#less than a block away but the bus only comes once an hour so.

[probssomethingorother]

Back & Forth: a the last of us fic

another one of my fics! cross posting here :)

post-episode 8 Silver Lake hurt/comfort

Ellie & Joel, both riding the struggle bus, canon compliant,

Rating: Mature for dark themes, nothing more than the show

It was Joel who stumbled first.

He had felt the strength seeping out of him with every step so viscerally it was like his body was a container with a slow leak. His gate would falter and his hand would slip further down her shoulder, power waning. He would cough in his throat and blink forcefully trying to reignite the spark of energy that had carried him to Ellie just hours ago, but it was all a losing battle. And eventually, he lost it.

It was Ellie who moved first after that.

Another post-episode 8 fic cause (say it with me) there is really never enough!!!

chp 1 | chp 2 | chp 3 | chp 4 | chp 5 | chp 6 | chp 7

~28k words and on going (although not going to lie, its slow moving folks)

Preview the fic with chapter 1 undercut, although I think chapter 2 is much much better ...so if you skip to that I'm not going to blame ya

AND AND if anyone has any ideas for chapter 8 PLEASE PLEASE hit me up. STRUGGLING with writers block over here. I've tried to write something sooooo many times and come up with trash.

Chapter 1 ---

It was Joel who stumbled first.

He had felt the strength seeping out of him with every step so viscerally it was like his body was a container with a slow leak. His gate would falter and his hand would slip further down her shoulder, power waning. He would cough in his throat and blink forcefully trying to reignite the spark of energy that had carried him to Ellie just hours ago, but it was all a losing battle. And eventually, he lost it.

His right knee buckled, and then his left, and then he was falling to the ground, vision going black, Ellie coming with him in his wake. They landed face-first, their bodies mirroring the position they had been walking in—tucked close, Joel's arm draped over Ellie's shoulders, Ellie's arm clutching a fistful of fabric on Joel's back.

It was Ellie who moved first after that.

Once the initial shock of the fall dissipated, she raised her head slowly, eyes coming to meet the horizon line of the ground before casting a glance to the side towards Joel. His face was turned away from her, leaving Ellie only able to see the back of his head, his brown hair streaked with silver and dotted with unmelted snowflakes.

The weight of his arm across her upper back felt almost crushing, a bit anxiety-inducing even. It hadn’t felt like that before as they walked, but now it was entirely too much. With a soft whimper, Ellie released her grasp on the back of Joel’s thin jacket, and flipped herself over, before shoving his limp arm off of her and scooting out from under it. Joe’s leather coat fell off her frame in the process, but she ignored it even when the cold air hit her body like a punch, and made her shiver.

“Joel?” It came out as a hoarse squeak, barely audible over the sounds of the wind. He didn’t move or make any sort of sound, frozen in the position as he had fallen. Ellie had become comfortably numb in their walk away from Silver Lake - physically and mentally- but the deafening sound of his silence was enough to snap her out of any lingering dissociation. Getting onto her hand and knees, Ellie padded over to his other side, her heart quickening with nerves.

His eyes were shut as she crossed in front of him, catching glimpses of his cloudy breath escaping from his barely parted lips, almost buried in the snow. He was breathing and alive, for now. Just out cold.

Ellie’s small red-stained hand came to his shoulder and gave him a jostle, trying to rouse him. “Joel?” Another shake. “Joel.” There was less of a questioning tone on the second utterance of his name; it came out maybe even a little apathetic.

When he didn’t respond, Ellie sat back on her knees, debating what to do this time. For better or worse, this wasn’t the first time she was left with an unconscious Joel, in the snow, fleeing a bad situation.

“Joel open your eyes. Open your eyes. Joel you gotta get up… I can’t fucking do this without you. I don’t know where the fuck I’m going, or what the fuck I’m gonna do… Joel…. Please. Joel, please.”

This time though, there was no pleading or frantic begging. Ellie wasn’t exactly sure if that was because she was too tired to do so, or if the shock of seeing him in this state again was just less on the second go around. Whatever the reason was, she didn’t particularly care. She just knew she wasn’t going to put herself in that emotionally vulnerable spot again, especially not after today. 

With a sigh, she used a good amount of her diminished energy to push and roll him over onto his back. She had forgotten how fucking heavy he was as dead weight. Goddamn.

A small groan escaped from Joel when Ellie moved him, but it seemed to be a reflex more than anything. 

“Joel?” Still nothing, but she checked just in case. 

And then it was like the clock reset, and no time had passed at all. The day's events hadn't even happened, it felt more like she had just come back from hunting or giving Callus some snow to munch. It was automatic, practiced, and systematic the way Ellie went to work, checking his state as she did over and over and over again in the basement. There was no difference, everything was on her. 

Hand to forehead - cold. Good. They were out in the snow, he probably should be cold.

Finger under nose - a subtle breath. Fine. 

Ear to chest- solid thumps. His heart’s still beating.

All great signs.

Her cold fingers struggled with the next step, grasping the bottom of his shirt shakily and raising it up slowly to reveal his stab wound. She leaned in closer to get a better look at it, craning her neck to catch it in the right light. There was a fresh trail of blood leaking from its jagged edges, but from what Ellie could tell, all the stitches still seemed to be in place. Although, truthfully, she was having trouble recalling at the moment how many she had put in the first place.  

Regardless, it didn’t look like he was bleeding out again. He was probably just fucking exhausted, which wasn’t a big surprise considering he had pretty much been dead to the world just that morning. In fact, Ellie was still in disbelief that he had found her as she stumbled out of the steakhouse - it seemed like a pretty fucking miraculous feat that he was even in front of her if you asked her.

With the same care she had shown in uncovering the wound, Ellie carefully lowered his shirt back down, satisfied that he wasn't bleeding profusely. Biting her lip, she pondered her next move. She knew they had to keep going, keep getting away, and eventually find shelter of some sort. Her own stamina was almost non-existent and the harsh cold was making her feel dangerously numb. Last time, she had supplies and Callus; but this time, it was just her, Joel, their backpacks, and his rifle. Their sleeping bags were gone, and she got Callus shot, so repeating that method was absolutely not a possibility in the slightest.

A small tear streaked down Ellie’s blood-stained face as she remembered the horse, the memory striking a particular nerve, despite all of the other shitty things to happen to her to that day. Ellie brushed the tear away hastily, not that anyone was there to see it, but more as a force of habit if anything.

She sat back on her heels again, pulling her knees to her chest, and started to work out a plan. With a deep breath, she tried to still the shaking in her hands and the fluttering in her stomach. It was a quiet sort of apprehension, not so profound as the last time she found herself in this situation, but certainly noticeable nonetheless.

Think. Think. Her mind was working slowly, her brain reeling from repeated blows. 

Looking around, the area stretched out before them was littered with trees and uninviting to say the least. The path forward wasn’t clear at all, not like last time when she just followed the train tracks until she eventually came across that neighborhood. Despite having spent the last week or so in the area, she had no idea where she was or how far away that neighborhood was now. In fact, she wasn’t even sure Joel had been leading her back that way, back to those houses. She had practically switched her mind off after falling into his arms and really hadn’t been paying any attention til now.

With a long exhale, Ellie forced herself up, wobbling on unsteady legs, and brushed the snow off her clothes. It didn’t matter where, Ellie just knew they couldn’t stay here. If the men from Silver Lake didn’t come and find them and kill them, the cold certainly would. They couldn’t be “sitting ducks” as Joel would say. Ellie still didn’t quite understand that saying, but she knew that’s what they were right now, out in the open, practically begging for death to come their way. 

And as if on cue, a noise from the trees made her head snap up. Her ears and eyes were at attention immediately, her heart jumping into her throat. A rustling sound broke through the wind, although she couldn’t see exactly where it was coming from. Her hand immediately went for the knife at her side, which she usually kept in her pocket, but found nothing. It was probably still with David back in that fucking town. She was defenseless. Instinctively, she took a step in front of Joel, ready to protect him anyway.

The trees swayed ominously, shadows dancing at every corner of her vision. She stared at the brush, squinting at the shadows. The cold wind rushed past her, carrying with it an eerie silence like the forest was holding its breath. But as the wind died, no more sounds came, and she let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. It was probably just an animal or something- not men following after them. The realization should bring some comfort, but it doesn’t. It’s more of a reminder of what could have been, what could be, at any minute.

The tense moment gave her just enough of an adrenaline rush to push her into motion. Her body ached deeply, but she moved rather swiftly in her next actions. She grabbed Joel’s leather jacket off the cold ground and slipped on it properly, and then grabbed her backpack and did the same. Ellie then snatched Joel’s backpack from his side and slipped it onto her front, glad it was actually a little lighter than normal. Next, she untangled the rifle from Joel’s left arm and repositioned it to lay across his chest, moving both his arms across it to secure it in place.

The snow crunched under her boots as she left his side and went back towards his head. Her body protested as she bent down, crouching to grab the collar of his jacket from underneath his head. She pulled with all her might backward, and Joel’s limp body scratched across the snow, just a few inches. With a heave, she pulled him again, his body moving another inch. Her arms screamed in protest, especially one of her shoulders, and after a minute she barely managed to budge him from the spot where he had collapsed. 

“Come on!” She huffed out, extremely frustrated that he wasn’t just gliding along the ground. Ellie gave it one more go, throwing all her might into driving her feet back into the snow as she gave a forceful pull, but it just made things worse. Joel’s body stayed still, as her fingers slipped off his collar, and she stumbled back onto her butt with all the momentum, her loose hair from her disheveled ponytail whipping in her face as she fell.

“Fuck.”

A frustrated huff left her lips as she realized her attempt to drag him like this was going to be futile.

She sat back catching her breath, slipping off Joel’s pack from her front, as her mind raced for a new solution. Last time she had attached a rope to his sleeping bag which allowed Callus to drag him along. She didn’t really have anything like that now, the closest thing to a rope was maybe this strap of- 

Her gaze fell on Joel's rifle, now slipping off where she had laid it over his chest.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Ellie hastily changed her position and crawled over to Joel, grabbing the large rifle in her hands. It felt like a massive icicle as she rolled it in her grip, debating if her idea would actually work. Casting it to the side for a moment, Ellie tugged one of Joel’s jacket sleeves off his body, and then grabbed the gun. She glided the long gun across his back, forcefully threading in through his opposite sleeve, before slipping his arm and the other end of the rifle back into the sleeve she removed. 

The next part was a little more of a challenge- raising Joel just enough off the ground where she could snake her arms under his jacket and pull the strap free, looping it up around toward his shoulders. With a groan, she grasped the lapel of his jacket and tugged him up just enough for one of her arms to reach and grab the leather band, the other desperately trying to do its part but feeling like it was holding a sack of bricks. When she finally grabbed it, her grip on the front of his jacket gave way, and Joel plopped back, not so gently. Wiggling her hand under his body, she found the strap again and pulled it up towards his shoulders, his jacket tugging awkwardly around him with the action. 

The rifle didn’t quite match Joel’s wingspan, and it made his arms and neck rest at a weird angle sure to hurt him later, but for all intents and purposes, it looked like it would work.

A Joel handle.

Like he was a bag of some sort or maybe dangling off a hanger.

Ellie then unsteadily moved to her feet, a slight wave of dizziness hitting her as she did so. She carefully bent down to grab the strap of the riffle and gave it as much of a hefty pull as possible, testing the hold and general proof of concept. Joel's body lifted slightly and moved much easier than when she had been just yanking by his collar, and a wave of relief washed over her. She gently lowered him back to the ground.

“Okay, fuck yes, okay,” she muttered softly to herself as encouragement, with a little nod of her head in accompaniment. She let out a breath and stole a glance at Joel before turning to retrieve his backpack and slinging it back across her chest. Stacked with their belongings, and an albeit crucified-looking Joel, Ellie started off, hands tightly grasping the leather band.

“I’m getting us out of here. Okay, Joel?” She said, even though she knew he wouldn’t answer.

With a grunt, she started to pull, using the strap for much-needed leverage. Slowly, she managed to drag Joel's limp body across the snow, but it was a long and arduous process. She stopped every few feet, catching her breath and giving her screaming muscles a break. She would switch her hold often as well, sometimes walking forward with her hands behind her back, sometimes the opposite, back turned to what was next, walking blind. She knew the latter was not particularly safe, but pulling him that way was a bit more fluid. Joel probably would give her an earful about it, if he wasn’t dead to the world right now. 

No matter how many times she stopped for a quick break, she always started to up again, her determination stronger than the bone-deep cold and exhaustion that threatened to consume her. 

That was until, at one point, she tripped while walking backward, and suddenly everything was catching up to her again.  As she crashed back into the snow, a wave of anguish washed over her, shattering something deep within. She remained on the ground for what felt like an eternity, grappling with the overwhelming urge to unleash a guttural yell into the frigid, wintry air. 

So fucking tired of this.  

She didn't even move when her backpack poked uncomfortably into her ribs, as it seemed to just blend in with all the other aches that she couldn't do anything about, almost seeming insignificant amidst the myriad of other aches plaguing her body. The impact had made her head pound, her stomach scream, and her chest tighten. It wasn’t even a particularly hard fall, but after almost thirty minutes of dragging Joel, her body was spent. She felt stripped bare, raw, with no means of restraining the fierce wave of emotions crashing into her. 

She really wasn’t a crier, not like this, but that’s what her body was now doing; her chest spasming with soft sobs. Ellie stared up at the dreary clouds and watched as the snowflakes fell, the little bits of snow coming down and hitting her face and mixing in with her tears.

It could have been minutes or hours as she stayed like that, just watching the snow fall and fall as slowly her tears subsided. For a moment, she seriously considered letting herself rest, just for a bit. She was so tired and so cold, and the gentle snow falling around them almost made the world seem peaceful. Ellie found herself turning onto her side, tucking her knees into her chest, and curling in on herself. 

She desperately wanted to sleep. To fade away and make the day stop. Maybe if she closed her eyes for just a moment…wait, no. 

With a jolt, she pushed the dangerous thought aside, forcing herself up onto her hands and knees and then back up onto some shaky legs. Can't get comfortable in the snow, people die like that.

A little dazed, she stumbled closer to Joel, checking on his unconscious form. His face was pale and his lips were starting to go a little blue. Fuck. Ellie knew she needed to get them out of the open air soon.

Gritting her teeth, she reached down and grasped the rifle strap once again, her red fingers almost turning white with the effort. With a deep, steadying breath, she began to pull, and inch by painstaking inch, her feet slipping through the snowy ground, she and Joel were on the move again.

It was only a few minutes later when she spotted it- the silhouette of a house barely visible through the snowfall. Another few feet more, the distant outlines she was seeing became clearer, and Ellie knew they were back in that neighborhood from before. She didn’t realize how close Joel had gotten them to it before he had passed out til now. If he could have just held on and walked for another twenty minutes, he could probably have made it to the houses on his own two feet. That didn’t really matter now though.

She quickened her pace as much as she could, the image of the houses spurring her on. It took every ounce of her remaining strength to keep dragging him, but eventually, she hit the edge of the neighborhood and did a beeline for the closest house in the vicinity.

“Almost there Joel,” she muttered as she dragged him toward an old fenced-in backyard belonging to a fairly intact-looking small home. The yard was overgrown, with weeds poking through the snow, and there were a few dilapidated small children’s play structures scattered throughout. It was going to be hard to maneuver him through, but she was going to have to do it.

With lots of starting and stopping, and some forceful heaves she was sure Joel would feel in the morning, Ellie dragged him onto the snow-dusted concrete porch, cautiously releasing him down as she surveyed the sliding glass door. She gave the white handle a tug, but it was definitely locked. Feeling herself fading fast, she decided brute force was really the only option left. She needed to be inside like yesterday.

Crouching down, she carefully untethered the rifle from inside Joel’s jacket, pulling it not so gracefully to snake it out from across his shoulders. It dawned on her that it was sorta lucky he stayed unconscious during this all because she didn’t know how she ever would explain why she strung him up like that on his own rifle. It was really only once the large rifle was back inter hands, did she realize just how crazy of a contraption it had been. Surely there must have been a simpler way, she just never gave herself a chance to think of anything. Not that she probably would have been able to - her brain was feeling awfully jumbled after what David put her through. Grasping the rifle firmly, Ellie rose to her feet, and with a steadying breath, and tight hold, she slammed the butt of the rifle into the glass by the handle. Thankfully, as intended, the gun left a respectable hole in the brittle old glass, just enough for Ellie to slip her hand through and flick the lock over on the other side.

She dropped Joel’s gun almost immediately and unlocked the door, catching the side of her hand on the glass in her haste. She retracted it instinctively with a hiss and gave it a quick look, only to realize that she couldn’t really tell where she was cut because her hands were still red from all the other crimson substance stained there- all of David’s blood. Images of his eviscerated head flashed in her mind and made her feel nauseous. Ellie gulped as she shook away the thoughts, going back to sliding open the door. This wasn't the time.

With the sliding door wide open, she paused for a moment and listened, just in case there were some stray infected. She hadn’t seen any in quite a while, but you never know. Content after a minute of silence, and hoping that it was as abandoned as it seemed, Ellie wiggled off her and Joel's backpacks and through them haphazardly through the door, uncaring where they landed. 

Free of their encumbrance, Ellie bent down and slipped her arms beneath Joel's, lifting him up just barely with a large grunt. The action made her head swim and stars paint her vision. She swayed a little under both Joel's added weight and her diminishing strength. She let out a long shaky exhale, trying to steady herself.

Almost there. 

Ignoring her body’s warning to let up, Ellie quickly dragged Joel through the sliding back door, a wave of relief washing over her as they moved out of the freezing winter weather. She dragged him a few feet inside, into what appeared to be the living room, leaving him close to an old ratty couch before turning back to shut the door behind them.

The dizziness had only gotten worse by that point, and when she turned around to walk back to where she had left Joel, her vision was going dark. She stumbled, falling onto her knees, and then for a brief moment she tried to fight it before she was keeling over onto her side as exhaustion completely overtook her.

She was out.

[mint-moon25]

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[ryndicate]

Reckless ⨳ Hanemiya Kazutora

Sometimes, you really do know better.

notes: written in response to this request/ask. Alright hades we're seeing if tumblr will cooperate this time, fingers crossed. Even if it doesn't though, I promise I'll leave it this time. I'm just happy with how the fic came out

warnings: female reader, drugs/drugging, alcohol,noncon, in this reader is shy, an absolute fangirl and absolutely not a party girl.

By expanding, you are consenting to viewing adult/dark content, and all warnings listed above. 18+ Minors DNI

Rules & Main Links

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" You hiss at your friend, tugging on the much-to-short skirt she'd pressured you into wearing tonight, desperately trying to make sure your ass is covered as the people who move past keep jostling you, threatening to expose you less than socially acceptable undergarments. 

She's tapping her foot, full of excited jitters as she turns her head constantly, looking for her so called "hook up".

You're both waiting where she said he agreed to meet, but it's been nearly twenty minutes since the encore ended.

"Don't be a baby! He said he's friends with the band. When are we ever gonna get a chance like this again?"

"If you're sure I guess," you mutter, pressing closer to her as another wave of concert goers shove past you guys to exit the venue. "We still have a ride home right?"

"—There they are!" Your friend squeals under her breath, palms smoothing over her clothes with anxious excitement.

You swivel your head to see where she's looking and your mouth dries out. Holy shit, she wasn't kidding. Heading right for you guys is the charming blonde who claimed to be tight with band, and following close behind him is their drummer, Keisuke, and he's way hotter in person.

Anxiety simmers in your gut; you don't see him yet, but reality hits that you might actually get to meet your favorite musician, the man you so desperately wanted to see on stage if only for an hour that you begged your friend to get tickets with you to come here tonight.

Kazutora. You would have been satisfied just fine with getting to see him from beneath the stage, only a few rows back and thankfully no giants to block your view. His command of the crowd, bright smiles but fierce energy as he sang so hard his throat probably bled, sweat dripping down every inch of exposed inked skin, and a cunning smirk that would burn in your fantasies for months to follow... yeah it would have been enough.

But in person? Speaking to him? Your heart is fluttering in your throat, and sudden giddiness evaporates all your previous misgivings in an instant.

Your breath is caught up in your throat as they approach you, deep amber and striking green giving both of you slow, appreciative once-overs. 

Keisuke turns back and gives you a hard stare, your heart thumping, and glances at his friend—you still can’t remember his name—grinning. “Perfect score, ‘Fuyu.”

A bolt of unease tempers your thready pulse, but you brush it aside as your friend cuts in, giving a sickening pout at Chifuyu (his name came back to you the moment Keisuke uttered the nickname) about how long he made you wait. Really you would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t just as eager to hear his response.

“Sorry,” Chifuyu grins, glancing between you both. “Things got a little crazy after the final set ended. Hope you don’t mind?”

“It’s fine,” you murmur shyly, your friend echoing behind you.

“We could make it up to you,” Keisuke cuts in with a low rumble, and you’re struck by his voice, smooth and deep, for a moment your mind wandering to why he’s never added his vocals to any of their songs. His voice would blend really well with Kazutora’s higher baritone. Thoughts getting away from you, you miss the part where the two men are inviting you somewhere.

“—you in?”

Keisuke ducks his head a little, forcing eye contact and your eyes refocus in time to see him quirk his brow at your silence. 

Heat flames to your face as you scramble to answer, but your friend digs her elbow into your side. “Of course!”

“Yeah?” Keisuke drawls, amused, tipping his head as he looks at you again.

Helplessly, you nod, giving him a wavering smile. 

He takes that with a nod, throwing an arm over your shoulders to help you move back through the crowd, and your mind goes blank. What did you just agree to? Where are you going now? You want to look back at your friend, but you can hear her chattering away with Chifuyu behind you, sounding blissful and unbothered, so surely it can’t be that bad?

You’re led past the stage, through a chaotic whirl of people and moving equipment until you’re standing in front of what looks like a dressing room.

“You guys can hang out in here while we finish up and then we’ll go, yeah?”

“Sure!” you friend chirps, and they depart.

“What’s happening?” You demand the moment they’re out of earshot.

“What’s with you? They invited us to a party! There’s going to be other bands there, famous people!” She squeals, bouncing a little, completely thrilled. 

But you’re hesitant. This sounds way bigger than what you’d imagined, maybe going backstage and getting to meet Kazutora and get an autograph, a handshake at best? “I don’t know... should we go? Big parties aren’t really my thing. It sounds kinda…—”

“Are you insane? Of course we’re going!” She stares at you like you’ve lost it, and her reaction is so genuine that you question yourself. It wouldn’t hurt just once right? A few drinks, over a couple of hours, getting to meet a few famous people you never dreamed you would? That kind of thing is supposed to be the memories you look back on when you’re done being young and wild.

“Fine, just don’t get too crazy with it, okay?” you plead, grabbing her arm. 

“Aw, not even a little crazy?”

You stiffen, pulse going haywire as rich, teasing voice speaks up from behind you, where the dressing room door had previously been closed.

You’ve listened to his songs for hundreds, thousands, of hours of your life, watched interviews, fan recordings, binged his one movie documentary more times than you can count—you’d know his voice in the blinding dark, but it’s surreal to hear it directly, unaided by a speaker.

Kazutora. You turn to see him and are struck dumb by how attractive he is in person, blonde and black hair framing his face and spilling down his shoulders. He’s still in his clothing from the show, fraying black jeans slung low on his hips, his signature beige-white jacket hanging off his shoulder, and a black button up, the buttons popped all the way down to his sternum, cuffed at his elbows. It’s a simple look, an understated one. One you know very well not many are capable of. Expensive, if you know what to look for; in the way the shirt drapes over his chest and around his arms, in the perfectly precise way his jeans taper down to the ankle, not an inch of denim out of place.

Your eyes track the swirling ink that leads from his neck, down his chest and disappearing further beneath the fabric and try to remember to breathe. “H-hi.”

“Hi,” Kazutora laughs, and the sound dissolves some of your tension. He leans out the doorway to look left and right. “I assume Keisuke invited you, unless I need to call security again.”

His easy tone is enough to unwind your nerves a bit as you nod. “He said something about a party.”

“And you’re going with him? That’s a shame, I’m way more fun.” His eyes are suddenly bright and focused, voice light and playfully coaxing, and you can barely believe it. That was flirting right? He’s your idol and you’re aware of how lovesick you are but there’s no mistaking that right? That was real? He really—

“Keisuke and his friend said they’d hang out with me,” your friend cuts in confidently, nudging you surreptitiously towards the lead singer. “She’s not spoken for.”

“Oh? You want to be spoken for, princess? ‘Cause I’ve got no one to keep me company tonight, sure would suck to party by myself.” Kazutora grins teasingly, leaning against the doorframe now. 

