#this sport is so fucked. it’s a joke. i love skating but i wish i never had to interact with the community around it

[locrianking]

nothing pisses me off more than how figure skating reporters/news will constantly and intentionally leave out important details of stories in order to produce ragebait for people who don’t know anything about figure skating

#like i’m sorry but surya bonaly is NOT the hill you want to die on. #they banned backflips BEFORE SHE WAS EVEN COMPETING because guess what! #USFSA/ISU doesn’t want to deal with skaters breaking their fucking necks and dying on live tv! #or make young skaters feel like they Have To Learn how to do it and then fucking dying because of how INCREDIBLY DANGEROUS it is. #dont get me wrong figure skating is conservative and racist as fuck and surya bonaly faced some pretty horrific racism in her career #but banning the backflip had absolutely nothing to do with her and everything to do about not having skaters fucking die #also i’m not sorry but her edgework fucking sucked. like her jumps were incredible i can’t lie but her edges were. painful to watch at best #see also: everything regarding the sambo 70 and eteri #i am so sick and fucking tired of seeing people who don’t skate just hype up these incredible abused teenagers and hail them like gods #they don’t need fame they need HELP and eteri needs to be in fucking JAIL for what she’s done to SO MANY KIDS #i hope this sport gets more boring!! i hope i see less quads and less teenagers!! #what i want to see is competitive skaters who are still able to skate when they’re 25+ because their training was healthy and genuine #i want to see good technique and clean lutz edges and no full blade assistance on toe jumps bc thats what will save your joints #i want to see skaters with muscle and fat who have healthy relationships w/ food and their bodies and are stronger for it #this sport is so fucked. it’s a joke. i love skating but i wish i never had to interact with the community around it #ESPECIALLY those who have never gone through the sport themselves. stop getting off on abused children and start advocating for SAFETY #rosie speaks

[frick6101719]

It's Not My Fault My Elegy for a Hockey Team Turned Into an Everlark Porno

Sometimes your hockey team loses and it puts you in such a Mood that you start writing and then suddenly you've got the strangest little slice of Everlark smut that has ever been crafted by your own two brain cells.

This is kind of niche, and full disclaimer it has been done with zero research and almost zero thinking and is in more than one way just my own therapy because god fucking dammit Toronto can you please just win one playoff series FOR ONCE PLEASE

but also I love my boys and wish them all the cheering up in the world

So yes, proceed with all this in mind. And uh, enjoy?

~~~ 

Just like that, another season was over. 

Peeta sat in the dressing room, helmet on his knee, eyes fixed on the edge of the blue carpet beneath his skates. He’d been here before—too many times—and knew that facing the summer on the heels of playoff elimination was always tough. But something about tonight’s pain felt different, somehow fresh, raw, and sharp. It didn’t make sense—the Miners had lost in every way imaginable in the past: they’d deflated before teams half as good as they were, they’d lost key players to injury, they’d collapsed under the pressure and made too many bad plays, they’d let bad reffing get to them… they’d done it all. 

But tonight hadn’t been like that. They’d played really well, made a number of excellent plays, and finally managed to keep their penalties to a minimum. In the seventh game of a close series, they’d held the Peacekeeper’s lead to one goal, keeping the threat of a comeback ever-present, looming over their opponents’ heads, dangling before their own eyes. They’d lost for every reason imaginable, but tonight they’d lost for what seemed like no reason, and it was the worst feeling yet. 

Last year, after losing in the first round, Peeta had made the mistake of checking Twitter, where he was greeted by half a dozen would-be sports journalists asserting that in life there were three certainties: death, taxes, and the Miners losing in the first round of the playoffs. He didn’t need to check tonight to see that’s what people were saying again. He couldn’t blame them. It was how he felt now too—devoid of answers, with nowhere helpful to lay the blame except at the feet of some curse that made their failure a cosmic inevitability. They’d only made it to the finals twice since Haymitch Abernathy had been the fresh-faced rookie who unexpectedly led the team to the cup, and that was over thirty years ago. 

Now Abernathy was their bitter and barely-sober head coach, somewhere north of fifty, a former player who’d fallen victim to injury and vice and had never reached his full potential. He was a brilliant coach in spite of all that, or perhaps because of it, and as he stormed into the dressing room, yanking off his tie and rubbing a hand over his jaw, scanning the room with his sharp grey gaze, Peeta was glad that he was also a coach on intimate terms with disappointment. Abernathy met each of their eyes with that unflinching stare, harsh, but clearly also stung by this latest defeat. He felt it too. He’d wanted this as badly as any of them.  

Abernathy just stood there in the corner of the room for a long moment. He had used up all of his pretty mediocre oratory skills during the intermissions, trying to encourage and even threaten them into being the team he knew they could be, the team they had been just a few weeks ago in the regular season, the team who won. 

He had nothing more to say now, but he was the coach, and he had to say something. Peeta knew it wouldn’t be the usual taunts he threw at them during humiliating losses in the regular season; there would be no “well boys, looks like it’s all over now but the crying,” and no barbs about booking tee times for next Saturday, since they were clearly no longer serious about hockey. Grumpy old codger that he was, even he wouldn’t make those jokes tonight.

After all, it was over, and they were crying. 

He started with something about a good effort, and while Peeta did his best to look like he was paying attention, he didn’t catch more than a word or two. He kept his eyes down, focusing on unlacing his skates without ripping them to shreds in frustration and heartbreak.

So close. He yanked on the waxy strings. His eyes felt hot. So fucking close. 

He’d been over the moon ten years ago when it had been the Miners who drafted him. One of many hockey players born and raised in District Twelve, the Miners were the team he’d been cheering for since birth, the team he’d begged to watch even when it was well past his bedtime, the team whose blue-and-white logo was stamped on the flannel pyjamas he couldn’t sleep without. He’d been a Miner at heart long before the draft, donning the vintage Gray Baird jersey his grandparents gifted him for Christmas and imagining he was one of the greats every time he and his brothers stepped onto the ice. Their family often joked about just setting their address to the ODR in the winter, since Peeta and his brothers practically lived there anyway. They used to wake up before school to get ice time in, layering up until they were stuffed like pillows on ice in the sub-zero weather, hollering about which legendary player they were that day. Getting to be a Miner for real seemed like everything Peeta had wanted since he first became capable of wanting anything. 

His desires had grown up as he had, and by the time he joined the lineup he felt that he’d become more reasonable in his hockey ambitions. Still, like most young players joining a struggling team he’d dreamt of being one of the instruments who turned their game around, who started the momentum that wouldn’t let up until the Miners won and he was holding the Stanley Cup in his own hands. He dreamed of being so good the team would have no choice but to get better too. 

And get better it had; the room he sat in now housed the best roster in the last thirty years of Miners hockey, and certainly a far better team than the one Peeta had joined as a rookie. Several trades and new acquisitions had transformed them from a team better known for its passionately loyal fanbase into one of the best in the league. 

It hadn’t been enough. The bad luck that had hounded the team for decades had not gone anywhere, not with trades, not with new coaches and GMs, not even when they’d drafted what might be the best player in franchise history four years ago in Gale Hawthorne. 

Peeta looked up. Rosie, as the boys called him, was sitting in his usual spot several seats to Peeta’s left, silently undressing as Abernathy wrapped up his speech. Like Peeta, he knew that the media room was waiting to hear from him especially, wanting their star to explain exactly why the team had lost yet another elimination game. Rosie had played well all series, though he hadn’t quite managed to put up his usual numbers. He and his line led the Miners in points, with Rosie and Thom having just beaten a franchise record for points between a pair of teammates, and Rosie himself finishing the season with more goals than any other player in the league. They were the stuff playoff dreams were made of, but Peeta knew that the pair hadn’t been as dominant this series as the fans would have hoped. 

Looking at the pair of them, red-eyed and dejectedly picking at their equipment, they knew it too. 

Neither of them had scored tonight, though they’d both gotten assists on Peeta’s goal—the only one of the night. Peeta was going to have to face the music in the media room too, though he knew he would have an easier time of it than Rosie and Thom; it had been a good goal, and as a defenseman no one was even counting on him to score it, not like they were with the forwards.

He realised he was still staring at Rosie when the centreman raised his head and met his gaze. Peeta couldn’t find it in himself to smile, as he would have done after a win, or even a less crushing loss, but gave a small nod, which Rosie returned. They knew what was waiting for them, and they would face it together. Win or lose, they were a team. 

He was glad to have teammates like Rosie and Thom. He was glad for all of them, honestly; they were a great group of lads and there was no one better to be miserable with than them. 

But as if to add insult to injury, as his eyes traversed the rest of the dressing room, Peeta found himself bitterly wondering which of his boys wouldn’t be back next year. This was the end of the line for some of them, it was just a matter of who, and when. 

Morph was a likely candidate, if Peeta was honest. Morph was a fellow defenseman who’d had a pretty shit season, and whose interference penalty had resulted in a no-goal call on a goal which would have tied the score back in the first. Peeta liked the guy, but mistakes like that were hard to shake, and while he and the other players knew that there was a fine line between stating a fact and placing blame, management tended to see things a bit differently. He wouldn’t be surprised to see a new face sitting in Morpho’s spot next season. 

Then there was Foxy, who was practically good as gone, though for very different reasons than Morph. Foxy had had such a good season he’d effectively played himself right off the team, thanks to a salary cap that meant the Miners could no longer afford him. Young and hungry, he’d be a valuable addition to any team looking to plan for the future and lock in some fresh talent. But players like Foxy brought character to the team, and gave it some much-needed depth. Peeta would be sad to see him go. 

Foxy looked maybe a little less sad than the rest of them now, already mostly undressed, green eyes skittering about the room as he stripped for the shower. Maybe he was already thinking about another chance with a new team, maybe he was trying to detach early to avoid feeling the same pain as the rest of them. One thing was certain: he’d do well wherever he found himself come autumn. 

Then there was Finnick, the veteran player they often called Vintage. Another lifelong Miners fan, Fin had been drafted second overall to their rivals, the District Eleven Maize, when Peeta was only seven years old. Peeta could still remember watching the TV in utter devastation as one of his local heroes was sent to “the enemy,” and had been overjoyed nearly twenty years later when Fin had signed on with the Miners. Vintage was a living legend, playing for the team he loved at a huge discount because he was close to retiring and could afford to play for fun if he wanted to. Maybe a chance at the cup had been a bonus, but with another of those chances come and gone, retiring had to be looking pretty good right now. They often joked that the old man still had it, exaggerating their surprise any time he made an especially good play, but the truth was Finnick was still better than many players ten years his junior. He’d earned his position on special teams and on key faceoffs, and with thighs like tree trunks he was frighteningly fast for a thirty-eight-year-old. But Fin also had a wife and four kids who were growing up at breakneck speed. He’d had a great career, had made his mark on the game and was destined for the Hall of Fame; maybe this latest disappointment would convince him that it was time to move on from the league and start the next chapter.

The thought of playing without Finnick only worsened Peeta’s already foul mood. He was a pillar of the team, with experience and wisdom that they all looked to, leaned on, and at times even craved. He’d forgotten more about hockey than most of them ever knew, and while he was fun to tease—whether it be for how often he switched sticks in a game or for how worked up he got when it was three minutes until they hit the ice and JoMas was still practically naked, shooting the shit with Thom and Briz—they knew how lucky they were to have him. The Miners may have had their reliable stars sticking around—Rosie, Thom, JoMas, and fearless leader Mattie Undersee to name a few—and much of the rest of the rest of their roster would be back in the fall as well, but the team would feel off-balance and adrift without Vintage, and Peeta dreaded the possibility. 

Having nearly completed his scan of the room, Peeta turned to his right, locked eyes with Carty, and deflated. It was hard to be in a bad mood any time the goalie was around, and especially when he looked as much like a kicked puppy as he did now. It had taken JoMas all of a week to dub new goalie Dale Cartwright “Mr Right,” an appropriate nickname for the nicest, most selfless, salt-of-the-earth kind of guy anyone could hope to meet. It was a nickname quickly picked up by their fans, who chanted it—no, screamed it at the top of their lungs—every time he made a save. 

Carty had played well tonight, only allowing two goals and earning every roar from the supportive home crowd, but Peeta knew he was his own worst critic. Carty would be beating himself up for the loss, even if objectively there was little he could have done differently. Worse, he’d be thinking back to previous games, to every goal allowed, to getting pulled back in game four, asking himself “what if” until he dug himself a hole it would be hard to climb back out of. 

They couldn’t lose Carty. As far as Peeta knew he wasn’t a trade risk, but they’d sure been having goalie trouble this year, and who knew what the solution to all that would look like? 

But they just couldn’t. Losing Carty would be taking the heart of the team and ripping it right out, it would mean losing the sweetest guy not just on their team but on any team. Not to mention it would start a fucking riot with the fans, who were head over heels for the guy. 

Some players—goalies especially—got nothing but chirps when they went through rough patches, with assholes trolling the comments of their instagram telling them to just quit already and stop bringing the team down. But not Carty. Carty got comments from old ladies saying they were praying he’d feel better soon, and tags from hockey bros saying they knew he’d find his stride again and just to hang in there. Peeta had even heard one announcer say that if anyone didn’t like Dale Cartwright, they were the one with the problem. He’d never seen anything like it, but he couldn’t agree more. Everyone liked Carty. And in a sport where things could get heated, where tempers often boiled over and where anger not infrequently cooled down through your fists, someone so good and level-headed was rare and precious. Especially now, the team needed Carty.  

Peeta finished undressing and stood, his legs aching, heading for the showers. He stopped by Carty’s spot on his way, finally finding the little smile he couldn’t earlier. Carty seemed to perk up a little to see it, offering one of his own in return.

“That was a tidy little goal, Peets,” he said. His voice was warm, though his eyes were glistening. “Perfect spot.”

Peeta smiled a bit more. “Thanks Carty. You’d have had it though.”

Carty ducked his head, like he always did when offered praise, no matter how well-deserved. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m glad it wasn’t me you were up against.”

Peeta almost mentioned that Carty had let in fewer goals in the series than Marvel Quaid, the Peacekeeper’s goalie who had some of the best stats in the league. He didn’t. It felt like a trite consolation, since Carty knew as well as he did that the only stat that mattered in the playoffs was the final score, and they were the ones who were going to be golfing next week. 

“I’m glad it wasn’t you too.”

 One by one the boys headed for the showers, the room quickly filling with steam and the sound of a sniffle or two over the rush of water. No clothes were hidden, no ice water was dumped on anyone’s back, no pranks of any kind were played as they dragged their feet through the post-game routine. It was clear that they were all just going through the motions, just trying to get to the next step, and then the next, and then finally they could go home. 

But first, interviews. As they shuffled out of the dressing room, towards the media hell that awaited them, Peeta took one last look at his boys, examining every face in case this would be the last post-game with them. Rosie, Thom, Mattie, Beets, JoMas, Cheese, Morpho, Cinner, Blight, Briz, Carty. He felt Finnick step up beside him, squeezing his shoulder and smiling at him in a way that forced Peeta to stare up at the ceiling to keep his eyes dry. 

“Fuckin’ thought we finally had it,” JoMas said from Peeta’s other side, shaking his head. “I could fucking taste it, Peets. Like everything was finally coming together.” 

Peeta nodded, wishing he’d worn a hat like Rosie and Thom—it might be nice to be able to cover half his face right about now. “Me too, man.” He sighed, opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it. What was he supposed to do, encourage Joey and Fin? Grin and tell them “there’s always next season” like they could just come back and try again any time they want? Remind them how close they’d come, how hard they’d tried, how high their hopes rose? Should he say that they should be proud of themselves for a good season even if it had a bullshit ending? 

All that hope, and here they were, about to dump bullshit on it before the press and then try to explain why it died. Putting on their Professional Athlete hats and carrying on like they were all fighting the good fight, playing the game as it was meant to be played, acknowledging that the game as it was meant to be played involved losing sometimes. But don’t worry, they didn’t like losing, and they would try even harder next year; they would lose less. They would remember that every loss was one step closer to the next victory, and that winning was what they did. 

Bullshit. Pretending they weren’t just grown-up boys playing a young boy’s game, feeling the heartbreak and anguish of defeat as acutely as they had at ten-years-old. Bullshit. All that hope, all that sweat, every expectation, every injury, the speckling of puck-shaped bruises on the soft insides of their legs and the bony edges of their ankles, their pulled groins and tweaked knees, the hits that knocked the breath out of their bodies and rattled their brains like jello in a goddamn bucket. Every foot of kin tape, every ice bath, every smack on the ass from Briz, every arena-rattling chant of “Mr Right,” their own voices screaming from the bench, Thom’s broken-toothed, mouthguard-dangling grin after he took a high stick to the mouth, every penalty kill, power play, every goal, every celly. Finnick’s dad laugh going on long after the joke, making them all crack up anew in the dressing room. Abernathy’s rare smiles behind the bench when the smell of victory was in the air. Morpho piping up that the smell wasn’t victory but just Blight’s nervous gas. The breakaways, the turnovers, the show-stopping saves and heartbreaking chances. Their three postseason wins, giving them more hope, painting a picture of round two, of the conference finals, of playing for the cup. Of winning it all, like they knew they could, because they were a good team and this is what they’d been working toward for years.

All of it. Bullshit. Not enough. 

Peeta sighed again. He took another step toward the door. I thought we had it. “Me too,” he repeated. What else was there to say? 

~~~

The post-game interviews could have been worse, all things considered. Peeta didn’t usually hate them, and even when they were a bit of a hassle he always tried to give reporters his best because he knew he was a sought-after subject. Plus… well, that’s just who he was. He didn’t like to brush reporters off, didn’t like coming off as the stereotypical inarticulate hockey goon whose brain was just a plate of scrambled eggs and fibreglass splinters, who spoke in sentences that spiralled into meaninglessness and regurgitation because that’s all he was capable of. 

But tonight that’s all he was capable of, and he didn’t even have the energy to be disappointed in himself. He gave his perfunctory answers, avoided snapping or making excuses, and tried not to look at his watch more than once a minute. It was like getting teeth pulled, but at least now he could go home. 

He may have driven a bit quickly on the way back, but he was exhausted. He was sore in every part of his body, and he was sore in someplace inside him, somewhere deep and soft and fragile. He needed to sleep for fourteen hours straight. He needed a cold beer, or a plate of salty french fries, or a hot bath. Or all of the above, at the same time. 

For far from the first time he was glad to live in a little spot off the heart of District Twelve, on a street where the neighbours were quiet and in a house where there was no lobby full of people lingering to watch him crawl back home with his tail tucked between his legs. Maybe they’d want to cheer him up, maybe they’d want to commiserate, maybe they wanted to tell him he should have scored two goals instead of one. Peeta wanted none of it.

He was surprised when he pulled up to see Katniss’s car parked on the street—he’d thought she was out of town until tomorrow morning. The heaviness in his chest lifted a little at the thought of her, probably already in bed, asleep or maybe reading, her hair pulled back in one long braid as it always was when she was home. Her outfit for tomorrow morning’s workout would be in a neat pile on the counter in the bathroom, where she’d get dressed quietly to avoid waking him before heading out for her morning run. The ingredients for Sunday brunch would be in the fridge, on the bottom shelf: eggs and turkey bacon and maybe even waffle batter. The barest trace of a smile had formed on his lips as he unlocked the front door, stepping quietly inside. He really did enjoy their quiet little routines, and the particular shade of domesticity that came from life as a pair of professional athletes. 

Peeta’s surprise doubled at the signs of life that met him in the entryway. She was very much awake, it seemed, loudly listening to that band from her university town that she liked so much, and… baking, by the smell of it. “Katniss?” he called, toeing off his shoes. Was that cake? 

“In the kitchen!” she called back. 

He guessed as much, and followed his nose, picking out vanilla, a hint of orange, and maybe some lemon in the mix? He’d been in the mood for something greasy and salty, but he wasn’t picky, and he could just as easily eat cake in the bath—

He almost slipped on the kitchen floor as he crossed the threshold, and only partly because she’d managed to get flour on the tile all the way across the room. His girlfriend—his beautiful, talented, beyond sexy girlfriend—was in the process of icing a plate of cupcakes, wearing a coy smile, an apron, and nothing else. 

The piping bag hit the counter, and she was across the floor before he’d picked his jaw up off of it. Then she was in his arms, her mouth pressed to his, hungry, sweet—definitely lemon—warm, gentle… the best balm for a bad night. Forget the french fries and the bath and the beer; she was exactly what he needed right now. 

His hands ran over the smooth skin of her back, travelling down to cup her ass, prompting her to hop up and wrap her legs around his waist. Decades of figure skating made it as easy for her to hang off of his body as it would be for most people to stand on their own two feet, and fuck he tried his best to appreciate that particular talent of hers as often as he could but he would never be used to it.

She pulled away, one hand massaging the damp curls on the back of his head, the other brushing invisible dust off his shoulder. She watched him for a long moment, grey eyes silently probing his blue ones. Looking back at her, it dawned on him that she understood. Maybe she could feel it all through his body, maybe the years they had been together had forged between them a connection that transcended the physical, or maybe it was just that she too knew what it was to lose when you knew you had it in you to win. There was a silver medal from 2014 hanging up in a glass case downstairs that proved it: she knew. She understood. 

And like him, Katniss knew when there was something to say, and when there wasn’t. She brought her mouth to his once more, her free hand moving from his shoulders to her apron strings, deftly untying them all while kissing him silly in this disaster zone of a kitchen. 

He walked over to the counter, clearing a space an appropriate distance from the food to set her down, watching as she pulled the apron over her head, tossing it onto a bar stool. He just wanted to get a look at her, wanted to thoughtfully decide where to begin, but then she was landing soft-footed on the tile and looking up at him through her eyelashes and grabbing him by the belt and suddenly he was incapable of making any decisions whatsoever. 

“Peeta,” she said, her voice a low purr. “You know I had a lot of time to think about what I wanted to do to you when you got home.”

She’d never been able to fake sexy, even on the ice—she had to really feel it in order to play that part convincingly. Knowing this just made it so much hotter to see her like this now, knowing this seductive confidence was one hundred percent genuine. 

“What did you think about?” he asked, fighting to keep his hands still at his sides, his whole body alight with the thrill of letting her have her way with him. “What did you decide?”

Katniss smiled, crouching down to unbuckle his belt. “All of it.” The button followed, then the zipper. “And I’m not stopping until we get a noise complaint.” Her hands stilled for a moment, and when she looked up at him, she looked just like her everyday self again, the mesmerising temptress vanished. Temporarily, he hoped. “Except I know you’re tired, and my alarm is still set for six-thirty, so that noise complaint may have to come soon.”

Peeta laughed, wanting to kiss that shy smile off her face as she bent back to her task, tugging at his waistband. “I think we can manage th—ahh!”

She was fucking quick, that minx. All business once more, her eyes narrowed to something feline as she traced her tongue experimentally along the underside of his dick. 

Fuck, he was tired, but it was a tiredness growing so distant it seemed irrelevant. What was tiredness up against Katniss Everdeen, gloriously naked in their kitchen with his cock in her mouth? 

She had him hard in seconds flat, one hand grabbing his ass, the other working his shaft in a way that had his head rolling back on his shoulders and his own hands reaching out blindly for support, fumbling for the counter, turning awkwardly so he could lean against it and let her work. “Fuck,” he gasped. His entire existence seemed to be rapidly narrowing to a single point, to the warmth of her mouth, the softness of her lips, the bite of her short fingernails against the back of his thigh. 

“Katniss,” he moaned, feeling like he was at risk of breaking the granite countertop he was gripping it so hard, struggling to stay in place as his hips twitched, trying to push him forward, seeking more. 

At this rate the noise complaint wouldn’t be the only thing coming soon. 

“Fuck, Katniss,” he released his death grip on the counter, resting one hand on the top of her head. He wouldn’t pull her hair—he didn’t want to hurt her, and at this rate his muscle reactions were not wholly voluntary. If she did that swirl thing with her tongue again he might just—

His moan was half a shout, pulled from the pit of his belly with a force that left him breathless. It was like she could read his fucking mind, and she was not taking it easy on him. “Katniss—”

There was something gooey underneath his hand. Peeta opened his eyes, not realising he’d closed them, and looked down. The remains of a cupcake, which was now a mess of icing and crumbs, covered his hand, squishing up between his fingers. He must have leaned back and put his hand on the counter again, only apparently he’d landed on the cupcake she’d been icing when he came in. 

Katniss straightened, laughing. “Honestly Peets, if you don’t like my baking, you could just say so, you don’t have to squash it.”

He was a little too dumbstruck at hearing his nickname on her lips to respond verbally, and just grinned back like an idiot. Katniss always called him Peeta—it was the boys who’d taken to calling him Peets. Something about the combination of the playful moniker and the sound of her voice was turning him on in a way he really didn’t have time to examine just then; he was rather enraptured by her as she lifted his wrist, took his fingers in her mouth, and sucked the icing right off. 

It was just his fingers—it had been his actual dick two seconds ago—but still it felt so fucking hot, so fucking good it almost sent him over the edge. He really shouldn’t be this close, but goddamn—

That mischievous look was back as Katniss pulled his fingers out with a pop. She kept her eyes locked on his as she reached for the plate of cupcakes, not breaking eye contact as she took one, crouched back down, and smeared the top across his cock, leaving a thick trail of icing in its wake. 

