing. Proper wooing is about giving experiences.

Eliot plans for three days. On the fourth day, he and Hardison have their irregularly scheduled monthly coffee date, and Eliot texts him beforehand to say he wants to do it at the brewpub this time. Hardison arrives to find a deceptively simple meal: basic country fare perfected through years of experimentation, made with the best ingredients Eliot can get his hands on. And Eliot, after all, is still a retrieval specialist. There’s very little in the world he can’t get his hands on.

And yet the night ends and somehow he has not gotten his hands on Hardison.

This is just not right. Eliot knows how to deploy a smolder, okay, Tangled reference aside he is damn good at flirting and he knows the looks he’s giving Hardison are clear as day. It’d be one thing if Hardison had turned him down, or if he’d been uneasily unwilling, or even if his eyes had widened slightly in suppressed panic and he’d abruptly found a reason to leave. Eliot can take rejection, bet or no, and he’d have bowed out graciously without a fuss. But this was much, much worse.

Hardison didn’t even notice he was flirting.

He’s going to have to up his game.

~

3. “How do you seduce people?” Parker asks bluntly, turning up at Sophie’s door just past midnight.

Sophie, despite the hour, is utterly delighted by the question.

This goes as well as you would expect.

~

4. Eliot’s taken a lot of dates to sports games. Hardison may prefer sparkly elves with purple lightning magic to a decent MMA fight, but baseball is the American pastime. Eliot gets them perfect seats, hot dogs from the best vendor in the stadium, even chilled beer that he smuggles in without letting it get warm. It’s going to be a perfect game.

And it is. At first. Hardison, it turns out, has a lot of opinions about baseball. What he does not have is an understanding of the rules. They’re not even into the second inning by the time Eliot finally snaps and starts arguing with him about it.

They make it all the way to the fifth inning before Eliot realizes that Hardison’s basing his complaints off the rules of a game from a Star Wars novel.

They’re at the bottom of the eighth before Eliot will speak to him again.

~

5. Eliot and Parker are drunk again. This is not intentional. They didn’t even mean to come to this bar, but the smoothie place with the fried oreos that Eliot had brought Parker here to try was playing such incredibly bad music that they’d ordered the oreos to go and fled. The bar was just the coziest looking place on the block, and of course they’d ordered drinks to avoid being rude––Eliot had entertained himself for a few minutes scouring the menu for something that would pair well with fried oreos and popcorn chicken.

And now they’re drunk. The conversation has, perhaps inevitably, turned to the ongoing bet.

“I tried everything!” Parker wails. “I laughed at every joke, I touched my hair constantly, I got him talking about things he likes.” She thunks her forehead on the bar. “All that happened is now I know the complete history of orcs in western literature.”

“Hardison wouldn’t know flirting if it pinched him on the ass,” Eliot grumbles.

Parker slaps his arm. “No pinching Hardison!”

“I’m not going to—I don’t pinch people!”

Parker’s ignoring him. Eliot pouts and takes another sip of his drink. He’s not entirely sure what this one is––it’s blue and kind of fizzy, that’s all he can say for sure. Parker took over the drinks menu several glasses ago, and she’s been picking them based on what has the most fun name to say. Eliot’s pretty sure the alcohol content’s been doubling with each order.

“Eliot,” Parker slurs, “we need to work together.”

“What?”

Parker lifts her head from the bar and frowns at him, the way she does when she’s figured out the obvious solution and is just waiting for everyone else to get on the same page. It’s adorable. It’s always adorable, but right now her eyes are wide and slightly unfocused from the alcohol and she’s listing sideways a little, almost as if she’s unbalanced, and it is the most adorable thing Eliot has ever seen. Parker’s never unbalanced, but some part of Eliot’s fuzzy brain thinks she’s about to fall on top of him and cannot wait to catch her.

“You can’t seduce Hardison,” Parker points out. Eliot is drunk enough to get offended by this, but too drunk to get out a complaint before she continues, “I can’t seduce Hardison. But if we work together, the two of us can definitely seduce Hardison. Together.”

Eliot stares at her. Then he takes another sip of his fizzy blue drink. Later, when questioned, he will blame his next words on that drink.

“Worth a shot.”

They take Hardison to a movie. They research for three weeks beforehand. They find the best movie theater in town, with the nicest seats, the biggest screens, and concession snacks that Hardison likes, and they buy tickets for the midnight premiere of the superhero movie that Hardison hasn’t shut up about for the past month. Parker even hacks into the theater’s computers in a last-minute fit of nerves and cross-references the credit cards with drivers’ licenses to make sure the people sitting in front of them won’t be too tall.

Parker witnesses a kidnapping in the parking lot while the boys are getting popcorn. They don’t even stay long enough to catch the commercials.