You swallow and struggle to speak, miserably anxious that you can’t at least appear normal and somewhat collected.

“Mmm, she’s the quiet and cute type, huh,” Kazutora winks at you, turning to your friend, and it feels like he’s trying to help you out.

“That’s her!” Your friend agrees wholeheartedly. “She’s great when she opens up though.”

“I bet.” His tone drops an octave and something warm twists low in your stomach when you see the low lidded look he’s tossing your way. “So what’d’ya say?”

“Sure,” you breathe, finally finding your voice. 

He gives you the biggest smile, just in time for his friends to reappear, and the winning smile falls back into the smirk you usually see onstage that gives him his cunning reputation. “Thanks guys. We ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

“Yup, car’s ready.”

He reaches a hand out for you, that you take in a daze, not quite able to believe this is real life right now, noting how much length his fingers have on yours, his nail polish shiny and miraculously unchipped despite playing guitar on and off for most of the show.

“Let’s go then.”

After arriving at the party, in a sprawling condo overlooking the city that puts your one bedroom apartment to a crying shame, Kazutora had left you on a couch in the thick of the people there, promising to be right back with a drink for you. Your friend had disappeared with Chifuyu and Keisuke not long after, and after checking your phone reflexively for the fourth time, you come to the crushing conclusion that Kazutora probably forgot about you.

Which in your mind makes sense. With all the people around you, much better dressed and more suited to be here, you’re not sure you would have come back for you either, if you’d been in their place. 

But your friend isn’t answering her phone and you have no idea where you are to even begin calling a ride service, even if your phone weren’t on three percent battery life. 

You barely have the confidence to stand from the couch, but you do, the sudden desperate urge to escape this letdown of a situation stronger than your social anxiety.

With how many people there are, and the loud, disorienting music, you struggle to make your way through to another room, and come face to face with the sight of people cutting up lines of white powder on a glass coffee table. You knew that this kind of crowd lived a life beyond your imagining but it’s strange to see it up close, your stomach twisting into nervous knots as you scamper into a hallway filled with more people.

It’s less crowded here though, so you take a moment to lean against the wall and breathe, trying to even out your fiercely beating heart. 

Your head whips up when you hear your name being called, hoping your friend has found you, hoping you can finally end this miserably disappointing night—

Kazutora stops in front of you, a concerned look twisting his handsome features. “Whoa, hey, hey, you alright? I went looking for you, but you were gone. Are you feeling okay?”

There’s two drinks in his hand that he looks down at, before tossing one back with two easy swallows and setting the glass right on the hallway floor to free one of his hands, taking yours and leading you further down the hallway, into a small room that’s suddenly much quieter. You can still hear the thumping bass in the distance, but it’s like you can finally hear your own thoughts and you take a deep breath.

“You okay?” Kazutora asks again, setting the other glass down on a low-rise table next to a plush looking chaise.

“I’m fine,” you finally manage, looking up at him with a wan smile. “Just got a little overwhelmed. Never been somewhere like this before.”

“I’m sorry,” he winces, looking abashed. “I didn’t think I was gone that long, should’ve known better.”

“It’s alright...”

“Still want the drink? It’ll help you feel better, take the edge off,” Kazutora offers, still looking guilty.

“Sure. I’m fine really.” Suddenly feeling bad that you’re causing such a fuss, you reach for it, and take a deep swig. If you knew more about alcohol, maybe you’d be able to tell the difference between cheap and expensive, but you’ve never been good with the stuff, so it’s still just bitter, still just burns.

It’s warm though, and you feel a bit of your worries ease away as something light begins to trickle through your veins, and you tip the rest back to get the full experience. “Thanks, I needed that actually.”

“Yeah?” Kazutora’s grin slowly returns, darker in a way that you don’t notice, eyeing you intently as your eyelids droop. “Want another then?”

You feel that little tickle of doubt again, but when he wraps an arm around your waist, you stubbornly push it aside. Live for the moment right? So you accept the next drink he pushes into your hand, and the next one. And the one after that even though the room went fuzzy around the edges a little while ago. You go with him when he leads you back towards the music, and you lean into him when he pulls you against his chest, his fingers digging tight into your hips as he guides you to grind back on him. You don’t question him when he takes you upstairs, and there’s no protest when he pulls you into a dimly lit room with a bed fit for angels, the sheets a warm coffee brown that feel so soft you could probably slide right off of them.

But you don’t, just sinking into them as a heavy warm haze sinks in around you, leaving you warm and pliant. 

“One more for me, baby? Yeah?” His hands are at the back of your head, propping it up as he tips another glass to your lips—where did he even get this one? You feel a warning flicker in your mind that urges you to push it away, and you feebly try, but your limbs feel wrong, too heavy, and you miss. Cool glass meets your lips, and you feel the burn of liquid against your tongue and try to turn away. You’ve never felt like this before, and it’s starting to get scary. No, you’ve had enough. Even a little bit more would be too much.

The glass leaves your lips and you feel relief until Kazutora sits you up at the edge of the bed, sliding behind you and letting his legs frame your thighs. His hands are on your throat, forcing you chin up, and he’s cooing something in your ear, but you can’t hear it anymore. You thrash he forces your head back and the last drink down your throat. A fair bit misses, spilling down your neck and chest, staining your shirt in the process, but the damage is done

“Don’t make such a mess, princess, c’mon now,” feral enjoyment bathes his tone and there’s a heady fear and helplessness in your veins now, flames licking down your body as he traces the spilt rivulets down your throat with point of his tongue.

You whimper.

Something soft, hot is pressing to your inner thigh, a warm pressure inside you, and your legs shift sluggishly, trying to escape the feeling. 

“Mmn—” you try to say something, but it comes out a hum and you struggle to raise your head, not remembering laying back down in the bed.

“That feel good?”

You blink through a thick fog to see Kazutora kneeling between your thighs, watching as he nips at your thighs again, wiping wet fingers on them, his warm skin causing you to notice your missing skirt, left in only the black thong your friend said would be fun to wear. His lips inch up over your hips, pressing to your stomach and you realize that the tiny little thong is the only bit of clothing you’re wearing.

“Kazu…” you slur brokenly, head falling back to the bed. “No—”

His weight settles over your body, and you feel something warm and hard pulsing against your stomach, a broken whine sounding deep in your throat as you realize what is is.

“You’re gonna feel so good, baby. Knew you would from the moment I saw you. Innocent girls like you always do.” His breath is warm on your neck, teeth nipping at sensitive skin as he presses hot kisses to your throat and chest.

He maneuvers your thighs over his own, his dick sliding over your exposed pussy as he pulls the fabric of your thong aside.

“Don’t…” You whisper.

It’s like he can’t hear you. Maybe he doesn’t. Did you actually say something? You can’t even feel your tongue.

Kazutora sinks his length into you with a throaty groan, his head tipping back to display his adam’s apple, a crazed smile on his lips. Your hips jerk at the rough intrustion, a pitched keen tearing from your lips at the thick stretch, cracking in the middle.

“Fucking perfect,” he breathes, watching your tits bounce as he thrusts into you, setting a quick, rough pace right away. 

You search for the strength to do something, to move your arms, to shove him off—something—only to find your arms secured tightly to the bed, some kind of navy fabric strap pinning you down. 

A broken wail tugs at your throat as his fingers press down on your clit, through the wet fabric of your thong to keep the stimulation from become too intense. Huffs and moans and sobs waterfall from your mouth with nothing to stop them as he abuses your body in its weakened state, a heat spiraling through your body as he works you over. Your body comes hard and there’s nothing to ease you through it as your thighs shake, your muscles rippling. You close your eyes to the heady assault, trying not to sink through the bed as the thick cloud wisping over your body immediately tries to carry you away.

Kazutora’s groans get heavier, less staggered, ripping through his chest with each wet smack of his hips to the back of your thighs. “Yes, fuck yes, yeah - y-yeah, hah fuck,” his last curse is a laugh, an extended, broken laugh as he slams into you one last time, sinking deep and filling your belly with a hot pool of sticky warmth.

“I fucking needed that,” he slurs, collapsing over your chest and nuzzling up under your jaw. “Thanks, baby.”

© All rights reserved to @ryndicate. Do not modify, translate, or repost.

[finelinevogue]

What if a security guard wouldn’t let you back in the arena if you went out to get something. And they didn’t believe that you were harrys gf and just thought you were a crazy fan

oooh it’s been done before but here’s my version!! ;

You were running late.

It was already 7pm and you were only getting out of your car in the car park. Harry was due to be on stage in an hour and you hadn’t even seen him yet. The traffic around Dallas today has been awful. Chocker block. You’d been with Harry all day, up until 3 hours ago when he had to leave the hotel to come to the stadium for rehearsals. Normally you’d go with him, but you were so tired that you wanted a little nap before coming. The problem here was you overslept.

There were no Ubers available and a taxi would be far too expensive at this time, so you drive in Harrys car instead. You’d been following Harry on tour in his car, so when you get to different destinations you can go out on ball day trips if you want to without the obscenity of a huge tour bus or paying for Ubers everywhere. It was the main reason you were so tired though, travelling across country and into different time zones. It would be so much easier if this was the UK.

You grabbed your purse and your jacket, locking the car as you got out and started running for the backstage entrance. It was easy to make it there and you noticed security guards already standing there.

“Hi!” You smiled, slightly short of breathe. You were about to move past them when one of them shoved your shoulder back, making you stumble back unbalanced. “Wha—”

“ID and backstage pass to get through here.” One of them said, looking you up and down as if you were nothing.

If anything, you were quite shocked on how they just treated and continued to treat you. Normally, Harry would show a picture of you to these backstage security guards to make sure you’d be able to get in no problem, but it seemed like today Harry might’ve forgotten to show that photo. This was going to be a problem for you, because you’d forgotten to bring your backstage pass.

“I normally just go through? I’m Harry’s girlfriend.” You tried talking your way around the situation, not appreciating behind held up so close to show-time.

“Oh you’re Harry’s girlfriend? You must be the 7th one we’ve met tonight.” The security guy laughed and so did his friend, making your blood boil with how annoying they were being. Harry would be so pissed if he heard the way they were treating you.

“No but I actually am.”

“Then, ID and backstage passes.” One of then held out his hand whilst the other crossed his arms over his chest to make him look intimidating. Dickheads.

“I have ID just not the backstage passes.” You answered honestly, holding out your ID for them to check. They collected it and asked you questions on it, you answering them all perfectly.

“Well you definitely know you, but you have no proof you’re supposed to be where you claim to be.” They handed you back your ID and you huffed in stress.

“Well what can I show you? Photos of me and Harry together? Text messages?” You waved your arms around, getting really pissed off that this was actually happening. You’d probably miss Jenny’s whole set because of this and then 15 minutes before show-time Harry gets transported under the stage. So you only really would have half and hour with him, and that’s just not enough time. You wanted a safe and warm hug off him. You wanted a kiss. You just wanted him.

“Everyone knows they can be photoshopped.” One of the guys scoffs at your notion.

“Listen. You either show us your backstage pass or we’ll escort you off site.” The other one says a lot more firmer this time. It made you quite anxious for what you’d do if they did that - or maybe when they did that.

“Well I don’t have the backstage passes.” You sighed, rolling your eyes at the way this was going to end.

“Then let’s go.” One of them pointed to where you came from and to the car park, stepping forwards as he did so.

“I’m not leaving until you let me through those doors. My boyfriend is waiting for me.” You answered, taking a step back in stress of what they might do.

“Harry ain’t your boyfriend. Now let’s go!” They stepped forwards again and reached for you.

You swung your bag at one of them, hitting him in his side and he grunted because of the impact of your water bottle with his chest. The other one grabbed your arm and you couldn’t shake him, since you were not trained in any way for situations like this at all. His fingers dig into your skin and it made you scream out a cry, trying to kick him in any way to escape. The other one recovered ever ordered the guy holding you to escort you away whilst he stayed and guarded the door. The one holding you tugged your arms behind your body and held them tight there, it really fucking hurting. He didn’t care though and continued to walk you, asking you where your car was so he could get you out of here.

Once you reached your car he let you go and you wrapped your arms around you as he walked away again, not verbally saying anything but his eyes saying enough. Stay away. You shakily got your keys out of your bags and unlocked your door, climbing in and just sitting there. You could feel your hands really shaky and achy. Looking down with tear clouded eyes, you saw the red marks over your arms and slight bruising already. Your arms and shoulders hurt from being bent in an uncomfortable position.

You cared less about the pain though and how much of a disappointment of a girlfriend you were going to be to Harry. He was going to think either the worst for you or the worst of you. You reached in your bag on your lap for your phone, throwing your bag on the seat next to you afterwards. You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your t-shirt and unlocked your phone to text messages, sending Harry a quick text.

To Harry: Are you free to call? x

No response. You sat there for a few minutes in silence, still shook up and teary. That had been a really awful situation to be in and you hated that you were nowhere near Harry to fix it. Your phone vibrated 3 minutes later, finding a text message from Harry. You sighed and felt safe when you saw his icon light up your notifications, knowing he was in contact with you.

From Harry: Of course, you okay? xx

You didn’t open your phone because you didn’t know how to respond. How do you tell him you’re not okay, only 20 minutes before he’s meant to be ready to go on stage? You didn’t want to worry him, but you also didn’t want him thinking you were a terrible girlfriend either.

Another vibration.

From Harry: Lovie? xx

Your eyes watered at that simple word, meaning so much more to you than five letters. It made you feel so much comfort, you only wished you could get that hug and a kiss now.

Again.

From Harry: Love, you’re worrying me now.

From Harry: Let me face-time you, hang on.

His icon lit up the screen; Incoming…

You shakily accepted, wiping your eyes quickly before. When he answered you could tell he was still in his dressing room, sat on the sofa that you wish you were also sat on with him. He looked so beautiful. His hair was perfectly styled and he was wearing a pearl coloured silk shirt and you knew he was wearing white silk pants to co-ordinate. You thought he looked ethereal. A glowing beacon of hope and beauty.

He didn’t say anything to you at first and you nothing to him. He just looked at you and instantly knew something bad was up. He kept eye contact with you and it was as if he was having a telepathic conversation with you, understanding that you needed him and just him.

“Hey, Mitch man?” Harry asked, turning his head to somewhere else in the room. “Could y’just give me a minute. Please.”

“Sure, sure.” Mitch answered and all you could hear was the sound of shuffling and the door shut. As soon as he was gone you started crying all over again. You cupped your hand over your eyes and your body shook as you just cried. Harrys heart broke that you were alone and he couldn’t hug you close to his chest.

“Y/N, baby. Look at me.” He asked urgently and you just shook your head, embarrassed that this was happening to you. “You’ll be alright lovie, I promise. Just look at me, beautiful.” You moved your hand away from your face and wiped your eyes and nose to try and make you look slightly better - not that it helped. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You smiled. He smiled.

“I-i’m so-rry H.” You whispered, sniffling in between words because of how shaky you felt.

“Hey, no. None of that. It’ll be okay.” He reassured you, keeping eye contact with you to try and decipher what was wrong. “Where are you, lovie? You’re in the car, yeah?” Harry asked, recognising your surroundings but you could get anywhere. You could have been in an accident for all he knew, but he was remaining calm so he didn’t send you into a panic.

“Yeah. In the stadium car park.” You saw Harrys eyes momentarily light up at that, before he remembered that you weren’t okay.

“Okay. Tell me why you’re upset, love. Help me understand.” He sounded urgent, just wanting to know so he could help you out. He wanted you to be okay. He wanted you with him.

“The security guards wouldn’t let me in, backstage I mean. I didn’t have my backstage pass. But..” You choked on a sob and Harry told you to just breathe. You were okay. “One of them g-grabbed me and escorted m-me of sight.”

“Baby, are you hurt? Is that why you’re upset?” Harry asked, standing up now in panic. His face looked angry, but you could tell he was trying his best to be a comfort for you. “Y/N?”

“Y-yes. Yes Harry, yes.” You voice wobbled out and you let out an exasperated sob. “I’m s-sor—”

“No don’t you dare. Don’t apologise for this. Not ever. You understand me?” He made very clear he wasn’t messing around.

“Yes.” You nodded.

“Alright. Now, you gotta be strong for me okay?” He asked, before asking, still checking that you were okay. He knew you would be though, because you were his bravest girl ever - stronger than you knew.

“Okay.”

“You’re going to make your way back to the backstage entrance, alright? I am going to be there, before you get there. Those security guards won’t be there I promise. You’ll be okay. Can you do that for me?” He asked, moving around the room and then out of the door. He was walking down the corridors, ignoring the people shouting his name. He was only focused on you.

“Yes. Okay.” You nodded, wiping under your nose again.

“I love you.” He kissed the camera of his phone, looking like he was kissing you instead.

You returned the gesture, kissing him virtually back. “I love you.”

He told you that it’d be alright and then ended the call, explaining how you didn’t need to hear him get angry when he found these security guards. They would be fired even if they weren’t on his tour crew, he’d make sure of it. You made your way back to the backstage entrance again, slowing down before you rounded the corner. Taking a deep breathe you walked around and were met with exactly what Harry promised; him.

You smiled and broke out into a run to get to him, your bag weighing on your shoulder. Once you reached him your bag was thrown on the floor in front of him and you jumped into his arms. He lifted you up to sit you around his waist, keeping his arms tight around your waist and squeezing the biggest hug out of you. Your arms tightened around your boyfriends neck and you buried your face into his neck, and god he smelt like everything homely and sweet. He felt just like home.

“See, you’re alright now lovie.” He assured you, kissing your cheek that wasn’t quite buried into his neck.

“Th-ank you.” You muttered, kissing his neck in appreciation which made him hum in delight. He tasted so hot and lush. He was insatiable. You then felt him start kissing your arms, where the harsh red and purple marks were.

“Sorry y’had to go through this.” He kept kissing your arms, until you moved your head up and looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“If I can’t say sorry, then neither can you.” You shook your head, kissing his nose softly. You watched his eyes flutter close and felt so special that only you could do that to him.

“You’re so amazing Y/N. Truly.”

“You’re pretty special too, my love.”

He didn’t need to hear anything else from you, those words were enough, so he pressed his lips to yours softly, filling you with the love you’d been waiting to feel all day. You smiled into the kiss and he just felt so amazing. He was so soft and gentle with you - as smooth as the silk that dressed his body. He was so pretty to watch melt away under your spell and delicious tasting. Strawberries, was that?

He was everywhere. He was everything. He always would be.

[thisisawonderfulusername]

a lifetime of firsts

first heartbreak

tasm! peter parker x reader

summary: the first time your heart is broken.

warnings: ouchy angst

word count: 1.2k

a/n: so it hurt to write this one. enjoy!

your eyes are heavy as you sit in your desk chair, the bags underneath them pulling them down forcefully. it’s half past two in the morning and you’re fighting the sleep that begs to consume you. you’re fighting it so hard because you just need to know that peter is okay.

it seemed like every night, the time that he notified you or visited you was getting later and later. sometimes you would be let off easy, as he texted you at midnight that he was okay and heading home. other nights you were up until the time you had to get up for school, just waiting for one simple text. on those days, you had to wait to see him running up to the bus stop just as the bus pulled up.

the worry slowly grew into your daily life. he wouldn’t show up to class or your dates, and when you texted him about it it would take hours for him to respond.

the exhaustion was getting to you. your grades suffered from your lack of sleep, most often only getting a max of two hours peacefully in your bed. sure, you worked on any homework or essays you had while you were waiting- but that didn’t change the face that the quality of them was less than average.

the worst part was, everybody but peter seemed to notice the degradation of your mental state. gwen and mary jane would watch in concern as you fell asleep in your classes and during lunch, always hunched over to lay your head on your desk or whatever table you were sitting at. the bell would be the only thing to wake you up, and you would have to throw everything back into your bag to rush through the halls to your next napping spot.

students who sat next to you or walked by you in the halls noticed how the skin under your eyes sagged, and gave pitiful looks that you simply ignored. your teachers would stop you just before you got out the door of their class, pulling you back to ask how everything was, why your school life was slowly taking a decline, if everything at home was okay. you always had to assure them that you were okay.

but are you?

you can’t be. you need more sleep and less time worrying about how your boyfriend might be dead in a dark alleyway after picking a fight too big for him to handle.

you try to ignore the thoughts running through your head by closing your eyes as they speed up, adding more and more until it was like your mind was just a jumbled mess.

when you hear the window open, it sends relief through you and puts a halt to your thoughts. you always felt relieved when you heard that sound- whether it was because he was okay or because you finally got to sleep you don’t know.

the thump of his feet against the carpet opens your eyes and allows you to turn your chair around, immediately assessing his condition once the mask is off of his face.

and he’s totally fine. only a cut on his cheek, which would have been invisible if you were just a few more feet away from him. there’s a smile on his face, but it doesn’t invoke the usual warmth it always does.

you take a deep breath as you stand from the chair, surprised that you don’t fall from the way your head seems to spin. “peter,” it’s barely audible, filled with your tiredness. “it’s almost three.”

“i know, i know.” he speaks softly as he shuts your window, “i’m sorry. i should’ve texted you.”

“yeah,” your lips purse, “you should have.”

for what seems to be the first time ever, he takes notice of your irritation. “listen, babe-”

“no, peter.” your words cut him off, hand shooting up as if it would block anything else from coming out of his mouth. it seems to work. “you listen to me.”

the true extent of your annoyance catches up to him and he begins to twist his mask in his hands. he was like a child being scolded, but somehow this was even worse. he’s sure he’s never seen you like this, and it makes him feel terrible to know he’s the reason why.

the words that come out of your mouth are not thought out, and they come out harsh. “i’m getting tired of this, peter.”

his gaze shifts away from you, “i know, and i’m-”

“don’t you dare say you’re sorry again.” the words cut into him, just as your stare does. “i can’t do it anymore.”

“can’t do what?” he mumbles, and any other time the pitiful tone in his voice would have made you feel bad. now, it only fuels your anger, because it doesn’t seem that he’s understanding what you’re saying.

“this, peter!” the control you have over the volume in your voice disappears as your hand waves between the two of you. “i can’t keep staying up all night worrying about you, or when you don’t show up to anything that we plan!”

everything in him feels as though it fills with lead, dropping as far as it can and leaving him nauseous. “y/n, please.” the mask drops from his grip as he steps towards you, “i’m sorry. i really am.”

your head shakes as you pull your hand away from his when he tries to grab it. “sorry isn’t going to cut it.” you push the desk chair into its place to avoid looking at him. “just- please get out.”

“come on,” the words are broken as he tries to reason with you, “you don’t mean that.”