Had he died? Had he taken a hit from one of the Peacekeepers that had knocked him clean into the afterlife? Who was this woman and what could he have possibly done to deserve her?

Katniss closed her eyes, finally breaking the spell that had struck him still as a statue, and took him once more in her mouth. Peeta shuddered, fighting to keep control as she sucked him clean, her tongue almost scraping his skin as she slowly and with painstaking thoroughness licked off every mote of icing. 

It was going to be too much, he could feel that tightness forming, that tug in his belly that he could try to resist but wouldn’t, not when any sort of thought had abandoned him and the edge of ecstasy was right there. Not when she was coaxing him toward it like a siren to a doomed sailor, relentless, almost demanding.  

“Katniss,” he warned, almost whimpering when she didn’t stop. “I’m almost… Katniss I’m there.” 

She didn’t pull back, but doubled down, one hand scratching gently at his stomach as the other dug into his backside, her mouth wrapped around him as he stuttered and came. 

His knees nearly buckled, and he might have been able to blame it on tiredness from the game but right then he couldn’t even have said what sport he played. Katniss’s grip supported him for the split second he needed to find his balance again, the counter unhelpfully slippery under his sweaty palms. 

“Holy shit, Katniss,” he said, catching his breath, wiping his hair out of his eyes. “Holy shit.”

He looked down when he felt a small hand on each side of his face, meeting the tender eyes of the love of his life and feeling like he was going to lose his balance again. She rose on tiptoe to kiss him, and his brain might not have been working and he might still not have breath in his body, but muscle memory brought him down to meet her. It didn’t matter the circumstances, he could never get enough. 

This kiss was hopelessly soft, almost chaste in spite of what had just happened, and Peeta felt himself melting into her arms. Suddenly his head was on her shoulder, his face buried in her neck, his arms encircling her small, warm body, finding comfort in her that he couldn’t put into words. Maybe he was just a little boy who’d lost a game. Maybe he was a man beaten down by failure. But she knew. And gods above, she was just what he needed. 

“Peeta,” she said quietly. “I love you so much.”

He squeezed her tight. “I love you too.” He pulled back reluctantly; his heart felt a bit raw again, but his brain had finally rebooted and it was beginning to come up with an idea. He ducked to grab her behind her knees, hoisting her up, bringing her back to that spot of clean counter they’d abandoned earlier. He set her down, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as he leaned close. “So. How’d I do?”

Whatever she expected him to say, it wasn’t that. She frowned, confused. “How’d you do? What—in the game?”

He frowned back, trying to look equally puzzled. “Was there a game tonight?” She started. “I meant just now.” He grinned as she rolled her eyes. “Do you think I got us our noise complaint?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I doubt it. These walls are pretty thick, and you weren’t as loud as I know you can be.” She thought for a moment. “You know, I don’t think I heard you say ‘Katniss’ half as loud as I’ve heard you shout ‘Mr Right’...” 

He laughed, kissing the tip of her nose. “Well you’ve always been the loud one,” he quipped. Katniss scoffed. They both knew that wasn’t true. 

Or at least they knew it wasn’t true in most situations. But there were some, if you knew just what to do… 

He dropped to one knee, shuffling her closer to the edge of the counter. He didn’t break eye contact either as he rested his cheek on the inside of her thigh, winking up at her. “I’m sure we can get that noise complaint yet.” 

#this one's for my boys #particularly to Soupy and Spezz and Aussie and Mo #thank you Soupy for being maybe the best person ever I hope you have had lots of Red Lobster #thank you to Spezz for your thighs and for helping me help Finnick O'Dair realise his full DILF potential #thank you to Aussie for making me realise Gale Hawthorne absolutely DESERVES to have that dirty dirty mustache #and finally #thank you to Mo #(and to Tessa Virtue) #for being a VERY convenient candidate for Peeta Mellark #please understand that allowing you to be Peeta for this one hot minute is the greatest honour of which I am capable of bestowing #besides of course the honour of saying you're maybe the only man besides Scott Moir who I would allow to date Tessa Virtue #Okay I'm done now this has been a strange production but somehow a very on-brand way for me to welcome myself back to Tumblr #The Hunger Games #The Hunger Games fic #a fic... of mine??? #Everlark #Everlark fic #should I tag all the gender bending that went on here? Maybe. But no

[bubsdolan]

how would gray react to you getting severely injured? i currently have a broken back. also i love you so much!

{omg im so sorry to hear that my love, sending you well wishes🥺}

grayson dolan? yeah that man would be a frantic paranoid mess. there’s nothing he hated more than to hear or see you cry and be in any psychical or emotional pain. so the day you happened to blackout and end up in hospital, whilst he was teaching you to skateboard, went day as the worst day in history.

you had been persistent that you wanted to learn to skateboard. we all know ethan is the better twin in that department, but you were determined to be taught by your boyfriend who had some knowledge in the sport and would be good enough for a novice. you secretly wanted to see his overprotective side and knew an extreme activity such as this, would tip him over the edge.

“angel, don’t let go of my hand, alright. go nice and slow,” grayson held a tight grip on your hand as he gently rolled the board along the soft surface of their at home skate ramp- grayson built it himself. after dressing you up with a helmet, knee and arm pads and any other protection gear and equipment he could get his hands on, he was reluctant to let go of you even on soild ground.

“gray, we’ve barely moved a few meters,” you poke fun at him, kissing away the pout he gives you in response to your joke and picking up the pace of the board. his hands moving from your own down to your hips as he controlled your every movement. his heart rate would only intensify everytime you were to wobble on the board and lose your balance slightly.

“think we can try dropping in?” you felt confident. the ramp itself wasn’t a high one and with grayson on hand you felt safer than ever. but grayson, wasn’t so comfortable with your abilities to go at skill he still to this day, fucks up.

“maybe another time, baby. you’re still learning.”

you give him the best puppy eyes you could master, kissing and persuading him with all your love and affection, trying any way you could to get him to give in. and that is exactly how you found yourself at the height of the ramp, one set of wheels hanging over the edge and your eyes set firmly on your end destination at the other side.

“y/n, listen to everything i tell you, ok,” grayson was extremely sweaty and anxious, his plams clammy as he watched you steady yourself and position your feet where he instructed you to. his eyes so intense, his hands subconsciously reaching out for you from his position on the ground, as he desperately wished to take you back inside and keep you out of harms way. he had a bad feeling about this, but you were stubborn and he could never tell you no.

his suspicions only got confirmed when you sent it, on the count of two and without warning grayson first. suddenly the board ended up flying from under your feet, snapping in two, your head bouncing off the hard ramp and landing on your back in a position that you knew felt wrong the second you did. at the sound of your blood curdling screams, grayson was at your side in seconds. having witnessed the most terrifying sight of his life, his heart dropped.

“oh my god, baby no no, you’re ok. hey hey, look at me, shit shit shit, you’re ok- FUCK ETHAN! E!”grayson didn’t know where to place his hands. his eyes own littered with tears as he watched you cry, hearing your screams and pleads for him to help. he felt utterly useless.

you couldn’t move, you couldn’t turn to face grayson, you couldn’t comfort him the way only you could. you were laid lifeless as you suddenly felt all the blood rush to your head and draw you into a false sense of darkness. the last thing you hear before passing out was grayson begging for you to stay awake, telling you he loves you and that you’re ok.

“bro, she’s strong, she’s going to be ok,” ethan tried in his best efforts to reassure his pacing twin brother. who was on edge the minute you got taken from his arms and rushed to the emergency room. he hadn’t stopped crying, picking at his nails, pulling at his hair. he just needed you back in his arms. it wasn’t doing him any favours the more he kept replaying the incident in his head, your cries on repeat as he wished he never gave in.

“it’s my fault, all my fault. i should have never of let her-“

“family of miss y/l/n?” ethan was grateful for the nurse in that moment, catching grayson at the right time before he proceeded down a rabbit hole only you could pull him from- you weren’t there to help.

“she’s awake, you can see her now.”

grayson is sure he had never moved his legs faster than in the moment. sprinting in the direction of you, leaving ethan behind to follow after and gather Ang other necessary medical information the nurse had to offer. ethan gave his brother the space he needed with you, knowing grayson needed to see you now more than ever. he was relieved you were awake, alert, badly injured, but you were alive and that’s all it came down to.

“baby-“ grayson chokes out as he reaches for you. his body slumped over in the doorway of your hospital room as he took in the sight of your broken, bruised and battered body. a imagine of you he wished to never see again in his lifetime.

“hey bear,” you give the best fake smile you could, wanting to reassure grayson this wasn’t his fault and you weren’t in any pain- although that was undeniable. you could sense his guilt just by staring deep into his eyes and that was worse than any psychical trauma you had.

grayson is at your side before you could even blink. his hands automatically finding their home interlocked with your own and his thumb subconsciously rubs soothing shapes across your cold skin. his lips leaving soft, warm, almost barely noticeable kisses on your aching forehead, kissing away the pain of your hammering headache and watching in peace as your eyes flutter closed due to the contact. he was scared if he pressed his lips any harder, he would further hurt you.

“im sorry, im so sorry, angel. ill never forgive myself, if i would have lost you, fuck-“ grayson was ripping his hair out. his eyes filled with tears and his heart with guilt. he wished it was him in that bed instead of his girl, his angel. his everything. his reason for living.

“hey, enough,” you suck in a breath as you lift body upright and reach your shaky hands to feel the tender touch of his cheeks beneath your fingertips. you made sure to hold an intense gaze as you needed grayson to understand and soaked in every meaningful word that was about to follow.

you bring his palm to lay flat against the skin enclosed over your heart. your heart beat piercing as it was your own slient way of getting grayson to calm down and focus on you alone, your deep breathes and the fact you were alive.

“this isn’t your fault, it’s my own, i inflicted this on myself. im ok, im here. if anything you saved me and i love you,” you bring his lips to meet yours for a kiss so full of desperation- of desire and need. your thumb reaching up to wipe away the tears that had fallen as grayson in his mind was counting his lucky stars for you. he never wanted to live a life without you by his side. his bestfriend, his person, his guardian angel.

“let’s just say, you’re never stepping foot on a skateboard again.”

“deal.”

#SHES BACK.. again #for now anyways oop- #bubsdolan #grayson #grayson dolan #grayson dolan blurb #grayson blurb #grayson dolan imagine #grayson imagine #grayson dolan fic #grayson fic #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan fluff #grayson fluff #grayson dolan x reader #grayson x reader #grayson dolan concept #grayson concept #dolan twins #dolan twins blurb #dolan twins concept #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins fluff #dolan twins x reader #dolan twins fic #dolan twins fanfic

[explosionshark]

how to live here!

here's a special deleted scene that was supposed to go in one of the chapters after rachel and chloe start fighting, but i never really found a place where it made sense. but i always liked it too much to delete it.

The first time Chloe had talked about hanging out in a junkyard, Max had kind of assumed she’d been joking.

She’s been here a few times already since her return to Arcadia Bay, but the novelty of it still hasn’t worn off. Chloe doesn’t seem to mind, letting her wander off, camera in hand, to explore and take photos by herself until she’s halfway through a roll of film and finally satisfied.

Max lets the sound of breaking glass lead her back to Chloe and snaps one more picture. Chloe, broken off hockey stick poised at the highest arc of a big swing, aimed at the sun-bleached head of a mannequin perched atop a splintered milk crate like a fucked up golf ball on a tee.

The arc of the swing is completed. The head goes flying with a sharp crack, landing in a pile of scrap a few feet away. Chloe holds the stick up over her head and cheers.

“You get that, Max?” she calls over her shoulder. “One for the highlight reel.”

“Got it,” Max confirms, reaching up to withdraw the Polaroid as it’s ejected from the camera. She closes the distance between them to show Chloe the shot.

“Sick,” Chloe says, and then twirls the stick in her fingers. “Y’know, I never used to allow press in here before, but maybe that was a mistake. A few more like that and maybe I can finally catch some attention from the big leagues.”

“I can’t imagine they can ignore skills like yours for very long,” Max grins, leaning up on her tiptoes and craning her neck to try to spot the mannequin head in the garbage.

Chloe grins again and mimes another swing. “Wanna take a shot? Ride out my hot streak?”

“I’m good,” Max says.

Chloe nods and shrugs and swings again abruptly, for real, putting the end of the hockey stick through the screen of a boxy old TV on the ground suddenly and loudly enough to make Max jump.

“You sure?” She props a boot on the corner of the TV to hold it in place as she yanks the stick loose. “It’s hella cathartic. You’ve always struck me as having more rage than you’re willing to own up to.”

“Do I really?” Max asks, a little alarmed.

“Maybe I’m projecting,” Chloe concedes.

They wander further, Max trailing behind as Chloe beats the ever-loving shit out of anything even vaguely breakable in her path.

“Remember when you actually played?” Max asks, after the fifteenth minute of uninterrupted smashing.

Chloe pauses, turning on her heel and drawing the bandage on her arm across her forehead to wipe away a bead of sweat. “Oh hell yeah. They called me The Destroyer.”

“No they didn’t,” Max rolls her eyes. “Only you called yourself that.”

“Me and both our dads,” Chloe points out. “Yours even made a sign.”

“Oh yeah,” Max laughs. “Y’know, I think you were the hockey hooligan kid he always wanted. I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or relieved when I quit the team.”

Her dad was a huge hockey fan and had been elated when she and Chloe had agreed when he showed them the newspaper ad he’d found seeking players for the local youth hockey team. William and their mothers had been a little more hesitant, Max remembered, but no one enough to really object to their joining.

Chloe took to it immediately, aggressive, competitive, and already more naturally athletic than Max had ever been. Max’s tenure was only a week long, but she’d remained a devoted fan of the team long after, going along with her parents to every game, home and away.

“Relieved, I think,” Chloe speculates. “You were a really small twelve year old.”

“I was appropriately sized for twelve,” Max protests. “You were tall.”

“Pint-sized,” Chloe teases. “Microscopic. Besides, you never had the heart for it. The bloodlust.”

“I liked the skating part. But yeah, you always had more fun with it than me. Did you ever get back to sports?”

Chloe shakes her head, quick and jerky, almost offended. “I never liked sports. I liked hockey ‘cause you guys would always come to my games and stuff. But then…after…”

Chloe missed the first couple weeks of practice, after William had died. It was Max’s dad that got her to go back, at Joyce’s insistence, hoping that the sport could be an outlet, that trying to preserve as much normalcy as possible would help Chloe deal with her grief.

Max and her dad had stayed in the bleachers through that first practice without William. Chloe’s play had been sloppier, and she’d left the ice early, face splotchy and red, thick hot tears running down her face into her jersey. It hadn’t gotten easier from there. It made sense that Chloe had stopped going entirely once Max’s family had moved.

“Anyway, can you even imagine me playing for Blackwell?” Chloe scoffs, brings the hockey stick down on the windshield of an old beat up car. The first blow sends a spiderweb of cracks all through the glass. The second penetrates, a small, fist-sized hole. The third, fourth, and fifth obliterate it completely.

Max closes her eyes, chases the images of a young, grief-stricken Chloe from her mind with this new fantasy. Chloe, hair undyed, strutting through the halls in a red and white letterman jacket. Chloe doing keg stands with Logan and Zach. Chloe with girls like Victoria and Juliet hanging off her arms. Chloe completely and totally ignoring a nerd like her.

“Okay, it’s a little weird,” Max admits, feeling a little embarrassed for the irrational churning in her gut. “You’ve never really been a joiner, huh?”

“Organized sports are so not punk rock,” Chloe says obnoxiously.

“It’s kind of hard to imagine you at Blackwell at all,” Max admits. “I wish I’d come back sooner. Y’know, before you left.”

Chloe’s quiet and Max knew it was a risk to go there at all, but it feels too true to keep to herself so she keeps speaking.

“I didn’t choose to be gone, but,” is it brave or stupid to do this now, actually? Has Chloe been waiting for an apology or will this just make things needlessly awkward and uncomfortable and painful? “I mean I wish I’d handled it differently. That we’d talked more while I’d been away.”

“Yeah,” Chloe shrugs. It feels like Max is on the verge of losing her, so she hurries on before the silence between them stretches too far.

“Can I be honest with you?” Max asks, stomach twisting in knots.

Chloe raises an eyebrow and nods for her to continue.

“I kind of thought,” she pauses and winces. “I mean, I was a little afraid that after I left you just. Wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That you’d replace me.”

“Max, what the fuck?” Chloe lets the words out in a harsh exhale and Max knows that tone of voice. Knows she’s pissed off for real, now.

“I know,” Max cringes, scrubbing a hand down her face. “But, I mean, you were always the cool one, right? And you were going into high school and I was still sleeping with a teddy bear and—”

“This is such bullshit,” Chloe’s voice cracks and Max was not expecting that. “You’re not just— You can’t just replace a best friend! I fucking needed you. I was so… I needed you so much and you hung me out to dry because you were scared I’d stop thinking you were cool?”

“No,” Max hurries to clarify, feeling appropriately breathless for the desperate, drowning sensation overwhelming her. “No, not like that. I just… I didn’t know how to handle it. So, I just kept putting it off, y’know? Like with homework. Remember how many times my mom had to bail me out because I’d wait too long on finishing a project and it wouldn’t be ready by the due date? Only no one could bail me out this time. And the longer I waited, the worse I felt, the more sure I was that you hated me, that you’d scream at me and tell me to stay out of your life. And I was too scared to face that so I…”

“I never hated you,” Chloe says, face caught somewhere between fury and despair. “Fuck, for the longest time all I wanted was to leave here, to be where you were instead.”

“The night you called me,” Max cuts in gently, proud at least when her voice doesn’t shake, “when you tried to run away, I was so scared for you. And I felt guilty because I realized I was wrong, that you still wanted to be my friend, and I knew I didn’t deserve it. I cried myself sick on the ride down with my mom to pick you up. It really freaked her out. But when we got there you just hugged me and you let me hold your hand the entire way back to Arcadia Bay.”

Chloe stays silent, chewing her lip hard enough to make Max wince.

“And even after, even though we were talking again the entire time I was away I’d think about being back here instead. I think about all the years I missed with you and I get mad because it feels kind of like my fault. Like if I’d tried harder it wouldn’t have taken this long. But I can’t fix that now, I know, I’m just glad we’re here now.”

Chloe shakes her head, rough, and throws the beat up hockey stick into a pile behind her. “Max, you fucking—”

She cuts herself and stomps over and Max isn’t sure what she was expecting, but she’s definitely surprised when Chloe wraps her arms around her, drags her close until there’s almost no space between them.

As tight as the hug is, Chloe’s hands hovering over her back are gentle. She’s quiet but her breathing’s rough. It takes a long time for her to speak again; when she does her voice is shaky, quiet. “I never, ever hated you, but I was pissed at you for a really long time.”

“I’m sorry,” Max tries to say but Chloe squeezes her tighter until she falls quiet.

“I got tired of it,” Chloe says. “And it wasn’t fair, either. Not really. We were just kids. God, I fucked so many things up so much worse than that. You don’t know how bad. If you did, you’d think I’m so pathetic. You’d hate it.”

“Chloe Price, you’re so many things, but pathetic has never been one of them,” Max insists, a little startled by the steel in her voice. Chloe tenses in her arms, but doesn’t move away so Max continues, gentler, “I wish I’d been here more. I know you weren’t alone the whole time but still, if I could go back and change anything it’d be trying harder to be a bigger part of your life. It’d be not letting it take so long to get here.”

It’s stupid, she knows, it’s ridiculous to think she could have prevented any of the hard knocks Chloe had taken in her absence but the thing is she’ll never know and Max thinks that she’ll probably always feel responsible somehow.

“God, imagine if we’d had a few years together at Black-Hell,” Chloe says and releases her, finally. She stays close, pushes some hair out of Max’s face. “We would have gotten into so much trouble. Me, you and…” She trails off with a wince but doesn’t linger. “You could have cheated off my science papers. I’d trade you rides around the Bay for homework.”

“Hey,” Max laughs. “Presumptuous. How do you know I would have compromised my morals like that?”

“Oh, you would have,” Chloe says, laugh all low and breathy. “When have you ever been able to say no to these baby blues?”

She bats her lashes facetiously, but the blush staining Max’s face is very real. “Okay, whatever. What else would we have done?”

“Oh, pranks,” Chloe says. “No doubt. We would have pranked it up so hard on those nerds. I always had this idea about semi-permanent hair dye and Victoria’s shampoo bottles, but I never lived in the dorms. And for some reason, Rachel refuses to be my inside man on this one.”

“I’d be down,” Max blurts out, not sure what the sudden pained look on Chloe’s face could have been leading to, but desperate to head it off.

“Wait, for real?” Chloe asks, appropriately distracted and Max realizes suddenly that her hypothetical assent to collusion had just been offered in practice.

“Uh, I mean—”

“No take-backs,” Chloe crows, gleefully. “Holy shit, dude, yes. Okay, I’ve got it worked out pretty well, this is something I’ve been sitting on for a few years at least. First, we’ll need a distraction…”

Chloe’s plan is elaborate, but thorough, and by the time she’s done laying out the details Max isn’t sure she’ll be able to follow through, but she does know that whatever lingering doubts about their friendship she’d had this morning were founded in one-sided insecurity.

“Let me sleep on it,” she says, finally.

“Max,” Chloe whines. “You promised.”

“I did not.”

“I mean, practically.”

“No, I didn’t.”

It’s almost like being a kid again, arguing about something pointless under the midday sun, a little dehydrated but having too much fun together to do something sensible like go back inside. Max has missed this for so long.

She’s deliriously happy she won’t ever have to miss it again.

#life is strange #pricefield #how to live here #ask games #explosionfic

[thewatermelloncat]

Disorganised Closets (Rosé)

Jan, Denali

Summary: Again Denali finds Rosé in an unexpected place, only this time their roles are reversed.

Author’s Note: This work is a part of a three pieces series covering characters facing struggles of the LGBTQIA+ community. These works are not intended to assume anyone’s sexuality (please remember these are fictional characters) or experiences (because everyone’s will be different). Also please read the warnings and with caution because the angst potential comes heavy with such matters. Sending love ❤

Warnings: PANIC ATTACK

Read on AO3

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Denali didn’t normally drive after dark but tonight she decided to take a detour after skating practice, cruising around her old neighbourhood where her family had moved from a little over a year ago.

On a Friday night a few people were out on the streets visiting friend’s places to watch the sports matches on TV or catching up for drinks after work. It was a clear sky which made for nice driving under the moonlight and Denali decided to head to one of the parks she used to frequent to watch the stars.

Turning the corner, she passes a large group of people milling around a backyard, vaguely remembering one of the seniors at her school lives there. Glancing at the property as she drives past, she recognises a few faces of the celebrating class, having finished the last of their exams at some point that week. She smiles to herself as she speeds up a little, thinking how that will be her the next year.

Nearing her destination her eyes fixate on the road ahead until she sees the colour of pale pink hair catching the moonlight. She double takes, then triple takes before she slams on the breaks, pulling over to the side of the road.

“Rosé?” she immediately hops out of the car and rushes over to her. Wondering why the girl is sitting on the side of the road in the dark, knees pulled to her chest and huddled against a rock feature wall all alone.

“Denali?” Rosé looks up at the familiar voice but her expression shows that she is second guessing whether Denali is really there. Her voice is shot from crying and tears spill down from her eyes.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Denali rushes, the questions blurring together. Reaching a hand out to put on her shoulder.

Rosé doesn’t give an answer other than sniffling and half-heartedly attempting to brush her tears away.

For a few moments, Denali lets them stay in silence before she stands up, holding her hands out to Rosé. “Come on, I’m going to take you home.”

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“There are some tissues in the glove box” Denali offers as she starts the car and pulls away from the curb.

Rosé doesn’t respond to it, pulling her sleeve up onto her hand and pressing it against her lips. Maybe not seeing the point of drying her tears as more continue to flow.

Concern pulls the corners of Denali’s lips down. She’s never pictured Rosé as a crier and remembers Jan making jokes on multiple occasions that she doesn’t have any emotions. So, to see her breakdown this much or to cry at all is definitely something Denali never expected to see.

Though she will have to unpack that all later since her first priority is getting Rosé home.

Denali drives them along, the roads as familiar as the back of her hand. Making a point of not sparing Rosé sideways glances to give her a sense of privacy. It isn’t until she registers the quiet sobs turning into irregular gasping breaths, that she looks over to Rosé.

“Breathe, Rosé” she instructs in a kind but firm tone.

Rosé nods and she tries to take a deep breath in, but it gets choked in her throat as well.

Witnessing Rosé keep on slipping, Denali barely thinks before pulling the car over again. Without a word she gets out of her side and makes her way over to the passenger side. After opening the door, she leans over to unbuckle Rosé’s seatbelt since she is too weak and unfocused to release the button herself and helps her out. Hoping that the fresh air will do her some good.

“I’ve got you” Denali assures as she wraps an arm around Rosé’s waist to help her along.

There is a park bench not far away but Denali knows that Rosé won’t make it, so she lowers her to the grass at the edge of the footpath. Crouching down in front of her, she takes one of Rosé’s hands to hold to her chest. “Breathe… Breathe with me… Nice and slow” she encourages between deep breaths.

She tries to stay calm but she can’t help but worry as Rosé shakes as she gasps for breath. Hoping that she can’t feel Denali’s heart racing beneath their shared touch.