~

+ 1. “Hey Eliot,” Hardison says during movie night, a little over a week later. “Remember the Ice Man Job?”

Eliot groans. “I try not to.”

Hardison throws a piece of popcorn at his face. “Shut up. Remember how you did your hair for that one? With the little—those little beads on, like, a braid?”

Eliot shoots Hardison a suspicious glance. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Teach me how to do that.”

Eliot shoots Hardison another, more deliberate look, this one pointedly directed at Hardison’s complete lack of braidable locks.

Hardison rolls his eyes as if that’s a silly detail to get hung up on and leans forward to dig around in one of the boxes he has under his coffee table. He emerges with a ziplock bag of plastic beads in no time flat and hands it triumphantly to Eliot. Then he yanks a few cushions out from behind Parker, who’s sitting on his other side, and puts them on the floor in front of him. “Sit here?” he asks Parker, patting the cushion pile.

Parker takes a moment to consider being offended at having her cushions stolen, but curiosity gets the better of her and she just plops down between Hardison’s legs, grabbing the bowl of popcorn as she goes, and waits.

Hardison lifts her hair with sudden gentleness, drawing it over her shoulders and letting it fall down her back in a golden wave. His fingers brush against her neck. Parker shivers. Eliot is distantly aware that he’s gone perfectly still, focused with a hunter’s intensity on Hardison’s dark, graceful fingers carding through Parker’s hair.

Hardison leans back, hands on his knees, and Eliot breathes again. “Well?” Hardison looks over at Eliot, a tiny smirk of challenge on his lips. “Show me how it’s done.”

Eliot is suddenly, brutally aware of how close they are. Hardison’s couch is obscenely comfortable, which is half the reason movie nights are at Hardison’s in the first place, but it is not large. Their thighs are touching. Hardison leans away, to give Eliot access to Parker’s hair, and he’s still so close that Eliot would barely have to reach out a hand to—

Eliot ruthlessly shoves that thought down into the dark where it belongs. He dealt with this, he dealt with this years ago, and accepting Parker’s stupid bet doesn’t mean he’s forgotten the way Hardison and Parker look at each other. It just means he doesn’t mind losing for a good cause.

So he keeps his tone steady and his fingers brisk as he shows Hardison how to braid the clunky plastic beads into Parker’s hair, and if he flushes with heat when their hands brush each other, well, nobody has to know. He’s been trained to withstand eight different schools of torture. It won’t show on his face. His voice never once falters.

Parker has had no such training. Her lips have parted, and her breathing is shallow. She’s staring glassy-eyed at the TV. Hardison can’t see her face, sitting behind her, but Eliot watches her carefully, worried that they need to call this off. Parker’s not used to intimacy, to closeness that means something, and for all the three of them have spent half their movie nights literally on top of each other, this is something else. This has weight.

Eliot puts a hand on her shoulder, pressing down just enough that Parker startles and cants a glance over at him. Eliot raises his eyebrows in question, and Parker glares back: don’t you fucking dare. Eliot backs off. Hardison, frowning in concentration as he threads a wisp of Parker’s hair through a green bead, graciously pretends he didn’t see the exchange.

Hardison gets the hang of the beading fairly quickly, and Eliot shows him a few different techniques. He’s almost managed to convince himself that nothing is actually happening when Hardison says, conversationally, “You two are really bad at this.”

Eliot glowers his confusion. “At movie night? You started this, if you wanted to actually watch Alien then you shouldn’t have—”

Hardison’s smile is soft, but Eliot decides for his own safety to focus on the laughter at its edge. “No, at this.” And then he slides his hand onto Parker’s neck, caresses her cheek, and isn’t the slightest bit surprised when she gasps.

Parker whips around, and there’s hurt on her face but it dies in the glow of Hardison’s gentle, unteasing smile. Hardison pulls her up with the lightest of touches, and she goes, eyes fixed on his like salvation.

They kiss sweet and slow, and Eliot’s heart twists in his chest and he can’t breathe. He needs to leave now before he shatters in half, but if he moves then they will look at him, and he would rather never breathe again than meet their eyes right now.

Hardison breaks off the kiss, gazing at Parker with something just this side of wonder, and then he does look at Eliot. Eliot flinches. He opens his mouth to…say something, make some joke or hasty excuse and scramble out the door, but Hardison raises a hand to Eliot’s face, slides his long fingers to cup Eliot’s neck, and pulls him forward, as gently as he did Parker.

It’s a chaste kiss, no more than a soft press of lips, because Eliot is too stunned to respond and Hardison doesn’t push. It lasts a long time. A whole era of change happens in the span of that kiss, as everything Eliot thought he knew tears out of place and then settles, gingerly, into a new understanding.