“i do.” you stare down at the papers that litter your desk, “i’m done with this. all of it.”

you can’t see how he searches for words, wanting to make you retract every last word. but he knew it wasn’t possible. instead, he nods and picks up his mask, pulling it on. the window he closed just minutes ago is reopened, and you look over as he hesitantly crawls out onto your rooftop.

the black eyes of his mask linger on yours while he shuts the window. something in him wishes you would pull it back open, allow him back in and kiss him.

any hope of that actually happening diminishes when you walk over, twisting the lock on the window and letting the curtains fall over the glass.

all at once, everything catches up to you. in just a few minutes, you had ripped out your own heart and squeezed it until it shattered into pieces. tears spring to your eyes as you turn off your lamp, leaving you in darkness to fall onto your mattress.

even with the overwhelming sadness that washes over you, you know you did the right thing. you knew because it felt like a huge weight was lifted off of your shoulders, being replaced with something much lighter that would go away with time.

taglists

eventually, you could fall back into a normal sleeping pattern. after you get over losing peter, your mental health will soar and you will be back to your usual self.

main: @horrorklaus @megasimpleplan4ever

marvel: none yet

peter parker: @elfvomit @spidergraph @rattdonovan @cupidoll @lup1nslOv4

a lifetime of firsts: @kominnfyrirkattarnef

[jackrrabbit]

open season thirsts [3/?] /// Dabi x f!Reader (18+)

Request: my darling sara dm’d me this request for halloween-themed dabi creeping on poor innocent reader <3

@printhes ily for getting me to make a halloween playlist in fucking september. your mind unparalleled. this is just a drabble but i’ll consider continuing it for real halloween…

Tags/warnings: stalking, mentions of alcohol/drinking, drugging, angel costume ok ok

everything seems a little more spooky on halloween.

your mouth tastes like cranberry juice and white rum and bacardi breezers and you wonder if it stained your lips red. the halloween party you were at was fun, but you shouldn’t’ve had that fourth drink…and you shouldn’t’ve said you’d walk home alone. it’s cold. you didn’t bring a jacket because you thought it would ‘ruin the outfit’, or something—and hey, 5-hours-ago-you has a point. this year you decided you were going to be an angel for halloween, and you don’t own anything that fits over the wings.

still. damn it, why didn’t you bring something to change into? sure, you’re probably not the only pretty girl stumbling down the sidewalk in a too-short costume and too-high heels past midnight on october 31st, but the stretch of pavement you’re walking down is weirdly deserted. no fellow post-party walk-of-shamers, no random teens in ribcage t-shirts smoking in huddles, not even the perpetual annoying men who seem to think yelling about your tits as you pass by should be taken as a compliment.

you don’t know this area of the city well—you took the bus here, and by the time you left the party the buses weren’t running anymore. according to google maps your place is less than a mile away, but everything around here looks unfamiliar. chain link fences, brick walls, rows of iron grating covering closed storefronts. you pass a club you’ve never heard of and hear a snatch of the music pumping from inside—‘this is halloween’, the marilyn manson version. so stereotypical...the clubs have to stick to the theme, right? they played this song at your friend’s party too, and now it’s going to be stuck in your head for weeks.

but the music’s fading into the background now, and the only thing you can hear is the clickclickclick of your shoes against the concrete and the buzzing of the streetlights overhead. mist is hanging low and thick in the air, seeping through the thin satin of your slip and lifting cold sweat onto your skin. the dark feels darker than usual. you check your phone for the dozenth time since you started walking…

no signal.

that’s weird, isn’t it? the neighborhood you’re passing through has gotten steadily more residential than urban, but it’s not like you’re in the middle of nowhere. you stop dead, hold up your phone and turn in a tight circle, trying to coax out a few bars of data.

nothing. damn it. well, you know you have to keep walking in this direction for a while. hopefully if you go far enough, you’ll get somewhere you recognize. you take a step forward, making for the next orange halo from the streetlight at the end of the block.

god, it’s so quiet. shouldn’t there be—like, a dog barking or something? a couple yelling at each other, crappy teen music from a house party, some kids snickering to each other while they TP their principal’s house—something. it’s halloween, for fuck’s sake. it shouldn’t be this quiet. it’s making you imagine things…

…like another set of footsteps behind yours.

click. the heel of your strappy white pump hits the sidewalk. click. you take another step. thud.

you’re imagining things. you stop in your tracks again and twist around to look behind you. there’s no one there, just the blue-black expanse of sidewalk disappearing between the trees. you’re just imagining it.

you start humming. just to have something to listen to that isn’t your shoes and your own nervous breath. as predicted, that fucking song is stuck in your head, so you start murmuring the lyrics quietly.

“come with us and you will see—“

keep going. keep walking. the house next to you is decorated like a 9-year-old’s halloween fantasy—big inflatable jack-o-lanterns lit from the inside, plastic bats hung on strings over the stairs, cotton batting stretched out to look like cobwebs. there’s even a hunched-over witch mannequin sitting on the porch swing with an empty bowl in its hands, the kind of thing you’re sure would bust out a terrifying animatronic cackle if a kid got too close. the next house has foam gravestones sticking out of the yard. the next house has gigantic purple-striped stuffed spiders twined into the trees near the entrance, and the next house—

“—scream in the dead of night—“

the light overhead flickers.

someone’s behind you.

you heard it for sure this time. footsteps, not yours. and the sound of someone flicking a lighter on. you’re not sure why that knowledge makes you shiver—weren’t you wondering why the hell no one else was on this street just a few minutes ago?—but you pick up the pace, almost skipping in the direction of the next light down the block.

don’t look back, you think. maybe you’re still imagining it, maybe the atmosphere is getting to you and you’re nervous for no reason. keep singing. “—everybody’s—everybody’s waiting for the next surprise—“

someone laughs—low, a man, mocking—but don’t think about that. your heart is beating like crazy, fuck, you’re an idiot, who walks home alone on halloween while dressed like the sluttiest angel since lucifer? damn it—your little white slip is riding up on your thighs and you smooth it down with cold damp palms. you can’t run in these shoes, not really, but you want to. he’s probably just passing by. he probably thinks you’re an idiot for running away. you’re being really rude, it’s really—you’re panting—

you hit the circle of light and the rush of adrenaline from being able to see around you makes you pause, turn involuntarily behind you to look for him. but once again, there’s nothing there. maybe you really were dreaming it up. maybe you’re too tired or you’re drunk or maybe you’re losing it.

either way, it’s time to call a damn uber. no more walking in the dark in a nightdress and fluffy white wings. you shrug your phone back out of your purse to check if you have signal yet—one bar, but the map isn’t loading. it feels quiet again and you realized you must’ve stopped singing so you pick up where you left off while you twist around again seeking a better connection. “something’s coming…no, what is it? something’s waiting now to pounce and how you’ll—“

“scream?”

weight on your shoulders. you whip toward the yellow streetlight and he’s in front of it. he’s dressed up, you think dazedly, he’s dressed up for halloween—dark eyes dark hair all those piercings and his face—but then your brain catches up and you try, you try to scream, except a hand is folding something over your mouth and pinching your nose shut and he’s squeezing around the grip you have on your phone until the pain is unbearable and you have to drop it—

you hear it hit the ground. your phone. it probably cracked. but you can’t look, can’t check, can’t bend down. how are you supposed to? a man, a man has you, he has you. the cigarette hanging out of his mouth glows blue and then a cloud of bitter smoke hisses out into your eyes.

his face. god, that has to be a costume, it has to. you need to breathe but he’s holding a damp rag over your mouth like some movie villain but you need to breathe. you shove a fist into the hard muscle of his torso and nothing happens. could you kick him? your legs feel shaky.

you make a whimpering sound and the corner of his mouth curls up into a smile. “are you trying to fight?”

your lungs are screaming. you need oxygen, your head is starting to spin. air rushes into your lungs before you even realize you’ve taken a breath and it tastes wet and warm and sickly sweet. he adjusts his grip so he’s holding you more securely, ready to lift you up when you fall. feels warm against him. you’re already getting dizzy but you shake your head, push weakly against the dark fabric of his shirt.

“save your strength, angel,” he laughs softly. one of those horribly scarred hands cups the side of your face where you’re staring up at him and he pinches your cheek. “…you’re gonna need it.”

[julymineee]

want to hug you (kenma kozume x reader)

genre: fluf length: 1456 words

"Waiting is happiness".

Sometimes you keep hearing people say that, you used to think so too. But how long, since when, you still haven't seen him.

The two of you met through an online game, which is less appealing to multiplayer making it easier for you and him to be teamed up.

He is very active on the game but chats very little, you usually have to take the initiative but when the two become close it is shared by the two of you.

He often helps you in difficult quests or levels, which makes you admire him and think that he is a pro gamer. The two of you have also tried sharing more and you really like his soft, quiet voice, it gives you a sense of comfort. In addition, you also love his smile, it rarely appears but that is also the reason why it becomes more precious. One day, he called you with a faltering voice, he was vague about something he didn't dare to say. You easily noticed the change, you tried to tell him he didn't have to worry if something important happened. That night he called you again to confess that he likes you, you know he's not kidding. The conversation between the two of you lasted half an hour without a word, you cried and confessed to him about your feelings. He happily flashed you a smile, promising that he would meet you one day.

But that's only online, the truth is that he's far, far away from you.

You belong to the crowded Osaka city and he is a busy Tokyo, the two of you are still studying and really don't have much free time so meeting him even once is a dream.

Seems like the tournament preparation has kept him busier than usual, sometimes he forgets to call you, sad truth.

You want to understand him, but you also don't want to wait. You can't take a taxi or bus to Tokyo because your mother definitely won't like this, she's always nagging about your studies and your friends.

A long, long time ago that promise will probably last a long time, you don't want to see him as a broken promise. He's not one to make false promises because he knows it sounds bullshit. But he also doesn't want you to be sad because everyone knows that the truth sometimes breaks people.

You burst into tears because you thought you had to wait so long, even last week you and he didn't even talk to each other.

You miss his voice and smile, sometimes you dream about them and make the loneliness feel so bad.

He tells you he has his first match this week so be prepared, he also apologizes for seeming to have forgotten about you.

Now in your head you just wish to go to Tokyo, meet him and cheer for him. The next day you are invited by the class rep to join the cheerleading team for the school, she says that they will be coming to Tokyo to cheer for the tournament. Your eyes lit up like gold, you quickly agreed and that same afternoon continued talking to your mother. She tries to refuse and tells you to stop but this time you are completely serious. You speak your mind that you want to meet friends, experience great things. You say you hate feeling surrounded and blocked, sometimes they get in the way of what you want.

She burst into tears and hugged you, she said she felt so happy that her daughter had grown up. You are surprised because you cannot believe you will hear these words from your mother.

She told you to join the cheerleading squad and go to Tokyo, you were overjoyed and hugged your mother tightly.

You run up to your room in joy at being in Tokyo but then start to worry about everything, especially him.

You don't know if he still has feelings for you, your love for him is sometimes a joke. You try to say no to reassure yourself, you know well that he's not that type of person and you also understand how much you really love him.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the sound of a phone notification, the cheerleader tells you to come to the gym tomorrow to practice with everyone.

You turn off the text and, a bit disappointed that it's not what you were expecting, you hesitate to call him or not.

You click and then exit again, so on continuously without going anywhere. You wish he could send you a text now so you can put your mind at ease.

You turn off the phone and bury your head in the soft pillow, curl up in the warm blanket and fall asleep.

The next morning, you go to the school gym and meet the other cheerleaders. The team leader is quicker to practice and directs everyone to practice.

You are quite surprised and make some mistakes but have been corrected to prepare for the opening ceremony that will take place in Tokyo next week.

With the determination to meet him you have worked so hard all week, you are even praised by the leader for it. During the ride to Tokyo, you couldn't stop thinking about him. Even though I told him about it the other day, it's hard to tell through text messages how he feels.

After many hours of driving, the whole team was staying at a mid-range hotel, you immediately asked to go out. You have made an appointment to meet him at a cafe near the center. You toddling, looking around for him, you don't even know if he's here yet.

You are surprised to hear that familiar voice, he is standing at the window, waving and greeting you. You almost cried when you saw the corners of his lips smile welcoming you. You rushed towards the door, ran to him quickly and hugged him.

"K-Kenma".

You called his name in tears when you saw your longtime boyfriend in front of you.

He laughed when he saw your face, rushed to wipe your tears. He apologizes for not being able to talk to you often.

You and him both make eye contact. You are almost immersed in his face, especially his eyes, the hair falling down the sides makes him look so attractive, you don't regret praising him sobbing. He smiles happily, thank you for the compliment.

"Thank you. You look so lovely."

He's not good at expressing his feelings but he always makes you happy somehow.

This is the first time you and him hug, and also the first time you see him smile so much. He bought you a hot cup of coffee, took you to the park, and you two talked.

He knows you worked so hard to get here, he also said that he is very happy to meet you. You smile softly and enjoy a warm cup of coffee in the cold of Tokyo.

He suddenly turned around and kissed you on the cheek, you embarrassedly covered your cheek with your hand and blushed looking at him.

The guy smiles at your cuteness, it seems some friend has shown him this trick. He reaches out to hug you and whispers into your ear, wishing that tonight in this cold weather could hug you and fall asleep. He bought you a hot cup of coffee, took you to the park, and you two talked.

He knows you worked so hard to get here, he also said that he is very happy to meet you. You smile softly and enjoy a warm cup of coffee in the cold of Tokyo.

He suddenly turned around and kissed you on the cheek, you shyly covered your cheek with your hand and blushed looking at him.

The guy smiles at your cuteness, it seems some friend has shown him this trick. He reaches out to hug you and whispers into your ear, wishing that tonight in this cold weather could hug you and fall asleep.

You want to be, too, but obviously don't stand a chance. He knows it too and he's going to have to go back to the hotel as well. Kenma holds your hand and transfers heat to it, he kisses you lightly on the lips as a goodbye for today.

You shyly watched him leave after a goodbye kiss. Your heart beats faster when you realize what he just did, the feeling of joy and shame makes you shiver, how wonderful today must have been. He is gentler and more delicate than you think, you smile and leave feeling really looking forward to tomorrow.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Dream smut or fluff where reader and him are high key mean to eachotjer despite having so many mutual friends, but then something (very vague i know I’m sorry) makes them have to get close and the develop feelings? Sorry I’m shit at requests but thank you!!!

i know this is shitty im sorry akjsdh bls forgive me

𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

± warnings: dream being a dick, slight slut shaming, toxic behavior, vulgar/suggestive mentions and language, sexual harassment on a bus (not by dream, you can breathe)

⋆ song recommendation: When the Night is Over by Lord Huron

You pulled a blanket beneath your chin, yawning slightly at whatever the tv was playing. You only had it on in an attempt to drown out the noises coming from your roommate's bedroom as she smoozed her date. You were honestly shocked the two hadn’t moved in together yet with all the time they spent wrapped up.

Her door opened, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of you sprawled out on the couch. He marched toward you quietly, hovering over your shoulder. You peered up at her hesitantly. “What are you watching?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. You furrowed your brows, opening your mouth to speak but she hurriedly cut you off. “Do you mind watching it at Nick’s instead?”

You raised your eyebrows. “You’re kicking me out again?” She gave you an apologetic smile, making you roll your eyes as you stood up and pulled on your jacket. “This would hurt less if they also paid rent,” you mumbled, with a small glare.

She thanked you repeatedly, holding onto your arm as you gathered what little belongings you needed for the night. “I promise I’ll make it up to you,” she courted, opening the door for you. “Tomorrow, dinner’s on me okay?” You sent her a tired look and she apologized again. She stopped you as you stepped out into the cold night, leaning through the space between the door and the frame. “Maybe you can cozy up to that Clay guy? You guys have such a good vibe,” she mocked, making you chuckle lightly.

You shook your head, waving to her. “Enjoy your night. Please, for the love of God, clean the bathroom afterward,” you called, hearing her laugh at your statement.

The bus ride was quiet due to the time of night and the weather, both of which you didn’t mind. You knew Nick’s house would be warm and loud. Before you knew it, you found yourself in front of his apartment door, kicking at the concrete ground as you heard someone stumbling to let you inside. The door opened swiftly, Clay’s large frame blocking the light from the kitchen. He leaned against the doorframe mockingly as he looked at you.

He wet his lips. “Who’s the lucky guy tonight?” He joshed.

You rolled your eyes, brushing past his body to get out of the cold. “Whoever’s dick you’re not sucking, I guess,” you quipped back, making him laugh darkly. You kicked off your shoes as he shut the door. “Where’s Sapnap?” You asked, shrugging off your jacket. You’d texted him ahead of time to ask if you could stay over, which he readily agreed to.

Clay sent you a smug look. “You guys have a fun night planned?” He made a gesture with his hand to insinuate you were there to give Nick a handjob.

You bit back a chuckle. “Why? You wanna join?” You shot back. He bit his lip and moaned pornographically.

“Cut it out, Dream,” Nick grumbled as he walked into the room. He pulled on your arm to follow him.

Dream scoffed exasperatedly. “Me? I’m not the one who started it!” He called after the two of you.

As Nick pushed you out of the room, you turned your head. “You most certainly did!” You answered. You heard him chuckle at your words as Nick shut the door to his room. You plopped down on his bed as he sat in his chair, swiveling to look at you. “Why does Dream pick at me so much?” You mumbled, fishing in your pockets for your phone.

“He’s jealous,” Nick answered absent-mindedly. “What's the date look like tonight?” He asked, referring to the reason you were there in the first place. This wasn’t the first time or the last time your roommate had kicked you out. It was becoming a more frequent occurrence for you to end up on Nick’s couch or at their place in the middle of the day with your toothbrush and a change of clothes.

You moved to lean into his pillows. “I don’t know, it's the same granola fucker she’s been hanging around,” you answered.

He rubbed his chin with a slight smirk. “There’s a subtle justice to knowing she’s still with that asshat,” he commented, making you snort.

A week later, you were on your way back to your apartment after a lecture when someone felt you up. It was the straw on the camel’s back for you as you spin around to smack the guy, stirring up a few of the bystanders. You’d walked the rest of the way home, stepping through the door to be met with your roommate and her hookup twisted together in the kitchen.

You clamped your hand over your eyes, mumbling about how you just wanted to take a nap when you were once again sent to Nick’s. You let subtle tears fall as you trudged your way across the city, hoping to get out whatever darkness you had to your attitude. The last thing you wanted to do was confront Clay looking like you did. He was like the troll with the keys to the bridge. That was really the only reason the two of you ever talked, so you knew he’d be waiting to berate you before you could get to Nick.

As you walked into the building, you spotted Clay carrying a large box, his hair slightly disheveled and his hands dirty. You knew almost instantly that he was probably attempting to fix the kitchen sink and got a call because of the size of the package. That sink had been dripping since they’d moved in, making it Clay’s mission to futz around with it every Friday afternoon. You tried helping him one time, only ending up with a deflated sense of confidence and the second wave of your childhood anger issues.

He nodded at you as you held the elevator door open for him. “What’s up, babycakes?” He chirped, popping his gum. When you hesitated to answer, he looked at you fully, scoffing. “Damn, walk of shame gone sour?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, inhaling deeply to try and calm your nerves. “I’m not really in the mood today,” you muttered, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

He snorted, setting the box down between his feet. “You’re always in the mood! Isn’t that like your thing,” he continued to jeer. “You look like you had a fun night though-”

“Clay, stop. I’m serious,” barked at him. His expression twisting at your use of his name.

He raised his hands in mock defense. “Sorry, I thought we had---like a bit thing, um-” he cut himself off, awkwardly shoving his fists in his pockets. After a beat of silence between the two of you, the elevator came to a sharp halt on the wrong floor, the light switching to red. The two of you shared a look, knowing that the landlord was probably flipping the wrong switches again. Clay texted Nick to see what was going on.

It began to grow colder in the elevator, as it usually did. When it was off, the cold from outside usually seeped in through the elevator shaft. There was one time you were stuck in the elevator for a few hours with one of your neighbors and Karl when he had come to visit. Back then, the three of you played Uno on the guy’s phone. It was also summer, so the chill creeping up your legs wasn’t as intolerable as it was now.

You rubbed the arms of your sweater in hopes of generating some kind of warmth. Clay watched you carefully, his hands moving to grip the bar behind him. “Do you want my sweatshirt?” He offered. You shook your head, sliding onto the ground and hugging your knees to your chest. He hesitantly slumped down beside you, kicking his long legs out towards the door. The red light filling the space made his features look softer.

He nudged your arm gently with his own. “I know I’m not Sapnap, but…” he chewed on the inside of his cheek, shrugging slightly, “I mean, we’re stuck in here. We can talk about it.”

You blinked away the tears threatening to spill once again, your eyes burning and tired. “I haven’t slept with him, you know?” You stated, turning to look at him briefly before moving to sit cross-legged, planning with your fingers. “I’ve never even kissed him. I’ve never kissed anyone,” you scoffed. Clay was silent, but out of the corner of your eye, you could see him watching you intently.

Being this close to him, you could smell the smoky vanilla undertones of his cologne. The scent reminded you of a masculine version of the candle your aunt always burned when she went out for a night to spite her ex-husband.

Clay leaned his head back against the wood paneling, his soft blond hair flattening in the back to spread against the wall. You swallowed, sighing slightly. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet and I’m getting groped on the bus and kicked out of my damn apartment because my roommate and her fucking boyfriend have to hook up on every surface. Nothing is sacred.” You shook your head, wiping away some stray tears with the back of your hand and sniffling pathetically. “You can keep making slut jokes, I don’t care. But I swear to God, I haven’t done anything with Sapnap. Or Karl, or Quackity. No one.”

He chuckled softly. “I know. That’s why I used to make those jokes,” he mumbled. “It was like… ironic humor. And then it got so far that the only way I knew you’d talk back to me was if I was fucking around with you,” he admitted. You chuckled slightly at his words, taking a deep breath.

“Oh, Dream,” you sighed. “I would have hooked up with you if you weren’t such an ass,” you chided. His laugh made you feel better. He held his hand out to you, more for support than anything, but as you laced your fingers with his, your heart eased, feeling safe beside him.

After a beat of silence, he spoke up again. "I can ride the bus with you now... if you want..." He offered, a shyness that seemed so foreign to his character shown through his eyes. "I promise I won't grope you," he joshed, making you roll your eyes.

"That's really not something we should be joking about," you mumbled, wiping away the rest of your tears on your sleeve.

His thumb brushed against the back of your hand soothingly. "I mask my awkwardness around you in dark humor. I'm sorry."

[beom1e]

SOUL WATCH

everybody had the soul watch app, because everybody was curious to meet their soulmate. it was an app that told you when or how and gave you hints, but never who. and due to all the pressure, you downloaded the app too... just to find out you didn’t even have a soulmate after all.

PAIRING yang jungwon x gn! reader

THEMES soulmates au, highschool au, fluff, humour

matching jewellery was a trend among soulmates when it came to being a highschool student. those that had found theirs wanted to show it off, basically shoving it into the faces of those that were still searching. walking down the corridors was a constant reminder that you didn’t have a soulmate for yourself, as matched couples would walk hand-in-hand with shiny bracelets or be seen wearing those missing piece style necklaces.

mondays. after freeing yourself from the couple-filled hallways, you sat down at your desk and placed your books onto the table with a huff. trying to block out your classmate bragging about meeting their soulmate over the weekend, you noisily checked around in your bag for your pencil case.

then came the clicking of your teacher’s heels as she entered the classroom, and there was a rush of students finding their seats. the squeaking of chair legs and quiet chatter only made you more annoyed at the world. to say discovering you were soulmate-less a few weeks prior had put you in a permanent bad mood would be an understatement.

but everything lit up as soon as yang jungwon appeared in the doorway. he apologised for being late, cheeks flushed and hair windswept. heat rose to your own cheeks at the sight of his sorry smile.

much to your dismay, he was a few seats to the back and to the right of you. he disappeared from your sight, making you slump sadly in your seat.

‘today is international soulmate day,’ your teacher smiled, setting her powerpoint up behind her. ‘as you all may know. there are many types of soulmate links out there, but i want to know about yours. so research and write about it — its origin, its rarity — and hand it in at the end of class.’

not sure what to do, you raised your hand. ‘what if you don’t have a soulmate?’ at the sound of your voice, jungwon looked up from his notebook. he didn’t have a soulmate either.

‘everybody has a soulmate, y/n,’ she reminded you. ‘maybe you entered your details into soul watch incorrectly.’

‘i don’t have a soulmate either,’ jungwon spoke up. you turned in your seat. ‘so what do we do instead?’

‘this is the first time i’m hearing of people being soulmate-less,’ she chuckled awkwardly, slightly panicked. ‘well, you’re both part of the student board aren’t you? just head down to the main hall and help the others set up for the soulmate dance.’

the soulmate dance. just the thought of it made you roll your eyes. you’d never attended, because you didn’t show interest in finding out until those few weeks ago, but you knew how cheesy it was. it was like every other kind of dance, totally cliché and super boring. except, you got to bring your soulmate.

you packed up your things as quickly as possible. as horrible it would be having to decorate for a stupid highschool dance that you wouldn’t even attend, at least jungwon would be at your side. and he must’ve understood your suffering, especially during international soulmate week on international soulmate day that just happened to fall on a monday.

you slung your bag onto your shoulder and followed jungwon out of the door. he walked slightly ahead of you, holding open each door for you which you quietly thanked him for.

when you made it to the main hall, the bright pink colour palette made your eyes burn. ‘this is going to be a long week,’ jungwon sighed, dropping his bag and leaving you at the door. mentally agreeing, you placed your own bag down beside his.

you sort of felt bad for jungwon. it was depressing to know that you weren’t ‘destined’ for anyone, and that you’d have to find someone the old way. he seemed even less of a fan of soulmate week than you were, but he did seem really down about not having a soulmate of his own.

it was wednesday morning and you’d missed your bus. annoyed with yourself, you had to run to the nearest bus stop in hopes another bus would arrive soon. that was where you saw jungwon and his friends, all of them being upperclassmen.

trying not to be seen, you awkwardly leaned against the outside of the shelter and looked off to the side. ‘it’s not like i like them,’ jungwon argued, which earned a few laughs from the boys. ‘why would i ask them to the soulmate dance if we’re not soulmates?’

‘because you don’t want to spend saturday studying alone in your room?’ sunoo teased, ‘if they’re not matched, then you can ask them. no big deal.’

the bus pulled up in front of them. you waited for them to get on before following, avoiding eye contact and taking a seat at the back. ‘good morning, y/n,’ jake turned around to face you. ‘i didn’t know you take this bus.’