“This is all you, Rosé” she reminds her, absentmindedly tracing her thumb across the back of her hand. “Let’s see if you can hold the next few.”

Faintly Rosé nods and Denali feels a rush of relief that she is listening. They breathe together, Denali calmly listing instructions which Rosé follows until she can breathe evenly on her own.

When she’s satisfied that Rosé is under control, Denali relaxes her grip on her hand, removing it from her chest but not letting it go.

“I’m sorry” Rosé says faintly, her voice barely audible.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for” Denali assures her, squeezing lightly at her hand.

She feels Rosé’s grip tighten slightly as she tries to squeeze her hand back on habit, but she’s so weak that her fingers barely move.

“What’s got you like this?” Denali asks, shifting her legs beneath her to sit down properly.

“I made a mistake” Rosé says quietly.

“What kind of mistake?”

“A huge miscalculation” Rosé closes her eyes in regret. “I just thought that my friends were better people, I guess.”

Denali doesn’t say anything as her brow furrows, and she reaches her free hand forward to clasp Rosé’s hand between her grip.

“I thought I was in a place where I could come out to them, but I was wrong.”

“Come out to them?” Denali asks before thinking. Though her voice is gentle.

Rosé nods. “About me being Bi” Rosé looks at Denali and reads her confusion. “Has Jan not told you yet?”

Denali shakes her head and Rosé smiles a little at her sister keeping her secret from her best friend.

“I thought she might have.”

“She didn’t” Denali assures.

“Well, means to say she took it better than my friends did.”

“What did they do?” Denali asks.

Rosé draws in a shaky breath as she gets her thoughts together.

“Y-you don’t have to tell me anything” Denali takes back quickly, feeling that she asked too much.

“They, um…” Rosé begins as if Denali hadn’t spoken again. “They said a few different things, actually… Right off the bat wondering why I can’t just choose, and then one of them said that I’m just desperate.”

“Oh, Rosé that’s horrible” Denali says as Rosé’s last word is choked off in a sob.

“But nah, nah. It’s okay” Rosé shakes her head at the memory as she pulls up a part of the conversation, “because at least she’s half straight.”

“No” slips from Denali’s lips in disbelief.

“And then I just left” tears fall freely from Rosé’s eyes again and she sinks her head onto her knees.

Wordlessly, Denali shuffles over to her side and traces a hand comfortingly up and down her back.

“I’m so fucking stupid” Rosé admonishes herself. “I should have known better than to tell them at a party with alcohol involved.”

“That’s not the point” Denali quells. “The point is that you felt comfortable enough to tell them. It’s their fault for how they acted towards it.”

“I just wish I picked a better time.”

“Sometimes we don’t choose.”

“Oh my God, Denali. I’m so sorry” Rosé breathes out, looking at Denali with wide eyes. Remembering how she had been outed. “I’m so sorry, this is so selfish.”

“It’s not selfish” Denali shakes her head. “And that’s also not what I mean. What I meant to say was sometimes a moment appears suddenly and we take it because we don’t know when it will come around again.”

Rosé nods and Denali can tell that is what happened to her.

“I just shouldn’t have said anything” she swallows back another sob. “School is over and I don’t have much time to fix things before we go our separate ways.”

“Fix what, Rosé?” Denali asks. “There is nothing to fix. They know who you are now and it’s their choice to accept that or not. If they don’t, they aren’t worth your time. But there is nothing to fix.”

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

When Denali guided Rosé up the steps of her house and Jan opened the door for them, most of their conversation was traded in glances. For a few seconds Jan had stood back trying to form words while Denali led Rosé beneath the doorway and toward the kitchen, sparing her a glance while she said “put the jug on.”

“Yeah” Jan agreed quickly, snapping out of whatever ruminative state she had been in.

Then Denali had sat Rosé down at the kitchen table before she joins Jan over by the jug while it boils away. Speaking lowly beneath the sound, she tells Jan everything she knows. Watching as she looks over at her sister, her expression changing from concern to anger and then she just looks sad.

When the story concludes, the jug switch clicks off but Jan abandons it to move over to Rosé, wrapping her arms around her from behind and speaking lowly to her. So, Denali picks up the jug and pours the water into a mug with a teabag that Jan had already laid out. Then she spends time bouncing the teabag by the string in the water, letting the two of them have a few moments alone.

“I just don’t know what to do” she hears Rosé sigh eventually and looks up as Jan moves to sit in the chair beside her.

“You’re good at giving advice” Jan points out. “What would you say to yourself?”

“Jan, I just don’t want to think right now” Rosé hangs her head in her hands over the table, and Denali pushes herself away from the bench.

“Just name the worst thing you could do, and we’ll rule that out” Jan tries.

“Jan, I just don’t” – Rosé cuts herself off with a deep breath.

“You should drink something, Rosé” Denali inserts herself into the conversation. Placing the mug that she had carried over to the table in front of Rosé and fixing Jan with a look to backdown for a second.

“Thanks” Rosé says quietly, both hands gripping around the cup before she raises it to take a sip.

“I don’t think you need to do anything tonight” Denali tells her as she sits down on her other side.

“You’ve already said your bit, so just let your friends come to you” Jan adds.

Rosé nods smally, and in the light of the kitchen Denali can see the makeup that has smudged from her eyes.

“Hopefully they’ll think different tomorrow when they’re sober” Denali comforts and Rosé nods again but doesn’t raise her eyes from the table.

“I think you should get to bed. Hit reset, yeah?” Jan suggests.

It’s clear that Rosé hears her but she doesn’t move. Seeming to be stuck in thought, staring into the depths of her cup.

“Take that with you” Jan gestures to the mug before she adds, “please Rosé. You look exhausted.”

Then slowly Rosé starts to move. Drawing in a breath before she pushes out her chair and takes her cup off the table.

“Do you want someone to come up with you?” Jan asks.

Rosé shakes her head and mumbles an answer but all they catch is the word “alone.” Then she heads up the stairs leaving them sitting in silence.

Quiet settles over them and Denali takes to watching her thumbs twiddle around each other on the table top and Jan begins to tap her fingers lightly against the surface. After a few minutes Denali looks up at her, sensing her restlessness about to turn to action.

“Yeah, I’m going to go check on her” Jan says and gets up from the table quickly without waiting for a response. Then Denali stands and follows behind her.

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

“Come on, get into bed” Jan says immediately when she pushes open the door of Rosé’s room, finding her sitting on the edge of the mattress seeming to be contemplating life.

The lights in the room are still on but other than that Rosé looks ready for bed. Her smudged makeup taken off and gone are her party clothes, instead changed into trackpants and a sweatshirt with the hood still drawn up. In the proceedings of things, she just seems to be moving slow and both Denali and Jan understand that.

While Rosé finally pulls back her covers and hops up onto the bed properly, Jan switches the overhead light on for a lamp on the side table. Then she climbs up onto the mattress and over her sister’s legs to sit behind her, while Denali sits up on the mattress to her front.

“You’ve at least got to try and sleep” Jan pulls back Rosé’s hood and begins to stroke a hand through her hair after she had lain there with her eyes open for a while.

At her sister’s touch Rosé’s eyes slip closed but her breathing doesn’t even out as images play behind her eyes and voices in her head, so Denali takes her hand in between her own.

Denali isn’t sure when Jan started singing softly or when she starting humming quietly after she’d picked up the tune but it finally works to coax Rosé to sleep.

For a few minutes neither of the best friends move, afraid that she will wake up again. Then Jan stops her singing and catches Denali’s eye before she nods down to the mattress and settles down into it.

Denali nods back, understanding perfectly, before carefully twisting to reach behind her and turn off the lamp. Then with the lights all out, she settles down into the mattress, falling asleep still holding onto Rosé’s hand.

#rpdr fanfiction #denali #rosé #jan sport #jan #rosénali #rosenali

[deltaengineering]

that was the winter anime 2021 that was

Still not quite ready for a dozen posts about how terrible the likes of Combatants Will Be Dispatched are, sorry. Watch Vivy though, it owns. Here’s some more things that are (mostly) good. As always, worst to best.

Yatogame-chan Kansatsu Nikki S3

Yatogame has long run out of hot Nagoya facts and its ensemble comedy never amounted to much, so now it seems mostly content to just spam more and more wacky character designs. About the only thing that it has left going for it is that 3 minutes a week are more effort to drop than to watch, so I expect them to make a movie next. 4/10

Go-toubun no Hanayome S2

Quints is a weird one. S1 was a barely good enough (i.e., well above average) implementation of the ages old harem chestnut. S2 is actually better at the core of its appeal, since it gives all the characters a sharper profile (things like taking Nino from joke to badass and making Ichika a villain are no mean feat), but it does pay a steep price for it. You see, to deliver a steady drip feed of meaningful character moments it apparently has to rush through the source material at a breakneck pace, which completely wrecks the "story" part of this story and makes every episode seem like a recap. And it still keeps wasting precious time on vestigial nonsense like its framing device and the Kyoto flashback scenario that was already the worst part of S1. But by far the most annoying aspect is its insistence on keeping all the options valid, since it prevents any real progress and makes everything seem arbitrary and pointless. So sure enough, after a season of much ado we still don't end up anywhere — you can't really raise the stakes if all at stake was "who wins" to begin with. It's watchable and even enjoyable scene-for-scene but it's getting harder and harder to call it a solid show overall. 5/10

Skate Leading Stars

I was watching this primarily because I didn't like Yuri on Ice much and wanted to see if something that is a blatant attempt to cash in on it would be better — because while YoI delivers on one aspect (being hella gay), it really is an absolute shambles of a sports show. And sure enough, Skate Leading has none of the auteur appeal of YoI, but it just works much better. In particular I appreciate how it managed to make me care even a little about a cast of assholes, which is a nice contrast to the nauseatingly ingratiating way YoI tries to make you love its characters. Also, Skate Leading is just generally cheap and unambitious, so not susceptible to trying hard and painfully flaming out on the presentation side like YoI is. But at some point you gotta let go of these comparisons and on its own Skate Leading is... just fine, I guess? Competent, mildly engaging, not very memorable. And that's probably where it loses to Yuri on Ice in the end after all, even if I think it's "better". 6/10

Idoly Pride

Idoly Pride sold itself on me with a really good (and hilarious/tragic) first episode that was just too bizarre to ignore — I mean, how can you ignore GHOST IDOL MANAGERS. Well, the majority of the show isn't like that. It's a competent and solid version of the idol franchise show, yes, but it really had more potential than that. Especially midseason, it gets lost in these dozens of characters, and while they're all likeable, it does seem like a waste of a good story just centered on Mana/Kotona/Sakura. By the end it comes back around to the heart of the matter with a Maeda-style sob story, which could be a disaster but seasoned veteran Jukki Hanada makes it work anyway. Overall, there's quite a bit of ridiculous hacky melodrama in this, but quite honestly that's the best part and I wish it would concentrate more on it. The rest is just okay. 6/10

Yuru Camp S2

Yuru Camp is still likely the best pure iyashikei show when it gets down to business. Compared to S1 though, this seems to happen less and less. At its peaks (i.e., basically any quiet moment with Rin) it's at least as good as ever, and there's some good cast additions like Mini-Inuko, but it appears that Yuru Camp simply has run out of things you can do with camping and it fills up the time with other... stuff. This stuff includes the generic school club shenanigans it was never particularly good at, and a gigantic helping of crass consumerism. Yeah, I would say the majority of Yuru Camp is just a straight up infomercial at this point, which itself ranges from the perfectly acceptable (which cute anime isn't about food constantly), to the sketchy (I don't know whether the Izu tourism board cut this production a fat check, but if they didn't, Yuru Camp still gives its best effort to make it seem that way) to the highly irritating – I am aware that camping requires gear and you can't just ignore that, but you most definitely do not require whole arcs dedicated to talking about raising funds for the purposes of acquiring the Lamp of Comfy Happiness at your friendly local Caribou™ either. Not to mention an arc where the aforementioned lame school club does the same, for double irritation. Make no mistake, this show is so riddled with scenes that beg for a solution to embed affiliate links in video files that it makes me wish I was watching something as anticapitalist and underground as Love Live. And irritating really is the last thing a show with this core concept, as stellar as it is at that, can afford to be. Bummer. 6/10

SKOO the Infinity

Skoo has one really huge asset: ADAM, its magnificent villain. It also has one really huge liability: Reki, its not magnificent protagonist. To be more specific, it's very good at anything outrageous, physics-defying and silly, such as most scenes ADAM is in, and quite bad at anything serious, dramatic (in a serious way) and down to earth, such as most scenes Reki is in. So, what's the verdict? Well, the rest of the cast is more ADAM-like, and Reki's co-protagonist Langa is fine as the straight (yeah, right) man. The tedious buddy drama is a comparatively small part of this show, and at least it pays off quite well in the end. Seriously, I was ready to give this a 6, but the final episode is probably the best one of the show, in all of its aspects. That's really not something you see often. Skoo's a great time. Except when it's not. 7/10

Non Non Biyori Nonstop

Speaking of the rare good ending, what about we gave one of those to a slim and inconsequential slice-of-life show? NNB has always been solid, comfy and amusing quality with a couple of standout moments (usually something with Renge), and Nonstop has that plus an ending as conclusive as any show of this type is ever going to have. Besides, it does a lot of things right by focusing on more characters than the central 4 (especially Konomi has great material in S3), it expands the universe just enough to not get stale, and it moves things forward — It's definitely a lot better than the movie, is what I'm saying. Apart from that, well, we're three seasons in, if you have any interest in this you probably don't need me to explain what's good about NNB at this point. Bonus points for being nothing but an ad for the manga. 7/10

Wonder Egg Priority

Oh boy, so here's the big one. Wonder Egg is the rare Meaningful Arthouse Show About Real Issues You Guys, as you might have heard. And well, the long and short of it is that it's a very good show with quite a few glaring problems (besides not actually being finished due to production issues, but what we have is enough of an ending to be able to meaningfully talk about it). In particular, one problem: WEP is, at its core, one of these metaphorical Magical Girl-ish series that are just a thin layer of abstraction over coming-of-age or societal problems. The issue is that "metaphorical" in this case means "literal" and "thin" means "basically nonexistent". This show is not subtle regarding what it's about, at all. This is a double-edged sword — on the positive side, some things really should just be said aloud, and I'm really, really fucking tired of the Ikuhara style of "here's some wacky things, maybe a blog post will eventually tell you how it's actually about the most important thing ever" obfuscation — if it's really so important, just spell it out. On the other hand, there are limits to this and when a second, different Ai appears I don't really need a voiceover line telling me that yep, this show is about parallel universes now. WEP spells out many important things, but it also spells out many things that are implicitly clear or better left vague. Not to mention that with being so obvious up front, the show's tendency to leave figuring out what it's actually saying about it up to the viewer can leave the wrong impression. Again, I settled on the opinion that it's subtle after all where it counts the most, but you might easily get the impression that it pulls its punches (Ikuhara does this the exact other way around — once you figure out what the fuck he's talking about it's abundantly clear what he's saying about it).

In fact, this show is so good at subtle, quiet character moments that it calls into question the need for big huge fighting fantasy layer in the first place, especially since I'm not a fan of the fantasy designs and the fights aren't great. Sure, they look impressive on a technical level (this show is very good looking in general), but the lack of actual impact or rhythm makes me think this is not made by people who are very familiar with action and maybe they should have asked some seasoned shounen veterans for this — or just, you know, not do it. They can (and do) impress with character acting in quiet scenes just the same. And while Ai's character story actually does pay off quite nicely by the end we got, and Momoe and Rika are also handled well, Neiru's backstory is significantly less good, not to mention the whole Frill subplot regarding the show's mythology that they introduced just before (and that's the part to be resolved at a later date), which is a huge can of worms. We'll see how well they handle that, I suppose, but as it is it's a weird and vestigial detour that doesn't add much besides thematic headaches.

But yeah, apart from all that — I like it, a lot. Great character writing in the details, cool looks for the most part, tons of ambition, and a message that I consider to be appropriately handled — for the most part, and for now. Not quite ambitious arthouse anime at its finest, but also not a pretentious disaster like Sarazanmai, Monogatari et al. 8/10

#anime #review #winter2021 #Yatogame-chan Kansatsu Nikki #Go-toubun no Hanayome #Skate Leading Stars #Idoly Pride #Yuru Camp #sk8 the infinity #Non Non Biyori #wonder egg priority

[florencwrites]

... and war 〚dreamwastaken〛

in which clay finds out firsthand, sometimes oblivion is bliss

part 1

"You do that a lot, you know?" She curled up in a ball on her side, glancing at the LED screen sideways. She'd been confined to this bed for a little over four months, the injuries to her head apparently so fucking impossible to figure out. It wasn't life threatening, they knew, but in what way wasn't it? She'd lost her life the second her head had made an impact with the window, the second her frail body had decided to give up on its, quite vital, functions.

His face lit up at the sound of her voice, eyes lingering on the screen a little longer than he had planned. He replied with a faint exhale. "What?"

"Worry." His brows unfurrowed the second the syllables left her mouth, his face relaxing as he opened his mouth to speak, to say anything. He closed it again soon after, realizing there was nothing he had on her. He did worry, a disturbing amount, too, perhaps. At least lately he did. No improvement for weeks will do that to any man, he reckoned. The love of his fucking life had been trapped inside her own mind for weeks with not even a glimpse of progress in peripheral.

"You're right." He nodded as his eyes slowly traced back towards the television, the new television he had finally been able to get her to allow him to get for her. He'd obviously granted himself the 'best one on the market', opting for also -coincidentally- the most expensive one. It had taken some convincing, perhaps some bribing too, to get the hospital to sign off on him entering her room with a powered drill. He was quite proud of himself for mounting it all by himself, her curious eyes following his every move as he clumsily tried to get it to just stay up. 'Bed rest' was her lazy excuse as she shrugged her shoulders provocatively. A chuckle had left his lips, his back still turned towards her as his white tee started sporting a few sweaty patches on the back.

"You don't have to do all of this for me, Clay." Her voice was barely above a whisper, his heart broke at the sound of it, like it had always done. She pulled at the strings of his heart almost menacingly with every word that left her mouth in that tone, especially.

A harsh creak screeched through the room, almost breaking his previously quite sturdy chair in the process, as he harshly turned in his seat. John the Cheapskate was long forgotten by the time her sad eyes found his, a soft glimmer to her pupils as she kept her eyes on his face, slowly tracing over his features. His voice sounded desperate as he reached for her hand, feeling limp in his. "Then let me do it all for us, instead."

A pathetic sob escaped her throat as she smiled through the immeasurable guilt that threatened to eat her from inside out. She felt it picking away at pieces of her, pieces she had only just learned how to pick up again, how to glue back to the rest. "Don't give up on this yet, please. I can't lose you again.." His lips stayed parted, his eyes not even daring to take a second to blink. Never had he felt the absolute terror he had felt in that second, her fingers felt so fucking cold to his touch. He could feel them slip from his in his mind, he could practically feel the emptiness overtake his being, once again urging him back to the pit he had finally learned how to climb out of.

A squeeze to his hand was all he needed from her, his lips curling at the ends at the tiny, tiny gesture. It was enough, more than enough. His mind raced back to the night he had first felt her digits cling to his again, a microscopic twitch in her fingers, barely detectable. He was sure he wouldn't have been able to notice it was he in any other situation, but God, it had been his sole focus for weeks. The absolutely elated scream that roughened up his throat for days following the incident, forced doctors and nurses originating from all over the floor to pile into her room.

"I'm glad she's well, Dream. Just.. Just take care of yourself, too, okay?" George mumbled into his microphone, he was absolutely ecstatic to hear from his friend again, days of radio silence prefacing his sudden reappearance. A groan sounded from his throat, annoyed at his friend bringing this up again. This wasn't about him, it never had been about him.

"I'm gonna need to hear you say it, don't just grunt angrily." If he wasn't so goddamn worried about his friend, he was sure to have shouted his ears off by now. However, George knew better, he knew screaming and fighting would get him nowhere with Clay, stubborn fucking Clay.

Clay rolled his eyes as his back landed against the papery wall, "I promise, okay? That good enough for you?"

"I guess." The brunette responded with disappointment laced in his words, just hoping for once to finally get him to admit something. "You-"

"Hey -uh- I have to go, man, she's back from, uh, therapy." God, when did he start feeling embarrassed about caring about his girl, about his fucking soulmate? It felt so wrong, and to be quite frank; he hated George for making him feel this way. His thumb found the end-call button hastily, almost confrontationally quick. She waved at him as she strolled through the hallway towards him, the wheels of the stroller-like device that never left her side, being connected to her veins and all that, awkwardly ticking against the tiles it passed over. He mumbled, meaning more for her to read his lips than to hear his actual tone, "Hi."

"Please, Clay, please don't cry. I don't-" Her voice was rough from the sobs that had passed through her throat the last several hours. "I don't think I can take it."

His eyes were filled to the brim with melancholic tears, threatening him to spill over, to lay all his cards on the table for him. "I can't help it, I'm sorry." She wouldn't be moving back in with him. She 'couldn't live someone else's life', she couldn't be trapped in the past if she didn't feel any sort of connection to it anymore. She wanted to move on, be friends, but move on. "I can't help it, I just keep thinking.."

A deep breath, his eyes forced closed, almost painfully so.

"I keep thinking about how you're going to end up with someone, and that someone isn't going to be me." Audible heartbreak echoed through her room, her empty room. She'd taken down the pictures, the drawings, the memories, and even the damned Christmas lights. Her throat closed up at the sight in front of her, he was in shambles. He was so absolutely fucking devastated to be losing her again, he was supposed to be her keeper, the one to make sure to never let anything happen to her ever again. They'd taken that from him, in fact, they had taken everything from him.

They sat on the edge of the hospital bed she would finally be leaving that week, hands clamped together tightly. For him it meant everything; reassurance that it would be okay. For her, it sadly meant nothing but bare comfort to the man -whom her mind still refused to acknowledge- sitting next to her. It stayed silent for a while, for minutes even. Only his heaving sobs and her shuddered breaths taking up the room.

"Why couldn't you just be mad at me, scream that I'm a worthless bitch or something." She joked sadly, a somber snort leaving his lips quietly.

No hesitation. "Because you're the love of my life."

Hesitation. "I'm sorry I was your soulmate, Clay, I am." Big strong breaths, a slight shake in her shoulders as if to muster up courage. "But I don't think you're mine, not anymore."

A wail escaped his lips before he could catch it, his salty tears staining his cheeks and neck, leaving wet streaks along the hem of his shirt.

"I don't know who I am without you." He put all of him in the open, completely bare and vulnerable in her presence. He had nothing to lose, not anymore, anyway.

She smiled at him sadly as his hand received another one of her infamous squeezes. "That's the problem, I think, me neither."

He couldn't take it any longer, almost panicked gasps screaming at him to just, please, let it all be a dream.

His sobs gradually fainted to heavy breaths, the room still spinning around him, but now, more of a carrousel rather than whirlwind. Each of the little carriages bringing new memories to the front of his mind, all the little things he had grown to love so damn much about her.

Prom night.

Wooden playground.

New cat.

Roadtrip.

First kiss.

Disneyland.

Holding hands.

Halloween.

First fight.

Moving in.

Second kiss.

Nevada.

Parents' divorce.

Roller skating.

Graduation.

Accident. All of it made him dizzy, she made him dizzy. His voice was so meek, so vulnerable, so close to another rough sob leaving his throat, however a faint smile pulled at his lips. His eyes closed in fear of what his mouth was about to ask her, in fear of it being the last thing he would say to her, in fear of closing a chapter he never wished would have reached its end. Shuddered breath, soft smile, light playfulness toying at his tone,

"We had one hell of a love story, didn't we?"

#angst #smut #fluff #oneshot #one shot #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #dreamwastaken #dream #dreamteam #dream team #dteam #dreamsmp #dsmp #dream smp #georgenotfound #george #sapnap #youtube #twitch #minecraft

[anotherhargrovebitch]

learning for myself : b.h

billy can’t take his eyes off of a girl who is taken by an older guy. but when he notices small details, he really cannot take his eyes off of you. (3.1k)

(also for @salemlysi​ - hope you like it and thanks for reading!)

* stranger things writing *

this is the third and final installment on my mini series. thank you for the support on this and i hope the ending does it justice. :)

stronger and older / growing wiser / learning for myself 

It had been over a week since the Halloween party, and Billy was still sporting a close to healed cut lip and darkening bruise across his cheekbone. Who’d of thought Danny could have such a good punch? Clearly, you knew otherwise.

School had continued, but you were nowhere to be seen or heard of. Billy did keep an eye out for you, just to make sure you were alright, yet no one had seen you. 

“Where’s Danny’s girl been anyway?” Carol questions, moving to sit on Tommy’s lap as they sat outside in the Autumn breeze. 

Billy’s ears perk up as he continues to smoke his cigarette, trying to seem unphased by the conversation as he struggles to ignore the flips of his stomach. “Yeah, haven’t seen her since her douchebag boyfriend punched me.” Billy huffs and Carol gives him a sweet smile, knowing there’s always more than meets the eye with Billy. 

Tommy shrugs his shoulders. “Heard she’s been to see him at college. Took some time out.” He mutters and winks to Carol who simply rolls her eyes in response. 

“So she’s out of town, with him?” Billy questions, hearing his tone become more aggressive. 