Hardison pulls away, his hand still warm on the back of Eliot’s neck. His smile is pure sunshine. Eliot finds himself smiling back, helpless.

Hardison’s grin turns smug. “And that,” he says, looking between Eliot and Parker, “is how you do it. Y’all are disasters, honestly, I can’t believe two master criminals working together couldn’t manage a single real date—”

Eliot heaves a deep sigh and drags Hardison into a headlock, pinning his arms when he flails. Parker surges to her knees and starts tickling him mercilessly.

They don’t finish the movie.

[chidoroki]

TPN ch181

(spoilers! AAAHHhhaha..my children!)

Okay, so remember in my last review when I said I was impressed how Ray, Gilda and Phil managed to narrow down where Emma might be in the matter of a couple months? Well, I take it back because it hasnt been just a few months, it's been two damn years! Oh my god, I can't imagine how hard it must've been for everyone, especially our two boys, to search for so long without even getting on single clue about Emma's whereabouts. Some of the children still doubt whether she's alive or actually in this world with them or not.

(image limit, so imagine the panels of the Goldy Pond kids discussing the lack of clues and Thoma and Lani doubting the reward again)

Thankfully, Gilda gets the idea to search in forbidden zones which is where we see her, Ray and Phil. Speaking of which, oh my poor boy. This is the longest Ray has been without Emma by his side. I thought the one month after Goldy Pond was hard enough on him, but two whole years? Damn, I can't imagine the stress and anxiety he's been experiencing. He's still so frustrated too and gets so close to Emma without even realizing it. Then, surprisingly, his beloved family steps in to help? The people he personally couldn't save now come together to help him save the one person who originally saved his life. Like, hello?? I love this! Conny, who was another sibling he had to use in order to put his initial escape plan in motion to save Emma and Norman's lives, is now assisting him in saving Emma from being alone. Yuugo, who knows firsthand how important Emma is to Ray and how close they are. Isabella, knowing her son kept his promise as he's always set out to do whatever it takes to protect his entire family. The fact that Ray's lost family members can feel how strong his bond with Emma is and they jump in to help reconnect the two of them again.. just, wow. It may be all the rayemma week feels getting to me but that's like a damn soulmate occurrence if i ever saw one!

The two unknowingly pass each other again but thanks to Emma conveniently losing her necklace and finding it with perfect timing, they all finally encounter each other. Everyone expresses their complete shock and relief that they had finally found Emma, and while I am happy they their search ended up a success, the mood changes fairly quickly due to our girls lost memories. She hasnt the slightest idea who "Emma" is, who these people are or why they're so excited to see her. The kids wonder if they have the right girl, as they take notice of Emma's bare neck.

One look at the necklace in her hand though and Ray finally puts the pieces together. Honestly, I'm not at all surprised he's the one to figure out the true reward, as Ray has been very perceptive since the beginning. He's also always been openly honest and blunt when things get serious, so naturally he's the one who has to let everyone know this because while it's a sad truth no one wants to hear, or even believe, they all need to realize it, including Emma. Even Ray has trouble coming to terms with the sacrifice Emma made. He understands how hard it must have been for Emma to accept the heavy price of her forgetting the family she loves so deeply and he looks so broken when he realizes that. He must be feeling so guilty that he couldn't have been there with her when she made the new promise. He still puts the blame on himself and he's so upset that his failure lead Emma to live in a world alone without the family she cares for more than anything.

I wasn't too satisfied last chapter when demon god told us the real reward and Emma's response was a simple "okay," so I'm grateful we learned more about the conversation now in this chapter. She really did want to live her family. She even knew some of them might get mad at her for keeping a secret. She says it's a selfish request, for her to place such a heavy burden on herself, but what mattered to her back then upon accepting the reward is what has always mattered to her, and that's her family's happiness and safety. It wasn't just her loved one either, but for all the demons and cattle children. This girl truly has a heart of gold and demon god himself is left surprised. Of course I wish she didn't think she was being selfish since everyone did agree to follow her as their leader but aahh.. my poor girl.

Spoiling the very end now, but we dont get one last fullscore trio hug. Of course that upsets me since I thought it would've made such a perfect ending, but it makes sense now given how everyone's reunion with Emma happened. While their happiness and relief is completely understandable after searching two years and finally finding Emma, they overreact and this visibly freaks her out. Come on guys, last time I said to gently remind her of her past, not bombard her right away. Having a ton of strangers surround you and tell you such outlandish things is quite jarring. I'm glad she takes the chance to listen to everyone, but she just doesnt know these people well enough to suddenly hug them. I imagined a hug would've happened upon her recalling some of her memories somehow and feeling relived that she met the two boys she often once dreamt about, but oh well.