‘i don’t,’ you awkwardly replied. ‘i was late and missed my own bus.’

‘are you going to the dance on saturday?’ sunoo also joined in, smiling brightly at you.

‘oh, uh,’ you nervously fiddled with the straps of your bag. ‘no, i don’t have a soulmate.’

‘well, we were just telling little wonie here that you don’t need a soulmate to go,’ jay patted jungwon’s head, making the younger boy complain about him messing up his hair. ‘you could come with us.’

‘thank you...’ shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you looked between all of the boys who were staring eagerly at you. ‘for the offer... but i don’t want to go. it means a lot, i just don’t do school dances.’

the bus conversation was probably the most awkward thing that happened to you that day. or during lunch time, when you took a seat on a bench facing the sports field. there was jungwon once again, playing around with the same friends. you watched as jake gave up on running around and collapsed to the floor, with everyone mirroring his actions seconds later.

you’d always had a crush on jungwon. he was always so sweet and polite, with the perfect balance between humour and seriousness. you saw him as someone you could easily rely on and trust, despite never being close to him. his cheeks always had this natural blush and his laugh was addictive, and he looked so serious whenever he was concentrating. you felt your heart racing whenever he was around, but you never had the courage to confess to him.

as you got lost in your thoughts, you made eye contact with him across the field. panicked, you began packing your things away and into your bag. then you left, trying not to move too quickly so that it didn’t look suspicious.

after classes, you were called into the main hall once again. knowing today you’d have to be painting, you grabbed your change of clothes from your locker and headed into the changing rooms. coming back into the hall, you were met with jake and sunghoon covering each other in the baby pink paint.

you slipped past them and looked around for something to do. and then someone tapped on your shoulder. it was sunoo, who asked if you could help him with painting the banner. jungwon passed by you, sending you a soft smile before hurrying off towards jay. how did he seem to be everywhere?

on friday afternoon, as you were exhausted from all the decorating you’d been doing, you were so glad to be able to go home and enjoy your weekend. the whole week had been a complete disaster, and you now had a strong dislike towards the colour pink. but much to your dismay, the head of the student board asked you to attend the soulmate dance in order to keep an eye on the students. why he chose you specifically, you had no idea.

so on saturday morning, you tried your best to drag yourself out of bed. though you really didn’t want to dress up for a highschool dance, there was an outfit you had in mind. things weren’t going to change, you weren’t going to randomly get a soulmate, but you stupidly had hope things could change.

you spent most of the day considering backing out, but gave in because you didn’t want to disappoint your classmate. you arrived at the main hall an hour and a half before the event, ready to set things up.

a few students were around, moving tables to either side of the hall. a large red carpet was being rolled through the centre of the room, leading out onto the school gardens. you turned around at the sound of your name, bumping into the source. they reached for your hand, preventing you from toppling over.

a shock of electricity shot through your arm, forcing you to snatch your hand back. ‘i’m so sorry,’ the voice spoke, and much to your dismay, it was jungwon.

you felt your heart racing again, heat rising to your cheeks in an instant. ‘it’s ok,’ you reassured him. ‘it was my fault, so i’m the one that’s sorry.’

‘well,’ he smiled. ‘i guess i’ll see you around.’

honestly, you felt like an idiot. he heard loud and clear just a few days ago that you didn’t want to go to the soulmate dance, but here you were. maybe he would realise you were being forced into it, but if he didn’t, then that would be humiliating.

you shook your head to clear yourself of all the thoughts. ‘y/n,’ turning on the spot, you were met with the sight of jay coming towards you. ‘you’re looking lost. i thought you weren’t coming.’

‘change of plan,’ you simply replied. ‘i was asked to help set up some things.’

‘well, i need help carrying some things in from the truck outside,’ he offered. ‘if you’d like to help.’ nodding, you followed behind him at a distance.

the sky was clear — not a single cloud in sight — and the sun was shining brightly. the back doors of the truck were open, workers from the catering company lowering large bottles of drinks onto the ground. jay gestured towards the cluster of fruit juice bottles before grabbing one for himself.

they were heavy, but you managed. walking at jay’s side, you couldn’t think of a conversation starter to make it all a little less awkward. but thankfully, or maybe not, he spoke up first. ‘you do know that jungwon has a crush on you, right?’

the bottle fell from your grip. panicked, you reached forward to catch it again. clearly the universe was on your side in that moment, because it didn’t split.

‘uh, no,’ you forced out a laugh, feeling your entire body heat up. ‘i did not know that.’

‘he denies it,’ jay shrugged, helping you lift the heavy bottle back up from the ground. ‘but we all see the way he looks at you. after he found out you were soulmate-less too, he wanted to ask you to the dance tonight. but when you said you weren’t going, he gave up on that idea.’

what were you supposed to say to that? as you placed the bottles beside the snack table, jay pushed them under it. turning around to see jungwon on the other side of the hall, you felt yourself swallowing your words before leaving to the outside again.

but avoiding jungwon wasn’t as easy as you had hoped. he seemed to be in your line of sight at all times and in all honesty, you weren’t even sure why you were avoiding him. after all, if what jay said was true, then the feelings were mutual. still, you couldn’t shift your mind away from the shock you had felt at his touch. you thought maybe you were going crazy and had imagined it, until your phone buzzed with a notification.

leaving jay to bring in the rest of the drinks, you leaned against the exterior wall and pulled out your phone. a notification from soul watch lit up your phone, 0 days until you meet your soulmate. eyes wide, you looked around the area, hoping to see someone checking their phone in that same moment. was that even possible?

you weren’t sure what to do. search for your soulmate? or would they just come naturally to you? did this mean jay was your soulmate? it was a possibility, considering you were with him when the notification came through.

‘you coming inside?’ speak of the devil. you quickly hid you phone, putting on a fake smile and nodding. ‘people will start arriving soon.’

as soon as the hall began to fill up with people, you wished you had never came back inside. you really needed some time and space to think everything through. there was that electricity when jungwon had helped you up, but then you should’ve gotten the notification in that moment, right?

you grabbed your phone from your bag, going out into an empty corridor. sliding down the wall beside the door and pulling up the soul watch app, you searched your profile for details. but all the information it had was about your soulmate link, which happened to be a countdown. and now that the countdown was over, there were no more hints?

you were in complete disbelief, but the soulmate dance wasn’t the place to be researching this.

‘i guess you got it too,’ you looked up to see jungwon. ‘you’ve been avoiding me all day, so you must’ve.’

‘i have not been avoiding you,’ but the redness of your cheeks suggested otherwise. ‘and got what? i don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘a sudden notification that you’ve possibly met your soulmate...?’ he sat down beside you.

‘well actually,’ you could’ve laughed at how stupid you were about to sound. ‘i was avoiding you because of what jay said earlier. and i thought there was no way you could be my soulmate otherwise i would’ve received the notification after we bumped into each other.’

‘who else could possibly be your soulmate?’

‘what’s that supposed to mean?’ you turned your head to make eye contact. he quickly looked away and down at the floor, wishing he hadn’t been so bold with his last statement. jungwon was never this forward with people he wasn’t yet close to.

‘i know jay told you that i like you,’ he admitted. ‘and i’ve always known that you like me back. i just never thought to bring it up because i didn’t have a soulmate, and i thought you would have one.’

‘but you have a soulmate now,’ you reminded him, a smile lighting up your features. ‘or... however that works. do you think it has to do with us touching for the first time back then?’

‘you felt that too?!’ his eyes widened as he stared back at you. ‘i thought i was going crazy.’

‘do you want to go back inside?’ you gestured to the door into the main hall. jungwon shook his head, standing up and holding his hand out to you.

‘we could...’ he trailed off, looking behind himself at the exit. ‘or we could ditch this snooze fest and do something fun instead... like go to an arcade?’

‘sounds like a plan,’ you took his hand, letting him pull you up from the ground. he checked if the coast was clear before running towards the exit, the sound of your laughter filling the empty corridor.

[giorno-plays-piano]

The Hollow

Pairing: monster!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: yandere, horror, stalking, kidnapping, death of minor characters.

Words: 2137.

Summary: You were finally going mad. Apparently, it was something in the air, right? Something the management told nothing about that caused hallucinations and all those scary things. Obviously, all those people who worked in the assembly shop #4 before you left because they knew that. That was the reason behind the stupid legend and all those rumors.

_______

There’s a man inside the wall behind you.

This was what the factory workers told you as soon as the manager left, forcing you to question people’s sanity. At first you thought it was a bad joke or something. A man inside the wall in the assembly shop #4? What the Hell was that?

You thought they wanted to scare you away because they didn’t like you: your colleagues were simple people who lived in this godforsaken place for ages and knew each other as if they all were one big family. You, an outsider from somewhere far away who didn’t even look like them, weren’t the same kind, they probably thought. Of course, they didn’t take a liking to you and tried to make you leave so that you wouldn’t become an eyesore.

However, soon you found out they all were pitying you. You could feel their eyes on you each time you left the shop where you worked alone, and all you saw on their faces was fear and regret. A couple of women tried befriending you, sitting at the same table as you during lunch, and the next day they all told you anyone who had been working in the shop #4 left in less than a month. Naturally, you didn’t believe that crazy talk about the man in the wall - it’s not like the factory was built in those times when people were buried alive inside the walls for good luck. Then the women tried convincing you to work facing the wall - you were now standing behind it because of how the rusted pipeline with a barrel shifter was placed. You almost rolled your eyes in irritation: you wouldn’t risk losing your job because you couldn’t stand where you were told by the manager. You desperately needed money.

The day after you received a letter in your locker: somebody asked you to leave the assembly shop #4 immediately if you valued your life. It was starting getting scary. Were these people schizophrenic's? No, there were far too many of them who believed in this creepy urban legend.

At some point you got so fed up with this stupid talk that you headed right to Andy, your manager, to ask him why on Earth people were bothering you with this. The man spent half an hour talking about employees who had nothing better to do other than slacking off and telling silly stories when they needed to work. Yes, rumors had it that almost a hundred years ago there was a man, an talented engineer, who entered the assembly shop #4 and never came back, but it had nothing to do with this ridiculous legend. The wall behind you was all solid blocks of stone that were never moved since the day this factory was built. Even if the engineer was killed - although Andy believed the story wasn’t even real - how would somebody hide the body of a grown man there without dismantling the wall? 

The story should have put you at ease, you thought, but instead it only made you more concerned: now as you knew about a disappeared engineer, every time you stood with your back facing that cursed wall you felt the shivers running down your spine. What if there were a ghost or something? You didn’t believe in them, of course, but the dim light in the shop #4, its rusted pipeline, dirty floors and dust balls were hardly making you feel any better. And that disgusted lunch bell... it sounded almost like Silent Hill siren.

You worked in the shop for 8 hours every day, having no time to literally visit the bathroom. Assembling metal parts that always looked ugly over and over again could make anyone go nuts. By the end of the day your body ached as if you carried a giant stone on your shoulders, your back hurting, arms heavy as you barely kept standing. You didn’t even have strength to smile at Dean, an elderly night guard, but he just nodded to you with understanding, knowing well what it meant to be a factory worker here. This shitty job could kill anyone if you stayed long enough here.

Was it the reason why everyone kept talking about that man in the wall? This was the only way to liven up things here, you guessed and decided to talk about it more with the women who you befriended.

They were happy you finally started asking questions. They talked about the legend of the engineer vanished into thin air: you had never heard so much nonsense, sitting quietly in the bus and waiting for it to bring you home. Somebody said the engineer made a pact with the devil himself and merged with the wall, becoming immortal within the stone; the others claimed the engineer went mad because of his loneliness and buried himself in the wall; one woman argued that the engineer, on the contrary, was a ladies man and got sealed up there by a relative of his former lover who committed suicide. There were far too many rumors for you to remember, and soon you abandoned the idea to use the-man-in-the-wall topic to "liven things up" in the factory.

The two weeks had passed since the time you first started working here. You hated this rusty place with all your heart, but this job kept you afloat. It was still better than nothing. Biting down on your dry lower lip, you exhaled tiredly and lifted a particularly heavy detail, trying to fit it in the right place.

The next moment it fell down the dirty floor as you heard an awful sound behind your back as if the heavy stones were moving. It was just for a second, a mere second, but it was enough to have you on edge as you stared at the wall with your eyes wide open. It was some kind of an auditory hallucination, right? There was nothing different in the wall behind you. It looked just like it always did, a nasty grey stone with a tint of orange from the rusty hooks. The wall couldn’t open up just like some Narnia’s wardrobe, could it? It was far too old for any sort of mechanisms like that. Besides, it wouldn’t be able to close so fast, leaving no traces. It was some hallucination from your lack of sleep.

Your coworkers didn’t think so when you told them about it. It was the man in the wall, of course. It always started like this - with an awful, frightening sound. Soon you would be hearing things and feeling the stare of that man all the time, they said. The room #4 was a terrible place, and you should leave it immediately, they said. One woman even offered you to stay at her place if you couldn’t provide for yourself until you found a better job. Of course, you declined her kind offer.

But you did start hearing all kinds of things while you were working. Stones moving, metal clinking, some weird rustling out of nowhere - it was all making you insane, especially since every time you turned around only to see nothing but the wall behind your back. Everything was as it should have been, but you felt something was happening when you didn’t look. 

You were finally going mad. Apparently, it was something in the air, right? Something the management told nothing about that caused hallucinations and all those scary things. Obviously, all those people who worked in the assembly shop #4 before you left because they knew that. That was the reason behind the stupid legend and all those rumors. Obviously, you - and all those people who ran away from here - lacked money to do all the necessary medical tests to prove anything.

Shit, you really needed to find a better job if you didn’t want to spend the rest of your days in an asylum. 

Now at night you were sending your CV and cover letters, but you couldn’t stop working, nonetheless, forced to constantly look behind your shoulder or turn around just to make sure you weren’t totally crazy. You tried ignoring the noise once, but when it grew louder instead of disappearing in one second just like before, you realized it was a big mistake. Every day was turning into a nightmare.

Grey stone, rusted hooks, dust bunnies on the floor. The same picture you saw over and over again when you were turning back. It was simply unbearable. At one point you even wished to see something different there, something that would prove you weren't going insane.

You had to be careful with your wishes. When you came to the shop #4 the next time, you saw a face of a man cut in grey stone.

You didn't know what happened after that, coming to your senses in the resting room with your coworkers giving your water and some pills, your body shaking so badly you barely managed to sit. Was that a hallucination? A face of a man in the wall? All people around you kept saying it wasn't, describing this face to you so vividly as if they saw it themselves.

You needed to get out of here. Even if it meant becoming homeless and begging for money on the street, it was still a better option than staying in one room with that thing.

It was the next day you prepared to give Andy your letter of resignation, turning back to face the wall nearly every minute. No, you weren't going to stay here and watch how your life was becoming a living Hell - damn, it already was, wasn't it? You no longer slept peacefully, barely eating, constantly trying to keep a bottle of cheap wine you kept in the kitchen out of your reach. No, no, no, you weren't stupid enough to work for a minimum salary in a place like this, risking your own life.

It happened when the lunch bell rang, making you cringe - the next moment something had exploded with such a defeaning boom you almost fell down to the floor. Shit, you knew this sound - an omen of a great catastrophe that certainly disfigured somebody, if not killed. Something went horribly wrong in the assembly shop #3.

The blood drained from your face. Oh God. Were Shirley, Agatha and Simon alright? No, they weren't. Judging by the horrible screams coming from the metal door, they weren’t.

You moved as if in slow motion, your legs suddenly giving up on you, the siren wailing so loud your head could burst, forcing you to forget all the emergency instructions you were given. You needed to open the door. You needed to get this people out of there, those who were screaming in pain, cursing, and pleading for help.

"You can't go." A soft voice somewhere behind you said, and you froze. "You will die out there."

Someone's hands wrapped around you like a rope, making it harder to breathe, not letting you take one more step to the rusted metal door and dragging somewhere back instead until you felt the cold grey wall with your back. It was him, wasn't it? It was the man who had been watching you for a month from inside the stone, waiting for his chance.

When the realization hit you, the fear became suffocating. You couldn't move, couldn't even speak or cry out something to make others know you're trapped here, with a man in the wall who was taking you with him. But nobody would hear you anyway: the unstopping cries of people from the assemble shop #3 were earsplitting, and the siren didn't get silent either, making your efforts futile.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured so gently as if he was your lover, making you want to puke, "I won't leave you here."

The wall behind your back moved with a sound you knew well. Although you expected to bump into cold stones and rusted hooks that would tear your skin apart, instead, you felt darkness embracing you, wrapping around you like a cocoon. The picture of the assemble shop #4 looked so far now, so little as if you were staring at the tiny photo in an old album. It felt surreal.

You were behind the stone wall - or inside of it, you couldn't tell - looking at the real world through the looking glass. They were right. All those people who were constantly telling you about the man living in the grey stone wall were right.

"I was waiting for you a long, long time," the voice behind you said, and you felt somebody - or something - lowering their monstrous head to your shoulder, making a quiet sigh, "but you finally came to share my solitude... Thank you."

________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @melodie-rin @iheartsebandchris

[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. 

☼☼☼☼

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[etherrreal]

“5:00am”

Pairing: ushijima x reader Genre: fluff Summary: looking back, you’re not sure what made you think that jogging with ushijima would end in anything but complete and utter disaster, but it’s too late to go back now WC: 5k Warnings: brief mentions of non-serious injury, a little blood, implied smut, too many paragraphs about ushijima’s hands A/N: first fic gang! this was supposed to be like 500 words but as the blog title suggests, i’m a liar -Dawn

You’re not sure what possesses you to go jogging with Ushijima at the ungodly hour of 5AM –and on a Saturday, no less– but here you are, tugging a windbreaker over your tank top and leggings while he waits for you by the door.

Most of it, you’re sure, is just because you miss him. The two of you have been so busy lately –you with your new job, him with the whole professional volleyball thing– so this is the first weekend in a while that you’ll actually be spending together.

It’s only natural that you want to spend as much time as possible with your boyfriend before your respective commitments are back to pulling you both in opposite directions, as they have more times than you’d like to admit in the past four months you’ve been dating.

Or maybe 5AM-you, lacking caffeine, sleep, and any sense of real judgment, is just losing your mind.

Ushijima certainly seems to think so, if the look he gives you when you volunteer to accompany him on his routine morning jog is any indication. He’s far from the most expressive person you’ve ever dated, but you’ve been with him long enough to register the surprise on his features; the way his pretty olive eyes widen a fraction and the way he pauses to watch you, like he’s trying to gauge how serious you are.

“What?” you ask as you join him by the door, removing your slippers.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You hate running.”

“Running? Absolutely. Jogging, however, I think I can handle, especially if it’s with my handsome boyfriend who I haven’t spent nearly enough time with lately.”

With your slippers out of the way, you move to reach for your sneakers next. A quick glance in his direction confirms that he’s still giving you that same bewildered look, a crease forming between his eyebrows. It makes you falter as you pick up your sneakers, wondering if you’ve made a mistake.

Now that you think about it, he does usually jog on his own. The two of you are no strangers to working out together –if him doing push-ups with you perched comfortably on his back counts as working out– but you’ve never actually joined him on a morning run before.

Is this something he prefers to do alone? Are you overstepping his boundaries by inviting yourself along before checking to see if it was okay? Suddenly, you find yourself wishing you would’ve asked first.

“Do you...not want me to go with you? Because if you’d prefer to go alone, that’s totally fine, I’ll just–”

He catches your wrist before you can put your sneakers back down, and the rest of your sentence is lost somewhere between the fingertips he presses against your skin and the other hand he uses to lift yours.

It’s almost criminal, you think, the way a single touch from him is enough to completely derail your train of thought, whatever you were babbling about suddenly the furthest thing from your mind. You think you shouldn’t be as phased by it by now, not after all the time you’ve spent together, but no such luck.

Really, it’s his hands that are the problem, now that you think about it. His hands, steady and calloused and strong, but still so undeniably gentle and patient when it comes to you.

It’s hard to pick your favorite feature of Ushijima’s when he looks the way he does –all tanned skin, broad shoulders, and chiseled abs– but his hands are pretty high up on your list. They have been from the moment you met him at Iwaizumi’s housewarming party last year.

You had obviously seen him before, though you never actually spoke to him until the party. It was mostly during high school volleyball matches between Aoba Johsai and Shiratorizawa, courtesy of your childhood friendship with Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

You remember spotting Ushijima and thinking he looked so serious and unapproachable, even more imposing than he did in the photos of him featured in that Monthly Volleyball magazine you used to watch Oikawa vandalize with ridiculous-looking mustaches and devil horns.

When you saw Ushijima at Iwaizumi’s party, he still looked serious, not to mention larger and even more intimidating in person, but his hands were warm and kinder than you were expecting, careful in the way they wrapped around yours when he introduced himself. It was only hours later when those same hands reached for yours again to help you off the couch that you realized you spent the whole night with him.

Now, months later, you’re standing with him in his stupidly expensive apartment, half-panicked that you might’ve overestimated his desire to spend time with you. But Ushijima’s hands are still steady and warm against your skin, even now, reassuring in a way you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of.

“I’d love it if you joined me,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand, and if you weren’t smiling before, then you definitely are now.

You pull on his hand to tug him down towards you, a request that he silently obliges. You perch on your toes to reach him and deliver a chaste kiss to his lips, smiling against his mouth. When you pull away to look at him, you find him smiling, too, in that soft and subtle way of his that you’re so glad he’s chosen to share with you.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful,” he adds. “We’ll be running for a while, and I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re clumsier than most.”

Sadly, he’s not wrong. You are pretty clumsy, almost cartoonishly so. He’s watched you bang your leg on his dining room table practically every time you pass it, heard you curse to yourself after accidentally knocking down every item in his shower. At this point, holding your arm in his is as natural to him as breathing, just so he’s there to keep you from tripping over your own two feet.

And while you definitely appreciate the concern, you don’t think it’s entirely necessary, at least not for this. Sure, you have a bad habit of falling on your ass more often than not, but you’re also able to do so without sustaining any major injuries. You’re confident this time will be no different.

Besides, it’s just one jog. You’ll survive, even if your muscles might hate you for it later. Still, you know he worries about you, which is why you reach up to give him another quick kiss.

“Deal,” you assure him once you pull away. Then, you grin, voice taking on a more teasing edge as you look up at him. “As long as you promise not to be embarrassed when I leave you in the dust. You know, since I’m just so naturally athletic.”

Ushijima’s never been the best at detecting sarcasm, but with you, like so many other things, it’s different. He can tell you’re joking by the way you giggle and wink at him, and when he huffs out a quiet laugh, you smile and sit down to put on your sneakers.

He surprises you when he kneels to tie them for you before you get the chance to do it yourself.

“Careful, Wakatoshi,” you warn him, not for the first time. “If you keep being so sweet to me, you’ll never be able to get rid of me. You might just be stuck with me forever.”

“That’s fine,” he says, like he’s already considered the consequences before and has chosen to accept them. “You’re the only one I can imagine being with for that long, anyway.”

He moves on to tie the laces on your second sneaker, taking zero responsibility for the way his words make your heart flutter in your chest. He always does this: says stupidly romantic things with barely any prompting and absolutely no consideration or even awareness of the effect they have on you.

His voice doesn’t change when he says them, either. He uses the same blunt tone he always does, like it’s a simple fact, like he’s asking you to pass him his phone charger instead of alluding to a potential future with you.

It just makes you fall that much more in love with him.

Not that you’ve actually told him yet. You’re still waiting for the right moment. You wonder if maybe this might be it, but then he stands up and turns away from you to open the door and the opportunity is gone.

Maybe that’s for the best. This morning, you decide that you can handle jogging with your pro-athlete boyfriend or confessing your love for him, not both. The latter will just have to wait for dinner tonight, assuming you make it back in one piece and your legs don’t just fall off from the sudden exercise.

You stand up and follow him out the door.

Ushijima insists you both take the time to stretch before you actually start running, so you spend a few minutes doing so in the empty lobby. You pretend to struggle with a few of them, just so you’ll have an excuse to have his hands on you.

You’re almost positive he sees through your little ruse, if the amused look he gives you is any indication, but he doesn’t complain, guiding his hands over your body to help you bend and stretch like he can’t see the grin on your face.

Once you’re all warmed up, you’re ready to start jogging. You follow behind him as he leads you along his usual path down the block, the streets noticeably empty, save for the occasional passing car.

You know the only reason you’re able to keep up with him is because he’s slowing down for you, but you don’t let it bother you. He’s a professional athlete, after all, and you’re the kind of person who doesn’t even like to run to catch the bus, so it’s to be expected. Still, you give it your all, remembering to keep your breathing steady just like he taught you.