Gripping Carol’s hips, Tommy nods. “She went back with him after the party. I mean, that’s what I overheard her friends sayin’ in Bio yesterday.” Tommy comments and watches as Billy rises to his feet and walks straight to his car. 

Watching him walk away, Tommy huffs. “Wow, what’s his deal today?” Jackson speaks up, and Carol shoots him a cold look. 

“Better to not ask Jackson, unless you want a black eye.” Carol jokes, glancing back to Tommy who nervously smiles, never detecting if his girlfriend is merely joking or being serious. 

Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, Billy pulls up to the school gates as Max climbs in. “You wanna go to the skate park, Max?” Billy asks her calmly as she dumps her bags in between her legs.

Pausing, Max turns to look at Billy with a confused expression. “What?” She raises an eyebrow, wondering if someone has abducted Billy and replaced him in the course of a few hours.

He flashes a small smile, making Max shift in her seat. “Wanna go skating? I mean, I doubt Susan will mind and she’ll thank me for it.” Billy reasons without disclosing his true intentions of going.

Max shrugs her shoulders as she puts her seatbelt on. “Y/n isn’t there this week, she said she’d be back Monday so I don’t have anyone to talk to.” Max states and Billy drives off, heavy on the gas back home without saying a single word.

Parking outside the house, Max opens the car door but pauses as she holds her bag. “You know, you can’t save her, Billy.” Max mutters as Billy looks over at her with cold eyes. “She won’t listen to anyone, everyone has tried to make it stop but it’s no use.” Max explains, having listened to hours over the course of the last few weeks at the skate park of phone calls and random people turning up and pleading with you. 

“I’ll find a way, Max.” Billy mutters under his breath as Max walks off back into the house whilst Billy remains seated in his car, unsure what to do with himself. 

*

His friends have noticed that he isn’t the same Billy he normally is. Billy hasn’t lashed out at anyone in days, he’s kept quiet and studied. For the first time since he started Hawkins High, his attendance has never been better. 

Regardless of the cause, the teachers couldn’t be happier about the sudden change in attitude. 

When Monday morning rolled around, Billy ensured he was at school on time. His first lesson of the day was Chemistry and knew you’d be there. All he wanted to do was see you, catch your eye and smile. He wanted to make sure that you were alright, that you weren’t laced with injuries this time. 

“Woah, Hargrove, where you goin’?” Tommy chuckles as Billy walks past all of his friends, not even giving them a second glance as he continues into the school building. 

Billy cannot stop his leg from shaking as he hovers by his locker, still waiting to see you walk by to your locker, arm in arm with your friends. But when the bell rings and you’ve still not passed, he feels the pit in his stomach only increase.

Keeping his head down, he walks into Chemistry and takes his usual spot at the back of the class. He doesn’t acknowledge the person already in on the opposite bench. 

“Oh my god, Y/n, hey!” One of your friends walk in and Billy immediately looks straight ahead expecting to see you in front of him, but as his eyes wander he spots that you’re the person on the opposite bench at the back of the class. 

You tug on your friend to take the spot beside you, blocking you from Billy’s view. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” You tell your friend as she makes hushed comments. “I hit my head on his dorm room door, shit happens.” You laugh it off and keep your head down, hair covering your face as the class begins.

Throughout the entire lesson, all Billy can focus on is you being back. He wants to take a look at you, wishing he could hold you close. 

As the bell rings, everyone files out including you. Billy keeps his distance as he watches you walk into the library and follows you through. 

Standing in the entrance, he watches as a few people give him weird glances, secretly wondering if he’s lost.  

Ignoring the stares, Billy looks around to see you hunched up in the far corner of the library and walks straight toward you. 

You remain in your own world, leaning your head in your hand as you write notes from the book in front of you. “Hey,” Billy clears his throat, watching as you tense in your seat but you keep your head down.

“Hi, Billy.” You mutter back, unaware of how Billy is nervously fiddling with his fingers, something Hargrove never does. 

Moving around to sit opposite you, Billy licks his lips. “Listen, I just wanted to talk to you quickly, about the party,” He speaks quietly, leaning in closer as your hair covers your face. 

“We don’t have to talk about the party, Billy. I’m sorry that Danny was such a dick that night, but he didn’t mean it.” You explain, not taking your eyes from your textbooks as Billy scoffs.

“Can you just look at me, Y/n?” His question leaves his lips in a harsher tone than he anticipated as he watches you flinch. 

Sighing to yourself, you lift your head up and see the bruise on his cheekbone turning purple, the edges a shade of yellow you’ve memorised on how to cover. 

But the state of himself is the least of Billy’s concerns as he sees your left eye is entirely bruised. Your eyes are tired and your lips are cracked. Despite the Winter coming, the school is well heated and everyone around you is in t-shirts, but you’re in full layers, hiding any exposed skin Billy could comment on. 

Stretching his hand out, Billy holds his palm open and watches as you hesitantly reach out. “Are you okay, Y/n?” Billy looks you in the eyes, seeing your lips parting but no words follow. 

You shake your head. “I, I’m trying.” You close your eyes, forcing back the tears that are constantly threatening to fall with each passing minute. “Danny was so lovely, and he just turned. We, we had this wonderful week and when I told him I had to come home, he flipped.” You quietly explain as you use your free hand to pull on your sleeve. 

Billy’s eyes widen as he grips your hand tighter, seeing a series of bruises and scratch marks covering your forearm. “I’m going to kill him.” He mutters seriously, locking his blue eyes with yours.

“Please, Billy,” You whisper. “do not do anything. I, I’m not some damsel in distress I can, can handle it.” You ramble, swallowing back the lump growing in your throat as you pull your sleeve back down. 

Quietly, Billy scoffs. “Oh yeah sweetheart, and how’s that going for you?” He retorts back, louder than he intended. 

Before he can say anything else, he feels your hand slip out of his as you pack up your books. “Fuck you, Billy.” You spit at him as you wipe your eyes and walk to the staircase to the quieter section of the library, wanting to just be alone with your thoughts.

For the rest of the day, you avoided Billy as best as you could. You knew he meant well, and that he could help you with your situation, but you were too scared to act on it. What if Danny somehow turned it back on you, made it your fault that this has all happened?

As the end of the day came, you went straight to the skate park to have some fresh air. You watched as a few of the kids approached you, none of them commenting on the black eye which was a relief. That was until Max turned up and immediately she wrapped her arms around you and you closed your eyes, unaware of Billy still in his car watching. 

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but Billy could help.” Max speaks up as she pulls herself away from you. “He might be a dick, but he has a heart somewhere in there and he has a sweet spot for you.” She chuckles at the thought and watches as a smile ghosts your lips.

You pat her shoulder, walking her further toward the others. “I appreciate it Max, I just don’t know how to do this.” You tell her, glancing back to see Billy sitting on the hood of his car.

“If you guys all just get ready, I’ll be back in a few minutes alright?” You explain to them all as you jog over to Billy, watching as he slides off of the hood and stands before you. “You want to help me?” You immediately question, not focusing on how close you’re stood in front of him or the small smirk on his lips. Billy holds his arms up.

“If you’d let me, Princess.” He replies and you nod. “And I know you’re not a damsel in distress, you’re pretty capable of handling things yourself.” He leans in closer, whispering the sentence into your ear as he pulls away, his eyes glancing to your lips.

“Danny is visiting this weekend, if I invite him over can you please be there? I, I’m scared he might do something.” You look down, playing with the cuffs of your hoodie.

Gently, Billy rests his fingers beneath your chin, his fingers spreading out to cross your cheek as he strokes it softly. “Just tell me a time angel, I’ll be there.” He whispers to you as you smile and nod.

You lift your hand up, resting it on his as you lean into the gentle embrace, something you’ve silently been longing for. “Thank you, Billy.” You mutter to him before you once again slip out of his embrace and walk back over to start the session with the kids, and Max can’t help but notice the smile on your face is genuine this time.

*

Pacing around your bedroom, you knew your parents were out and now would be the only chance you could have. Danny would never act poorly in front of your parents, he would never lay a finger on you if they were in the house. Now was your only chance to say everything, be loud and upset without anyone interfering. 

“How you doing?” Billy speaks up as he remains perched on the edge of your bed, still looking around at the posters and photographs that lace your walls. 

You shake your head as you bite at your nails, deep in thought. “Can I seriously do this?” You question with a short laugh. “I mean, he’s going to kill me. He will actually kill me for doing this.” 

Rising to his feet, Billy walks over and takes your hands in his, forcing you to focus on him. “I won’t ever let that happen, Princess.” He tells you with no hint of sarcasm underlying his tone. “If he tries to hurt you, I’m right here.” 

The doorbell rings and your eyes widen in fear. “If I call, you’ll come?” You whisper and Billy nods. 

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath as you turn around and walk out of your bedroom, doing your best to put on your best smile as you reach the front door.

“Baby, I missed you.” Danny chuckles, bringing you into his arms as he kisses you softly. As he releases you from his embrace, he tuts. “Baby, I told you to cover that with makeup, why don’t you do as I say, huh?” He motions to the bruise around your eye as you lower your gaze. 

“I’m home alone, Danny, no one will notice.” You weakly reply as you glance upstairs before walking into the living room. 

The way Danny talks to you, how he belittles you in a mere sentence boils Billy’s blood. He stands in the doorway, waiting for his signal as he resists the urge to run down and do something already. 

“So how’ve you been, missing me?” Danny chuckles as he takes a seat on the sofa, expecting you to sit beside him. Yet to his surprise, you remain on your feet. “Come on, baby.” He pats the spot next to him with a smile, but you stay planted where you are. “What’s going on, Y/n?” His tone suddenly turns from light-hearted to serious. 

You open your mouth to speak, but the sound of your heartbeat is drowning everything out. “Danny, I, I can’t be with you anymore.” You manage to get the words out as your eyes fixate on the small coffee stain on the carpet beneath your feet.

“Oh, and why’s that, baby?” Danny laughs loudly, a sound that churns your stomach. “I treat you so well, you’re my Queen.” He rises to his feet, nearing you as you back away to the window. “Why wouldn’t you want me? No one else will want you, Y/n.” He spits in your face, the hurtful words you’ve heard all before.

Shaking your head, he grips your face in his hand. “Stop it, Danny.” You plead, but his grip only tightens. 

“No one will want you, Y/n. Not after I’m done with you.” Your eyes widen as you see his fist nearing you, but before you can signal for Billy you watch as he charges toward the pair of you, tackling Danny to the ground.

Leaning against the window, you pant heavily as you watch Billy straddling Danny, punching him repeatedly. “Never talk to her like that!” Billy yells as you watch blood lines Danny’s nose. “You will never find anyone like her you piece of shit.” Billy states as he rises to his feet, kicking Danny in the groin before forcing him to his feet, gripping his shirt in his fist. “You ever think about coming near her, or talking to her again I will kill you.” 

Danny spits blood and scoffs. “She’s a whore anyway. Do what you want.” Danny comments as he looks over at you, seeing a broken girl before him. “I knew you were a whore since Halloween. I hope you’re happy.” He looks you up and down one last time as you cross your arms over your chest. 

Billy drags Danny out of your house, throwing him down the steps. “Don’t call her a whore, you girl beater.” Billy mutters into his face. “I don’t forget a face, Danny. So don’t ever try any shit with Y/n again.” 

Walking back into the house, Billy slams the door shut as he sighs heavily before turning into the living room to find you curled up in the corner, tears lining your cheeks.

Crouching down in front of you, Billy hushes. “Hey, you’re okay,” He speaks quietly as you nod. 

“He’s not coming back, is he?” You whimper and Billy nods. “I, I’m better than that? I, will I find someone better than h,him?” You cry and Billy moves to sit beside you, bringing you into his arms as you sob into his chest. 

“You deserve someone who will treat you with respect, Y/n. Someone who will take you to the movies and get you all the snacks you desire. Who’ll walk with you in pride as opposed to hiding you away. You will find someone who notices all the little things and will never let you go.” Billy rambles as he daydreams, unaware of you looking up at him with a small smile on your lips.

“Thank you, Billy.” You speak up as you shuffle to sit upright and lean in, kissing his cheek. 

The small action takes Billy by surprise. For someone who was a womaniser, he was used to affection in greater forms, but the simplicity of you kissing his stubbled cheek was one he would never tire of. 

“Do you want me to stay for a while? I, I don’t have anywhere to be.” He suggests and you nod immediately. 

“Can we go to bed for a bit? I’m so tired.” You whisper and Billy helps you to your feet, but you pause as you notice the redness of his knuckles. “Let me help you clean those up first.” You say and ignore his protests. 

Taking his hand in yours, you guide him into your bathroom as he takes a seat on the closed toilet whilst you clean him up the best you could. He noticed how delicate you were with him, the caution you take as you clean the wounds. 

“There,” You say with a small smile. “it’s an improvement at least.” You chuckle and Billy can’t help but laugh too.

“Well thank you, Princess.” He replies as he helps you to your feet, looking down at your lips before leaning in and kissing you softly. 

You taste of salty tears whilst he tastes of tobacco and mint. A combination that shouldn’t work, but weirdly is irresistible. 

Billy wraps his arms around you as he lifts you up, taking you into your room before you lie on your bed in each other's arms. “You won’t let me go, will you Billy?” You question as you move his curls from his eyes, seeing his lips curl into a smile.

“Never, Princess.” 

#thank you for reading this mini series #i hope you enjoyed it #Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove writing #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove imagines #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove headcanon #billy hargrove oneshot #stranger things angst #stranger things #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader

[hayjeon]

Snow and Ice 02 [M] (ft. Jungkook)

→ friendswithbenefits!au with Snowboarder!JK and figure skater!reader during the Olympics. Warning for slight dirty talk. 

→ 13.7k | part 1 | part 2 | fin.

a/n: sorry this took so long, but I’m so glad to be writing for you guys and seeing your messages in my inbox again. This marks the end of snow and ice! Thank you so much for being patient and supporting this fic, and although this was a beast to get through because of my writer’s block, I hope you enjoy! I won’t be posting a story talk about this unfortunately, but feel free to request any drabbles with this couple! I love them so much <3 

“Come watch me,” he suggests, as you both get dressed for gym.

“Huh?” You frown at him, pulling on your sports bra and then smoothing over your spandex longsleeve over it. “Watch you do what?”

“Train, stupid.” He says, grinning as he brushes his teeth. He leans over, spitting in the sink bowl before continuing. “Watch me board, ‘n stuff.”

You turn in the mirror, tying up your hair. “Am I allowed to?”

He nods, now lathering up soap in his hands to clean his face. “Of course. The hyungs invite girls over all the time.”

You glare at him. “You too? You want me to be just another girl in the stands for you?”

He rinses off the soap. “Actually,” he says, patting his face dry and applying lotion. “you’re the first girl I’ve ever asked to come.”

You raise your brows, walking with him back to his room. “Seriously?” You perch on the bed, pulling on your leggings. “Dang, I would have assumed you had thousands of girls lined up to watch.”

He shrugs on a shirt. “I guess, but it doesn’t really matter. Here, how ‘bout this,” he suggests, handing you a yellow sweater, “Wear this, and i’ll be able to see you from the hill. That way I know to do my best.”

You roll your eyes as you pull it on, “You’re always supposed to do your best, Jungkook. It’s the Olympics.”

He grins, “Yeah, but I’d rather perform for you than anyone else, babe.”

Your heart does a little flutter at the comment and the nickname, and you turn to hide the grin that threatens to come onto your lips. “Shut up,” you giggle. 

Watching Jungkook, different from what you’d expected, is actually incredibly fun. He’s absolutely amazing at boarding, and as you watch him come down the slopes, he kicks up into the air with amazing speed and agility as he performs outstanding flips and turns in mid-air. He speeds recklessly fast towards the incline and flips off, turning thrice before landing perfectly onto the snow. He executes the boxes and the pipes with no effort at all. 

He’s really good, and you can see why he was chosen again, even amongst younger and older competitors. He was just absolutely the best.

He finishes his final run, and does a little turn at the end of the pipe and boards right up to you, the edge of his Burton scraping loudly against the snow as he brakes in front of you.

Grinning, he pulls off his goggles and leans down to unbuckle a foot from his board. He perches an arm against the fence you were behind.

“So,” he smirks, “what did you think?”

You blush, hoping he doesn’t notice and just credits your red cheeks to the cold. “You’re really good.”

That flakes up his ego and you watch as he laughs, reaching forward to curl a stray hair behind your ear and tuck your (well, technically his, because you stole it from him) beanie down better over your cold forehead. 

“Well, I wouldn’t be an Olympian if I wasn’t good,” he jokes, winking at you. He reaches forward and zips your (his) jacket all the way up. 

You roll your eyes, but your mouth is curling up in a smile. 

“Also,” he comments, “I could see you all the way from the hill,” he snorts, “This jacket is literally the best one to spot someone a mile away. The yellow pops like crazy against the snow.” 

You pat down the thing. It’s huge, almost reaching your knees and the sleeves way too long for your arms, but perfect enough so you didn’t have to wear gloves out in this weather. “It’s kind of big.” 

“You look cute,” he smirks, dusting off his own black jacket, with its own yellow accents on the zippers and the pocket buttons. Classy. “We match, see?” He’s also wearing a khaki pair of snowboarding pants and black pair of boots to match his signature Burton board. He looks good, decked out in gear or not. 

“Can I try?” You say shyly, “will you teach me?” 

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh shit, seriously?” 

You nod, fingering at the zipper at his chest, where the top of his grey hoodie peeks out. “Yeah.” 

He smiles really big. “Yeah, I’m done training now. Wanna go right now? Since I have all my gear on.” 

You nod and follow him to the small cabin near the slopes where there’s a locker room for the other athletes. Almost like a snowboarding store, there are brand new boards lined up against the wall, all from huge companies who wanted the athletes to notice and maybe do a promotion. Jungkook walks casually up to one and grabs it, holding it next to you and making sure that it comes to around your eye-level. “Here,” he hands you the board, the blue glinting in the bright lights of the display. You take it with wide eyes, almost tipping over under the surprising weight of the board. 

He leads you to the boots where he grabs your size and sits you down on the bench to help you tie them. 

“Wish you wore better socks,” he comments, as he kneels in front of you to pull long socks on your feet, “But my emergency pair will have to do.” 

“Ew,” you crinkle your nose as he pulls them onto your legs, pulling the elastic as high as they can go up your calf. “Are you sure you washed these?” 

He flicks you playfully, laughing, “Of course. I’m not Seokjin hyung.” 

“Ew!” You exclaim, laughing loudly as he puts your foot in a heavy boot. He laces up the thick laces up the metal prongs, almost akin to the way you do yours when you lace up your skates. You wiggle your toes a bit, letting your calf press against the lip of the boot. “It’s a bit loose, don’t you think?”

He shakes his head. “There’s supposed to be a little wiggle room on your shins, because you need the room to move your ankles back and forth when you carve the slopes.” 

You watch him finish. 

“Okay,” he says, getting up and grabbing his own board. “This is how you strap them in.” He demonstrates with a foot, showing you how he cranks his straps first on the toe and then closer to your ankle with a skilled hand. “The crank will stop by itself when it doesn’t have enough space left to tighten.” 

“Okay,” you respond, doing your own foot yourself. “Is this right?” 

“Yeah,” he smiles, helping you up. “Alright, and you can put your foot here, and basically try standing.”

You get up from the bench and almost immediately topple over, and Jungkook catches you with a snort. You pout at him and use him to push yourself into equilibrium, spreading out your arms to get used to the feeling of having your feet strapped down so tightly against the ground. 

“Good,” he encourages, “now try twisting your torso back and forth, good.” 

“That’s it?” you raise your brows. 

He snorts at you. “That’s it?” 

You shrug, laughing at his incredulous expression when he scoffs at you. “I mean, it just looked a lot harder when you were doing it.” 

He raises his brows at you. “We’ll see how you do on the actual snow.”

Just like he’d predicted, you were absolute shit. 

“Fuck!” You exclaim as you fall down on your butt again, groaning and pouting as you let the soft snow cushion your back. 

He laughs at you, slowing down to board towards you and help you up, dusting off your back and legs when you finally get up on your feet. “No, no, that was good. You’re getting the hang of it.” 

You roll your eyes, “I heard you laugh at me, asshole.” 

He grins, “I told you, it was hard. It’s like me telling you that ice skating looks easier when watching it and doing it. It’s totally different.” 

You sigh, following his directions as you slowly acceleration down the bunny slope. Bend knees, arms out, lean back. 

He watches you with a big smile, grinning as you furrow your brows in concentration and focus on making sure you don’t fall while scraping down the hill. 

You start going too fast, and begin screaming as you instinctively lead forward, and Jungkook immediately boards up to you and scrapes to a stop in front of you, trying to catch you as you fall, but you’re going way too fast for him to stop you. 

He ends up toppling backwards, with you on top of him, and he lands with a loud “Oof!” and you look up at him in shock. He’s just laying there with his eyes closed and unresponsive.

“Jungkook! Are you okay?!” You blurt, patting the chest that you’re cradled against. 

“Ow,” he says, grinning down at you, snow all in his hair and sweater. “You’re a lot heavier than I thought.” 

You spit out a loud “ugh!” and hit his chest as you frown. “You scared me!” 

He laughs out loud, as you hit him continuously, his chest shuddering at the huge guffaws. “You thought I was dead or something?!” He snorts, grabbing your hand and holding it tight to stop you. You pout at him, “I thought you were hurt or you hit your head!” You shift a little, and Jungkook winces. 

“Oh my god,” you pant, “Why what’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

He groans. “Yo-your knee, it’s digging into my crotch. Ow.” He winces and you scramble off of him to stand up, as he rolls over to get up. 

“That was almost bad,” he says, kneeling up to stand. “This is precious private property.” 

You snort, dusting off his hair and sweater, “Ugh shut up,” You roll your eyes, “You like making fun of me too much.” 

He stops you, grabbing your hand as you pat off his chest, and pulling you up so your almost nose to nose. “No,” he grins, looking down at you through his lashes, “I like you.” 

Your cheeks heat up furiously, and you blurt out whatever you can to distract him. “I wanna do you right now,” you say before you can stop yourself, and Jungkook’s eyes widen, successfully caught off guard as he glances around to make sure none of the other bystanders heard your announcement. Your bury the lower half of your face in the turtleneck of his snow jacket. 

“Damn,” he mutters, smirking down at you, “watching me board got you that horny, that fast? You should come and watch me all the time.”

You roll your eyes, grinning behind a gloved hand. “Shut up. I’m starving. I found a nice sushi restaurant?”

He nods, unbuckling his helmet. “Down. Don’t you have training tomorrow?”

You nod. “Come watch me too?”

He grins, glancing around quickly before pecking you so quickly you’re even unsure if he did it or not. Your cheeks are red, from the biting cold but also something else. 

“Of course,” he whispers, and the both of you board slowly down to the board center, eyes only on each other. 

“Your skin got better,” Irene comments almost a week later, when you both are stretching in the gym.

“Seriously?” You grin, touching your cheek and turning to look at yourself in the mirror. “Thank god, I didn’t wanna have a gross pimple on the day of.”

She laughs. “Well, yeah. But you just look...I don’t know...happier? New vibrator or something?” She laughs as you yelp and punch her arm. “Irene!”

“What!” She laughs, giggling, “You’ve been going out a lot, I just assumed you’d been shopping around in secret or something.”

You just smile, tamping down the blush on your cheeks. You had been going out a lot, and Irene had noticed too for the past few days, since it was really really hard to ignore Jungkook’s pleas for you to just stay in his bed at night.

Also, it was really really cold outside, and Jungkook’s room had a heater that adjusted to make the temperature...really really warm. And perfectly toasty. But not too hot, because you hated sweaty cuddling.

It wasn’t because you...wanted to stay with him...or whatever. Yeah. Just the warmth. It was almost minus 20 outside, you’d be crazy to try to sneak in back home at 4 am in the morning. Also his room had...tons of great great yummy food that you couldn’t resist.

You finish the workout without a struggle, and you and Irene make your ways into the rink. Today, you would have to wait a little since the hockey team was finishing up, but it was good time to just take a break. Plus, the cute team captain, Jimin, had texted you a couple days ago, inviting you to come watch him if your coach let you.

You settle on the stands, nodding when Irene leaves because she left her skate guards in the dorms, and focusing back onto the ice. Jimin glides easily, ramming his shoulder into his teammate’s to steal the puck. Although it was a practice session amongst their own, Jimin was still ruthless, all whilst still gliding so easily over the ice. There was no wonder why he was such a great athlete and captain.

When he makes a score, you clap a tiny bit, but sounds of squealing catch your attention down the stands. A few junior olympians, clearly first-timers and gymnasts, if you could judge by their attire, squeal and cheer for the cheeky captain whenever he makes a score. And you notice, that the captain had definitely invited them to come watch, because everytime he hears them scream, he tips his head over to them and gives them a smirk and a wink that makes them squeal a little more.

“God,” you mutter to yourself, “They’re like a herd of piglets. Jesus,” You roll your eyes, feeling a little annoyed at the scene.

“Whatcha muttering about to yourself there, sweetcheeks?” A voice sounds to your left, and you see Jungkook, holding two cups.