Norman takes this time to step in and ease some of the tension, saying how happy he is that Emma's alive and even reiterating some of the things he said to her during his shipment scene. While this chapter soon shows how well the escapees have adapted to the human world and changed, it also puts an emphasis on the boy's true personalities that they showed since the very beginning. I've already mentioned above how Ray stayed true to himself, about him being open and honest to the others with the truth and even his own feelings. With Norman, I don't know the word for him really, but his speech about their family and his feelings remind me of ch1/ep1 where we see him trying to calm Emma down after seeing what they did at the gate. He stayed by her side and remained hopeful even though he was just as scared. Right now, I get the same vibes. He's just as upset as their family upon learning Emma lost her memories, but he still wants her to be apart of their family.

Although it seems like a very rushed way of tying up loose ends, I'm happy to hear about how well the children have been adapting in the human world. They're attending school and following their passions. They all look so happy! The entire Lambda crew is healthy and Cislo even has a prosthetic leg! The medicine made from Adam's dna was successful and also helped those children from the mass production farms. Mike Ratri and the clan are actually being helpful and trustworthy. I absolutely love Norman's comment about Ayshe not killing him! It really makes me smile and I assume that means she's forgiven him.. maybe. Her dogs were indeed able to cross over to the human world too and now there's even more! Chris is finally awake! They seriously have to fill the poor boy in on so much news though.

I get it. It took the entire story for me to understand but now I get Norman's intense feelings. He's been infatuated by this girl since childhood. He told us/Ray his feelings at age 11 then "gave his life" to give her a better chance at survival. He kept living just for the slight possibly to see her again. After almost two years, they reunite, only for about a week or two before they all cross over into the human world and Emma is no where to be seen. Another two years pass and while they all find her, she's almost a completely difference person. Yet Norman's feelings remain so sincere for her that he accepts this new Emma. He lets her know that the bright future she wished for came true. (me? speaking of noremma? even im surprised)

Her head might not have the slightest idea who these people are, but her heart surely remembers! Emma's feelings for her family were so strong that they persisted throughout these entire two years, even after she stopped having those dreams about them. Deep down, and without even realizing it, she loves them so much that it makes her cry.

“Why am I... Even though I don't know them. Though I don't know anything. Though I can't remember. Why... Does it feel warm, but also so painful in my heart? I wanted to see you.”

Seeing everyone else get emotional and expressing their feelings to her right back and having all of them accept this new Emma.. yeah, that has me in tears! Demon god truly underestimated these kids and how deep their love for each other went. Emma's family was never going to give up looking for her because, thanks to her influence, they also didn't believe anything was impossible. “Screw destiny” indeed! (also we never did learn the old dude's name or Emma's new one hm? odd.)

Did Emma get her memories back? No. Did Ray pat her head again so I could die from nostalgia? No, because I'm still here. Did we get a fullscore hug like I originally hoped? No, sadly. The ending isn't picture perfect but honestly, this is still okay. Our precious girl is finally reunited with her family again. Most importantly, they're alive. The trio are teenagers about 15/16 years old now, which amazing since they once believed they wouldn't see a day past the age of 12. Yet here they are, living happy and free in the human world without fear and killing, which is exactly what Emma wished for.

I can't believe the manga is truly finished. It feels like it all went by so quick, but perhaps that's only because I haven't been in the fandom as long as others, like if you've been here since the manga started then I applaud you and can't imagine how sad this must be after four years. The anime is what caught my attention and my love for this series only grew when I jumped into the manga right after season one ended. I must have binged all available chapters at the time in like three days, all the way up to ch129. Since then I've waited patiently week after week to see how this suspenseful story would pan out for out lovable and very large cast of characters. Each new twist and cliffhanger made my brain crazy and stressed me out but it was so great to experience them with everyone.

Also, big thanks to all of you who share your comments on these reviews of mine! Even though I started writing them pretty late into the story and at the most stressful time, it was great to hear so much feedback and experience the exciting finish with everyone. The manga may have ended, but don't let that make the fandom quiet! We still have future manga volume releases to look forward to, the live-action movie that is still set for this December along with a live-action series that was also recently announced. Most importantly, season two of the anime is still scheduled for January 2021! You can bet I'll do reactions for each episode as I normally do with other anime! The series still has so much more content to give us, especially if the anime continues to recieve future seasons over the upcoming years, so of course I'll give my thoughts on all that I can.

I give all my thanks and appreciation to Shirai & Demizu for such a wonderful and suspenseful story, for all the memorable characters and the stunning artwork. The series has truly become my favorite. That's right, I said it! My favorite. TPN has taken over Black Lagoon as my favorite series. (Revy can still keep her spot as my favorite character but I'll be damned if Ray isn't a really really close second.)