And you have to admit, your aversion to any sort of cardio aside, jogging with Ushijima is actually kind of fun.

For the first five minutes, at least.

Then it all goes to shit.

You’re not sure how it happens, either. One moment, everything is great. Sure, you’re already feeling a little sweaty, and maybe your lungs are screaming at you just a tiny bit –the price of inactivity, and all that– but you power through it because, in the words of so many great orators before you, mama ain’t raise no bitch.

But then you trip on something –a pothole in the street, your own foot, who the hell knows– and suddenly you’re wiping out for the entire world –or maybe just your boyfriend and that one stray cat you passed, which is still pretty embarrassing– to see.

Ushijima’s quite a few feet ahead of you now, because as much as he tried to slow down for you in the beginning, you figure he just can’t help but speed up a bit. He’s not the type to do anything half-assed, not even a casual morning jog. You’re almost grateful for it in a way, because it means he doesn’t actually see you trip and stumble like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time.

He does, however, hear the yelp that escapes your throat, making him glance over his shoulder just in time to see you fall forward. He runs back towards you, but he’s too far to reach you in time, and your knees hit the pavement hard, your hands shooting out to catch yourself as best as you can.

You don’t even have to look to know that the skin on both your knees and your palms is scraped up. There’s also a shooting pain that starts at your ankle and darts right up your leg, reassuring you that you most definitely stepped on it wrong.

Ushijima is by your side in an instant, normally stoic face scrunched up with worry. He helps you twist yourself into a more comfortable position on the sidewalk, though it does little to ease your embarrassment or your annoyance with your own incoordination.

“I’m okay,” you try to reassure him, but that’s not entirely the truth. Your palms are stinging and your ankle is throbbing, not to mention the fact that your knees currently resemble a cat’s scratching post. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

The look he gives you is doubtful, and you know for a fact he doesn’t believe you at all. “You’re bleeding.”

And holy crap, you are. It shouldn’t be a surprise to you, since you felt the entire thing, but the sight of the blood on your knees and palms still stuns you a bit.

“Come on.” He wraps his arms around you, pulling you up with ease you would normally marvel at if it didn’t make you feel so pathetic. “We’re going back. I’ll be able to treat your wounds and take a better look at your ankle.”

“Whaa– but we’ve barely even started jogging!” you protest, pouting despite the stinging of your cuts. “I told you that I’m fine, Toshi. I can still walk–”

You try to put pressure on the ankle you rolled and immediately wince. You almost stumble forward again, but this time Ushijima is there to catch you, holding you against him with his arms around your waist.

“No, you can’t. You need to treat your injuries, so stop being stubborn and let me help you. We’re going back.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, eyebrows drawing together in frustration –mostly at yourself– but stubborn as you are, you know he’s right. There’s no arguing your way out of this one, not that he would listen to you in the first place. He’s always been protective of you, which means he won’t be budging on this.

You heave a defeated sigh but nod at him anyway, relenting. He helps you hobble along with your arm around his shoulders and his arm around your waist for a few steps before he seems to think better of it.

In one fluid motion, he’s picking you up in his arms, holding you bridal style against his chest. And while normally his arms are one of your favorite places to be, the fact that he has to carry you like this all because you’re an idiot who can’t watch where you’re going is doing nothing to ease your already damaged pride.

You try to convince him to put you down and let you walk on your own, but unsurprisingly, he doesn’t agree. Your face, which is already warm with embarrassment, just seems to heat up even more. Your mortification only increases when you spot his apartment building a few streets later.

God, the two of you were running for what, maybe five minutes? Six? And now you’re already back home? Talk about embarrassing. And right after you promised him to be careful, too.

The fact that the pothole –which you are now deciding to blame for your fall, because you don’t think your ego can handle anything else– had the audacity to trip you and then not immediately swallow you whole to save you this embarrassment is honestly disrespectful, at this point.

Ushijima was right earlier. You do hate running. And you hate yourself even more for believing that jogging at any hour –least of all 5AM– would end in anything other than complete and utter disaster.

Your only consolation is that it’s so early, chances are that no one else saw you trip and almost eat shit in the middle of the street. It’s the little victories that count, you suppose, though you might just have to burn this outfit later to rid yourself of the reminder. You’re not sure how you’re ever going to live this one down.

Thankfully, the universe seems to take some pity on you, since you don’t pass any of Ushijima’s neighbors in the lobby. He maneuvers you into the apartment, managing to close the door behind him and remove his sneakers without putting you down.

When he does finally let you go, it’s to place you delicately on his bed. He disappears from the room and returns a moment later with a first aid kit and an ice pack, while you flop defeatedly onto your back against his pillows, pouting.

“I can’t believe I actually fell.” You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. You feel the bed dip beneath his weight as he sits beside you, but you still don’t move. “The one time I willingly decide to run, and this is what happens. We didn’t even make it past the supermarket!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It could’ve happened to anyone,” he says, opening the first aid kit. His voice is as straightforward as ever, but you know he’s trying to comfort you in his own way. “Besides, it could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Worse than twisting my ankle and making a fool of myself five minutes in?” You shift to prop yourself up on your elbows and raise an eyebrow at him. “How?”

“You could’ve twisted your ankle and made a fool of yourself two minutes in instead.”

The bluntness of his response makes you snort, cracking a half-smile as you push yourself to sit up fully. “Good point.”

You watch as he gets to work, mesmerized by how careful he is with you. He takes your palms in his hands, wiping away the blood gently and cleaning the small scratches it reveals. The scrapes on your knees, which he moves to next, sting more, but he moves slowly enough that it doesn’t overwhelm you. He’s always taken such good care of you, and this time is no different.

After all of your scrapes are covered, he examines your ankle, which is unsurprisingly the worst of your injuries. When he helps you tug your sneaker and sock off, you can both see it’s already swelling.

It’s not broken, he assures you, but it is lightly sprained. You’ll need to rest and compress it until you’re ready to walk on it again, but the ice should help with the swelling. He lifts your ankle on top of a few pillows to keep it elevated, covering it with the ice pack.

He moves higher up on the bed to sit beside you against the headboard, searching your face for any signs of discomfort. “How does that feel?”

“It still hurts, but it’s not as bad as before,” you answer. “Honestly, I think my pride is more damaged than anything else.”

You lean back against the pillows propped up on his headboard and sigh, unable to stop the guilty frown tugging at your lips. As grateful as you are for his help, you also feel really bad that he had to stop and take care of you at all.

If you hadn’t insisted on joining him on his run, then none of this would’ve happened. You would still have two normal-sized ankles, and he would be able to finish his run without having to worry about you and your chronic clumsiness.

“I’m sorry I ruined our jog,” you find yourself apologizing, fiddling with the hem of your shirt guiltily. “It was supposed to be cute and fun, but all I did was screw it up. I’m sorry you had to come back to take care of me.”

Ushijima shakes his head. “Taking care of you isn’t a burden. There’s no need for you to apologize.”

His hands reach for yours, large enough to engulf your own as he turns them over. His eyes follow the path his fingertips trace lightly over the band-aids covering the scratches on your palms. “If I hadn’t gone on ahead of you–”

You press a hand against his chest to stop him, his eyes flickering back up to meet your own.

As endearing as his concern is, he’s not the one at fault here. You don’t think anyone is, really, except for maybe that damned pothole you may or may not have tripped on. More importantly, you don’t want him to blame himself for this.

“Nuh-uh, nope, none of that. I’m the one who tripped, remember? It’s not your fault I suck at running. Or any kind of physical activity, actually.”

You pause, tilting your head thoughtfully as you mull over your own words. He watches the mischievous smile he’s learned to love appear on your face, hears the teasing edge seeping into your tone as you lower your voice just a bit.

“Except maybe the one that involves you railing me into the mattress,” you add with a smirk, playful and just shameless enough in a way that never fails to draw him in even more. “That one, I don’t mind, for obvious reasons.”

He sighs, though your words don’t surprise him. “I really wish you wouldn’t word it that way.”

“Too late~”

You’re practically singing as you grin at him, grabbing his chin and bringing his face closer to yours.

He mutters something about you having a one track mind, but you don’t miss the amusement in his eyes or the fond little smile he casts in your direction. He doesn’t stop you from pulling him in either, allowing you to rest your other hand on the side of his face.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, Wakatoshi.”

You meet him halfway for a loving kiss that you hope is enough to express your gratitude, one he doesn’t hesitate to return. When you break apart, he rests his forehead against yours.

And right when you think you can’t possibly love him anymore, he promises quietly, sincerely, “Always.”

As usual, he gives you no time to recover. He kisses you on the forehead and then stands up, announcing that there’s something else he needs to go grab before leaving the room.

Honestly, you’re hoping it’s food. You’re starving, and after all of this morning’s excitement* (see also: trauma), there’s nothing more you want than to cuddle up alongside your boyfriend while enjoying a plate of your favorite breakfast food.

To your surprise –and slight disappointment– when Ushijima returns, it’s not with food or anything else to treat your injuries, but rather with a set of keys. He sits beside you again, opening his palm to offer them to you.

“Well, those aren’t pancakes.” You take the keys anyway, twirling the ring around one of your fingers before raising an eyebrow at him. “Are these what I think they are?”

“The keys to my apartment,” he confirms. “I want you to move in with me.”

Your eyes widen. It’s not the last thing you expected him to ask you when he offered you the keys, but it’s definitely not the first one either.

When he first held them out to you, you thought maybe he was just giving you a copy of your own to hold onto, just in case you ever needed them. You’ve thought about offering him the same a few times before, just so he could let himself into your own apartment whenever he comes over instead of you having to get up and open the door for him.

But that’s not what’s happening here. It looks like Ushijima’s chosen to skip the exchanging apartment keys step entirely in favor of just straight up asking you to move in with him. And while part of you is thrilled by it, your heart hammering in your chest with excitement at the prospect of getting to wake up next to him every day, of getting to come home to him, there’s another part of you that’s wondering if maybe you’re moving too fast.

It’s not that you don’t trust him, or that you doubt how much he cares for you, because you don’t. Your previous partners couldn’t even spell commitment, much less agree to it, but Ushijima’s not like them.

He told you, not too long after the first few times you went out together, that he doesn’t believe in dating casually or wasting his time. If he’s with someone, it’s because he sees a future with them. Hearing that was a bit intimidating at first, but it was also extraordinarily refreshing.

Asking you to move in with him, you know, is just another step towards that future. And while the idea excites you, making you feel more secure and adored than in any of your past relationships, there’s a part of you that’s still a bit hesitant.

After all, what sets you and Ushijima apart –more than your senses of humor, more than your completely different levels of athletic ability, as evidenced by the ice pack and bandages you’re currently sporting– is the fact that you, unlike him, often get caught up in the “what-if’s” of a situation. Whenever you have to make a decision, you psych yourself out by imagining every little thing that could possibly go wrong.

He calls your name, tearing you from your thoughts. He’s looking at you like he already knows what you’re thinking, like he can see the tangle of anxiety you feel nestling into your bones. Maybe that’s why he reaches out to take the hand that’s not holding his keys, lacing your fingers together.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You haven’t said anything.”

“I know, I know, I’m just...processing.” You give his hand a quick squeeze, moving the keys around in your other palm. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Since my last away game.” He answers right away like he doesn’t have to think about it, like he just knows. Not for the first time, you find yourself envying his conviction. “I went straight to your apartment from the airport, and you were already there, waiting. I realized how much I liked the idea of getting to come home to you, and vice versa. I’ve been waiting for the right time to ask you to move in since then.”

“Wakatoshi, that was last month. You’ve known since back then?” You stare at him with wide, wondering eyes, your cheeks already warming at the implication, growing even warmer when he nods. “And you don’t think it’s too soon? You’re not the least bit hesitant about living with me?”

“Hesitation is only necessary for those who are unsure of their desires. I know what I want, and that’s you, if you’ll have me.”

If you’ll have me. He says it like it’s easy. Like he’s already yours, to love and to be loved by.

And he is, you realize. He has been for a while, just like you have. You knew you were in love with him this morning, and you’ve known it for weeks before that, too. You just weren’t sure when or how to bring it up, but now you are.

“I’d like that. I like you– wait, that’s not right.” You release his hand, and he stares at you in confusion, the corner of his mouth curving downward. You’re quick to smooth it away with your thumb, your eyes earnest and full of affection as you correct yourself, “I love you, Wakatoshi.”

The confusion in his eyes quickly transforms into surprise. You’re not sure what stuns him more: your confession itself, or the confident, doubtless way you say it. You smile at him and take his face into your hands, careful to move his keys so they don’t scratch him.

“I’ve known it for a while. I just wasn’t sure when to bring it up, but now I am. I don’t expect you to say it back unless you’re ready, but–”

“I love you,” he says confidently, unwaveringly, and now it’s your turn to be stunned.

You blink, taken aback for a few seconds before your lips begin curving into a goofy smile. “Really?”

He hums affirmatively, and after that you can’t do anything besides kiss him. He’s quick to return the gesture, moving his mouth against yours and winding one arm around your waist to pull you closer. He pulls back from you right when you’re about to deepen the kiss. You try to pout, but it’s hard to do so when you feel as giddy and over the moon as you do now.

“Does this mean you’ll be moving in with me?”

“Of course.” You beam at him. “I’d love to move in with you, Wakatoshi.”

He smiles, his arm moving up to wrap around your shoulders, and your own smile grows brighter as you lean into him, cuddling against his side and resting your head against his chest. Things between you are quiet for a few moments, both of you basking in the comfortable silence.

You’re shifting his keys in your hand when a thought occurs to you, and you can’t help the laugh that escapes your chest.

“So this is why you let me go running with you this morning,” you tease. “You knew that if I did injure myself, that would just make it harder for me to leave, so I’d have no choice but to say yes to moving in. How sneaky of you.”

“You volunteered to join me–”

“I know, Toshi, I’m just kidding.” You grin, tilting your head to look up at him. “So, what do you say we go make some breakfast in your kitchen? I’m starving.”

“Our kitchen now,” he corrects, and your heart flutters in your chest for what must be the tenth time in the hour or so you’ve been awake this morning. It can’t be healthy for you. “And I’ll be the one making breakfast. You stay here and rest that ankle.”

He kisses your forehead and stands up to head into the kitchen. You frown at the loss of his warmth, but another look at the keys in your hand has you smiling again.

Maybe jogging isn’t so bad after all.

Written by: Dawn

[fatehbaz]

living in a cartoon.

have an unhealed wound on my shin. three years old. hasn’t fully healed because of diabetes/malnutrition/nerve damage reasons. discolored, still kinda numb to the touch. from the very last time i ever slipped and completely fell on ice. was so painful and humbling that i haven’t fallen completely to the ground on ice since. stumbled? yes. lost footing and fallen against a cane, tree, building? yes. fallen to my knees and gracefully kept upper body elevated and safe? sure. but full-on eating shit? not since. it was on an iced-over side-street. no way to either walk up, or downhill, without simply laying down and sliding like an otter.

so last night, walking through that same street, trudging through snow. explicitly thinking: “well, well, if it isn’t This Street. wow, i haven’t slipped and fallen on ice in three years. cool.” regularly have to use a cane for diabetes/pancreas/nerve damage reasons, but when not using a cane? agile, experienced backpacker, years of adeptly wading barefoot in stream channels, etc. ice? be careful, but we can handle it. didn’t vomit as much as usual this night. in fact, stomach settled enough to drink some chamomile tea, off to relatively less-haunting-than-usual night of sleep; sign of a good day to come?

this morning .;. wake up early for work. owner is coming down today, gotta impress her. step outside. sunny. 25 degrees Fahrenheit. this is quite warm for the region. looks great. very light drizzling rain. imperceptible and unthreatening if outside for less than 10 minutes. make it three steps before i realize. i am trapped. my feet are slowly sliding apart. i look around, nothing to hold onto. the drizzling rain. it has frozen in an invisible and deadly and perfect glaze over every surface. cannot move. slightly budge one muscle in one leg. the leg flies out from under me. i have a cane, so i catch and balance myself. but it’s only going to work once. the cane is collapsible/retractable, so i fold it up and store it in my bag. slowly crouch down and get on my knees. what’s the plan?

patience. deep breath. look up, a neighbor opens the front door to let their large dog outside. i watch the dog take two steps onto the driveway, and then the dog slips and eats shit and cannot stand back up. the owner dude comes out. instantly slips and falls. he crawls on his hands and knees, with his dog, back to his front door.

still can’t move. turn and look over the other shoulder. a half-block away, group of three. they are repeatedly tripping and falling all over each other, firing expletives into the air, trying to pull themselves into the relatively more manageable surface of the roadway.

we are, all of us, damned.

crawl on hands and knees. find a snow bank, with knees on ice, and plunge hands into the snow, and drag myself towards the bus stop. 50 meters from the bus stop. start to find a footing.

for the first time ever at this stop, the bus is not just on time, it is ten minutes early. only mere meters away. a moment of impatience from me. begin to calmly throw one hand up in disgust/defiance. immediately slip, body goes parallel to the ground, knock the wind out of me, hit my head, etc. crawl to bus stop. OK, just gotta wait 40 minutes for the next bus. crouch down on my knees again.

rain turns to a downpour. i pull a plastic grocery bag from a nearby garbage can to wrap around the laptop in my backpack to protect it.

gonna be an hour late to work. drunk guy walking down middle of the street asks me if i want a twisted tea. no.

now truly totally primed for a day of customer service.

[quokkacore]

with great power I [lee jeno]

summary: there are two things jeno loves most about his life. one being spiderman, the other being you, his best friend. there’s just one issue: after your father’s death, you decide you hate both spiderman and yourself.

pairing: lee jeno x reader

genre: superhero au, high school au, coming of age, best friends to strangers(ish) to lovers, fluff, ANGST, minor crack

warnings (for this chapter): language, violence, gun violence, the mafia, parental death, police presence, sexual references, bullying (ily san im sorry), the dreamies being dicks to each other, police corruption, towards the end jeno experiences something similar to sensory overload, americanized names, pop culture references, VERY jeno centric

song rec: we go up - nct dream // any song - zico // 21 questions - waterparks // talk (remix feat. megan thee stallion & yo gotti) - khalid // sunrise - ateez // i really like you - carly rae jepsen // dare - gorillaz // stray kids - the tortoise and the hare

word count: 10.5k

a/n: this is so late...... i blame attack on titan. but hey!! better late than never :] a huge thanks to @doderyscoffee​ for beta reading <3

main masterlist // story masterlist

chapter one: jeno and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week

Jeno despised Tuesdays. He was pretty sure that Tuesdays despised Jeno as well because all of his worst days just so happen to be Tuesdays. He was 96% sure that, if there was a god, his day off was on Tuesdays, or that the planets aligned in such a manner on Tuesdays that it caused universal despair and misery. If he was to take Donghyuck's word for it, his chakra attracted negative energy the most on Tuesdays.

When Jeno was 5, his goldfish Pippin had died on a Tuesday. When he had his ass handed to him on the playground by San Choi in the third grade, it was a Tuesday. And in the seventh grade, he'd failed his Spanish test, missed his bus and walked home in the rain only to find out that his Aunt Sunny was at work, he'd left his keys in his locker and that had to wait an hour before she got home to unlock it for him, all on a Tuesday. 

And wouldn't you know it, here he was, late for the first day of senior year, which was, of all days, a godforsaken Tuesday.

In his eternal wisdom, he'd stayed up gaming with Renjun until two in the morning, and because of it, slept through his three alarms, one set at six-thirty, the other at 6:45, the last one at 7:00. 

He'd woken up at 7:17, to the sound of his elderly neighbor's pet chihuahua barking at a pigeon, checked the time, immediately panicked, sped into the shower, gotten dressed in a haste, grabbed a few granola bars from the pantry, and ran out the door while trying to jam his backpack closed, and managed to catch the train at 7:40, which took about twenty minutes to get to his stop, plus a ten-minute walk to school, and class started at 8:10. Not to mention he’d have to stop by the office and pick up his schedule. At best, he’d be five minutes late to his first class. But tardies were tardies, regardless, and the last thing he needed was to lose his perfect attendance streak. 

He fished out his phone while standing on the train, waiting for his stop, scrolling through Instagram, and liking random pictures. A ping! from his phone caught his attention, then two, then a third. He smiled softly when your name popped up on his screen.

[7:48 AM]

y/n: pssst

y/n: shithead

y/n: where r u ????

[7:49 AM] 

y/n: i can sEE u online on ig u know

jeno: …… i'm on the train

jeno: woke up late

y/n: YOURE GONNA BE LATR

y/n: LATE*

y/n: ON THE FIRST DAY OF SENIOR YEAR

[7:50]

jeno: probably, yeah

jeno: it's the school district's fault, why would they make the first day of school on a fkn TUESDAY 

y/n: ohhh yeahh its terrible tuesday

y/n: [sent an attachment!]

[7:51 AM]

jeno: SHUT UP

jeno: you're not funny >:(

jeno: how dare you laugh at my misfortune

y/n: au contraire im hilarious

jeno: meanie :(

jeno: im gonna be late i hate it here

jeno: it'll end up on my permanent record and i'm not gonna get into college and then i'm gonna die,,,

[7:52 AM] 

y/n: sometimes ur worse than hyuck i swear 

y/n: FIRST OF ALL permanent records dont even exist !!!!!! its propaganda duh

y/n: also ur literally never late 

y/n: im sure o n e tardy wont do anything chill

y/n: dont be stupid youll be fine

Don’t be stupid. Too little, too late, he thought, already having got off the train at a previous stop. Now, he was looking for an unoccupied street or alleyway, which, for once, was easy, taking a deep breath before he did the exact opposite of what you’d told him not to do. Don’t be stupid. 

The buildings are low, he thought to himself, it’ll be easier to see me. 

Don’t be stupid.

Too late!

Thwip!

Jeno didn’t hesitate to use the web fluid to pull himself up onto the wall, climbing in a haste, before running and jumping onto the next building. He quickly built up a quick pace, using the web fluid occasionally to swing onto a building slightly out of jumping range. 

Signs in English, Chinese, Korean, and Spanish flew past him as he seemingly flew over the Queens traffic, leaving Flushing behind and crossing quickly into College Point quicker than he would if he took the train. He glanced to his left and caught a view of the bay, and far across it, the LaGuardia airport watchtower.

Jeno had lived in New York City his entire life. He knew Queens like the back of his hand, knew every dingy alleyway, every sketchy street, which restaurants to avoid if you didn’t want to get food poisoning, which convenience store aunties were the nicest and didn’t pinch his cheeks too hard. It was his home, and most likely would be for the rest of his life. 

But seeing it like this, flying past him below as he glided with ease from building to building would never cease to be a sight to him. It was like watching from the perspective of an outsider, seeing people in their cars, walking along the street gave him a brand new perspective. A Jeno’s eye view, he called it, since he was pretty sure he was the only one in New York City.

Another noise from his phone brought him back to reality. He shook his head, stopping briefly to catch his breath and fish out his phone briefly. 

[7:57 AM] 

y/n: let me know when u get here !!!

No time to respond, he put away the phone and continued his trek to school. He had less than ten minutes to get there. But he knew he was already at least five minutes away, much quicker than he would be if he had decided to stick to the train. He smiled a bit to himself, feeling ever so slightly smug.

The hustle and bustle of the city definitely proved challenging to find a place to land without many eyes, but he figured it out eventually, landing behind a dumpster in an alleyway behind a restaurant that he knew was about three or four blocks from the school. He figured it would be a lot better to take it on foot from here. The notebooks he was carrying in his backpack bounced up and down with every step he took. 

After what seemed like forever, the gates to the school appeared in his view, and Jeno felt a joy in his heaving chest, something he would have never thought would happen upon seeing the absolute hellhole that was Samuel Morse High School. 

[8:06 AM]

jeno: just did >:D

Picking up his schedule was both quick and insanely long. He couldn’t stop himself from tapping his left foot while the secretary found his schedule and handed it to him. “Kibum, please hurry,” He muttered, and Kibum raised an eyebrow at him, but his gaze was teasing. “That’s Mr. Kim to you, in school at least.” 

He handed Jeno his schedule a few seconds later. “Tell your Aunt to come pick up her casserole dish, by the way. She left it at my house after my last viewing party.”

“The Bachelor?”

“Please. We’re too classy for that. Drag Race.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Jeno,” Kibum said, staring up at him from his desk, his gaze now much more serious, “Get to class. Happy first day of senior year.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim.”

He managed to make it to chemistry class at 8:09 with seconds to spare. His eyes quickly scanned the room upon entering, hoping his friends were in the class with him. He caught a few familiar faces, most of which, like San Choi's, he wished to avoid. No one paid him any mind. Everyone was still speaking to the people next to them, no doubt exchanging stories of summer vacation. 