You panic, glancing around him to see if anyone was watching, like your teammates or your coach, but Jungkook just assures you, “Chill, there’s no one here. And if they do see me, they’ll assume I’m just here to watch Jimin.” You take the cup he offers you, and sip it, moaning at the warm hot chocolate that flows down your throat.

“Oh god,” you groan, “He invited you too?”

Jungkook laughs, “Was the text you got last night while I was eating you out from Jimin?”

You punch him, glancing around again. “Again, chill. No one knows.”

You roll your eyes, sipping the drink and leaning down to watch the game. “Yeah,” you scoff, glaring at the little gymnasts cheer again for the captain. “But seems like he just copied and pasted it to literally every single girl here.”

Jungkook leans back, sipping his chocolate. “Well, Jimin’s sort of a player, sweetheart.”

You widen your eyes at him. “Seriously? But he doesn’t...act...wait...” You trail off, trying to think of what to say, but Jungkook catches you with a smirk.

“He doesn’t...what? Doesn’t look like one? Doesn’t act like one?” He laughs at you when you glare at him. “Sorry honey, but he does all of it. You just have a tendency to fall for the bad ones.”

You gesture to him, the way he’s manspreading all over the place and cockily perched on the stands like he owns it. He scoffs at you. “Clearly.” You mutter, finishing off your drink.

He just laughs, reaching over and pinching your butt. “I’m so gonna edge you tonight because of that,” he says lowly, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. You fidget, trying to pretend like you’re watching the game but to be honest you have no idea what the hell is going on. Your thighs are uncomfortably tense and your clit throbs against the material of your panties.

He leans in, grating against your ear. “You know I’m not like that. I’m a slave to you, and that delicious pussy.” He says, brushing your hair back nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t whispering the dirtiest things to you in the middle of an olympic stadium with other people there.

You fidget, and his eyes drop to the action. “Getting worked up, huh?” He grins, and you feel the way his body warmth lingers in the space. “Want me to do everything I say? Well let me tell ya,” he says lowly, still sipping on his hot chocolate, nonchalantly.

If anyone looked back and saw you both up in the stands, talking and watching the show, they’d assume you were both discussing the games or the positions or the way the puck was in Jimin’s hands or some hockey shit like that.

But this...

His voice is low enough to reach you from his place next to you, far enough to be professional, but close enough to be friendly. “I’m gonna throw you on the bed and rip all that fucking body tight spandex off,” he mutters, glaring at the leggings you love. “You always tease me, with how fucking tight that shit is on your body, and how I can literally see everything if I look at you in the right angle.”

You fidget, fingers tightening on the cup.

“I bet right now you’re this close to getting wet all over your leggings huh?” He whispers darkly, “Through your panties. Shit,” He grates, and you clench at the way he spits out the word. “I’ll fucking rip that shit off you and tie your hands to the bed and eat you out until you forget hockey captain’s fucking name. I’ll fucking edge you so much that you’ll be begging for my cock, begging and sobbing for me just to push it in.”

He takes another sip nonchalantly, seeming the every so lazy and serene image of the olympic professional snowboarder. Jeon Jungkook.

But you...you’re a little bit on the opposite end, head curling in to hide the redness of your cheeks and torso bending over your crossed knees to cover the pants that you let out. Your clit throbs heavily against the slit of your panties that is pressed right against your wetness, and your fingers twitch to just reach down and rub one out.

But the stadium is too well-lit, and there are people sitting on the opposite side of the stadium who you can predict will be able to tell what’s going on if you did anything physically suspicious. So you’re stuck, stuck here listening to Jungkook whisper his plans for tonight into your ear, trying to smile to make it seem like you’re just discussing sweet, innocent things. Not the way his big cock was gonna slide through your wetness. Nope.

“And I’m gonna flip you over and then--”

“Y/N!”

Jungkook is cut off and the both of you dart your heads up in the direction of the sound of your name. Jimin, from a few stands down, waves up at you, smiling and gesturing for you to come down, since his skates wouldn’t let him climb up easily. You stand, setting your cup down and Jungkook follows you down and you three meet at the base of the stand steps. You can distinctly feel the burn of the gymnasts gazes on the side of your face, searing into your skin with glares so fierce that even the ignorant Jimin glances nervously in their direction.

“So,” he says, shaking out his hair and balancing all his equipment on the other shoulder. “How was the game?”

How was the game, really? You had no fucking clue because Jungkook spent most of it explaining how he would do you instead of trying to explain what the hell was going on. You half-ass it.

“Oh, yeah! That was pret-ty cool,” you cluck, smiling awkwardly. But Jimin seems to want you to go on, and so you hesitate before adding, “Jungkook was explaining how things work, you know...with...the puck and your sticks and all.” You smile guiltily, but Jimin buys it, sending you a charming grin.

“Great,” he smiles, running a hand through his hair. “You’re next right? I think I heard the figure skaters have the rink after us.” He glances behind you, giving Jungkook a nod. “’Sup man, nice to see you in these parts.”

Jungkook grins, arms crossed as he leans against the railing. “I’m here to see Y/N’s performance.”

Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh really? Didn’t know you two were close.”

You’re facing Jimin but can practically hear the fuckboy smirk in Jungkook’s tone. “Oh, yeah. We’re really close.” You turn to glare at him before whipping back and smiling sweetly at Jimin. “Yeah, I’m after. I think my coach is calling us to prep. Gotta go!”

You run off, waving at them, and see that Jimin turns to hit the showers and Jungkook sits back in the seats you two were sharing earlier. Jimin was probably gonna come back, but Jungkook was clearly intent on spending his time here.

Jogging over, you hear your coach reminding the others about some key points: “don’t be nervous, do it like you practiced, and don’t fucking get hurt.” You all nod and answer back, “Yes coach!” and she nods at you, seeming content. With a reassuring shoulder pat, she says, “Y/N you’re up. Go get your skates laced up while they’re clearing the ice.”

Before you turn to get your stuff, she hesitates frowning at your figure. “Did...did you gain some weight?” She says, gesturing to your thighs. You glance down, not really noticing anything different. “Uh...no,” you frown, pursing your lips.

She tsks disapprovingly. “Make sure you lose a couple more before the big day. Those extra pounds will really slow down your spins.”

You nod and jog over to grab your skates, threading the heavy duty laces through the metal prongs easily like it was muscle memory. You do a few stretches as you watch the zamboni glide over the ice, breathing in and breathing out to make sure you’re relaxed. Once the machine is safely tucked away, you enter on the ice, skating around the entirety of the rink and then situating yourself in the center in your starting pose, bent gracefully like a swan folded into its wings. Apparently, according to your coach.

As soon as the first tinkering notes of the piano begin, you unfurl, arms swinging out with precision and grace, and you immediately enter into the triple lutz and triple toe loop combination, finishing the move with a perfect spin, and then entering into the second triple toe with incredible speed.

You’re feeling good, and in the comfort of feeling good within the routine, you begin acting a little, putting on a graceful smile and a teasing glint in your eye that your coach instructed you to act upon. Your legs match the swells of the music, and everything seems to fade away, little by little, until the grande finale, where you’ve planned to finish the fourth triple toe with a little spin.

Turn, lift, and jump--Oh shit.

The foot you’re supposed to land on bends a little too far outwards, and you stumble, landing on the hard ice with a cry as your tailbone hits the cold surface without any limbs to obstruct your fall. Your ankle throbs as you hit the floor, and immediately, the music shuts off as Irene and Hoseok clamber over to you, your coach frowning from the music control pit and turning to come downstairs.

“Oh shit,” Irene frets, “you fell pretty hard, are you okay?”

Hoseok hovers behind her nodding. “Yeah, right on your tailbone.”

“Y/N!” All three of you look up to see Jungkook jogging up to you, slipping a little on the ice and giving up completely as he kneels next to you. “Are you okay?”

You wince when you try to stand, leaning on Jungkook support. Your ankle gives out under you, and you cry out when your sore butt hits the ice again. “Fuck,” Jungkook mutters, “We gotta get you to the medic.” Looping your arm around his shoulders and another under your knees, he easily lifts you up in his arms and Irene and Hoseok just worriedly watch Jungkook make his way over to the spongey floor and then start jogging towards the doors.

Coach catches up with you both, examining your ankle. “Y/N,” she frowns when you wince at the pressure she puts on your bone. “How does it feel?”

You sob, apologetic tears running down your cheeks. “I-I’m sorry,” you blubber, wiping at your cheeks, “I-I-I promise I won’t get hurt, just--”

“Shut up, Y/N,” Jungkook hisses, “Why are you even sorry? It wasn’t your fault.” He sends coach a withering glare as he outruns her, leaving her behind. On the way out the gym, Jimin catches the both of you, emerging from the locker rooms with a towel draped over his shoulders. His expression immediately falls at the sight of you sobbing in Jungkook’s arms.

“What happened?!” He calls after you, but no one answers him.

“Good news,” the medic explains, taking a look at your chart. “It’s not a sprain or a break. It’s just overused, and will be a little sore for the next few days. The tailbone will definitely bruise, but that’s basically the worst of it.”

He flips through the other parts of your info, frowning. “Y/N...” he mutters, glancing up at you. “Part of the figure skating team?”

You nod, glancing at Jungkook, who’s worriedly sitting by your side. “Yes,” you answer, “Is there something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “That explains your height to weight ratio. Just want to let you know that you don’t need to overexert yourself. You’re close to being underweight and a wrong move can lead to permanent damage. If you’re gonna be following a diet, you need to be strict on getting all your nutrients too.”

He frowns to himself, seeming to hesitate before he says the second part. “However, though, your coach called and asked me about your weight. You...did gain a few pounds since your first weigh-in at the beginning of the training. What is this...6 pounds? Your coach reminded me to tell you to makes sure it’s all muscle because the extra weight can affect your spins.”

He shrugs, rolling his eyes. “I hate telling girls this but we as medics operate within these Olympics for a reason. So, I’m prescribing you a few more vitamins and nutrients to help maintain your status quo, and I’m also banning you from any practice for the next three days. No skating, running, or even walking too much, if you want to step on that ice next week with a good performance. So you--” he points to Jungkook who straightens up, “Go get Y/N a wheelchair when you grab the prescriptions and make sure she gets absolutely no strain on that ankle. You hear me?”

“Thank you,” you tell him, and the old man nods as he walks away mumbling about Too skinny or something like that. Jungkook returns fairly quickly and helps guide you into the chair, pushing you towards the elevators.

You can hear the frown in his voice. “D-did he...are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, hands gripping the prescription.

“I heard what the medic said,” he says, rolling you into the elevator and pressing the button for the pharmacy. “About your weight.”

You shrug, thumbing at a stray thread on your arm. “It’s fine, it’s not a big deal until it starts affecting my jumps. Coach is just worried.”

He hums in response, wheeling you out to the window of the pharmacy and retreiving your vitamins. When he jogs back to you, he hands you the paper bag and faces you with a small smile. “Hey,” he says softly, kneeling down a bit to your eye level. “Where do you wanna go now?”

You blink up at him, feeling a bit empty and not sure of what else to do. “Can we go someplace quiet?” You whisper, biting your lip. You feel the tears coming soon and you don’t want anyone else to be able to see that part of you. Also you just want a big big hug.

He nods, cupping your cheek and whispering “okay,” as he stands and begins to wheel you towards his dorms. When the cold air of the winter hits the both of you, he removes his jacket and places it on your legging-clad legs.

Thankfully, this time around, all the athletes aren’t home because they’re either training or practicing. So getting up to Jungkook’s room isn’t as difficult as you’d thought, and thankfully he’s wheeling you into his room without running into anyone or any other problems. Immediately, he opens his closet and grabs you another sweater to place on top of your spandex longsleeve, and then cranks up the thermostat as much as he can.

Opening the covers of his bed, he then turns to you, and lifts you easily out of the wheelchair, and gently sets you in the middle of his bed, tucking the sheets around you.

He turns to leave, and you grip his sleeve.

“Where are you going?”

He smiles back at you. “Don’t you want something to eat? I was gonna make you some tea or grab you something from the cafeteria.”

You shake your head, tugging at his shirt. He obliges, slowly sinking into the mattress next to you, and you open the covers for him to come under. He wraps his arms around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder, your own arms wrapping around his small waist underneath the covers. His warmth is addicting, and you slip your cold hands under his shirt to press against the naked skin of his chest. But Jungkook doesn’t complain and just lets you, his lips pressed against your hair and legs tangled in within yours.

He feels the crying before he sees them, the shuddering motion of your shoulders and the wetness against his own arm alerting him that you were crying. From what he remembered, you never cried when you were sad. You only cried when you were close to giving up, so frustrated and helpless.

So he does what he can do, which is just to wrap you up even tighter within his arms, and just presses his lips against your forehead.

You’re sniffling, muffling your cries to make it seem like you’re not as sad as you really are, but Jungkook can tell, by the way your usually confident shoulders are hunched into his torso, and the way you hide your face into his chest instead of happily smiling up at him.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers, stroking your hair back as you wipe your tears away with a droopy sleeve.

You sniffle, rubbing your eyes until they’re dry enough for you to look at him properly. He’s inches away from your face and from here, even through your bleary vision, you can see the concern mottled in his expression and the genuine concern for your well-being. It felt warm. Nice.

You hadn’t felt that way in a while.

“Can you...can you just h-hold me please?” You whimper, and Jungkook nods sweetly, pulling you even closer and winding his arms around your back and securing you in place against his warm body. You can feel the muscle and the lean effort of all his training underneath his shirt, but right now, pressed against him, all you can really focus on is the steady heartbeat that thunders against your cheek, calming you down.

Training for the Olympics, although difficult to admit, was extremely stressful. It was always so physically demanding, but also mentally exhausting. The entire country was relying on you to beat the rival and win a gold this time, and it could make or break your career for the rest of your life. You had so many people on your shoulders. There was mom, who used to stay up nights sewing your costumes because you guys couldn’t afford the ridiculously expensive skating dresses, not until you started winning competition money. Or your coach, who was hard on you not just because you paid her to do it, but also because she cared to make sure you were feeling your best. Or Irene, and Hoseok, your amazing teammates who supported you through this, not distancing themselves from you when you started doing more rigorous training but instead sticking right by your side and encouraging you through it.

And then there was Jungkook.

He...he was so simple.

Physically, even, you felt no pressure. He wanted you, you wanted him. It was easy.

But emotionally, he was there for you. And he demanded nothing in return, and neither did you feel as pressured as you did with others to do so. Instead, that reciprocation came so naturally, whether it meant helping him plan out his finances for when he goes back home, or speaking to his mother who wanted to watch her son snowboard but couldn’t understand the directions to the hotel she was supposed to stay in, so you took the call while Jungkook was training and brought her in. Or even just giving him massages after his workouts to soothe the kink he always ended up getting near his ribs.

You felt at home with him.

Your breathe isn’t shuddering anymore and you’re just resting your eyes in his embrace when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Jungkook flinches at the sudden movement and you detach from him with a “sorry” and sit up to accept the call.

“Hello?”

“Y/N!” It’s your coach’s voice. Your eyes fly open as you yank the device away from your cheek just to make sure that it was real. It was. Her name was scrolling across your screen as she continues talking, “Where the hell are you? I was told that you would be in bed rest for the rest of the day.” 

“Oh, coach,” you say, staring at Jungkook with panic, “I-I’m on my way back.” 

“With who? Jeon Jungkook, that snowboard player?” 

“Y-yeah,” you say, motioning for Jungkook to get the wheelchair. “He helped me back, we’re walking right now.” 

She groans, “I don’t care where you are, but you better check the news right now. Call me back when you’re ready to focus.” She hangs up quickly, and you let your phone fall from your face with shock. 

“Hey,” Jungkook mutters, cradling you close as he helps you into the chair. “What was that?” 

“It was coach,” you whisper back, trembling fingers tapping impatiently at your screen to open your internet and type in the first news engine you can find. You pan over to the sports section and immediately see the blaring headlines with your name and face on it. 

GOSSIP: OLYMPIC FIGURE SKATER ON DATE WITH OLYMPIC SNOWBOARDER JEON JUNGKOOK

“I saw them cuddling together at the ddukkbokki stand near my house the other night,” says spectator A. “They looked pretty close.” 

Dating speculations about olympic competitors Y/N and Jeon Jungkook have been circulating after witnesses saw the two cozying it up at late night hours at a small diner near the olympic village. A reporter from Dispatch News has also released pictures and evidence of their interactions, including their public date last week, and more individual sightings with Y/N wearing Jungkook’s olympic hoodie and Jungkook hanging around the ice rink a lot more often. 

Both accusations have been bringing lots of criticism to both athletes, for the Olympics are but a week away from today. Many believe that the athletes should have been using the time at the Olympic village training and preparing for their competitions, and have been critiquing Y/N and Jungkook’s choices to be letting go of their focus and instead focusing on each other. 

Both sides have yet to respond to the rumors. 

Comments: 

[+452, -89] Isn’t Y/N the one who lost to Jennie last year? Didn’t she promise that she would “work hard” to win the gold? 

[+232, -102] i don’t blame her, jeon jungkook is so hot 

[+34, -98] I heard that the Olympic Village is just an orgy of all the athletes. It would be naive for us to think our athletes were all innocent and didn’t participate

[+89, -22] honestly they’re all just enjoying their lives and their twenties why are we criticizing them so much? 

- yydnr replied: [+231, -43] well do you get paid millions of won a year to date around? 

[+94, -14] ugh we dont even know for sure chill everyone

Your fingers tremble as you let the device fall from your hands. Jungkook is on the phone with his coach too, and you stare up at him with teary eyes as the look of realization dawns on his face and he briskly walks over to you and yanks the phone out of your hands to see the screen. He scrolls for a bit and he breathes out heavily through his nose, rubbing his eyes as he hands the phone back to you and tilts his head back. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, “coach, coach, I’ll handle it, okay, no. Yeah, she’s here. Yeah. Okay,” he says, sighing and plopping down next to you on the bed. “Okay, I’ll call you back.” 

He hangs up the phone, letting it drop, but you can still see the screen lighting up with notifications and missed calls and texts, but he must have set it on do not disturb. He sees the way you tear up and he tries to lean in to hug you, but you lean away and push him away, tears streaming down your face. 

“Y/N?” 

He sounds so hurt. 

But you turn and let your legs swing over the other side of the bed. You grab your phone, dialing Irene’s number. 

“Y/N?” She sounds worried, “Where are you, are you okay?” 

“Jungkook’s dorm...can you come get me please,” you whisper, and she hears the tears in your voice and immediately agrees to come get you. 

“I-” you stutter, wiping away your tears and breathing in a deep shuddering breath, “I can’t d-do this, Jungkook,” you say, turning over your shoulder to look at him. He looks terrified, but he doesn’t move and continues to listen to you. 

“There’s just too much at stake here,” you sniffle, shaking your head slowly. He mirrors you, shaking his head, “Y/N, no no no, what--” 

“We can’t!” You exclaim, your voice breaking as you throw your hands up and sobs break out again. “We seriously can’t do this anymore, didn’t you see those comments on that article?” 

“Y/N,” Jungkook argues, “Those comments don’t matter! It all doesn’t matter!” 

“No but it does Jungkook! Those comments are right. Your life may not depend on this but mine does okay?” 

“What are you even talking about?” he frowns, getting increasingly frustrated. 

You turn to sit facing him and explain. “Look, Jungkook, you have a lot of brand deals and companies supporting you. If they figure out that you’re dating or anything of the sorts, especially during the Olympics, it’ll tarnish your image and all those brands will pull out. Then where will you get your income for the rest of the year that’s not the winter? Are you gonna go back to working at restaurants again? Is that what you want?” You urge, and Jungkook hardens at the mention of the last part. 

You remember the way Jungkook finally decided to become a professional snowboarder. The thing with boarding was that other than the winter seasons, where he could probably compete, film promotionals, and model for winter clothing, there was no source of income unless brands were partnering with him to promote their athletic lines during off seasons. But here, image was everything, so if the public got even the slightest bit turned against Jungkook, then all those brands would pull out and he would have to resort to waiting tables, just like he’d done in high school, when his parents wouldn’t support his dreams and he had to support himself to attend the same camps that you and the other athletes did. 

He’d worked so hard, and the times where he had to humble himself to resort to waiting tables whilst training incredibly hard for the Olympics, was such a hard time in his life, a time that you only knew about because you were hooking up with him during the athlete boot camp. 

“And,” you continue, tears welling up again, “Jungkook, you know where I come from. I...I don’t have that leisure, to just give it all up. I don’t have brand deals like Jennie does, and I barely get commercials and competition prizes that at least cover the minimum expenses for my training, my skates, and my coach. I...I can’t do that to my mom. Even if this is the thing that I wanted the most,” you watch the way he perks up with a sinking heart, “Even if, I can’t do that to her. Not when you and I both know how hard she worked by herself to help me get to where I am now. I can’t.” 

The moment you finish, two rapid knocks sound on the door and you and Jungkook look up warily to the sight of Seokjin and Irene standing there with apologetic expressions. 

“You ready?” Irene whispers, and you nod, and she comes helps you get on the wheelchair. Jungkook just watches you and his hands reach out a bit when you stumble while getting up from the bed, but he lets you go. 

You take one last look as Irene wheels you out of the room with Seokjin holding the door. Jungkook is sitting on his bed, hands clasped around his buzzing phone, watching you leave with red-rimmed eyes. 

And you bury your face in your hands as you let the sobs rack your shoulders. 

“One, two, three, four, turn, spin, and up!” 

Your coach claps the right beats as you match her voice with your steps and perform the routine in your shoes. 

It’s been a week since the ordeal happened, and like any other gossip mill, the scandal had faded out and gotten lost within another celebrity dating rumor that thankfully seemed to bury yours. For now. 

In that week, you’d taken two days to heal completely, and then went back on the ice and trained literally 24/7. You couldn’t sleep properly either, so most of that time you spent either on the ice or stretching, or doing cardio. Your diet was stricter than ever, and according to this morning’s weight check, you were now 11.2 pounds lighter, meaning you’d shed the weight that you’d somehow gained so quickly with Jungkook and had lost extra weight on top of that. 

Your turns were now tip-top shape, and your coach had stopped giving you those disapproving looks anymore and was now fully invested into making sure your routine would 100% perfect by the time it was your tournament. 

Today was Tuesday, so you still had two days left until yours. Your performance was scheduled as second to last of the night, on Thursday, and so you had two full days to train and practice more before the final day. 

You’re doing the stair master in the gym when Irene comes up to you and takes the machine aside yours. 

“How are you feeling?” She murmurs, probably talking about the way you’d missed out on too much sleep the past few days. 

“Fine,” you mutter, staring down at the screen of the machine. You’d been climbing for almost an hour and it was only at 300 calories. Literally the amount you’d drank in your protein shake for breakfast. You wipe some sweat off your brow. 

“Are you sure?” she says, and reaches over to hold your hand. 

“Yeah,” you say, turning to her with a sad smile. “Thanks. I’ll be okay even if i’m not okay.” 

She bites her lip and furrows her brow. You told her the night she took you home, and she’d let you sleep in her bed as you cried yourself to sleep. She’d also taken the liberty to monitor the state of the article in your place, and make sure to delete all social media apps off your phone so you could focus. 

It was why she was your best friend. 

But no matter how much she helped you, how nice your coach was being and the encouragements your mom showered over you through your facetime sessions, it was impossible to fill that void that kept eating at your chest. 

Going to sleep at night was so hard when the rooms were still cold with the heater turned on high, you missed the way Jungkook would curl himself against you, bundling you against his body and his warmth. Wearing your clothes just felt wrong because you missed the way his old clothes would just swallow you whole and make you feel safe and small. You even missed how you always had someone to call or text when you were bored or lonely or needed someone to talk to without having them make you feel like being an athlete was your entire life. No matter how many protein shakes you drank and calories you burned, the satisfactory feeling of just sharing a warm meal and drink with Jungkook was all you wanted to do right now to relieve the stress. 

Irene’s hesitant voice shakes you out of your thoughts. “I’m asking because,” she begins, biting her lip and thinking hard.

“Because what?” You raise your brows, staring at her expectantly. Irene was usually a blunt person, and didn’t usually hesitate this much. “What’s wrong?” 

“...because today’s his turn. For the games.” she whispers, wincing as she watches your expression go through a transition from realization, surprise, guilt, devastation, and nonchalance. 

“Oh,” you turn back to your screen, not really feeling anything good when the 399 ticks to the 400 calorie mark. “Well, good luck to him.” 

Irene stops her machine, smiling sadly at you. “It’s tonight at 6 if you want to watch with Hoseok and me. We’re watching for Seokjin, and...well you should be there too.” 

You smile back at her, thanking her for caring, and turn back and raise the speed of the stairmaster. You couldn’t show up. There were going to be a thousand reporters and there was no way that your presence at his tournament would ever bode well, for you, for the tabloids, your mom, your coach, your career, anything and everything. 

But as you step off the stairmaster with wobbly legs and a sweaty brow, your eyes linger on the televisions that hang over the running machines, automatically set to the games channel, where you can already see a couple other snowboarders having their interviews. 

Taking a swig of your water, you sit yourself on the other side of the gym on one of the hip abduction machines, staring at the tv’s while pretending to do some 40 pound leg openers. You’re squinting a bit through the pain as you stare at the screen, hoping to catch the schedule of when Jungkook’s team was ready, but then Irene shows up again. 