  A hand shot up towards the back, waving at him. A smile stretched across his face as he registered your face, feet not hesitating to carry him towards the empty seat next to you. His heart skipped a beat at seeing your smile, and he tried his best to ignore it.

“Hey,” You greeted, “That was fast. I thought you said you were gonna be late.”

Jeno shrugged, eyes landing on the dark shade of the lab table. “The train was a lot faster than I expected, apparently.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Why do you smell so bad?”

“I, uh… ran a little.” 

You grimaced, and Jeno tried to casually sniff at his slightly sweaty clothes. It’s not that bad. “I still don’t understand why you won’t let me drive you to school. You’re literally next door.”

“I don’t know,” He answered, rolling his eyes, “Maybe it’s because when it comes to that truck, you are absolutely insane. You won’t even let me drink water in that thing.”

The truck in question, a faded red 1998 Chevrolet S-10, had been your gift to yourself for your 17th birthday. You’d spent two summers saving up to buy yourself a truck, and that was what you were able to get for what you had. To say it was a huge piece of junk on wheels was an understatement. 

The thing smelled like mothballs no matter how many air fresheners you bought it, the engine sounded like an old man having a coughing fit, and there was a very suspicious stain in the backseat that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times you scrubbed it. But for some reason, you treated it like it was your own baby. The amount of times you’d yelled at Jaemin for trying to put his feet on the dashboard was too high to count.

You mirrored his movement, eyes rolling as you sighed. “At least let me drive you home after school today. Maybe you can stay and we can finally watch Blade Runner.”

You’d been trying to get him to watch the film for almost a month now, begging and pleading because you insisted that he’d love it. He offered an awkward stare, before opening his backpack and pulling out a notebook. “Can’t,” He mumbled, “I’m headed into Manhattan. I have my internship afterwards.”

“Oh, yeah,” You said nonchalantly, eyebrows shooting up as you remembered, “Park Industries.” 

He was about to reply when Mrs. Baker, the chemistry teacher, finally entered. She’d been working at SMHS for 30 years and had never, apparently, been nice, if his Aunt Sunny’s stories were anything to go by. However, she had apparently always spoken as if she smoked two packs a day. She was rambling about the importance of making the most of senior year academically, adult responsibilities, college, and whatnot. You and Jeno exchanged glances often throughout the monologue, hoping it would end soon. 

“Enough of that,” She said after what seemed like an eternity, “Everyone quiet down, I’m going to call roll.”

Names were quickly called, and Jeno was ready to pull out a pencil and start working with you until Mrs Baker demanded a switch in seats, beginning to call on random names in an effort to deter everyone from speaking. 

"Please not with Choi, please not with Choi," Jeno muttered under his breath, glancing warily at San, who was staring ahead, looking bored. 

San had had it out for Jeno ever since day one, in first grade. For some reason, everything Jeno did seemed to annoy the other boy. He wasn't funny enough, or too nerdy, or too quiet. Jeno was always too much or too little for him. 

You touched his forearm, and he looked towards you. 

“You’ll be fine,” You said softly, trying not to alert the teacher, “You’re not gonna get paired up with him, and you can take it to the office if you need to.” “Yeah, because I’m sure Coach Peralta would be thrilled if someone tried to get his precious midfielder in trouble.”

“Choi, San,” Mrs Baker’s voice rang throughout the room, and Jeno braced himself for the worst, eyebrows furrowing with worry. 

“You’ll be sitting with… L/N, Y/N.” 

Jeno’s shoulders slumped, but your face remained impassive. You picked up your stuff, and pouted silently at Jeno in apology, before making your way to the front. 

“Lee, Jeno,” Mrs Baker called a few minutes later, “You’ll be sitting with Jang, Yeeun.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief. Yeeun is nice, Jeno thought to himself, I could sit with Yeeun. She wasn’t part of his main friend group, but he had tutored her in math during sophomore year in exchange for her helping him with Spanish, and they’d been pretty friendly ever since. 

“Hey,” Yeeun greeted as Jeno sat down, and Jeno smiled at her. 

“Remember, these will be your assigned lab partners for the rest of the semester. No changes, no exceptions.” Mrs. Baker sat down at her desk, before beginning to talk about something Jeno didn’t really pay attention to.

You exchanged glances with Jeno, and he gave you a look of sympathy as you gestured at San with your eyes. San was talking to you about something—probably bragging about some soccer achievement—but you weren’t paying him much attention. Jeno swallowed something growing in his throat as he looked at how your hair looked today. 

It was nothing relatively new, the same hairstyle you used on most days. But still, there was a bit of a shine to it. He wondered vaguely if you had changed your shampoo, the other day you’d been complaining about how itchy your normal shampoo made your scalp—

“You still haven’t told her about how you feel?” Yeeun asked quietly, and Jeno’s head snapped back to look at her, eyes wide.

“W-what? Me. Like Y/N…” He laughed nervously, trying to keep his voice down. He scratched the back of his head, avoiding Yeeun’s accusatory stare. “You’re hilarious, Yeeun. Tell another one.”

Yeeun shook her head. “You’d better hurry before someone else snatches her up, Jen. She’s not gonna wait around for you forever.”

 “I don’t like her, Yeeun.” 

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Hey! Jeno Lee!”

“Hey! Jaemin Na! What do you want!” Jeno answered as he sat down, mimicking Jaemin’s tone next to him.

“Well, for starters, a million dollars, and second, a date with Yiren Wang, but I doubt you can help me with either of those, so...”

Jeno glanced at the rest of the table. Along with Jaemin, Mark,  Renjun, Donghyuck, and you were watching the interaction between the pair. “Where are the munchkins?” Jeno asked, noticing Chenle and Jisung’s absence. No one could really call them munchkins anymore. That nickname dated back to middle school, before the two underclassmen had gone through growth spurts.

“Eh, they should be here soon,” Renjun said, chewing on a french fry, “How’s your day been?”

“Pretty good so far, I guess. I got AP Calc with Mr. Washington later, though. That man wants me dead.”

You rolled your eyes. “He doesn’t want you dead. I’m telling you, you and Hyuck have been spending way too much time together. You’re being more dramatic than usual and Hyuck’s being more… weird than usual.”

“And just what is so weird about being enthusiastic about senior year, Y/N?” Donghyuck asked, shaking his head, “It’s our last year in this hellhole, I’m excited that we’re finally getting out of here. And besides—”

“Please don’t bring up the fact that you’re abandoning us next year.” Chenle seemingly appeared out of nowhere, sitting next to Renjun, Jisung following quickly behind him.

“Hi, Sungie,” You said with a smile, and Jisung smiled back. “Hi, Y/N.”

“What were you saying, Hyuck?” Jaemin looked at Donghyuck, who had taken the quick interaction as an opportunity to take a bite of his sandwich. His wide eyes darted to the slim boy, cheeks stuffed with chicken. 

“Oh,” He replied after swallowing, “This is gonna be my year. I’m getting male lead for the winter musical and no one is gonna stop me.”

“Do you even know what musical you guys are doing yet?” Mark asked, “What if it’s like… Shrek?”

Jisung made a face. “There’s a Shrek musical?”

Mark nodded, and Renjun laughed.

“I don’t know about male lead, if it’s Shrek. You should try out for Donkey,” The Chinese boy joked, “With those front teeth, you’re a shoo-in.”

The entire table was silent for a moment, before snorts and chortles started pouring out from everyone except Donghyuck.

“Fuck you, Huang.” 

Renjun flashed the friendliest smile he could muster. “Not if you paid me a million dollars.”

The subject remained on extracurriculars, everyone in your group except for Chenle and Jisung now wary of college applications. Donghyuck had been in theater ever since middle school, Renjun was in the robotics club and the debate team with Jaemin, who was also in the student council. Mark was on the math team with Jeno, and you had founded the film club. 

"You're not gonna believe who asked to sign up for film," You huffed, looking kind of confused. The rest of the table looked at you expectantly, and you pursed your lips, almost as if you were trying not to laugh.

"San Choi."

Renjun scoffed. Jaemin raised his eyebrows before letting out a single, humorless laugh. Jeno made a face, poking his plastic fork at you. 

"What is San Choi doing asking to sign up for film?"

"Fuck if I know. He said he needed one more extracurricular if he wanted to get into some college in Florida and he liked going to the movies, so he wanted to try out film."

Mark rolled his eyes. "I swear there's nothing in that guy's head but hot gas. It blows my mind."

"He's a dick," Chenle grumbled, "I'm still not over how he and Wooyoung taped Jisung to the flagpole last year."

Jisung scowled. "I thought we agreed to never bring that up again."

“Do you think they’ll finally calm the fuck down this year?” Jaemin wondered, looking wistful.

You took a sip of your coke and shook your head. “Doubt it. They’re not the hateful eight for a reason.”

The mood at the table turned tense, until Jaemin frowned at his french fries, before sighing and clapping his hands together dramatically. “I would like to hear,” He mused, “About the nuance that theatre gives the cinematic masterpiece that is Shrek when converted into musical form.”

Donghyuck beamed. “Oh, it’s amazing. You see…”

If it was difficult to get Donghyuck to stop talking in general, it was impossible when it was about theater.

The conversation continued on until the bell rang, and the eight of you had to go your separate ways. Jaemin and Jeno had the same class, so they both walked together down a relatively calm hallway. Jaemin looked both ways, before finally lowering his voice. 

“So, you’re going to see Mr. Park today?”

Jeno nodded, looking down at his shoes. “He said he wanted to give me an assignment. Says there’s something big going on.”

Jaemin’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Did he say what kind of something?” 

Jeno shook his head, pouting slightly. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.” 

Once school was out, Jeno was getting ready to get onto the subway once again, this time heading towards Midtown. It was only day one and, as Jeno had predicted, Mr. Washington probably was out to get him, because he’d swamped the class with homework.

As he left the school, he spotted you in the parking lot, leaning against your car door, texting someone. He glanced at his phone. He still had plenty of time, he figured. He walked over to you, and when you looked up, you smiled. 

“Hey!” Your voice had that signature tone of enthusiasm to it, and Jeno smiled back immediately. 

“Hello,” He sing-songed. “So, I was thinking… are you free on Friday night?”

You looked somewhere above his head, furrowing your eyebrows before you perked up again and nodded. “Yep! Why?”

“I’m free after nine. Maybe then I could come over to your house? So I can finally get you to stop harassing me about Blade Runner.”

You grinned, pumping your fists enthusiastically. “Hell yes,” You answered, “Do you want me to get like, some frozen pizzas or something?” 

“Pizza sounds good,” He said. “Who are you even waiting for?” 

You made a face that made it seem as if you’d just gotten a whiff of rotten milk. “Well—”

Your response was interrupted when the school doors slammed open, and eight figures poured out, carrying themselves with confidence Jeno both envied and despised. He frowned, trying not to react at their loud whooping and laughing. The Hateful Eight.

“Oh.” Jeno averted his gaze, meeting your eyes again.

“Yeah. If you don’t hear from me later it’s because I jumped out of my truck because I don’t wanna work with—”

“Well, hello, gorgeous!” San’s voice filled the parking lot, and Jeno took a deep breath. Your mouth stretched into a tight-lipped smile at the unwanted ‘compliment’. 

“Hey, San.” Your friendly passive aggressive tone almost made Jeno smile. “I’ve been waiting here for like, fifteen minutes. You could have just given me your number and asked me to send you pictures of my notes, you know.”

He shrugged, turning his body so that his back was turned to Jeno. “Sorry, babe. Coach wanted to talk to us about the upcoming season. When he gets going, it’s hard to get him to stop. And besides, where’s the fun in just asking for pictures when I could come here, talk to you, and take the pictures myself?”

You didn’t respond, but rather pulled out your backpack and began digging through it. When you pulled out your notebook, you handed it to San, who flashed a wink at you. You barely held back a gag. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll just be a minute.” 

He walked over to the hood of your truck, and just as you were about to continue your conversation, two figures slung their arms around both of Jeno’s shoulders, causing him to flinch. 

Out of the fifteen soccer players on the team, San and his best friends—seven of them, to be precise—were the worst. The others were pretty nice. But right now, seeing two of those seven surround your best friend made you uneasy. 

Wooyoung was loud. He was also a temperamental brat. His dad owned three used car dealerships over in Brooklyn, so naturally, he thought he owned the entire world. He wasn’t someone who would get too physical in fights, like San, or Jongho, or Yeosang. But when he was angry, he could easily get you to jump into the stratosphere by yelling at you once. Over the years, he’d made several teaching assistants and substitute teachers cry, only getting let off with a slap on the wrist every time. 

 Yunho was terrifying for completely different reasons. He was friendly, but a little too friendly to the people he wanted to control. He could read people like books and could easily manipulate whoever he wanted. But he wasn’t afraid of getting physical either, especially not when he was built like a goddamn Power Rangers Megazord. 

All in all, they definitely weren't anyone you wanted near you, near your friends. Especially considering how much they had it out for your friends. 

"Hey, buddy," Yunho said, looking down at Jeno with a wide smile. "How was summer vacation?"

Jeno gnawed on the side of his cheek as he considered his answer. "Um, it was okay." He looked at you to catch your eyes darting between San, Yunho and Wooyoung, like you were analyzing the situation. "I kinda stayed in and played video games most of the t—"

"Cool, cool," Yunho answered, carding his free hand through his bleach blond hair. "What about you, Woo?"

"Oh, dude, it was so cool," He bragged, "I went to Brazil for like, a month. I went clubbing with Instagram models and shit, it was wild."

You stared at him as he patted Jeno on the back rather aggressively. "Where did you go? Have you ever even left New York?" 

You knew the answer. Only a few times when the debate team went to compete in different states. Jeno spoke up again. "Well, yeah a few t—"

"Doubt it," Yunho scoffed. He craned his head back. "San, you done yet?"

"Almost!" San answered. Yunho turned to face you, and for some reason his smile seemed genuinely kind. “What about you, Y/N?”

You never understood why it was that the soccer team hated your entire friend group, but seemed to tolerate you. It made no sense.

So you shrugged. “Not a lot, I guess. Did my summer reading. Hung out with my friends.” You flashed a reassuring smile at Jeno. “Right, Jen?”

Immediately, he relaxed a little bit. “Yeah.”

San appeared from behind Yunho, Jeno and Wooyoung. “Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.”

You waved your hand, wanting them to get rid of them quickly. “Don’t mention it. But next time, just text me for my notes. I have to get to work, so…”

“Oh! My bad,” He answered with fake remorse, before unlocking his phone and handing it over to you. “Here. For next time.”

You stifled a deep sigh, punching in the numbers hesitantly. “Just for homework, got it?”

San took his phone back, holding a hand over his heart and raised his head. “On a gentleman's honor,” He declared, and you bit back a laugh. Jeno looked like he was going to hurl.

“San!” The team captain—Hongjoong—called from a few feet away, “Are you guys done yet or what?”

“Coming!” San yelled back.

“Alright, we’ll let you go,” Wooyoung said, patting Jeno on the back again, a bit too harsh for comfort. “Bye, Y/N! See you around.”

 The three of them stalked off, leaving you and a very frazzled Jeno. “Dicks,” You muttered once they were out of earshot. “You good?”

Jeno shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

You tilted your head, frowning. “Jeno—”

“I gotta go,” He said quickly. “I’ll see you later?”

You nodded, offering a lopsided smile. “Yeah. Be careful!” 

Jeno offered a deep bow, fluttering his eyelashes. “On a gentleman’s honor,” He sighed, adding a very bad British accent to it. You burst out laughing, eyes squeezing shut.

You didn’t catch the way Jeno’s shoulders relaxed at the sound.

I want you to know now

Baby, it could go down

I don’t wanna talk about it

Baby, let’s just go now

The train ride into Midtown didn’t take too long. He spent it digging through his backpack for his Park Industries lanyard, listening to music and thinking about you.

When you talk right to me 

You gon’ have to do me

Every time you think you’re leaving 

You running back to me

You’d met Jeno when you were six. Truth be told, he didn’t really remember. For him it was like you weren’t there at one point and by the time you were, you were thicker than thieves. It was a difficult time for him. He had just lost both of his parents, and was moving in with his Aunt Sunny and his Uncle Jinki, who were barely out of college at the time. He’d had to move to a new school and basically restart his entire life. You were the first sense of stability in his life for months. 

Your mom lived next to his aunt and uncle. So naturally, you went to the same school and went on the same bus. And somewhere along the way, you two clicked. You’d introduced him to Renjun, Jaemin and Donghyuck. You were there to comfort him whenever he got pushed off the slide by San or Wooyoung. 

He was there for you when your stepdad and stepbrother moved in when you were nine and you weren’t sure how to deal with it. He was there when your mom died when you were thirteen. He’d introduced you and your friends to Mark, Chenle and Jisung. 

And you were there when his Uncle Jinki got killed when he was fifteen. And because fate had an especially cruel sense of irony, it had happened on a Tuesday. You didn’t know, but at the time, he had just gotten his powers. Your comfort and words unknowingly had a secondary effect: he made the decision to use them for good, and… well. The rest was history. 

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Talk about where we're goin'

Before we get lost, lend me your thoughts

Can't get what we want without knowin'

Just like when he met you, he didn’t recall an exact moment where he realized he’d fallen in love with you. He knew there was a world where he loved you, but wasn’t in love with you. And he knew that there was a world here he’d fallen in love with you—he was living in that world now. He realized he was living in that world maybe when he was sixteen, and had been stuck in it ever since. 

You were it for him. He’d had crushes before. But never something like this, where he was so aware of your presence around him. It wasn’t the way he was hyper aware of someone like San, or like Yunho or Jongho. It wasn’t out of anxiety or fear, where a shift in mood activated his fight or flight. He was aware of you in a way that only people who truly know each other do, where he could pick up on subtle changes in your behavior, but not out of fear. Rather, out of a desire to take care of you and to not have you worry about anything. 

I've never felt like this before

I apologize if I'm movin' too far

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Figure out where we're goin'...

As the train rolled into the station that was a fifteen minute walk from Park Tower, Jeno put away his headphones and took a deep breath.

The “Jeno Tingle” as his Aunt Sunny called it—Jeno hated the term—had taken him a few years to gain control of. And while he could never truly turn it off, he could at least tune it out enough to be more at ease. The only time he did so was at school or when he was studying, just because he wanted to feel normal, and because being aware of everything going on around him really messed with his concentration. 

Jaemin didn’t understand. “If I was able to tell whenever Seonghwa was behind me because he wanted to scare me into doing his chemistry homework, I’d never turn that shit off,” He’d said once. But truthfully, Jeno didn’t really care. Because while yes, he was still slightly scared of the “hateful eight”, he knew damn well that if things got to be too much, he could kick their asses if he wanted to. 

It was his friends he worried about. He couldn’t be around them 24/7. You, not so much. He knew you knew how to fight. Even worse, he knew that San had the hots for you so you were off limits to the rest of them, be it bullying or flirting. But for everyone else… Well. He couldn’t hover over them like some guardian angel. 

Now that the “Jeno Tingle” was on, it allowed him to sense everyone within a certain range around him. He could zero in on certain sounds with ease, and his reflexes became heightened. Halfway on his walk up Park Avenue, he jumped away from a chihuahua on its leash a second before it started barking at him.

When he entered the first floor lobby of the Park Building, he scoured the crowd of employees and visitors until he landed on one familiar face. 

He'd met Doyoung about a year after his dad started dating your mom. Things between your parents were starting to get serious, and Doyoung was four years older than you were. When they moved into your house, Doyoung as your new stepbrother became the de facto chaperone and babysitter. If you wanted to go to the mall with Jeno, he had to take you. Every time you dragged Jeno to the movies, Doyoung had to go also. 

To an extent, it wasn't that bad. Doyoung was cool, and he was smart—he was the one who got Jeno interested in computers and chemistry. He graduated high school at 16, and finished his bachelor's degree at 19. He'd also interned at Park Industries, and secured a job there almost immediately after college. 

To an extent, he was the whole reason Mr. Park knew who he was, because of one incident. It was relatively soon after he started the whole vigilante thing. Jeno, still figuring out how to maneuver on the webs that shot out of his wrists, had accidentally crashed into your backyard late at night, when only Doyoung was awake. He was standing in the back door while he was waiting for his dog to finish peeing. 

Initially, the older boy had freaked out, thinking that it was a burglar or something. When he yelled out that his dad was a cop and was asleep in the house, Jeno panicked, and pulled off his mask, holding up his hands.

“Woah, woahwoahwoah! Doyoung! It’s me, it’s me!” 

Doyoung’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers, paying no mind to the dog as it sauntered up to Jeno, before turning onto its back in a request for belly rubs.

"You're the spider guy everyone's been talking about!?"

"Spider man," Jeno had answered, voice cracking as he dusted himself off. He cringed at the sound of his voice. "...and yes."

Of course, his cover was blown, and he'd begged Doyoung not to tell anyone, especially not you. And while Doyoung had promised not to tell you, it didn't stop him from telling his boss. 

That had been almost three years ago now. The rest was history, and after that Jeno didn’t have to run around in bright red sweatpants and dollar store swimming goggles. Now, he had a nanotech suit that allowed him to activate protocols of the suit through voice commands using something top-secret Mr. Park called D.R.E.A.M technology. Direct Response Engaged As Machine—yeah, Jeno didn’t get it either. 

Doyoung offered Jeno a smile as he escorted Jeno past security, showing them his employee clearance pass. "Hey. How have you been?"

Jeno shrugged, recounting his day in minor detail as he was led into an elevator labeled authorized personnel only. 

This elevator only went up to the 35th floor, seeing as everything past that was only cleared for a certain list of people approved by Mr. Park and his security team, and everything past the 90th floor were Mr. Park's private living quarters. 

Now, as Doyoung led him to another elevator to head up to the 85th floor, which was always where Jeno got to meet with Mr. Park—which wasn't often, maybe once or twice a year—he wondered where he would be if he hadn’t surprised Doyoung that night. He would probably still be using those ugly red sweatpants as part of his disguise.

"How's Y/N?" Doyoung asked. 

"Oh, she seems okay. That guy who hates me keeps coming onto her though. He's a huge douchebag."

Doyoung frowned. "He's not harassing her, is he? Because if he is—"

"He just won't stop flirting, even though she clearly isn't interested," Jeno said bitterly, "He isn't physical or anything. Trust me, it wouldn't end well for him if he was."

Doyoung wasn't quite sure how to respond to the younger boy's dark tone. He looked down, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So… how’s the apartment?” Jeno asked. Doyoung perked up instantly.

“Oh, now that Taeyong’s moved in and did his interior design thing, it looks great. He’s really done a great job at it.”

“When am I gonna meet this guy? He sounds cool.”

“He’s really cool,” Doyoung hummed, cheeks heating up. “Things are getting really serious.”

Jeno smiled at how flustered Doyoung, who was normally so level headed and calm, became at the mention of his boyfriend.

“You guys sound like a really good couple,” He said. Doyoung chuckled, waving his hand. “Oh, well—” 

 The elevator dinged, and Doyoung sighed. “I’ll tell you later. C’mon.”

The hallway it opened up to was lined with pictures of the company's history, starting from pictures of black and white of people in vintage clothing, to pictures in sepia tones to finally pictures of the current CEO at locations around the world: Chanyeol Park.

Jeno walked behind Doyoung as he led him down the hallway, before stopping in front of a door, and a friendly looking man in a suit. 

Junmyeon was a part of Chanyeol’s Security and Intelligence team, and often sat in on these meetings with Jeno. The chain of contact also included him. If Jeno couldn’t contact Doyoung (which rarely happened), he’d contact Junmyeon. And if he couldn’t contact either of them, or it was an emergency, only then could he contact Chanyeol. So far, that had only happened once.

"Hey, Junmyeon," Doyoung said, "Mr. Park's 4:30 is here." 

Junmyeon nodded, before smiling at Jeno and giving him a wave. "Hey, kid."

Jeno offered an awkward grin. "Hi, Mr. Kim."

Junmyeon rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Kid, you're making me feel ancient. I've told you a million times, just call me Junmyeon."

Jeno shuffled awkwardly, before nodding at the older man, watching as he pressed a button on his earpiece. "Hey, Yeol. Jeno's here."

The muffled response was barely heard, but Jeno automatically understood what Mr. Park said. Junmyeon turned to open the door, and let the pair inside. The “office”—if it could even be called that—opened up to more of a lounge, than anything. A wall of glass overlooked the Manhattan skyline, but Jeno knew that from the outside it looked only like a wall, due to camouflage technology developed by Mr. Park himself. As Doyoung and Junmyeon stayed back, closer to the door, Jeno took a few steps toward the man in question.