“What the heck, why are you suddenly doing hip abductions Y/N?” She frowns, curling her lip at the heavy lifting machine. “We don’t do that.” 

You don’t answer her, and she follows your line of sight to the televisions. “Oh,” she mutters, smiling down at you sadly. “Ugh, Y/n,” she grabs your arm to catch your attention. You stare up at her, removing your earphones. “Irene! What’s up?” 

She points blatantly at the tv. “I know you’re just doing these weights because you wanna watch the games without being obvious. C’mon, how long have I known you now? 10, 11 years? You think I won’t know that you want to go watch? Just go.” 

“I can’t,” you hiss, pushing her back and leading her into somewhere less crowded. “You saw those comments on the tabloid. If anyone sees me or anyone who looks like me near the slopes, they’ll attack me, and even worse, Jungkook.”

“Aw,” she pats your arm, “You’re worried about him.” 

You frown, swatting her hand away. “No, I’m not. I’m only worried about it because if I can’t appeal to the public then no matter what I win, those deals and cf’s that are supposed to make me money won’t come in.” 

She nudges you with a knowing smile. “Whatever you say, y/n. Cause I definitely think you’re worried and I am 100% sure that you are totally, and completely in love with him.” 

You stare at her in shock. “Love?” 

“Yes,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “I know you’re the ice princess and there has yet to be anyone to melt your cold cold heart, but you need to let go and just let him love you, okay? And you need to acknowledge that you have feelings for this guy. It’s been way too long since I’ve ever seen you feel like this towards anyone. So just go for it.” 

“But I can’t!” you throw your hands in the air, collapsing into an empty stationary bike. “Irene, you know that if I go there, they’ll rip us apart like hyenas.” 

She thinks a bit, furrowing her pretty face. 

“Do you have anything to wear that’ll cover you up, but Jungkook will recognize?”

“This better work,” you mutter, shoving your way through the crowd, and burrowing your face into the neck of the yellow ski jacket that Jungkook gave you that one time he invited you to watch him train. It engulfed your figure whole, and so you wore a turtleneck and a hoodie underneath, tucking the fabric up over your chin to cover your features and wearing the bulkiest pair of pants to cover your legs. You’d gone back to the shop and borrowed the same pair of snow boots to wear as you trekked out to where Jungkook would be competing. 

Thankfully, because of the weather, others were dressed similarly, decked from head to toe in protective winter gear, even with masks over the lower half of their faces. But the only thing that made you stand out was the obnoxiously bright color of your jacket. Hopefully, though, the blatant obviousness would be exactly the reason why people would avoid you, and Jungkook, would see you today. 

You hustle within the crowd, trying to jostle your way into a better view of the slopes. Jungkook is currently at the top of the slope, adjusting his goggles and high fiving his teammates as he gets ready for the run of the day. The announcer’s voices filter through your earphones, and you listen as they introduce the athlete statistics. 

“Alright, Minhyuk-ssi, so we have athlete Jeon Jungkook with us here today, the second to last competitor of the night. Imagine what it’s like, to be standing there on the top of the slope for the second time in your life, aiming to get your second gold!” 

“Yes, Seungkwan-ssi, it looks really promising today,” Minhyuk nods on the screen of your iphone. “Jeon Jungkook, 22, representing the Republic of Korea and competing for the second time! The last winter Olympics, he stole the gold medal title as the youngest athlete to ever win the Men’s gold, and today he’s back to establish yet another milestone as the youngest ever athlete to win two back to back gold medals!” 

Seungkwan leans forward, and the screen pans to the sight that you’re seeing with your bare eyes, Jungkook on the top of the slope. “Alright, he’s currently getting himself ready. Lot of pressure, lot of anxiety probably. And there he goes.” 

You can see from down the slope the familiar image of Jungkook’s figure speeding recklessly down the steep slope with his left foot placed directly behind his right, not braking at all as he speeds incredibly fast towards the first two peaks. 

Minhyuk comments quickly, “Okay, there he goes, up and over the hitching post, and easily over to the tail slide of the box there.” 

Jungkook easily slides over the boxes, the bottom of his board scraping loudly and slamming with an echoing smack when he lands on the leveled ice. The people around you cheer politely, and you narrow your eyes at the sight and focus on the commentary of the announcers. 

“And he nails the triple rotation 720, easily,” Seungkwan comments, as Jungkook sails through the air. 

Minhyuk finishes off the rest of his commentary as Jungkook goes through some routine simple flips and tricks. “Now, Seungkwan-ssi, this last one, the triple cork 1440 with three head dips, it’s a difficult one. Jungkook tends to over-rotate his upper body when he’s nervous, but let’s hope he executes this one well. There he goes!” 

With the escalation of the announcer’s voice, the entire crowd silences in anticipation as Jungkook speeds incredibly fast towards the last huge hill, and as soon as his board leaves the ramp, he rotates his body, and flips once, twice, three times, and four! His board lands with a thwack against the snow and he raises his arms in a cheer that’s drowned out by the way the crowd explodes in cheers and shouts of his name. 

You shove the phone into your pocket, now trying your hardest to see what’s going on in the midst of all the fanfare and chants, but everyone begins crowding and shoving and jumping all at the same time that you’re drowned out and you can’t see a thing. But one thing that you can see is the score board located at the top of the hill, and everyone silences again as the announcers begin collecting points. 

“For athlete Jeon Jungkook,” the voice booms, “88.02!” 

The crowd erupts in cheers and immediately the screens change to the image of Jungkook hugging his coach and his teammates, smiling triumphantly and throwing his beanie and goggles off to raise a high fist in the air with a brilliant cheer. You weasle your way in between bodies, trying your hardest to fit your body through the crevices made between people hugging each other and cheering for Jungkook, eventually making your way to the edge of the crowd, against the fences. 

You don’t say much, because you’re sure that if you do, you’ll just call more attention to yourself. But you wait, patiently, shoulders bustling against the pressure of the people behind you trying to get a look, and bracing your gloves fingers against the cold metal of the fence, rooting your spot in the front. 

Slowly, Jungkook turns away from his friends and teammates, politely twisting around and surveying and waving to the crowd of supporters who have come to cheer for him. His crinkled eyes, pushed up by his huge smile, sweeps over the crowd, but they settle in your direction as his smile wavers and his arms raised high over his head pause a little in their waving. His eyes lock. 

You wave back. 

Decked in the whole getup, sunglasses that cover your forehead to your nose, a mask pulled over your nose and your lips, a turtleneck that covers your chin down, and the yellow hood pulled tight over your hair, there’s no way that anyone here except Jungkook would know. 

You hope he sees. 

But he resumes his waving, only faltering a milisecond before he just keeps going as if he’d never seen you at all. You slump, hand falling down as you give up resisting the excitedness of the crowd. They push you back furhter, and you let it take you to the outskirts, almost as if riding a current, until someone’s elbow sweeps over your head and knocks off your hood and your sunglasses. 

The said perpetrator turns in his heels, an old man who was probably cheering for Jungkook, about to apologize, when he sees your face as you stand up straight from picking up the sunglasses. His eyes furrow and then round as the recognition crosses his face. “A-aren’t you--??!” 

Before he knows it, you sprint back towards the directions of your dorms, and you don’t look back.

“Oh my god, how was it?!” Irene screeches when you stumble back into the dorm, shaking off the snow from your jacket and leaving on a rack to dry. She stands and helps you take off the chunky boots. “Did anyone see you?” 

You rub your eyes. “Just one guy. But I ran away before he could even finish his sentence.” 

She pats your back comfortingly. “He did well. For those of us who were watching the live stream, there was no sight of you, so thank goodness the cameras were just focused on Jungkook. You’ll be okay.” She guides you over the couch of your shared room, where Hoseok and a couple other teammates are watching in support of their childhood friend. “He’s doing his press conference,” she explains, “The athlete after him lost by a couple points. He got the gold medal.” 

Your heart warms and blooms in five thousand different directions as the burden and anxiety on your shoulders falls, and you settle into the cozy cushions of the couch with a cup of hot tea that Hoseok hands you. Jungkook’s face is plastered on the huge HD tv, smiling as the reporters around him crowd to get a good shot of the new record-setting olympian. After his pictures, Jungkook is lead to a panel table where reporters begin asking him questions. 

“First of all, Jungkook, we all want to congratulate you on your win.” The room erupts with claps and cheers. The reporter goes on. “How do you feel being the first and youngest olympian to win a back-to-back gold medal for the men’s snowboarding division?” 

Jungkook’s face fills the screen, his dimples deep as his grins widely. “It’s so awesome, I’m so honored to be here right now and I’m so thankful for all my support and teammates for helping me to get to this place tonight.” He lifts the heavy metal around his neck and flashes it for all the cameras to see, smiling and grinning as the cameras begin flicking and flashing wildly. 

“How hard was the training?” Someone shouts from the reporters. 

“Not too bad, actually. Because this time around I knew what to expect both in terms of the physical and mental challenge of being in the Olympics, it was much easier this time around.” 

“How about the next winter olympics?” 

“I’m going to see how I do, but even winning one gold was way past my biggest and wildest dreams that I can’t really imagine how much farther I want to go. I have a feeling though for the next year or so, I’m going to take some time off to finally enjoy snowboarding as a hobby again, instead of my profession. It’s what keeps the creativity coming.” 

“And about your scandal with y/n?!” 

The cameras begin zooming in wildly as the channel tries to avoid panning toward the frantic gossip news reporter who’d somehow managed to make it into the questioning room. Jungkook’s expression twitches, the grin always staying proud on his face, but you can tell that he’s caught off guard. The room you’re sitting in goes quiet as Irene leans forward to listen to how Jungkook responds.

“This year,” Jungkook begins, clearing his throat, “was a year that harbored a lot of surprises and achievements that I’d never even dreamed of. I’m just really thankful for all the support that I got, whether it was from my teammates, fellow Olympians, or even close friends. I’m thankful for y/n, my team, my fans, and everyone I met during the games here, and I hope the best for all of them in the next coming games. Next question please.” He smiles as the camera gracefully pans to another sports news reporter who asks him how he felt about his teammates. 

The room deflates in relief, and you’re sitting there, eyes glued to the screen that zooms into Jungkook’s flawless face, and you swallow thickly. 

“Damn,” Hoseok breathes out, blinking between you and the screen, “Well that was uncalled for.” 

Irene nods. “He answered well though. Guess that’s what being in the spotlight does for you. He didn’t affirm nor deny and just glossed past it. That was pretty smooth.” 

You bite the rim of your cup. 

Hoseok shakes his head though. “He didn’t deny it though, won’t that just cause more drama?” 

Irene shrugs, turning to you. The others have shuffled out of the room, leaving you and your teammates to speak privately. “So, what are you guys? Since you broke up with him, are you guys just strangers? Friends?” 

You shrug, half-mindedly stirring the tea. “I...I don’t know. We never were dating, anyways. So I don’t know what that means.”

“Y/N went to go see him though,” Hoseok comments. He turns to you, narrowing his eyes. “Did he see you?” 

You shrug again, blinking at the yellow jacket that’s hung up on the coat rack to dry. “I’m really not sure. Even if he did see me, I’m not even sure if he recognized the jacket in the first place. I...I just don’t know.” 

Irene pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it for now,” She says lowly, “The competition is the day after tomorrow, so you should get some rest.” 

You nod and turn in for the night, crawling into your covers as Irene and Hoseok make their way to the rink to get in some more training. You curl into your sheets, staring at the empty screen of your phone, scrolling through day-old notifications, hoping that the familiar ding would sound and Jungkook’s name would light up. 

But it doesn’t. 

You’re positive he’d made eye contact with you, but in the craze of his win, did he even have the time to register that it was you? Sure, he’d even said so himself that the yellow jacket was one of his favorites, and there was no way anyone could miss the bright colors, but was it really enough for him to notice you within the crowd of onlookers? You’d been so nasty to him, “breaking up” as Irene called it with him in the worst way possible, and for you to show up suddenly in the jacket he’d left behind, you’d doubt the possibility if it were you. 

Too many questions plague your mind that night. You don’t sleep well. 

D-1

“One two three four, jump! Good, and don’t over rotate--!” Your coach’s voice rings over the ice, as you huff out and land perfectly on the blade of your skate, turning gracefully as you pirouette into the next part of the routine. 

She’d insisted on you getting used to wearing the full outfit, so you were decked out in the beautiful sky-blue dress, the chiffon material skirting and flowing around your thighs, and the polished whites of your skates stiff against your ankles. Your hair was slicked back into a tight bun, and makeup was done by Irene as you skirted through the routine. 

Your ankle doesn’t hurt much anymore, just a slight twinge. It only bothers you when you land wrong on the triple toe loop, but you were just going to have to be more careful about that or else coach would take you out immediately and stop you from competing. Better to bow out earlier than to tumble and fall on the ice, she’d always said. 

You finish the routine with the signature flourish, and your teammates who were watching on the sidelines clap with loud cheers as you finish and skate over to the sidelines where coach nods approvingly. In the corner of your eye, you can see Jimin and Seokjin sitting on the bleachers, grinning widely and throwing thumbs up at you from where they are and you flash a big smile and wave at them to thank them for coming. Irene gets on the ice next, ready to go through her own routine. 

Coach walks up to you with a neutral expression. 

“How are you feeling?” 

You look up from your skates and lean back on the bleachers. “I’m okay,” You say thoughtfully, “I just need some good rest tonight.” You lean down to tighten your laces.

She nods, crossing her arms. “Are you sure? I didn’t just mean physically.” 

Your fingers freeze, and you look up to meet eyes with her. She sighs, uncrossing her arms and taking a seat next to you. “I know I’ve been hard on you,” she mutters, “But it’s because we all see the potential in you. You can do whatever the heck you want after the games, but during, you need to stay focused on what you’re really really passionate about.” 

You take a look at her. “Coach...thanks. For everything.” Coach was a great great woman, she was kind, and driven. But you know that a particular reason why she’s been so hard on you is because she knows what it feels like to lose focus during a competition and reap the consequences. The last olympics she ever did was the same one where her rival had won a world record, and feeling nervous for her own score, had tried to add a bit more flourish to her practiced routine and tumbled on the ice because of it. She’d twisted her ankle during the fall and had thus ended her professional career on the ice that she’d once loved and thought she’d be on forever. 

She nods, and then stands, brushing off her pants. “Um,” she says awkwardly, “There’s someone here to see you... Might help you put a lot of your thoughts to rest before the games.” 

You frown as she walks away, and then Jungkook rounds the corner. 

Your jaw falls open as your fingers still on the laces of your skates. He hesitates as he sees your expression, but nonetheless kneels in front of you and grasps the laces from your fingers and begins tightening them like he did with your snow boots. 

“What...what are you doing here?” You whisper, glancing around to see if there are any reporters around. 

He doesn’t say much, but just finishes tying your skates and then just leans back to look up at you. His dark circles are horrible, mirroring yours. “I asked your coach to let me see you. I wanted to say something before the games started.” 

You frown, staring down at your knees. “I...”

“Wait,” he cuts you off, taking your hand in his and stroking your knuckles with his thumb. “I just came here to say this one thing. I saw you there. During my win. And that made me think a lot. And I’ve come to this conclusion:” he looks up at you, staring at you for a moment before continues. “We’re both really young, and at the peak of our careers. I know what you’re scared of, and I know what’s at stake. We have to prioritize our careers, and our goals. So I understand where you came from, but I also want to prioritize my dreams. And my dream is to be with the one I really care for.” 

Your eyes widen, “Jungkoo--” 

“--And I know your competition is tomorrow, so I wanted to tell you this before you compete: I support you and I’ll do anything you decide. It’s all in your hands, and I trust you. So, go out there, and kill ‘em.” He smiles, squeezing your hand once and fingers reaching out to brush your cheek. He leaves after that, leaving you on the verge of tears. 

In the corner of your eye, coach nods at you, in mutual understanding, and walks away. 

D-day.

“And now we welcome, Y/N, the final competitor of tonight’s female figure skating competition.” 

You slide onto the ice with a smile, keeping your eyes on the ice and making sure it wasn’t too scratched up. You skate around the rink, getting a feel for the entire circle and then slowly centering yourself on the ice. 

Jungkook watches from home, leaning into the television to get a better glimpse of the live stream. The announcer begins his commentary as you skate around and begin to center. 

“We’ve seen Y/N a lot these days, and it’s her second Olympics of her career. What do you think is in store for her today, Hani?” 

“Well, Seungkwan, Y/N is one of the ones I’ve been looking forward to. Last year was a bit of a rocky run, she just barely missed first place to Jennie Kim by a couple of points because of a sharper turn, but she’s been training hard for the last four years to compete today.” 

“Yes. She’s outrageously popular, not just as an athlete, but for actually becoming an ice princess, because of how steely her focus is when she’s on the ice. She absolutely embodies the music and her motions are so in tune with her skating techniques for her age. It’s absolutely breathtaking.” 

“Will she be able to handle today’s competition though? We’ll find out. Jennie Kim in the lead with a 216.73. After Y/N’s short program score of 74.92, she’ll need at least 141.82 to get that gold tonight.” 

The camera zooms in on your figure, crouched low as you flutter your hands around you gracefully as you get into your starting position. The low notes of the piano sounds out, and you begin to spin gracefully, meeting the judge’s eyes with a playful smile. 

“It’ll be this first combination that starts us off, the triple-triple combination, and OH! Yes! She lands it beautifully,” you spread your arms out as you do a beautiful twirl. 

“And then the triple loop?! Wonderful! A little smile after that difficult move,” Hani comments as you grin a bit at how clean the jump was. You twirl and land a couple more simple spins and the usual footwork. 

The music slows down into a swell of strings, signaling the end of the number. Jungkook watches, mesmerized as you glide effortlessly over the ice, just as he’d watched you do during practice. 

“The last hurdle in this performance,” Seungkwan comments, “the triple lutz...?! Yes! Perfect! Oh my god this is one of the greatest performances I have ever seen!” 

The music swells and swells as you finish off with a flourish of your arms. The crowd jumps to their feet and cheers, and Jungkook and his teammates do too, clapping for you. You’re crying, as he watches you on the screen, collapsing to a crouch on the ice as you sob, shoulders racking as you try to collect yourself and wave to the crowd. The small ice skaters come in their cute little uniforms, collecting the roses that have been thrown to you after the performance. 

You clambor off the ice, meeting your coach and your mom in a huge hug, and Hoseok and Irene smiling at you from a bit off. It was everything you’d hoped for, and your body wracked with tears as you sob into the sweater of your mother’s comforting arms. Your ankle buckles under you, giving way to all the pressure and the pain and the burden that was suddenly lifted off your shoulders, your coach yelping and lunging forward to catch you. 

She helps you to the bench, in the kiss and cry area where cameras are loaded and ready to film your reaction to your score. The announcement comes quickly. 

“The scores please for F/N L/N of the Republic of Korea.” 

“She has earned a 150.06, which is a seasons best!” The crowd erupts in cheers and screams and your coach bursts into tears and turns over to hug you. You’re frozen in fear and surprise and shock and it all crashes when you burst into tears, haphazardly waving back at the audience and thanking them for their support. 

The rest of the night is a blur of emotions and pictures and interviews and ceremonies and hugs and kisses. You barely have time to catch your breath and wipe away the makeup smears before the next news or tabloid is shoving their cameras and mics in your face, asking and congratulating you. Your coach and mom stay close, holding your flowers and fan gifts closely, making sure you don’t break down. Most importantly, your coach makes sure you stay in one place, not putting too much strain on your already aching ankle. 

Finally, it’s time for the official press conference, and coach guides you towards the table set up for you. You take the seat, smiling and trying to keep your eyes open at the onslaught of flashing cameras and yelling reporters. 

It begins. “Miss Y/N!” A BBC reporter asks, “How hard did you train to achieve this feat? The performance was amazing!” 

You smile, “Thank you so much. After getting silver four years ago, I really wanted to make sure I was able to achieve my goals this time around. I trained everyday, for a really long time, and made sure I was taking care of my mental and physical health.” 

Another tabloid reporter pops up with a smirk, “Was this also with the help of your friends? Any specific people in mind? Like a fellow medalist perhaps?” 

You see your coach perk up in the corner, her posture becoming stiff as she catches your eye and shakes her head no. You both know where this question is headed. 

You smile. “I had a lot of support from my teammates and my family at that time. My coach and I made sure that I was surrounded with as many loved ones as possible. Thanks to them, and my fans, I was able to power through! My regimen was pretty demanding, such as waking up early and having to train everyday and build up some more strength, but I’m grateful for this medal, and will continue training even harder so I won’t let anyone down.” 

Easily, the conversation shifts to topics regarding your training, but you can clearly see the sly disappointment on the reporter’s face as she sits down with a huff. The press conference continues easily, and your cheeks start to hurt from smiling too much and your fingers grip the mic too hard for it to be comfortable. It ends easily, though, and your coach and friends happily escort you down the stage and into the waiting room. 

It was over. It was finally over. 

Coach lets you go with your mom to a her hotel that night. You lug your suitcase in with you, following in her footsteps. 

She smiles at you as she settles on the bed, patting the seat next to her. You smile as you settle into the soft mattress, sinking into the warm cushion and shrugging off your coat. 

“How are you feeling?” She murmurs, tucking a hair behind your ear. 

You shrug, fingers playing at the strap of your medal. “Not sure. I’ve been waiting for this day for ages, but now that it’s here, I’m not sure what to feel.” 

She smiles, turning you a bit so that she can start taking out the stiff pins in your hair. Your scalp aches from the way it’s been held in its incredibly tight bun these past few days, and you sigh in relief as her gentle fingers begin caressing through the strands and removing all those sharp pins and tight elastics. Her fingers pass through your jawline, and she sighs. 

“You’ve lost even more weight than before you left for the village.” She mutters, her voice tinged with worry.

You chuckle a bit tiredly, “Mom, you know I had to watch my weight. It’s fine. I feel fine.” 

Her fingers hesitate, “You don’t seem fine.” 

You frown. “What do you mean?” 

She finally finishes, running her hands freely through the length of your hair and letting it down. With a gentle hand on your shoulder, she turns you to face her, and her hands come up to frame your cheeks, stroking the skin there. “You’re my daughter, I think I know when you’re fine and when you’re not.” 

A chuckle escapes your lips, and you think it might be a defense mechanism at this point. “What?” 

“I heard, from coach. About the scandal.” 

Your eyes drop to your lap, not being able to meet hers. “M-mom,” you stammer, but her hands gently guide your chin up to look back into her eyes. They glow in the warm golden light in the hotel room. 

“I saw the way you two talked right before your performance,” she urges, a hand lifting to trace over your brow. It brings a twang to your heart, and your eyes begin to water. “I know, sweetie. You’ve worked so hard, and you’ve placed so much burden on your shoulders.” A tear escapes, and she catches it with her thumb. “I could never be any more proud of you, with or without that medal. I’m just proud of the fact that you’ve become a healthy, beautiful, woman. My best friend, my biggest supporter. I love you so much, honey.” She says, a tear escaping her own eye. “I don’t want you to think that you need to choose between me and your happiness. You can have it all. I want you to go for it. I don’t want you regret anything. Or else I’ll regret not being able to tell you to go for it.” 

The tears break, streaming down your cheeks as your shoulders rack and your mouth opens in a wail that you’ve been holding in for the past two weeks. 

“Mom!” you cry, collapsing into her arms, “I love him so much!” 

She just nods and pats your back, smoothing her palm down and in soothing circles as you cry it out. You cry, all the weight from the competition and the performance and the scandal all collapsing on your shoulders with a heaviness that you wash away with your tears. 

She whispers, “I never really talked a lot about your dad, did I?” 

You sniffle, wiping away your tears and staring up at her. “Not much, why?” 

She smiles, tucking your hair behind your ear. “He was really successful, he was a medical student, and set to take over his father’s hospital. But when he met me, he decided he wanted to pursue art, and he was so great at it. His parents were so against his career choice and him marrying me, but he was so happy,” she smiles, “He passed so soon, he wasn’t able to see you come all the way here, but I know that he’s watching. And you know what he would say if he were in your situation right now? He would tell you to go for it, to follow where your heart is leading you.” 

Jungkook’s head shoots up when he hears a loud pounding on his door. Locking his phone shut, he takes out his earbuds and bounds up to open the door. 

His eyes widen, “Y/N--” 

You lunge forward with your arms stretched wide, wrapping around his middle and cuddling him close to yourself. He’s warm, his heart thudding loudly next to your ear and his shirt smelling exactly like him. “Wait, Y/N, what’s wrong?” He says, shutting the door and an arm coming to wrap around your shoulders. 

You just bury your face into his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin that makes your heart race. “I don’t want to leave here regretting that I didn’t get to say this.” you mutter into his neck, clutching the nylon of his athletic jacket between your fingers tightly. “I missed you, I’m so thankful for you, and I want to choose the one I love too.” 

Jungkook’s body stiffens, and you screw your eyes shut. Maybe he was done with your indecisiveness. Maybe he was sick of waiting around for you, or maybe he was disappointed that you’re only saying this after both of you had won your medals. Maybe he thought you were a selfish bitch. His hands finally move from your shoulders to yours on his back, carefully unwrapping your fingers on his jacket. He pulls away, stepping back to look at your face. 

You blink up at him. You’d prepared yourself for this. It wasn’t about him accepting you. It was about his decision, and his feelings. 