Chanyeol was standing a few feet in front of the glass window, working on a holographic model of a new piece of tech. His face was turned downward in a concentrated frown. He barely spared the teenager a glance as he said fondly, “Hey, kid.”

Jeno was used to this. Chanyeol wasn’t cold per se, but he wasn’t warm at all. He knew that Chanyeol cared about him, even if he didn’t really show it in a conventional way. Chanyeol was a very… eccentric man, so he had his own way of saying and doing things. 

“Hi, Mr. Park. Um… you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yep! Needed some help from the friendly neighborhood Spiderman… A little birdie told me about something going on in Queens.”

“Queens?” Jeno asked, gripping the straps of his backpack. “You mean, other than the usual stuff?”

“Other than the usual stuff,” Chanyeol repeated, nodding. With a wave of his hand, the hologram disappeared, and another one appeared in its place. This time, instead of a 3D model, a few pictures and another, smaller 3D model appeared. Chanyeol turned to face him, frown deepening. He pointed at the model—a long, shiny oval-shaped purple stone. It reminded Jeno of an amethyst, but instead of turning white at the base, it turned to an iridescent jade tone. “You know what this is, right?”

Jeno nodded, remembering seeing the rocks all over the news when he was a kid. “That’s… that’s a Chitauri stone. From the invasion a few years back.”

Chanyeol nodded, standing up straight. “These stones have the potential to power weapons with no need to recharge, or change them out. They’re an infinite, extremely strong power source, Jeno, and in the wrong hands can be very dangerous.”

Jeno took a deep breath, feeling his stomach sink slowly. Chanyeol sighed. “Cleanup of the city after the invasion was long, and difficult, and obviously the government and the company weren’t able to get everything. It caused a black market to pop up. Now, the NYPD has been investigating it for years, but they have their limits… that’s where you come in.”

“M-me, Mr. Park?”

Chanyeol gave him a crooked, reassuring smile. He pointed at one of the pictures, which was of a man who most likely didn’t know he was photographed. He was walking somewhere, face looking angry and stern.

“You don’t know who this is, right?”

Jeno shook his head, and Chanyeol turned his head to nod at Junmyeon. “You’re up, tough guy.”

Junmyeon huffed, before walking up to Jeno. He put his hand on Jeno’s shoulder as if he could tell that he was growing anxious. 

“Jeno, that’s Henry Duke. From what we understand on the intel team, he’s one of the cornerstones of the alien tech black market. He’s one of the top dogs. From what we understand, he likes to be present for all major negotiations that his group makes. A source of ours told us that there’s going to be a negotiation on Friday night not too far away from LaGuardia. We want you to go out there and just get a feel of what’s going on.”

“Just watch them, right?” Jeno looked at Junmyeon, who patted his back reassuringly. “Just watch. Don’t engage unless you absolutely have to.”

“You can do that, right?” Chanyeol said quietly, crossing his arms. “Because if not, then it’s totally—”

“Yeah, of course I can! Friday—shit, Friday. At what time are they supposed to be meeting up?”

Junmyeon furrowed his eyebrows, before answering, “Around eight or nine.”

Jeno bit his lip, thinking about the promise he’d made to you. It would just have to wait, he supposed. Chanyeol rarely asked anything this big of him.

“Alright,” Jeno agreed, “I’ll do it.”

Chanyeol grinned, clapping his hands together. 

“Perfect.” 

They discussed logistics briefly after. Doyoung would be on call with Jeno, his custom made suit allowing them to communicate, letting Doyoung see everything Jeno was seeing via a video feed coming from the ultra thin lenses placed in the white eye sockets of the mask. Doyoung would then report to Junmyeon, who would report to Chanyeol, who would probably report to the FBI. Jeno was only to engage if absolutely necessary.

After that, he set out on patrol. He usually found some discreet place to hide his backpack, and then went all over Queens looking for trouble, quite literally. Around five thirty, he stopped a robbery in Murray Hill. Then, around seven, he stopped a man from stealing a woman’s purse in Elmhurst. Nothing too much.

Around eight, he finally headed home, this time dressed normally, using the train and not web fluid. He walked home, tired, knowing that he’d immediately have to do that cursed AP calc homework. When he got home, he opened his backpack pocket to look for his keys, rummaging between his notebooks and other things. 

Shuffling through his stuff, he furrowed his eyebrows as he couldn’t find them. Thinking back, he remembered this morning, when he’d left in a rush… and had very obviously left his keys on his desk.

“Shit,” He muttered to himself. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, remembering that Aunt Sunny had said she’d be working overtime tonight. He could very easily sneak in through his window, but he was pretty sure he’d locked it the night before, and it was too early. People’s lights were still on—anyone could see him if they just looked up, and then he would be screwed. 

Huffing and zipping his backpack up, he marched up to your house, before ringing the doorbell. He shifted his weight back and forth, from his heels to the balls of his feet, until the door opened up. A familiar man with a face just like Doyoung's, but older, with graying hair and arms scarred and muscled from years of working on the police force stood in the doorway.

“Jeno?” Your dad offered him a warm smile. “Hey, kiddo, what’s up?”

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” Jeno said, smiling back. He shifted nervously. “I, um… I left my keys in my room this morning, and my aunt’s working late, so… could I… maybe wait here? Y/N’s home, right?” 

The man nodded. “Of course, of course. Come in!” 

Your dad had always been super friendly, even from the day Jeno had first met him. You'd told Jeno once that he was the only real father figure you'd ever had. Once everything settled after him and your mom got married, you started calling him dad altogether. And since you and Jeno were practically glued at the hip, he got along with your dad almost as well as you did.

“Okay.” Jeno stepped in and set down his backpack at the base of the coat rack next to the door, as he’d done a million times before. Jeno stepped into the living room, and sat down on the couch. He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at your dad.

"I think Y/N's in the shower, but she should be done soon. You can just wait here if you want… have you eaten anything yet?”

“Uh, I had a granola bar on the train, but that’s it.”

“We have some leftover pasta here, if you want—”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim, really! I’m fine.”

Your dad nodded, sitting down on his recliner. “So, have you started your college list, yet? Y/N said you wanted to stay here in New York.”

Jeno nodded, pushing some hair out of his face. “Well, yeah. It would make things a lot easier, I think. I might want to apply to NYU, but I think I’ll just go to community college, or something.”

Your dad shook his head. “You’re a pretty smart kid, Jeno. I think you could get into Columbia if you set out to. Plus, Chanyeol Park doesn’t give out internships to anybody. That’s your secret weapon.”

Jeno smiled. “Well, you’ve got a point.” 

Your dad gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Come on, trying won’t hurt!” Your dad made a face, and then rubbed his knuckles. “Have you been working out? Those muscles weren’t there the last time I did that.”

Jeno laughed, trying to think of an excuse. “Oh, a little bit? The house needed some fixing up over the summer, and I wanted to help Aunt Sunny, so…”

“Jeno?” 

He turned immediately, eyes landing on you at the base of the staircase. You’d changed into an old t-shirt and pajama pants. Your hair was slightly damp. “What are you doing here?” You asked, with a curious smile.

His shoulders slumped, and he grinned sheepishly. “Terrible Tuesday strikes again. I forgot my keys.”

You grimaced. “Brutal, dude. You wanna come up?” Your eyes moved to your dad. “Or am I interrupting guy time?”

“Oh, definitely,” Jeno answered, playing along. He took a cocky tone as he rested his hands on the back of his neck. “Your dad was just telling me about how much the NYPD needs me.” 

You stifled a laugh. You dad seemed to be holding back a laugh too. "Hey, you're joking, but if you keep working out like that, and if by some impossible chance, the college thing doesn't work out… We might just be able to catch Spiderman if we finally got some brain cells on the force."

"Ugh, dad," You groaned, unaware of Jeno's gut twisting, "Not again."

"Yeah, Mr. Kim," Jeno said, scratching the back of his head, "He's not that bad."

Your dad shook his head. "Look, I don't hate the guy. In all honesty, crime rates have dropped since he started doing his thing. But he thinks he's above the law, and his methods can be a bit… unorthodox sometimes. He’s been undermining us for years and his tech is state of the art. Makes me wonder about what we should do to modernize the force."

Jeno looked downward, wondering what would happen if your dad knew the truth.

"Well, I guess we may just never find out. Jeno'd make a horrible cop. He couldn't hurt a fly if you paid him a million dollars."

But you came to the rescue as you grabbed his backpack, and soon enough he was up the stairs with you, heading into your bedroom, laughing to yourselves when you heard your dad jokingly call out, "Fifteen inch distance, you two! Door stays open!"

He sat on your desk chair while you lay on your bed, limbs splaying out. 

"So you left your keys."

Jeno groaned. "Don't remind me. I was in such a rush to leave, that I… I forgot. I'm so stupid."

You rolled your eyes, rolling over onto your stomach to look at him. "You're not stupid, Jen. You made an honest mistake because you were in a hurry." 

Standing up, you walked over to him and leaned against the desk. "Seriously, Jeno. What's gotten into you, lately? You freak out about every little thing. It's starting to worry me." 

Jeno shook his head. "I don't know," He admitted. "I think I'm just scared about how after this year, everything changes. Renjun’s headed upstate. Jaemin’s going to Boston. You want to go to LA. I think Hyuck and I are the only ones who want to stay here. I just… I don't want things to change." 

Your expression turned sad as he continued. "Everyone is expecting great things from me. You're smart, Jeno. You can get into an Ivy. Or, you have a Park internship, you'll be fine. What if I don't want things to be fine? What if I want them to just stay the same?"

You stayed silent for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. Jeno was relatively level headed for someone your age, but even he had moments of doubt and panic. It made moments like these difficult.  You sighed before grabbing him by the hand. Wordlessly, you tugged him over to the bed, sitting him down and leaning your head on his shoulder. He could feel the dampness in your hair seeping slowly into his shirt.

"I guess I understand what you mean," You mumbled, trying to reason with him, "But come on. You wouldn't really want everything to stay the same. You can't tell me you want to keep getting AP calc homework. And I definitely doubt that you'd want to have your ass kicked by San for the rest of your life."

Jeno looked at the floor. "You're right. But you know that's not what I mean—"

"I know," You huffed, "I'm just saying. Change… it's inevitable. The longer you fight it, the harder it is."

Jeno nodded. "This sucks."

"It does," You agreed, taking his hand in yours. "But at least we have each other's backs, y'know?"

Something of a smile appeared on his face. You were so close to him, leaning on him, stroking his knuckles with your thumb. He hoped you couldn't hear his heart pounding in his chest. 

"We really do, huh?" His voice turned quiet, with a bit of a sleepy lull to it. He allowed his head to rest on yours. "You're so comfortable. Can I like, use you as a pillow for the rest of my life?"

You giggled. "I'll consider it on two conditions."

"Oh, you'll consider. How generous of you."

"Yes, I'll consider. Now, do you wanna hear my terms or not?" 

Jeno raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead," He said, before putting on his best Marlon Brando voice, "Make me an offer I can't refuse."

Snorting, you lifted your head off of his. "Okay. One, you finish your calculus homework here before Sunny gets home."

He pursed his lips. "Okay, I could probably do that. What's the other one?"

"Let me drive you to school for the rest of the year." 

Jeno stared at you, and you nodded, eyes wide. "Trust me, Jen. You wouldn't need to wake up so early! And plus, you can't text the guy manning the subway asking him to give you five minutes because you need to find your keys."

Jeno gnawed on the inside of his cheek. You did have a point, and to be honest, he could probably refrain from putting his feet up on your dashboard.

"Deal." 

You grinned. "Awesome," You answered, before nodding towards his backpack. "Now get to work, Einstein."

The rest of the week wasn't that bad. Yes, you were absolutely batshit insane about your truck in the morning, but he soon realized he didn't really mind. Not when it allowed you both to spend some twenty extra minutes together in the mornings, and they were spent joking around and listening to your extremely varied playlist. 

On the other hand, he was saddled with more and more homework, greater and greater expectations. The looming threat of Friday's mission rolled around, and it made Jeno feel like time was passing much too slowly but also way too quickly. There was so much on his mind. He had chemistry with you on Thursdays in the afternoon, which also meant that San was there. Which also meant that sometimes, his heightened senses would pick up on San dropping a tacky pick up line which made Jeno want to punch him in the jaw.

Finally, finally, Friday afternoon rolled around. As he bid you goodbye and promised to see you later, he tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach. The feeling that something was about to go very, very wrong. He went out on patrol, ready for Doyoung to set up the call and tell him where he needed to go. It didn’t help that there wasn’t a lot for him to do that day. Crime had seemed to slow down altogether. 

When the time finally came, and the sun was beginning to set, Doyoung rang in at about 7, telling him the location. An old warehouse near LaGuardia airport, hidden from prying eyes. Jeno made his way to the place, avoiding security cameras Doyoung warned him about, and found a place to hide. There was a hole in the warehouse roof, which allowed him to peer right into the building without being seen. It was about thirty feet from the ground.

“Why is it always old, abandoned warehouses?” Jeno grumbled. He heard Doyoung laugh quietly. 

“Beats me,” Doyoung sighed. 

And so they waited. Jeno wondered vaguely if you were still working. He wasn’t sure. They made time talking quietly, until a black SUV rolled into the warehouse. “Woah, Doyoung,” He murmured, “Hold up.”

Jeno leaned forward, but quickly realized he probably wouldn’t be able to hear what was being said. “D.R.E.A.M, activate Heightened Intelligence Protocol.”

Activating Heightened Intelligence Protocol.

The protocol allowed Jeno to use the lenses over his eyes to zoom in on specific targets, as well as use a microphone embedded in the suit to pick up audio from far away and feed it directly into his ears.

He watched as three figures got out of the car, a fourth remaining in the driver’s seat. The trio stood in front of the car, and Jeno recognized the man in the middle as the man Junmyeon had been talking about.

“Alright, there’s Henry Duke,” He said, “The one in the middle.”

 “Got it,” Doyoung replied, sounding satisfied. “Now all we have to do is wait for the other party.”

“Did Junmyeon’s sources say anything about who it would be?”

“No. They weren’t able to find that out. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jeno’s eyes never left the man. “Do you think it’s something international?”

Doyoung sighed. “I’m not sure. If it is international, then you need to be even more careful.”

“Got it. I think—Wait, here they come.” 

A second vehicle, this one another black SUV, rolled up not too far away from the first car. The lights turned off and the engine sputtered to a stop, and four men stepped out of the vehicle.

Jeno’s stomach dropped, and of its own accord, his mouth let loose a quiet, “What the fuck,” as he registered the person leading them. 

“What?” Doyoung asked, before realizing what—who—he was looking at. “...Is that my dad?”

“I think it is,” Jeno whispered, fingertips suddenly numb. Who was he kidding? They both knew who it was. 

“So,” One of the men next to your dad said, “You show us yours, we’ll show you ours?”

Henry Duke clapped his hands together with an impish grin. “I suppose. Reagan, get the case.”

One of the two men standing beside him started off toward the trunk of the car. “It caught me off guard when I heard that the force wanted to purchase these. Almost made me wonder if this was your attempt at a sting operation.”

“What made you change your mind?” Your dad asked. Jeno swallowed at how cold he sounded. This wasn’t your dad, and it didn’t seem like Officer Kim either. This was someone Jeno had never met before. 

“Honestly, Kim?” Duke raised an eyebrow, shrugging. “It was you. Your cooperativeness and willing to feed us information, as well as your… insurance agreement. And besides, you made a very interesting point when you said that the Avengers Initiative and Park’s alum Spiderman is ruining the way the law operates around here. That type of bitterness… hard to fake.”

Your dad huffed. “We’re fucking tired of it.”

The man leaning against the car your dad had stepped out of scoffed. “If this helps us catch the little asshole, then so be it.”

Jeno frowned. “I’m not little—”

“Jeno, shut up!” Doyoung snapped. 

“—Alright, then.” The man holding the briefcase—Reagan—clicked it open, as if it were a prize reveal on The Price is Right. Five guns, all modified to hold glowing Chitauri stones were placed carefully together side by side.

“You know the basics. No radiation. Keep it away from security scanners and x-rays. They will blow up. And second of all, these are at half the price, along with the promise from the chief of police that my business won’t be touched, and will only be distributed to officers in on the operation and have agreed to turn off their body cameras when they decide to use these weapons. Should this not be a sting operation, we’ll be back here to negotiate.”

Jeno leaned forward, watching anxiously.

“Yes, sir,” Your dad answered, nodding. “We have the money here.”

“Hand it over, then.”

That was when Jeno made his mistake. He leaned forward too much, and proceeded to fall right through the hole, bringing down some scraps of the roof with him. As he tumbled through the air, the zoom on his lenses caused him to grow dizzy as he had no idea what he was looking at. He caught himself before he could fall, clumsily commanding D.R.E.A.M to go back to turn off the current protocol. His vision returned to normal, and he swung up onto a rafter holding the warehouse up.

“So, we have company.” Duke didn’t sound as amused as he had before. His face turned into a sneer. “Get him.”

In less than a second, before Jeno could say anything, five guns were pointed directly at him. He managed to swing away before any bullets could hit him. 

“Jeno, get out of there now,” Doyoung ordered. 

“What about the guns?” Jeno asked, swinging to another rafter. “They know I’m here, I might as well get them before I go—”

“No! Jeno, listen to what I’m telling you. You’ve done more than enough, and you need to let it g—”

Your dad aimed, and a bullet fired right at Jeno’s chest. For a second, he forgot that the chest area of the suit was lined with bulletproof material. While it didn’t shoot into his chest, it ricocheted right off him, and since he was in motion, it somehow caused the bullet to bounce back in the direction in which it came. 

The wind was knocked out of Jeno, but it was nothing compared to watching the bullet land in the middle of your father’s chest. On the other line, he heard Doyoung yell, followed by the sound of something falling. And then, as he made his way back towards the hole he’d fallen out of, he couldn’t rip his eyes away from the body as it crumpled to the ground. 

The others around him scrambled to get back into their respective cars. Jeno was back on the roof now, trying not to hyperventilate. “I’m sorry,” He gasped, “Do—Doyoung, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to—”

“Jeno, you need to get out of there, now,” Doyoung said, voice raspy. “GO!” 

So he did, and Doyoung cut off the call once he was out of the vicinity. Jeno didn’t blame him. He swung across buildings, feeling numb as he looked for the apartment complex roof where he’d decided to hide his backpack.

When he finally did, he changed in a hurry, before slumping against the wall and forcing himself to take deep breaths. 

Doyoung’s dad—your dad—was dead. And it was all his fault. 

He cried on the way down the staircase. He cried on his way to the subway. The entire time, he ignored people’s stares. Suddenly everything was too loud, and if he met someone in the eyes he’d just about break down in the middle of the station. 

As he got onto the train, Jeno thought about all of the things your dad had done for you, and for Jeno. All the times he'd taken you both to Coney Island in the summer when you were younger. The year Pokemon Go came out he took the both of you driving around in his car so you and Jeno could catch as many Pokemon as you could. 

He’d formally adopted you when you were thirteen. You were his daughter in nearly every sense of the word, regardless of blood. And now he was dead, because of a stupid mistake that Jeno had made.

What would you say if you knew? He didn’t want to know. Checking the time on his phone, he saw he’d gotten a message from you just three minutes ago.

[8:36 PM]

y/n: lemme know when ur outside!! :)

“Fuck,” He murmured, wiping his eyes. He knew he needed to stop crying before he got to your house, and he had about ten minutes before he got to his stop, and then another five minute walk to the neighborhood. He focused on taking deep breaths and taking long swigs from his water bottle in the meantime, trying to tune out the sound of other people talking and the sound of the train on the rails.

The walk was the longest five minute walk he’d ever taken. The flashing lights of convenience stores did nothing to calm him down. As the stores in his peripheral vision began transitioning into suburban homes, he felt his heart speed up again. The constant movement as he walked meant he missed his phone vibrating in his backpack as you rang his number.

After what seemed like an eternity, two familiar houses came into his line of vision, and his shoulders slumped as he spotted you on your porch, looking small and teary, curled up into a little ball. In one hand, you were clutching your phone.

His stomach twisted as he put on a confused tone, even though he knew damn well that you knew. “...Y/N?”

You stood up, running to him and burying yourself into his chest, crumpling into his arms. You would have fell over if Jeno hadn’t held both of you up. 

“Jeno,” You sobbed, “You’re n-not go-onna believe it.”

He brought a hand up to caress your hair, holding back tears of his own as he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Y/N, what happened?”

taglist: @decembermoonskz @itsapapisongo @lenaluvs​ @crescentjen​

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑺𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝑫𝒐𝒘𝒏 (𝑲𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒆𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈) 𝑹𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅

Pairing: BFF! Kang Yeosang (Ateez)/ BFF! Reader (Female)

Genre: Smut, Slight Angst, Fluff, Non Idol! AU.

Synopsis: Yeosang decides to show and prove to his best friend that slow and sensual sex is superior to rough fucking.

Word Count: Around 3-4K

Warnings: Mentions of smoking/drinking, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, nipple play, semi-drunk sex, sex taping (with consent), sweet vanilla sex with music/ led lights in the background, protective sex that transitions to unprotected (always do safe sex), creampie, best friend/ non-romantic relationship (?)

━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━━═━═━

"Room for one more?"

Turning her head in the direction of the deep, husky voice next to her, Y/N shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't really care. Not my place anyhow."

She lifted the almost finished cigarette to her lips. Taking a small puff of it, she blew out the smoke with then turned back to the dark brown male that had now taken a seat next to her on the porch.

"Want the last one?" She held up her cancer stick for him to take.

"No thanks." He shook his head.

Y/N scoffed at that. "What? Not hard enough for someone like you?"

Throwing the tiny butt onto the ground, she didn't care at all to put it out. Rolling his eyes, Yeosang extended his leg to finish the task of making sure she didn't set anything on fire.

"Sucker." Y/N repeated what she'd often call him.

"Dumbass." He counteracted her attack with his own nickname for her.

"Why are you even out here? Wouldn't you rather be inside and join in on the fun?" She asked him.

Picking up a nearby stick, Yeosang began drawing random shapes on the ground below him.

"What do you classify as fun? I mean, besides destroying your lungs and aging faster."

"Haha, you're so fucking hilarious." Y/N replied sarcastically.

"As if you're any better Yeo. I'm surprised you're not stumbling back to your shitty apartment with either Hwa or Joong helping your wasted ass."

"Need I remind you that you practically live in my so called 'shitty' apartment cause your roommate can't stand you at the dorms." He snorted at her.

"It's not that she can stand me! I can't stand her bringing her douche boyfriend in the middle of the night or at odd hours of the day just so they can fuck each other's brains out!" She exclaimed in frustration.

Smirking at her, Yeosang couldn't help himself as he said:

"Maybe you should get your brain fucked out once in a while. Might help you be a little less bitchy."

Y/N scoffed.

"I'm not bitchy and I certainly don't need it."

"Your face says you do. Like seriously Y/N, when was the last time you got a good fuck? Let me guess. Probably 8 months ago when you let Youngbin pound you behind the bleachers?" He laughed at her.

"Ok! You know what?! Fuck you Yeosang! I can't believe you brought that up!"

Standing up, she began to storm away from him, away from the party and decided to just go to the nearest bus stop so she could go hide under her bed and pretend she didn't exist. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shivered slightly when a slight breeze blew against her. But still she continued walking, not paying attention to the voice calling out for her from behind. She had gotten a block away from where she was when she heard the sound of something scraping against the pavement behind her.

"You're hard to find." Yeosang came up next to her, his feet firmly planted on the skateboard under him.

"And you're hard to get rid of." She threw a passive aggressive smile in his direction.

"Listen..." Shifting the board to the left, he blocked her from walking any further.

"I'm sorry ok? I didn't mean to upset you." He apologized.

"You didn't really upset me.....I just hate bringing that jerk up again."

Yeosang chuckled at her pouty expression. Getting off the skateboard, he kicked down on one of the sides, making it fly up so he could catch it with his hand and tuck it under his elbow.

"Come on. Wanna hang out at my place tonight?" He offered.

"Still got leftover booze from last time?" She asked in anticipation.

"Now who's the alcoholic here snip?"

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It was well past 11 and Y/N had already downed more than half the bottle of the hard liquor. She lifted the glass up again to her lips when she was stopped by her friend beside her.

"Easy tiger. I think you've had more than enough."

Taking the bottle away from her, he wiped the top off before taking a quick gulp before setting it down somewhere next to him.

"I'm not even drunk yet.." Y/N mumbled out.

"Certainly not, but you're definitely not sober. So I'd say you're just a tad bit tipsy."