But instead of pushing you away, and cursing at you, he squeezes your hands in his and smiles gently. “Are you sure?” He asks softly. “All the stuff you worked so hard for, it might end up being lost.” 

You nod, smiling even though a few tears slip down your cheek. “I’m prepared for that. And honestly if this fame and hard work isn’t strong enough to withstand the reality of my happiness, then I don’t want it. I’ll work hard again anyway and build a reputation that matters. I’m sure of this, Jungkook. I want you.” 

He doesn’t answer and just cradles your face between his hands and draws you in for a hard kiss. You sigh into it, hands wrapping around his wrists and stepping closer to him. But the both of you are smiling too much to be able to kiss properly, and it dissolves into giggles. You throw your arms around his neck and hug him properly again, laughing as he lifts you up and spins you. 

You’d started skating when you were young because you thought those girls on the ice were like princesses in their pretty dresses and beautiful moves. You’d wished that maybe, just maybe, ice skating yourself would grant you a chance to a happily ever after too. 

But you got something way better than a fairytale-princesses ending. 

You got Jungkook. 

#jungkook fics #bts fics #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #mine #writing #fics #jungkook #snow and ice

[iamtheblondestblonde]

Slides and Serendipity

Part Three (4.3k)

Part One   Part Two

AN: Here comes part three. Are you happy with the lengths of the chapters or do you think I should split them up into smaller parts? Feedback is appreciated as always and enjoy

Warnings: Language because Tyler is Tyler

The next morning I woke up with a pounding head. Even chugging water before going to sleep had not helped to prevent the hangover that was now haunting me. I didn’t even want to imagine how Tyler felt as he’d had way more to drink than I did but least he had the day off. 

A cold shower and changing into a comfortable outfit made things better but I still would’ve loved to stay in bed all day.

Yogi didn’t care about my headache of course and wanted attention as soon as I stumbled into the living room downstairs. After throwing his favorite ball a few times in the backyard I could at least convince him to come cuddling with me on the sofa. 

At that point my mind went back to the previous night and the way Tyler had looked at me all evening. On a whim I pulled my phone out to shoot a text to Tyler.

Me: Are you up yet?

I didn’t have to wait long until he sent back a picture of himself buried under Gerry on the couch, similar to my own position. Even sleepy he looked hot as hell, which was definitely not fair to everyone else on this planet.

Tyler: Barely.. My headache is so bad I didn’t even manage to make breakfast yet

I hadn’t gotten that far yet either so I suggested making breakfast together, mostly because I was too lazy to do all the work by myself and also because even though I had only seen him a couple of hours ago, I wouldn’t mind looking at this fine male specimen again.

I wasn’t really in the mood for walking and I definitely shouldn’t be driving in my stage so I decided on the easiest option, putting on roller skates and having Yogi pull me over to Tyler’s house. Perks of having a Husky mix. We had done this a couple of times over the last month and each time I had to do less work in my skates. Yogi was growing up so fast and his genes made him the perfect partner for stuff like this, in a couple of weeks I could probably stop skating altogether and only yell directions.

Tyler waited for me at the front gate to his house and started laughing as soon as he saw Yogi dragging me across the street. He opened the iron gates and then filmed us as Yogi kept running to his front door.

“Before you accuse me of anything, he loves this!”, I yelled over my shoulder as we passed him but I had to laugh as well. I knew we probably looked ridiculous but at least it was great exercise for the dog.

“Do you think I could get one of mine to do this with me?”, Tyler asked as I took of the skates in his doorway, letting Yogi off the leash.

“No way. Cash and Marshall are too lazy and with Gerry you’d end up flat on your ass in five seconds. One squirrel is all it’d take to ruin your day but you’re welcome to come with us sometime. I think you’re too heavy for him to pull though, he can barely do me.”

His pout made me laugh, which kind of didn’t make my headache any more enjoyable but he knew there was absolutely no way Yogi could pull him the way he’d just pulled me.

“You make it sound like I’m fat, this is all muscle baby”, Tyler joked, pulling up the hem of his shirt and flexing. I already knew that he was definitely anything but fat from feeling him up the day before, but I wasn’t going to turn down or interrupt the show he was currently giving me so I kept giving him unimpressed looks.

“You still probably weigh twice as much as I do so that’s too much for Yogi but I could probably do it, it’ll be a great workout for me”

With the way his face lit up at my idea nobody would have been able to guess that this guy probably spent half his life skating around and actually enjoying it, no matter if on or off the ice.

“I’ll definitely take you up on that but let’s do that sometime when I don’t feel like there’s a techno rave going on inside my head”

With that we moved on to the kitchen and Tyler put on some music as background noise for our cooking. Yogi was outside, happily chasing Tyler’s dogs around and taking full advantage of the pool. Rifling through his fridge I pulled out some fruits for smoothies and to snack while he prepared everything for ‘The Best Hangover Breakfast’, aka grilled cheese sandwiches. I was cutting up some watermelon and humming along to the music when Tyler spoke up.

“My friends and teammates have all been texting me nonstop about you, they probably like you better than me already”

His comment made me smile but I was unsure what to respond for a moment. As much as I enjoyed my time with him, I knew what everyone else said about him and it was stuff like this that could cause lots of problems for me in the future if I wasn’t careful.

“That’s because I’m way nicer than you are but they’ll probably never let us play beer pong together again”, I deflected, desperately trying to keep things at a platonic level where I felt comfortable.

“How are you so good at that by the way? I didn’t really peg MIT students as the type of people who would be good at frat party games”

“You’d be surprised really, you’re constantly under so much pressure that you need a way of blowing off some steam and smart people usually have the dumbest ideas. In my junior year for example we were throwing a party in our dorm and calculated the exact number of toilets we needed to flush in order to break the plumbing system. We didn’t really think far ahead though, because we had to use the showers and toilets in other dorms for over a week after that”, I told him and he burst out in a giggle that would have most sorority girls proud, gripping the counter so he wouldn’t fall over. His ridiculous laugh was so infectious that I had to laugh as well, still immensely fond of all the crazy things that had happened during college.

“Sometimes I wish I could’ve gone to college as well, from what I’ve heard most people have a blast there and I feel like I’ve missed out on a lot”, he told me after he’d calmed down, now turned around so he could look me in the eyes.

“I don’t know about that, you kinda got the best of both worlds. You didn’t have daily mental breakdowns during exam season and still got to attend frat parties and stuff. You also get to do something you love for a living, so your life doesn’t look too bad if you ask me”, I responded softly, getting the feeling that he truly did feel like he’d simply skipped over an important part in life. He smiled at me and we dropped the topic, instead continuing a more lighthearted conversation and taking our breakfast outside.

“I’m going to miss having all this time to myself soon. I still have two more weeks until my self-imposed deadline but I need to start buying stuff for my office and take care of all these other things”, I sighed, leaning back on my chair and closing my eyes to shut out the sun. I looked forward to being productive again, but I also really loved doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted.

“I get what you mean. I have all those workouts and practice still but it’s nothing compared to when the season starts, especially when we want to make the playoffs again. I love hockey and I can’t wait to play again but it’s just a lot sometimes”, Tyler responded and I nodded understandingly.

“For you it’s worse because you’re in the spotlight all the time. If I fuck up that’s on me and reflects only on myself and maybe the people that I’m working with. People blame you for things you have no control over most of the time and get mad all the time”

He nodded and was quiet for a while after that, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. We were simply both lost in our thoughts but still enjoying each other’s presence. Eventually the pounding in my head subsided and Tyler must have felt better as well because he offered to show me around the house.

I was wrong about the waterslide into his pool being as extra as one could get because I hadn’t noticed the small lake with a goddamn fountain and private tennis court the day before.

“We’ll have to play sometime, I’ll wipe the floor with you”, I said after he told me that he didn’t really play that much. It was a mystery to me why he would need a private court in that case but that’s athletes, I guess. I wasn’t even that good myself but I was determined to beat him. He promised to end me in basketball in turn and he was probably right, because that sport had for obvious reasons, mostly my height and tiny hands, never been my forte.

The way he was proudly showing me all of his hockey related belongings was incredibly endearing and his comments were super cute. It was clear that he loved the game and that nothing could stop this passion and I admired him for it.

Quite a while later I made my way back to my house, Yogi almost not wanting to get out of the humongous pool. Once I had the roller skates back on, I got in the mood for it and for the next hour we casually continued skating around, although this time I didn’t let him do all the work. I really needed to stop slacking and look up nearby gyms soon or I could kiss all of my hard work on my body goodbye.

The rest of my Saturday afternoon was spent texting Katie about lunch and in front of my tablet, facetiming the girls so I could relay the events of the day before. Safe to say there was constant screaming, squealing and lots of questions being shot at me. Lisa was incredibly pleased with herself because her plan of getting Tyler’s attention had worked but Emily was worried that it had worked a little too well while Mara kept saying that I was living her dream.

“You need to tone it down a bit, I think. You said you didn’t want to risk your friendship through sleeping with him right now, so you need to make sure that things don’t get this heated again or you’re going to get hurt”, she said softly and I knew she had a point. Keeping my hands off of Tyler for now would be the only way to avoid unnecessary drama. I knew his type and while I usually didn’t mind hookups, famous athletes weren’t the best choice in that department.

“From what you’ve told he sounds incredibly sweet but don’t forget that that could all be an act to get you to sleep with him. Don’t shut him out completely though, just kinda slowly test the waters but stay in the shallow part if you know what I’m getting at”, Mara threw in and started wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. I wasn’t entirely sure I knew what she meant but I also didn’t know if I wanted an explicit explanation on what she considered the shallow part to be exactly.

“And if you really need to get laid to get it out of your system, I have some people in your area I can hook you up with, literally”, Lisa threw in and if there wasn’t a screen between us, I’d have smacked her across the head.

I decided to not have a lazy Sunday for once, as I’d literally had lazy days for almost two weeks straight. Instead I grabbed measuring tape and walked into the second living room, soon to be my office. For the next three hours I was busy measuring everything and slowly putting together a plan on my tablet while also cursing the US customary system of units. I had lived the last seven years in the US and while I had gotten used to the seemingly random numbers over time, I was still convinced that it was only implemented to fuck with people.

The room was thankfully big enough to fit a medium-sized conference table that I’d need and my own desk without feeling crowded. The big windows weren’t optimal because of the computer screens, but they were facing north at least. They would also help to not make this room look like a bunker once I finally had everything I needed.

Happy with the work I had done I finally relaxed on my couch with Yogi curled up on top of me. I was full on prepared to spend the rest of my day with him like this, but Tyler had other plans. We’d only met half a week ago and seen each other every day since, mostly out of his initiative and today would apparently be no different. He asked me if I wanted to watch some movies ‘with the children’ and I invited him over to my place along with the dogs.

Ten minutes later he was standing at my door in shorts and a deliciously tight t shirt, the dogs excitedly circling his legs before greeting me enthusiastically. Afterwards I leaned up to hug him while he joked that I only liked him for the dogs.

“It’s a big part I’m not gonna lie”, I teased and ushered him inside where our children were already running around and playing with each other. They got along so well and it was a very cute sight to see.

“Your place looks really beautiful by the way, you have a great taste for this stuff”, he commented, picking up a throw pillow from the couch to inspect it further. It wasn’t the first time he’d been to my house, but last time he had only really focused on the kitchen because we were both really hungry.

I took him on a little tour around the house and pointed out different things along the way while we updated each other on any possible news.

“This is going to be the office but it doesn’t look like much right now, I have to go and buy all of the stuff that I need sometime this week so don’t judge me”

“I’m not judging but if you need some help I can come with you. I think I have a noon practice when you’re getting lunch with the girls so you can come with them to the arena after and I can take you”, he offered and I mentally had a slack jaw out of surprise. This was nothing like the Tyler that was always portrayed in the media, but I wasn’t sure if it was an act like Mara said or if he was being genuine. I needed to be careful but at the same time I really wanted to figure out why he bothered being so nice with me.

The dogs were following us around of course and I picked up Yogi and carried him upstairs, explaining to Tyler that he was scared of stairs for some reason. He insisted on getting to carry Yogi back downstairs because he thought it was cute. We also kept stopping because he asked me all kinds of questions and demanded stories to most pictures so by the time we finished the tour my stomach was already announcing that it was time for dinner.

“What do you want to eat?”, I asked him once we were back in my kitchen.

“Don’t tell on me but I’ve been craving pizza all day”, he responded and I laughed because he might be 27 but from what I’ve learned so far he’d have the eating habits of a five year old if he could.

“Am I going to get you in trouble if I make us some?”, I asked, already mentally checking if I had all of the needed ingredients in the house.

“You’re going to make me pizza? I was actually thinking of just ordering some but now there’s no way I’m turning that down so it’s going to have to be our secret, I guess”

“I’m not going to make you pizza, we are going to make pizza for the both of us because I really think it’s about time you learn how to make anything besides grilled cheese”, I chided him on his terrible cooking skills. It was a mystery how he’d survived so long without barely any basic knowledge in the kitchen, but I was planning to change that from now on.

I was currently both enjoying and regretting that decision at the same time.

I leaned against the kitchen island next to Tyler, trying not to drool over the way his big hands were working on the dough. I could see his muscles working under that tight shirt and honestly kneading pizza dough should not be this sexy, but Tyler somehow made my thoughts go in directions that were anything but appropriate.

“Can you get my hair out of my face? There’s this one strand that just keeps fucking with me”, he cursed and I laughed, softly reaching up to help him out. He wasn’t wearing a snapback tonight and his hair was all over the place by now, which was kind of cute but also definitely kind of hot. At this point my body didn’t know how to react anymore.

I was taking pictures of him ‘to commemorate these first steps’ and while I couldn’t exactly post any on social media without causing a shitstorm, I sent some of them to the girls, making the groupchat explode with messages. Tyler made me film him and add it to his insta story so he could show off his new skill to the world

Gerry and Yogi joined us on the couch while we waited for the dough to rise. Cash was sprawled out on the floor and Marshall had made himself comfortable on Yogi’s bed. I let Tyler pick out a movie while trying to make myself comfortable next to him. He had one arm resting on the back of the couch and I gradually found myself snuggling closer as the time passed. I had just put my head down on his shoulder when my timer reminded me that we had food to attend to.

I showed Tyler how to properly roll it out and then let him take over. His first try was so terrible that I found myself documenting everything again but the second time around he was doing much better already. With some help from me we soon had two near perfectly round pieces of dough ready to be turned into deliciousness.

Tyler had called me an European pizza snob when I’d told him that I didn’t have any peperoni because I didn’t like the greasy fake taste of the sausage but he let me pick out substitutes for him to add instead. Soon the smell made waiting even harder and I couldn’t concentrate on the film anymore but Tyler rubbing circles on my back probably played a part in that as well.

“You might be a snob but you know how to make pizza like damn”, he exclaimed after taking the first bite and I smiled proudly. America had much to learn when it came to pizza and I was more than happy to broaden his horizon in that department.

“That’s why I try to avoid most Italian restaurants here, the food there doesn’t taste the way it’s supposed to and American lasagna is a disgrace to the Italian masterpiece “

“Like I said, snob”

Afterwards we were cuddled up on the couch again and Tyler let me pick out the next movie. I desperately tried to avoid anything with romance or sex in it because I wasn’t sure I could handle that with him so close to me right now. I was leaning against the armrest and this time Tyler was using my lap as a pillow. I tried to stop myself but eventually gave in and started to weave my hand through his hair, softly stroking his head.

He let out a low hum of pleasure and I couldn’t help the direction my thoughts were now going. This much sexual tension was not normal, was it?

“Now I know why my dogs like you so much, you give the best head scratches, especially with those long nails”, he said and I laughed softly, not knowing what to respond instead.

Halfway through the movie I fully lied down and Tyler put his head right below my boobs, wrapping an arm around my body. Now we were both fully reclined on my couch and he had to rest some of his weight on me so we could both fit but I didn’t mind. I kept my hand in his hair at first but eventually moved downwards, slowly and lightly raking my nails across his back the way I knew guys loved.

“Fuck, this feels so good”, he murmured against me and my mind went straight back to the gutter again. How could it not when he was saying stuff like that?!

By the end of the movie I was close to passing out and Tyler wasn’t any different. He slowly untangled himself from me and then called for his dogs, who had fallen asleep already. He thanked me for the pizza and everything else and then he was out the door, leaving me to fall into a peaceful slumber, my dreams filled with images of him.

On Monday a package arrived for me, even though I hadn’t ordered anything lately. I was suspicious to open it but was rewarded with a new pair of the Givenchy slides Gerry had ruined. There was even a note attached that read:

Still sorry that Gerry chewed on your shoes but I’m also happy I got to meet you because of that

-Tyler

The gesture was so sweet that I couldn’t stop smiling for the next couple of hours. I sent a picture of me wearing them to Tyler, thanking him for the present and another picture of the note to the girls, who were of course freaking out again.

The day after that Tyler texted me to see if I was up for an adventure after he finished his workout at noon, an invitation I’d never turn down.

Tyler: It’s not dog-friendly, but you’re going to love the aquarium here it’s awesome

He told me that one of his friends could watch the dogs, the same one who would sometimes watch them whenever he had to go on roadtrips during the season. He said that this way we wouldn’t have to rush through and could grab a bite to eat afterwards as well. His offer was hard to turn down, so I agreed and quickly showered before picking out a cute outfit and leaving to pick him up. It was time to get some more kilometers on my new car.

“Nice car, is that the SQ5?”, Tyler whistled as I parked in his driveway to let Yogi out, who immediately ran ahead to greet him.

“Get your facts straight dude, that’s the SQ8. I thought you were into cars?”, I teased and stood up un my tippy toes to hug him.

“I am but I never really got into Audis, although looking at that I might have to”, he responded grinning and I lightly swatted at his chest before walking inside where his friend was already waiting. I’d brought stuff for Yogi and made sure that he was comfortable before we said our goodbyes and left. We pulled out on the driveway and Tyler typed in the address of the aquarium.

I let him select one of his playlists and was surprised to hear Justin Bieber blasting through my speakers. This guy was truly unpredictable. It was quite the sight to see this 200-pound, burly and bearded guy loudly singing along and knowing all the words to ‘Love Yourself’ but the hilarity of it had me in tears soon enough. His song choices kept surprising me until we finally pulled into the parking lot. I locked the car and turned around to see Tyler looking at me as if he was trying to figure something out.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but how are you affording all of this? You live in our neighborhood, you wear 200$ slides to the dog park and you drive a car that I’m pretty sure costs well over 100 grand. Do you make this much from developing apps only or is there a side business that you haven’t told me about yet?”, he asked curiously and I mentally flinched.

I didn’t mind talking about money with Tyler per se, he was well off himself for all that mattered, but I always got embarrassed talking about my past. However, if I had to talk about the way I had made loads of money, I might as well do it with somebody who was racking in large sums as well. His life was crazy enough that he might understand me.

“Do you want the short answer or the full story?”

“The full story of course. I got all day baby”, he tried to lighten the mood and I had to laugh at the pet name.

“Consider this your heads up though, it gets kind of crazy at some points”, I warned, before starting at the beginning.

Part Four here

#Slides and Serendipity #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #nhl players #hockey writing #tyler seguin #dallas stars #dallas #fanfiction #hot hockey players #nhl

[twokinkybeans]

Stark On Ice 6: Epilogue [Starker]

Read here on AO3!

-

Chapter 6: Epilogue

Peter sighs as he laces up his skates and pulls the zipper of the Midtown Ice Arena-themed vest a little higher. He already hears the loud, happy noise coming from the locker rooms. It’s not like he didn’t teach any classes during Celebrity Spin-Off, but it’s good to have more time for his students again.  “Mr. Parker, hi!” Peter turns around to see a young girl emerging from the locker room with a big, broad smile on her face. “You have to check out my double axel. I finally mastered the landing!” She’s beaming with happiness, and it warms Peter’s heart to see her enthusiasm. Before the TV show, she’d been nearly there- just… Just the final details had needed some work. “Don’t show me before you finish a proper warm-up though, go skate five laps first and do the regular routine. Can’t wait to see it!” His encouraging words reach her, and with a big smile, she sets foot on the ice to prepare herself for today’s class. Slowly, more and more students drop in, and before he knows it, the ice is rather filled. The next hour simply flies by.

-

Tony stares at the man presenting the current progress of the new project. Tony isn’t sure he even heard a word the man said. He never quite realized just how much he despises working as the CEO of Stark Industries. It’s tiring, having to make stupid business deals all the time. It’s not like the results are any good. He never really cared, but… Oh well. Ever since he started to care for Peter, he’s begun to care for other things in his life too.  A slight smile plays on his lips when he remembers Happy’s face when he gave the man a raise that doubled his salary. He earned it, and Tony is done with being a greedy billionaire. He wants to do something else. His fingers itch to throw everything he has overboard and make a run for it. He doesn’t know what he’ll be heading for, though. He has no plan. No idea. He’s never done something else, so how is he supposed to know?

“Mr. Stark, I would-” “Wait,” Tony sighs and shakes his head. “Look, boy, it isn’t you. I bet your presentation is wonderful and that the progress is going according to plan- few bumps here and there, yada yada. I, however, won’t be in charge of this deal.” The surprised echo going through the room is everything. Tony eyes the man’s name sign and grins.  “Michael, you’ve been working hard on this project. You know the revenue streams better than I do. If you want, I’ll leave you in charge to execute any decision related to this project.” The boy in front of the other people has a hard time to keep from crying. His eyes teary- filled with the recognition he’s been wanting so much. “T-Thank you, Mr. Stark, I don’t know what I did, but I would very happily accept the offer.” he stammers. Tony smirks. “It’s yours, fella.”

Michael takes a deep breath before he continues his presentation. Nervous but bold when he tells the clients what his plans are. Tony nods to himself. That was the right call. He made someone very happy here, and he doesn’t have to bother with it. He realizes he finally starts to trust people again. His employees. His friends, too. All because of Peter Parker with his ever-be-damned innocent puppy eyes. He wishes he could see Peter again soon. The boy is immensely busy with teaching and catching up with his YouTube channel and own training. Even though Celebrity Spin-Off may have eliminated them for the race - leaving Clint and MJ to win - the bookings for Dancing On Ice have been off the charts. Everyone wants to get a glimpse of Peter Parker with their own eyes. Tony wishes he could spend more time with his boyfriend, but he’s immensely proud of how the boy is doing. He’s famous, famous for being himself and the thought alone has Tony feel proud.

They haven’t seen each other in three weeks now. But Tony intends to surprise him tonight. Happy happily volunteered to be their chauffeur, and the restaurant had been more than excited to rearrange some tables to squeeze them in. Ned and MJ are a part of the secret plan, too, making sure Peter has the night off from something else.

-

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a long time now.” “Oh?” “Why aren’t you pursuing the Olympics? I may not be a professional, but I know enough about figure skating now to see you have the potential.” Tony’s voice is gentler than usual. Peter presses his lips together and casts his gaze down. The man knows he’s treading on thin ice and it has Peter feeling understood and more at ease simultaneously. He knows he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation. A simple “I don’t feel like it” would suffice. Peter wants Tony to know, though. He’s his boyfriend, for fuck’s sake. 

“My parents… They were rather famous pair skaters—multiple Olympic gold medals. My mom, she… The stress of having to upkeep her physique, athletic capabilities, relationship, and me-” Peter pauses for a short second, taking a deep breath. “It drove her to a massive panic attack during a show and she fell. Broke her ankle. Couldn’t skate again on the same level. It drove her insane. She got behind the wheel, drunkenly so, and crashed herself and my father into a tree in Ohio.” Peter’s voice wavers, and he shakes his head slightly. “I don’t… I don’t want to end up like them. I want to enjoy the sports. She grew to hate it. I couldn’t… I need this in my life. I can’t bear the thought of losing it. I’m good here. Shows, teaching. It’s still professional, and yet at the end of the day, I can still have a game night with Ned and stuff my face with a way too big pizza.”

Tony nods. Unsure what to say. Peter gives him a faint smile. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s been fifteen years now. Although it’s something I carry with me, it’s not… It’s not something that I’m allowing to dictate my life. Honestly, I’m having a grand old time, Tones.” “I’m so sorry, though,” Tony whispers and opens his arms. Peter hums appreciatively and crawls into his lap- straddling the thickened thighs. All these months of harsh training show on Tony. “I wish they were still here to see what an amazing young man you’ve become.” 

Peter scoffs, but his gaze betrays his pride. “Thanks,” he whispers and kisses Tony’s forehead. “Now, what about your parents? They left a mark on you too, didn’t they?” Tony shrugs. “My dad’s a prick. My mom never knew how to deal with that. They died before I could properly build a bond with her.” “How’d they die?” “Suspicious car accident. It’s never been confirmed exactly what or who did it.” “I’m sorry…” “Nah, honestly, as much as I miss the idea of them- I don’t miss them. They were never there for me when I needed them. I wish I could’ve had loving parents, but hey, at least they left me with a multi-billion-dollar company.” “I always forget how rich you are.” “Wanna be spoiled?” “Ugh, no. We’re good like this.” “Good.”