Y/N shoved him with her shoulder when he tried to lean his head on her.

"No. Go away. I'm still mad at you." She barked at him, clicking her tongue in annoyance.

"So I take it I'm sleeping on the couch again?" Yeosang raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well I certainly aren't. Shit's uncomfortable af."

Standing up, she threw her crop sweater over her head and tossed it somewhere in the room, her black shorts soon following after. Yeosang barely batted an eyelash at his friend's actions, so used to her walking around half naked around his place.

Slumping down on the bed, she reached into Yeosang's dresser and opened the drawer, knowing she'd find his stash of tootsie pops in it. Picking out a cherry flavored one, she unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth, discarding the wrapper on the waste bin a few feet away from her. Turning on her back, she hummed softly before taking the lollipop out of her mouth momentarily to pat on the empty space next to her and say:

"Sangie, come here. I wanna cuddle."

Yeosang grumbled at her words.

"Whatever happened to me sleeping on the couch?"

"Never said you should. Now come on." She repeated at him.

Yeosang sighed in disbelief, seriously questioning why he even put up with his friend for so long. Removing his plaid pullover hoodie and black skinny jeans, leaving him in just a plain white T-shirt and his black briefs, he slid down next to Y/N and wrapped one of his arms around her waist.

"Happy now?" He inquired of her.

Y/N shifted a little so that they ended up in a more comfortable spooning position.

"Yeah I guess." She murmered softly.

Yeosang began to draw circles across her hip, occasionally pulling the side of her black panty and making it snap against her skin, making Y/N swat his hand away whenever he did.

"Can I have some?" Yeosang gestured to the candy in her mouth.

Pulling it out with a loud 'popping' noise, Y/N held it out for him to take. Putting it in his mouth, Yeosang sucked in it briefly then took a small bite out of it before handing it back to her.

"Heathen." Y/N derided him when she saw the mutilated lollipop.

"Puss." He snickered at her.

They laid there in silence for a few minutes, the only sound coming from them was the occasional sighs or hums that would elude from their mouths. Getting tired and bored of the painful lack of noise, Yeosang reached for his phone and connected it to his bluetooth speakers. Scrolling through his playlist, he smiled smugly as he found the one song he had been listening a lot to lately and did not hesitate to start playing it. Y/N jolted a little when the blaring of trumpets resonated through the room.

"Jesus fucking christ, why must it start in such an unholy manner?" She complained as she shifted a little in Yeosang's embrace.

Yeosang couldn't help but laugh softly.

"And you know that's not the unholy part about it."

Y/N couldn't help but smile at the sincerity of his words and especially not when the first verses started.

~Tell me what it is you wanna know

Finish up the bottle then we'll go, babe~

"Speaking of which, we didn't finish our bottle."

Y/N made a move to get up, but Yeosang pulled her back down, this time making her lay on top of him.

"Kang Yeosang!" She grunted at him, eyebrows furrowing at him.

"Snippy pants." He winked at her then placed a kiss to her nose.

His hands began to travel down the curve of her lower back, momentarily resting on her ass, his fingers digging into her soft skin.

~I'm too phased, it's too late

But coming down is all I ever do, babe, yeah~

"Pervert." Y/N accused him when he slapped her ass lightly.

"You weren't complaining when Youngbin-"

Y/N silenced him with a kiss to his lips, her tongue running across his upper lip. Yeosang tried to capture her tongue with his teeth, but she pulled back before he got the chance, making him whine softly.

"Mention that atrocity one more time and I will blow up your dick." She threatened him.

Yeosang couldn't help but poke fun at her.

"I wouldn't necessarily say no. I've heard your blowjob stories."

Y/N smacked his chest.

"What?! You think guys don't talk about it around me? They don't hold back just because we're close." He ruffled her hair.

"What about you? How come I never hear any stories from you? Is our little Sangie an actual saint?" She jeered at him.

Yeosang smiled softly, his hands pulling on Y/N's bra strap.

"First of all, let me assure you I'm not little.."

Lifting his hips up slightly, he grinded against her so she could feel his semi hard on. Y/N widened her eyes momentarily, her subconscious wishing he'd repeat the action one more time.

"And I'm not a saint. I'm just not as promiscuous as the other guys, that are into rough fucking all the girls in our class." He explained as he moved Y/N's strap so it fell off her shoulder.

Y/N couldn't help but look at him incredulous.

"Seriously? Getting fucked like a pornstar is one of the best feelings ever. Best kind of sex there is."

"I beg to differ babygirl. I find it to be completely overrated." He mused softly before placing a kiss to her exposed shoulder.

~And I'm so down if you're ready

I'm floating but I'm heavy

And I'll show you if you let me, girl~

"So what? You mean to tell me vanilla sex is better?" She rolled her eyes.

Yeosang couldn't help the mischievous smile that formed on his sculpture like face.

"It's not just better.....it's superior."

Yeosang's hand grabbed the remote next to his lamp, which he promptly turned off. Clicking on the first button, the room instantly illuminated a dark red from the LED lights that Yeosang had installed when he first moved into the apartment.

"Want me to show you?"

Y/N hadn't even responded but Yeosang was already unclasping her bra. His hands caressed her exposed back as he patiently waited for her answer. Feeling brave, Y/N sat up to let the garment fall off her body and onto the floor. She looked back to see Yeosang's reaction. He bit his lip, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him in an effort to contain himself from touching her before she gave her consent.

Y/N leaned down, her hand cupping his chin.

"Show me then."

Closing the distance between them, she kissed him tenderly. Yeosang hummed into the kiss, his fingers tucking a side of her hair behind her ear.

~I don't know if you already know how

But girl, I got the feeling that you know now~

Yeosang's tongue pressed against her bottom lip, making Y/N chuckle, but nonetheless granted him access to her mouth. Holding the sides of her neck, Yeosang swirled his tongue inside her, before pulling her own into his mouth to gently suck on it.

"Hehet....you smell like alcohol." He said in between their makeup session.

"Shut up and kiss me you dork."

She pulled him back in and deepened their kiss, her mouth hungrily and sloppily kissing his, her lips trailing across his chin and jaw at times.

"Fuck. How desperate are you?" Yeosang asked.

"A whole lot, now can you fucking stop being the ass you are and get on with it?" She pleaded with him.

In a flash, Yeosang flipped her onto her back. Burying his face in her neck, he placed open mouth kisses across it until he found exactly what he was looking for when Y/N's breath hitched.

"Found you."

Yeosang began to suck onto the sensitive patch of skin he had discovered. Y/N tilted her head to give him better access, which he took complete advantage of. Yeosang only pulled away after making sure there'd be a crimson red mark for anyone to see the following days. Satisfied with his work, he moved further south and began to kiss down her sternum, his hands going from her hips to her waist.

His lips went from kissing in between the valley of her breasts, to gliding over and taking one of her perky nipples into his mouth. His other hand made sure that its twin wasn't left unattended as he pinched and played with it delicately between his long and slender fingers. Without realizing it, Y/N arched her back, making Yeosang smile against her skin.

"You're definitely enjoying this." He teased her, biting faintly on her tiny bud.

"Sh-shut up..." She mumbled.

"And I haven't even gotten to the fun part."

Yeosang dragged his mouth painfully slow down her stomach, placing open mouth kisses on several parts of her skin. Once, he reached her belly button, he couldn't help but feel a little playful. Pressing his face down, he blew against her skin, causing her to squeak and giggle at the vibrations.

"Sangie!" She gushed at him and his awfully cute action.

"Sorry." He apologized but the sparkle in his eyes indicated he was anything but.

When he realized he was in between her legs, only a piece of fabric separating him from her most intimate place, he looked back up at her, mentally asking her if she still wanted to continue. Maybe it was the partially drunk part of her brain or maybe it was the sober part, either way, Y/N nudged Yeosang with her knee, urging him to do something.

Getting the hint, Yeosang grabbed the sides of her panties and began to rid her of them. Y/N lifted herself up so the process was easier for him, and even parted her legs for him, her neediness wanting him to just do as he pleased.

Yeosang inhaled and exhaled sharply as he stared down at his best friend's glistening and almost dripping core, the astonishment and lust in his stare quite unmistakable. His hands wrapped themselves on the back of her knees, his body leaning closer to get a better look at her.

"Well?" Y/N chuckled when he stayed dumb for a while.

Smiling an ironically pure smile, Yeosang didn't take his gaze off from between her legs as he responded:

"It's pretty.......so fucking pretty."

Turning his head, he kissed her right knee tenderly, dragging his lips around it. Eventually, he began kissing up her inner thighs, both of them, leaving no spot unattended. Y/N began to breath more rapidly as she watched him earnestly inch closer and closer to her lips.

"Oh-oh..."

Y/N gasped when Yeosang dragged the tip of his nose up her slit, making sure to press down on her clit.

"Fuck! You smell absolutely delicious babe."

Releasing her knees, he brought his fingers up so they could spread her folds apart so he could glide his wet muscle up and taste a bit of her. Yeosang couldn't get enough of her taste, as shown by his relentless effort in licking and sucking at her clit. One of his fingers began prodding at her entrance, swirling around and finally sinking inside her.

"Fucking hell Y/N, you're so tight and you're already sucking in one of my fingers. Seriously how long have you not gotten any dick?" He inquired as he added a second finger, beginning to scissor them inside her.

"Too. Fucking. Long."

Shutting her eyes, her hands went to Yeosang's hair and began pulling at it, her hips pressing against his face.

"Yeosangie..... help me..." She whined at him.

Paying attention to her needs, Yeosang buried his face in her heat once again, sucking and lapping enthusiastically, moaning occasionally as his 2 fingers slid in and out of her at a moderate pace. Y/N's chest began rising up and down, she could feel herself getting closer and closer to spilling all over her friend's face. The thought of her actually cumming in Yeosang's mouth riled her up more than she'd ever think it would. Yeosang felt her walls tightening around his fingers, clear indication she was about to cum. Being the teasing asshole he was, he pulled his fingers out and detached his mouth from her core, panting slowly from having been eating her out so passionately, some of her arousal smeared on his chin, upper lip and even on his nose.

"What the hell you jerk!?"

Y/N sat up, fully committed to smack him across the face, but he gripped her wrists as he forced her back down.

"Calm down Y/N, I promise you'll be cumming soon."

Leaning in, he kissed her forehead lovingly, sending flutters down her body. Her hand placed itself on his chest.

"Off." Although it was technically an order, she meant it more as a request.

Yeosang pulled his shirt over his head, allowing Y/N to gawked at his lean but toned abs and muscles.

"Fuck.......when did you start working out skater boi?"

Yeosang blushed and giggled shyly.

"Around the same time you began showing off your legs a lot more."

Y/N watched in anticipation as he began to remove his boxers. She widened her eyes when she saw her long time friend's cock slap against his stomach, the tip already leaking out precum.

"Holy shit. You weren't kidding when you said you weren't little." She complimented him.

Y/N reached out to try and grab it in her hand, but Yeosang swatted her hand away.

"You can suck my cock another time. Right now though, I'm dying to have it inside your tight hole."

Y/N clenched at the mere thought of having such a good looking cock inside her. She'd never outwardly admit it, but she always had a thing for visual stimulation and above average dicks.

Opening the drawer, Yeosang took out a condom and ripped it open with his teeth, soon rolling it onto his length. He slowly lowered his body on top of hers, kissing her softly as he aligned himself at her entrance. With a roll of his hips, he slid inside her, both of them moaning loudly. Yeosang let a few seconds pass before he began rolling his hips, starting at a slow and steady pace that matched the rhythm of the music playing in the background. His face hid in her neck, biting and kissing at her shoulders as his hands kept her waist firmly planted on the mattress.

"Fuck, you feel amazing Y/N." He whispered against her ear, making her sigh blissfully.

Wanting to dote on her more, he began spurting out a relay of compliments.

"You look so beautiful like this baby. Fuck! I wish I could capture this moment forever."

Feeling bold, Y/N held out her hand and began tapping around until she found what she was wanting to grab. She held out Yeosang's phone to him.

"Then why don't you?"

Yeosang groaned, halting his movements so as to not cum from her insinuation.

"Are you for real?" He wanted to make sure she wasn't kidding.

"Please just don't film my face. I don't want anyone to know it's me in case it gets in the wrong hands or you upload it to a porn site." She stated making him burst out in a lighthearted laugh.

"Oh honey I won't do that. I'm keeping this for my fap material."

Yeosang sat up as he turned on the camera. He began moving once the phone started recording the naughty scene taking place in his bedroom, this time going a little rougher than at first. He loved watching the way Y/N's tits bounced every time he pushed back inside of her. The red LED lights only made it more thrilling, adding a more erotic aesthetic that the camera captured perfectly.

~I'm burning up, yeah, all I see is red, ah

She said "Fuck me like I'm famous"

I said, "Okay"~

Yeosang's free hand ran across her stomach, momentarily pressing down on the bulge protruding from there. Then it began to squeeze at her breasts, fondling and groping them in a not too harsh fashion.

"Yeosang..... I need more..." She spoke out.

Yeosang pressed paused to help her out.

"Want more? Ok. Turn around for me baby."

~Push a little further on the edge

Crawl a little further on the bed, babe~

Pulling out of her, his hands helped her turn her body for him. Y/N immediately got on all fours, but Yeosang pressed his hand on her back.

"As cute as you look right now my friend, that's not what I had in mind."

Pushing her down, he made her lay her body on the mattress into a low doggy position. Y/N looked back at him with a questioning gaze.

"Trust me Y/N. It'll have you cumming in seconds."

Picking up his phone again, he was about to resume recording when Y/N's words made him snap up.

"Sangie please fuck me raw."

Yeosang swore he had a mini heart attack when she said that.

"Y..Y/N....what are you-"

"It's ok! I'm on birth control and I just really want to feel you and have you cum inside me." She confessed unashamedly.

Yeosang thought about it for a minute before deciding 'screw it' and threw away the condom that was wrapped around his dick. Pumping himself a few times, he finally pressed record again, wanting to capture the moment he entered his friend completely raw.

This time his thrusts were more deep and fast paced, wanting to have Y/N come as fast as possible, which wasn't going to take too long, if her now loud gasps and moans were a major clue.

"Oh- oh my g-god!"

Y/N now understood what Yeosang meant when he said he'd have her cumming in seconds. With his cock pushing in and out of her rapidly it made the mattress underneath her rub against her clit in the most addicting friction she'd ever had.

"T-told you so.." Yeosang couldn't hide the shit eating grin on his face, which Y/N would have slapped off if she could see it.

Gripping at her hip harshly, he angled himself so he could hit that special spot in her, finding it quite easily after many practices in the same room from past lovers. Y/N tried biting her lip but it wasn't enough so she resorted to hiding her face on the pillow in front of her, muffling her near shrieking moans.

~You're buried in the pillow, yeah, you're so loud

But I'm about to show you, baby, slow down~

Lifting her head up slightly, she tried to warn him.

"S-Sangie...I'm gonna-"

She threw her head down again, not wanting Yeosang's next door neighbors to complain next day about the noise, given how thin the walls were.

Positioning his phone on the dresser, Yeosang crouched down and lifted her face up to look at him. She looked almost completely fucked out, her hair sticking onto her face, sweat beads piling on her forehead. Yeosang kissed her messily, his mouth silencing some of her moans as well as his own.

"Go ahead gorgeous. Cum for me. I'll be right behind her."

Yeosang let out a deep, gutteral moan when he felt her clench around him, her body shaking underneath him as she came hard. A series of cursing ensued as he spilled himself inside her, coating her walls with his cum. He slowed down his movements, but never halted them completely, wanting her and himself to ride out their orgasms. When he finally stilled inside her, he grabbed his phone again and held it close to where their bodies connected.

"Holy shit. That's so hot." He said in an almost gloating tone as he pulled himself out of his best friend and watched as part of his cum seeped out of her.

Turning off the camera, he reached for the box of wet tissues on his nightstand and began wiping Y/N down. Tapping on her shoulder, he asked:

"You ok there bud?"

Y/N let out a muffled "Yeah."

"Cute." He shook his head.

Turning off the music, he plopped beside Y/N, turning her so they could resume spooning like they were in the beginning.

"So....?"

Y/N opened her eyes and tilted her head to look at him.

"So what?" She looked at him rather puzzled.

"Do you agree now that vanilla sex is superior?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Y/N hummed as she pondered about it in her head. Turning around so her body faced his, she pulled him closer.

"I don't know.....might need a little more convincing..." She joked.

Yeosang took notice of the slight smirk that tugged at the corners of her lips. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed the top of her head.

"Oh trust me. I don't think this will be the last time...."

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~Song used here: Slow Down- Chase Atlantic ~

[jinkicake]

no thoughts just running away in a flowy gown through the streets of Italy from don giorno

((((anon... ANON... okay give me like ten minutes to post my other works and then Imma come back and just dump my entire BRAINROT that I have because of this post WAAIIITTT this is so good,,, you’re.... a genius))))

A/N: Okay..... this is so messy, so rough and I can’t believe I wrote 1.6k words in less than an hour BUT... here you are Anon~~~ a little something based off of your message hehehe it’s lowkey yandere :0 (Also... in part five theyre in naples right? LMFAO i can never remember) Anyway I have an early class tmr so I have to cut it short so this is not editied and -again- very messy,,, I will try to fix it later but for now~~~ here is my take on running away from Giorno LOL 

Giorno x Reader

This has lowkey yandere themes... 

WC- 1,637

All you want at this moment is to rip your constricting dress off. The thin, pale blue material is suffocating, every layer tightens around your skin and makes it that much harder to run. You’ll do anything to help you free yourself from Giorno’s clutches. And as of right now, you have your foot in the door. 

At least, you think you do. Unbeknownst to you, the little ladybug necklace adorning your neck has other thoughts. 

It was smart to leave (escape) in the early afternoon, right as your fiancé was in the midst of all of his meetings and when it was most crowded in the streets. You could easily blend in with all the other people, at least until nightfall. 

It has become your mission to get as far away from Naples as you can before the moon starts to rise. You quickly found out that is easier said than done. 

If only the streets weren’t filled with his men, if only every single person who makes eye contact with you wasn’t on his side. 

You knew that the moment Giorno had found out about this, about your betrayal, that there would be dire consequences. Yet again, it was never your intention to allow him to ever find you again. 

Given by your own personal estimation, you had about another five minutes before he was alert of your missing status. The guards stationed at your shared apartment change positions every twenty minutes to ensure that not one of them gets any special amount of time with you. The helicopter gaurds hovering over you were such a pain. Too bad you had already disposed of those on stand, it’ll be a quick affair once everyone notices your lack of presence. 

“Fuck,” You murmur as your flat, clearly not made for running, catches on one of the cracks in the street. Your chest heaves up and down with each breath as you stare at the unfamiliar crowd trying to pick up on any familiar face. A wave of relief washes over you when you realize that you don’t recognize any of them. 

You can do this, you can do this. Start over, somewhere new, somewhere like France or Switzerland. You can escape. 

And you truly believed that, you kept running with all of your might and didn’t stop to look back once. After some time, the streets started to mesh together and it felt as if you had started running around in circles. You didn’t have time to worry about that, not as the sun was setting and the streets were starting to clear up. Any leverage, any chance of escape that you had, would be lost if you did not make it out of Naples. 

Maybe you could find a bus that would take you up to Rome, then up and the hell away from Italy. Maybe a boat would be quicker, a motorcycle? 

All at once, your senses start to close in as you realize that you did not take advantage of your situation. You did not think this through, you saw a chance and you took it. You’ll fight until your last breathe, until Giorno finds you again. There is no way in hell you’re going to let this golden opportunity go to waste. 

But, God, had you fucked up. You fucked up, really bad, but deep in your heart you know it was worth every single second. 

It doesn’t matter how far or how fast you run now. 

The abandoned alleyways tell you everything you need to know, it’s now completely dark outside and late into the night. The streets are cleared, silent, except for the telltale sounds of your shoes lighting pounding into the pavement. 

You tightly bunch your hands up in the sides of your dress before pulling the fabric up and running with all of your might. You should have ditched the dress earlier, it was only ever holding you back but it’s not like you had another change of clothes. 

Giorno always liked you dressed up. 

Almost as if you were his little doll. 

A black car stops suddenly at the end of the street, blocking off the entire road and cutting through the silence with a loud screech of its tires. It’s not enough to intimidate you, you still refuse to give up. 

Almost too quickly you swiftly turn around, hot on your heels ready to run away, right into a broad chest. 

The black suit fills your vision before you can actually see the figure, but you can still feel their presence right away. You’re done for, you’re done for. 

“You ruined your pretty dress,” Giorno’s soft face portrays a frown as his eyebrows furrow in disinterest. His light eyes still hold concern only for you. He reaches his hand up to brush the stray strands of hair from your cheeks and you immediately flinch, taking a step back only to bump into something else.

This time you’re almost too scared to turn around, you would much rather face Giorno than the other figure. An unpleasant huff causes you to shakily glance over your shoulder and face Golden Experience Requiem. It’s staring down at you with betrayal deep in its eyes, hands twitching next to your own.

You couldn’t take the stand on even if you wanted to. 

You try to move, step away, but the stand is much quicker and grabs your biceps to hold you still. Its pants rest heavily in your ears and you don’t even dare to look up at Giorno who has started pacing in front of you. 

You feel so stupid, oh so stupid, the dress is filthy and dirty. Everything is torn at the seams, your shoes are worn down, your hair is flung all over your face, you’re a complete and utter mess. 

It only gets worse when you hear the robotic sounds behind you. Still gutted with betrayal, Golden Experience Requiem utters a single word in his polite tone that matches his user’s. 

“Why?” 

Your eyes slightly widen at this and as a result, the grip on your biceps grows tighter. 

“Why? Why?” The mechanic voice demands and you’re nearly shaking beneath its grip. Now, you know why Giorno is so silent. He never loses his composure in front of you, he is always calm and ahead, always one step in front of you. With his stand, however, he can’t help but express all his feelings as he desires. 

An apology feels heavy on your tongue because you’re not sorry, you have nothing to apologize for. 

“I wanted to go home.” You daringly lift your gaze to look straight at your fiancé, glaring at him as if it could make him disappear. 

“Then let’s, we can discuss the matters of this evening there,” Giorno takes a step toward you, and he is beside you, resting his hand on your shoulder as he waits for you to turn around and follow him. 

Your stubborn eyes, filled with tears, nearly makes him sigh. 

“Please don’t be difficult,” He tries to cup your face but his own stand pulls you tighter into its chest. Golden Experience Requiem has always been so possessive over you and never afraid to show it. Giorno knows that he couldn’t call his stand back even if he tried, not until you were safely in the car. 

“I want to go home.” You repeat, too calmly for your current panicked state. A long, cold arm drapes over your chest and you feel your feet start to rise against the hard road beneath you.

The stand is literally dragging you back to the car with no remorse. 

And stupidly, you make another mistake.

“Not with you,” At this point, you’re sure you won’t make it out of this experience alive. You keep making it worse and worse for yourself as if you can’t help it. 

Giorno stills, and the slight clench of his jaw is enough to have you sprinting back into his car. 

“Then with who?” He asks through his teeth, glaring harshly at the side of your face as you continue to look away from him. It’s not enough for him and he tightly grabs your jaw with his hand to force you to look at him. His fingers dig into your cheeks when you still refuse to look at him. “With who, darling?” 

No air is flowing through your system. You can’t concentrate on anything, not on the stand behind you tugging on your body possessively or your fiancé holding you just as angrily. 

“Myself,” You finally tell him honestly and look up at him, Giorno physically calms down at the sight. 

“I can take you there if it means you will stop acting out,” The offer, the bargain, falls short on your ears and a new frown takes up your face. 

Giorno is taunting you, teasing you.

You know there is no chance in hell he would let you go home, let you visit the place you miss the most. He knows he’ll never get you back if he does. Giorno is just using this to get you back in the car.

He’s done it once before, and this certainly won’t be the last time he does it either. 

“I will bring you there, (Y/N).” He restates and you stubbornly hold your place. “You don’t want to go anymore?” His jaw ticks and you can hear the irritation filling his voice. “It’s so hard to please you,” The tightening grip on your biceps shows his frustration even if he doesn’t physically face you with it. Golden Experience Requiem has you under lock and key, hugging you so tightly that you’re almost gasping for air. “One last chance.”

One last chance to take him up on his pseudo offer, to entertain his twisted fantasy. 

This is your split road, lick your fiancé’s wounds or let the gash grow bigger and bigger. 

Either way, you’ll end up back at his estate, now all that matters is the punishment waiting back for you. 

You can’t find it in yourself to move your legs.