The both of them fall silent for a good minute after that. That is until Peter cocks his head and innocently brings his drink to his lips. “So-” he starts “-MJ and I have a plan for a new video for our channel.” Tony knows by the tone of the boy’s voice that it is something that Tony won’t necessarily like all that much. Or maybe he will. It’s about him, that’s for sure. “Oh?” He simply says. Peter chuckles. “Well, we figured it’d be fun to star you as a guest? People will love to see more of us skating together, and the fact that you’re Tony Stark only makes it better.” “What about MJ?” 

Peter’s smirk widens, and he grabs his phone that had been facedown onto the edge of the table. Tony groans. “Oh God, you got it all planned out, didn’t ya?” “Of course I did. Who do you think I am? MJ is in charge of all our social media and editing, but I? I make the scripts. Skating is much more than just a simple dance, eh? It’s a choreo. A story.” “Sure thing.” Peter scoffs and shakes his head as he scrolls through his phone, probably to find the right document or whatever it is he wants to show his boyfriend. “Thought I taught you more these past months,” he jokes. Tony chuckles.  “I’m still very much a rookie, Pete. Your world of figure skating, I- haven’t figured it out yet.” “Oh God, that’s the worst pun ever.” “Shush, I’m having an ice day.” Peter snorts and shoves his phone forward. “Maybe my choreo will shut your mouth.”

Tony can’t help biting down his lower lip as he spills his last joke. “Axel-lent.” Peter sends him a death glare after that, but the playful sparkle in his eyes betrays that he loves the convo. He nods at his phone, and Tony takes the hint. Dropping more jokes would be overkill now. (Yes, he knows more puns, and he won’t ever admit to Peter that he stayed up until 3 am a few nights ago to Google them).  He squints his eyes at the screen, cursing under his breath as his fingers slide down the screen to lower the brightness. As much as he doesn’t think he’s that old yet, his eyesight doesn’t agree. Peter, if he even noticed, doesn’t comment on it.

“I- Is this Romeo and Juliet?” “Well-” “MJ IS PARIS?” “Isn’t it romantic!” “Romeo and Juliet never came off as romantic to me, to be frank. Those teens had an unhealthy obsession and-” “Tony, I love Prokofiev’s music. You’re gonna have to bear with it. Be glad I didn’t cast you as Juliet.” “Did you steal this from that Netflix show? I know Justin’s a hottie, but-” Peter blushes a bright red, and Tony grins. “Does that mean you agree?” “Yes. Of course, I agree. But no, this choreo is very different. They were pair skating for the competition, and we’ll be making a little play. On ice. Plus, it’s not even the same song.” “Alright, alright. Agreed on Prokofiev.” “Good.”

Tony smiles as Peter continues to explain the rest of the choreo to him. The costumes he has in mind. Tony doesn’t like admitting things to himself- especially not when they’re good feelings. But he has to confess he likes this. Peter. Skating. Even acting, in a way. It unlocks a part of him that he’s never quite experienced before. Obviously, his job allows for minimal creativity, but it’s nothing, absolutely nothing, like this. 

-

A little over 11 months ago, the broadcasters asked Tony to participate in Celebrity Spin-Off; an annual TV series where celebrities get paired up with a professional figure skater and compete against each other. Well, he’d laughed in their faces, wondering why they’d even ask. Were they really that stupid? He had better things to do. “If you can find me a male skater who lets me lead, I’m in,” he’d scoffed sarcastically to brush them off. 

He’s still not sure why they took his answer seriously, but they had. Tony Stark doesn’t back out of a promise, though. So, here he is, lacing up his skates to record a YouTube video with his sweet, enthusiastic, now 22-year-old boyfriend and his bestie; dressed in a silver-lined tight suit to play Romeo out of all possible characters.

He’s never felt more alive.

(Especially not at 7 AM)

#stark on ice #soi #starker #peter parker #tony stark x peter parker #tony stark/peter parker #tony stark #peterxtony #tony x peter #peter parker x tony stark #Peter Parker/Tony Stark #spider man #spiderman #iron man #ironman #marvel #mcu fic #mcu #marvel fanfiction #fanfiction #fandom #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #AO3 fanfic #starker fanfiction #kimwrites

[willykappymarnsmatts]

Mine (T. Dermott)

Another request from the adorable @eikoxx 🥰💙

“Y/N, come with us!”

“Yeah, come on! Please!”

I roll my eyes and laugh quietly from my bedroom at my friends. One of my biggest regrets in life was giving them each keys to my dorm. They know I have work to catch up on, and I told them earlier that I wouldn’t be able to go out tonight, despite the fact that I said I could the day before.

“Y/N!” Travis bursts into the room, almost falling over from the momentum of him running basically through my door. “Y/N, come on!! You can work later. Please. We all have so much more fun when we’re with you,” he pleads.

I start to shake my head, but Kasperi, and then Auston and Mitch, followed by Willy, wander into the room behind Travis. “I literally cannot stand you guys. I don’t know why I’m friends with you. I should’ve taken the fucking job in Ottawa or something.” All four of them laugh at me, knowing that my mocking means they’ve convinced me to come. “No, I’m not joking. I literally hate you guys,” I continue as Kap sits at my desk which I’ve just deserted. Travis plops his ass down and sits cross-legged on the floor, Auston sits on my bed, allowing Mitch to crawl into his lap, and Willy leans casually against my door frame.

“Give me 10 minutes and I’ll be ready to go,” I mutter under my breath, and Travis jumps up to hug me and spin me around.

“We love you, Y/N!” He cries. I push him away laughing and gather together clothes, picking out an outfit with the guys’ help.

•••

Twenty minutes later, we’re in the car on the way to a bar called BarChef. It’s Willy’s pick, being his turn since the last time we went out he was the DD.

“Where do I go now, babe?” Kappy asks for the fifteenth time this drive as we come to a red light.

“Left,” Willy responds, squeezing their hands together, which are interlocked between them.

I try to fix my hair, using my phone as a mirror, when Mitch steals it from me and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “You look beautiful, don’t worry.” I rest my head against his shoulder and look out the windshield. Auston, Mitch, me, and Travis are squished in the back of Kappy’s car, but it’s nothing new. None of our cars legally fit more than five people, but we make it work.

I look over at Travis and catch him almost glaring at Mitch, but when he looks at me his face changes. I look at him questioningly, but he pretends not to notice. “How’s school going?” He asks instead.

“Good,” I say carefully, still very confused. “Good, I’m enjoying all my classes. I still have no idea what I want to specialize in.” I’m in my last year of university at U of T, and I’m really enjoying it, although it’s quite challenging.

“It’s okay,” he tells me. “You still have med school, then your residency, right?” I nod. He actually listens when I talk to him, unlike my girlfriends. “So you still have a really long time to decide. Residency will help you decide, I think.”

I smile at him. The way he’s looking at me, like I’m the only other person around, my chest constricts and my temples throb. I look away suddenly, staring at his shoes. I’ve never felt this way with Travis before, and I’m kinda freaking out. ‘It’s just Derms,’ I tell myself. ‘He’s one of your best friends. Just Travis.’

We pull into a parking lot of what looks to be a very busy bar. “Nicely done, Willy. You guys are gonna get noticed and I’ll just be left in the corner doing my own thing.

“Trust me, you idiot, nobody here likes hockey. It’s way too nice a place for sports fans.”

I laugh at him as the five of us climb out of the car. Travis takes my hand in his as Auston takes Mitch’s and Kap takes Willy’s. It’s a running joke that Travis and I will forever be single, and that the two couples shove their cute relationships in our faces.

When we walk into the bar, I immediately understand what Will was saying. It’s a modern, mature bar. Nothing that a Toronto sports fan would ever be caught dead at. A few girls sitting at a table near the entrance turn and stare at the guys, then glare at me. Travis notices and protectively puts his arm around my shoulders. “Jealous, much?”

“Of what, me hanging out with you guys? Please, I could do so much better.”

He laughs loudly and attempts to mess up my hair as I sit at a barstool, but I catch his hands and shove him into his seat. We’re both laughing like idiots and the guys are watching amusedly. Auston sits on the other side of me and leans into me slightly. “I don’t know how you two haven’t gotten together yet,” he chirps.

“Oh shush,” I respond as the bartender comes up to us to take out orders. We get our drinks and continue chatting and laughing. As I suspected, the guys get noticed by a group of good-looking girls. Their collective attention is away from me for about 15 minutes as they talk with the girls. I play with my straw and stare at my phone, pretending there’s something very enticing on the screen, when a tall, handsome guy comes and sits next to me in Travis’ seat.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and gravely.

“Hi,” I smile politely at him, hoping to make my disinterest obvious.

“Can I buy you another?” He asks, gesturing at my half full drink.

“No, I’m okay with this.” I turn away from him, when suddenly his chest is against my back and I can feel him breathing down my neck.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t want to say no to me,” he says into my ear. I flinch away, disgusted. I turn back around on the stool to face him.

“Excuse me?” I demand, sitting straight up. He moves close to me again, sliding between my legs. I glance over to where Travis and the guys are, still facing away from me. I take a deep breath and think about what to do. If I move away, he’ll get even angrier with me. He’s not as big as my friends, I could probably defend myself against him if I needed to, but I don’t really want to have to. I look over again at the guys, and Travis turns to look at me, a smile on his face. As soon as he looks at me and sees the guy, though, his face falls.

Travis ignores the girls and comes over to me quickly and shoves the man off of me. “What the fuck do you think your doing?” He demands.

“And who are you to ask?”

Anytime I’m put in this situation, the guys easily slip into the same lie. “Her boyfriend, fucker. Not that it’s any of your business.”

The man refuses to move, instead rolling up his sleeves. “Derms, stop,” I whisper. I know he hears me, but he chooses to ignore me.

“I wouldn’t try to fight me if I were you, bud,” Travis chirps, and I shake my head.

“Travis-“

The man's fist hits Travis square in the jaw, and his eyes flash. It’s his hockey face. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, leaning my elbow against the bar counter and leaning my head into my palm. It’s so easy for him to get pissed off when it comes to protecting me or any of his other friends or teammates.

Travis uppercuts him in the jaw, hard. Auston and Kap are at his side, with Mitch and Willy close behind. The amount of men facing off the man seems to intimidate him. He shakes his head and looks at me once more. “You’re going to wish you didn’t say no one day,” he tells me, turning to leave the bar. His words disgust me, sending a chill down my spine.

Travis wraps his arms around me, his eyes soft again.

“You okay, Y/N?” Kappy asks, rubbing my arm supportively. I smile at him.

“Let’s go,” Auston suggests. I start to shake my head. This is all the guys wanted to do tonight. Forget the stress of hockey, just chill and probably get wasted.

“He’s right, Y/N. It’s okay. We’ll go back to Travis’ and just play chel or something,” Mitch chimes.

The guys nod and grin at me. “I love you guys, you know?”

“Love you too,” they coo.

•••

Back at Travis’ place, we’ve all changed into more comfortable clothing. The guys have small pieces of their clothing at basically every team members’ houses, so they’re wearing their own clothing. I’m wearing a pair of Travis’s sweatpants, which I have knotted tight at the waist, and his team sweatshirt. We’re lounging on the couch, playing chel and cod while stuffing our faces with pizza and pop.

We laugh and yell at and throw pieces of popcorn at each other. I’m sitting next to Auston, my legs resting across his with my back against the armrest of the couch. Travis is sitting on the floor in front of me, his hair brushing my leg when he moves. Mitch is sitting next to Travis, in between Auston’s legs. Kappy and Willy are squished together on the armchair against the other wall, all of us focusing on the chel game between Will and Aus.

I continue kicking Auston’s arms slightly, trying to get him to press the wrong buttons. “Babes, will you please fucking stop,” he says for the fifteenth time. I giggle and stop momentarily, resting my legs to continue shortly.

“I thought I was babes,” Mitch whines, craning his head back to look up at him.

When the play stops, Auston leans down and kisses him. “You’re my babe.”

Mitch smiles, satisfied. Willy’s biting his bottom lip as he skates the puck up to Auston’s net and skates back and forth in front of it. He shoots and the puck ends up in the back of the net. The living room erupts in cheers and Auston slumps back into the couch, defeated once again.

Mitch crawls so he’s on his knees and stretches to kiss him. “I love you anyways,” he says, and Willy makes a face like he might vomit. Kappy pulls him into his chest before he can chirp them and kisses his hair. I look at Travis and catch him staring at me.

“What?” I whisper, smiling gently.

“Nothing,” he whispers back, shaking his head slightly. I mess his hair as I stand up to go to the washroom, trying my best not to kick Mitch in the back of the head. I feel eyes on the back of my head as I leave the room, but when I turn Travis is staring pretty much through the television.

After many more rounds of chel, the guys start getting their stuff together to head home. We decide to leave our dress clothes at Travis’, knowing we don’t go out places with any other groups, the losers that we are. I’m slipping on my boots while the guys are decide who gets to drive and who to drop off first.

“Kap, you drive,” Auston suggests. “You can drop Mitch first, and I’ll just stay the night. Then bring Willy to his place then go home.”

Will is staring at me, the only one to remember how far out my student residency is from everyone else’s houses. “Uh, it’s okay. I’ll… take an Uber?”

“Are you sure?” Mitch asks, a worried look on his face. “It’s really late.”

“Yeah, I’ll, um, I’ll be okay,” I say, glancing out the window at the pitch black.

“No, no, Y/N, stay the night.” Travis says from further inside the entrance hall.

“Hm? Are you sure, Derms? You have practice tomorrow morning and I don’t have any classes.”

“Yeah, of course. You can come to practice with us, or just chill here. Whatever. Just stay, please.”

I’m still not sure. It’s not like I haven’t stayed over at each guys’ place at least once, but I feel bad because he has to wake up early. But he’s giving me his stupid puppy dog eyes, and nobody can say no to Travis when he does that. “Fine, okay, I’ll stay,” I mutter, toeing off my boots.

“Okay, we’ll get going,” Auston says, and we give hugs and say goodnight. Once they all leave, Travis shuts and locks the door behind them.

“Do you want other clothes to sleep in?” He asks, not really looking at me.

“No, I think I’m okay.” We try to tidy up the living room a little bit, picking up empty pizza boxes and half-full bowls of popcorn and chips in comfortable silence. “Hey, thanks for sticking up for me at the bar.”

“Oh, you don’t have to thank me. What are best friends for?” He smiles at me wide.

I smile back, and we look at each other. His eyes are so blue, so bright. “Yeah, best friends,” I whisper, picking up a can from the ground and glancing up at him again. He hasn’t moved, still looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face. The same clenched chest, throbbing temples, falling feeling from the car comes back. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down, but it doesn’t help. My heart beats faster, if anything.

Travis drops the two pizza boxes he picked up on the coffee table and moves toward me. He takes one step, two steps, and he’s right in front of me. It would be so easy to close the small space between us. I feel his breath against my lips, and it would be so easy-

Suddenly, it’s not an idea anymore. One of his hands is on my waist, the other under my chin. And his lips are on mine, his body is flush against mine. He pulls away suddenly and looks at me. “Okay?” He asks breathlessly, his blue eyes flicking between each of mine, searching.

“Okay,” I whisper back. He leans in and kisses me again, sending my stomach into flips. My chest clenches again and my temples throb with yearning. But I don’t try to will the feeling away now. Instead I pull him closer to me. I want all of him, and I don’t try to deny it anymore. Because this is Travis, my best friend in the world. And this is Travis, my favourite person in the world. The only person that matters in this moment. My person. And I tell him by kissing him with every emotion and word I’ve been keeping back. His arms are strong against me and his hand is in my hair. I clench his shirt in my hands and pull him closer. “You’re mine,” I manage to whisper when he pulls away slightly for air. “I’ve been waiting for this for so fucking long, Travis,” I tell him.

He laughs gently against my lips. “You are very mistaken, love. I have been waiting for this moment from the moment I met you. You, Y/N, are mine. And I’m gonna let the world know.”

#travis dermott #travis dermott fic #travis dermott imagine #auston matthews #travis dermott/reader #mitch marner #william nylander #kasperi kapanen #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs fic #toronto maple leafs imagine #hockey #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #friends to lovers #willykappymarnsmatts

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Dinger Holfield

(Not my gifs)(requested by @angstybanksy96 )

- You had known Dinger nearly your whole life; considering you’re Bobby’s sister.

- He was always trying to get a rise out of you while growing up. Stealing your earrings and clothing; not to mention borderline breaking into your locker and taking your textbooks when he doesn’t have his.

- To say the least: he was a little shit to you; even if he was older and at least four inches taller than you. But that all changed during your first year in high school.

- You and bobby where only a year apart in age so it wasn’t long after that you joined high school alongside him. Bobby started acting weird after his crash and Dinger didn’t like it, especially the part where Bobby blew him off to go do things on his own.

- So, Dinger thought, if Bobby doesn’t want to hang out he’ll have the next best thing: You.

- That’s how you found yourself waking up to Dinger jumping on your bed and demanding that you hurry up so you guys wouldn’t be late to school.

- You honestly thought he’d fallen too; just like your brother had. You had never walked to school together nor had he ever been in your room before... but here the two of you were.

- He looped his arm around your waist the instant you stepped out of your room and began to plan out your day together as you began your journey to school. Honestly he was almost cute when he wasn’t being an insufferable asshole.

- Although by the end of the day you had probably felt his forehead at least ten times to make sure he hadn’t come down with something and stared at him like he had three heads for a good part of your time together because this ... was just bizarre.

- It proved to a fairly permanent thing from that moment on you, couldn’t get rid of the boy. You barely had any alone time ... although on the contrary he wasn’t treating you like an annoying child. Instead you were his friend, his best bud, the girl he would fight a man over if they ever tried taking the last Keller away from him.

- You tried avoiding him for a while but he never took no for an answer and always found you when you tried to hide from him so you were stuck being the stand in for Bobby.

- It wasn’t a very noticeable change at the beginning but after a little while you did start to sense something was ... different. The hang outs began getting more “romantic” rather than platonic.

- You didn’t go to the skate park anymore instead he took you out to dinner or lunch, even managed to hold your hand a few times. He swapped out “dude” for “babe” or “sweetheart”.

- Most people honestly thought you guys had begun dating. You figured once your brother began acting normal again Dinger would go back to his old self but he almost seemed to enjoy your company more than your brothers and insisted you join them nearly anytime they went out.

“Well go on, say you love me. I’m waiting, I’m ready… please.”

- You were sat beside him on your bed reading when all of a sudden he blurted that out. When you looked up he was lying dramatically across the bed moping and watching you with what you could only describe as a pout.

- You took a moment to watch him before you leaned over and kissed him quickly. You then went back to reading; but not before seeing the wide smile that lit up his face. He laid against your torso for the rest of your “hang out” occasionally coming up to kiss you again.

“I can’t believe you’ve been here all along and I’ve not kissed you before now.”

- Your relationship is the epitome of what happens when you’re dating your best friend.

- The man has a sense of humor. A lot of sarcasm and teasing. There’s also a lot of his jokes include him overreacting and dramatically insisting upon things.

“If you don’t wear my jacket you’ll die of a cold and then I’ll have to explain to your brother why his little sister is being lowered into the ground. Don’t make me have to explain to him why you’re dead y/n!”

- Soft kisses on your temples and cheeks when you’re alone.

- Walking down the hallway with his arm slung around your shoulders and a big smile plastered on his face.

- He loves messing with your hair and making it look wild.

- You can almost feel his smile as he kisses down your jaw.

- He likes to pick out ‘cool’ outfits for you; it’s the girl version of his clothing. He likes to call you his ‘mini me’.

- Fights rarely happen. He has slight detachment issues, he fears you’ll want to break up for real whenever you guys ‘take a break’ or when you’re giving him the cold shoulder. He leans against your locker with a frown on his face while you ignore him.

- He still walks you home and sits next to you during lunch hoping that you’ll talk to him.He apologizes constantly and tries to kiss your cheeks and get back on your good side. He’ll try his hardest to make you talk to him; his efforts becoming more and more extravagant and desperate the longer you ignore him.

- He sleeps over a lot because of your brother; sometimes managing to sneak into your room when Bobby falls asleep.

- He knows how to comfort you pretty well. He always seems to know what to say or do to get you to relax.

- Helping him dye his hair. He gets so excited whenever he can get a new color, he also loves sitting down and relaxing as he feels your hands in his hair.

- He waits outside your classroom so he can walk you to your next class.

- He will literally runs down the hall to meet you whenever he sees you walking (when his leg isn’t broken of course).

- Speaking of: he has definitely hit or poked your butt with his cane.

- Stealing Coleman’s flowers to give to you. He has actually taken a whole plant, root and all. He neglects to tell you where the flowers are from because he knows you’ll most likely feel bad.

“Y/n, y/n/n, honey, baby, sweetie, darling.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

- He likes to pick you up and spin you around.

- Dancing stupidly together without a care in the world.

- He’s not jealous at all. No man alive is like Dinger and all you want is him.

- Your brother gives him the “If you hurt her I’ll hurt you” talk.

“You’ve known me for how long Bobby? I would never go against your wishes.” He’s telling nothing but the truth; he would kill himself before hurting you.

- Need to do something? He’s doing it with you! Don’t bother trying to stop him, this clingy bitch is someone you’ll never get rid of yet it’s kind of fine with you.

- He’s probably licked the whole side of your face to gross you out.

- Being able to just sit on his lap without it having to turn sexual. Just enjoying being close to each other.

“Can I cut your hair?”

“Dinger if you bring scissors anywhere near my hair I’ll cut your hands off.”

- Ridiculous encouragements. If you are on stage or play a sport he cheers loudly and makes sure everyone knows you’re his.

“See her? That’s my girlfriend.” Cue a wide proud smile.

- He beams whenever you touch him especially when you fuss over his face for whatever reason.

- Stupid plans. You have to talk him out of many of these plans.

“Do you think I could convince them I’m your father and you’re below the age of twelve?”

“Watch your fucking mouth y/n.”

- He just genuinely blurts out whatever random shit that comes to his mind.

- He sings you songs in funny voices to make you laugh.

- Calls you to say goodnight and comes over to wake you up in the morning before school.

“Wakey, wakey sleeping beauty.”

- People watching is a pretty regular thing. He likes to mock people with you usually judging people’s fashion sense.

“Well my girlfriends better than yours.”

- Definitely has a ton of catch phrases that you’ve stolen once in a while. He’s actually very proud that his Dinger language is catching on.

- He gets easily worried about you. In general he hates seeing you struggle and after what happened with Bobby he also doesn’t want you magically getting all weird one day.

“Dinger you’re the one with the broken leg. Worry about yourself; I’m fine.”

- Getting junk food together; ice cream shops and pizza usually. For such a skinny lil dude he eats a lot.

- He writes his name on your wrist and draws a heart on your palm every morning. He always kisses the little heart drawing when he’s finished.

- He makes it obvious that he doesn’t think of your relationship as a cutesy highschool fling. He loves everything about you and fully plans on keeping you as long as he can.

- He’s honestly already planning the wedding.

“But Bobby if I marry her we’ll be brothers.”

- He wants to name your kids something stupid, be careful and stand your ground or you’ll end up with a child named megatron or something.

#dinger holfield #dinger holfield x reader #dinger holfield imagine #dinger holfield headcanons #dinger holfield headcanon #dream a little dream headcanons #dream a little dream headcanon #dream a little dream imagine #dream a little dream x reader #80s movies #80s movie #80s imagine #80s imagines #80s movie imagine #80s movie headcanons #80s movie headcanon

[theashemarie]

Meet Me on the Rink | Pearlina

["I like to go fast, Marina told her last week, and Pearl sees it now. The long profile of her body as she moves the quad skates, gliding as fast as she can around all the people, in tempo with Wet Floor’s Don’t Slip. She’s built for it, all those long lines, those muscled legs, the pumping of her arms. It’s intoxicating to watch her, especially for someone like Pearl, who loves these skates and this rink like she loves her home. Someone like Marina is exactly who she needs."]

[Roller Derby AU. A belated offering for Pearlina Week!] 

[A collab between @theashemarie and @katiemonz. Concept by Ashe and Katie. Written by Ashe. Companion art piece (and punny nicknames) by Katie.] 

[Crossposted on AO3]

☆ Reblogs appreciated! ☆

↪Chapter 1: [Don’t Slip] (You are here!) ↪Chapter 2: [Pick Me Up, Jump Lightly]

------

Ch. 1: Don’t Slip

The rink is almost full, which isn’t surprising. Fresh2Death is a popular team, even if Pearl’s barely heard of the other team, so people will show up in droves regardless of the actual match. From her vantage point in the stands, she can see Marie’s head, her gray-white hair pulled back and barely visible from under her backwards cap, and she easily recognizes the relaxed angle of her shoulders. The match is going well for her team. They’re in the second period and they’re up quite a few points—and, most importantly, her jammer currently has the lead, which means that she can end the jam if their point advantage looks to be in danger.

The jam is over a minute in so Pearl imagines that it won’t last longer, but she’s still on the edge of her seat. Fresh2Death’s current jammer—Loch Mess Monster (Four to her friends)—is small and fast, just like Pearl, and she’s good at finding openings in the pack, especially when her team is setting up for whips and walls. Pearl’s raced her a few times and they’re pretty evenly matched on the open track, though Pearl is better at leaping around the curves. Still, Four is good, so when she takes a hard hit to the side and is knocked out of bounds, Pearl feels her legs twinge a little when she lands on her knees. She can hear the smack of her kneepads all the way up here.

Four gets up easily and is forced, as according to the rules, to reenter the pack behind the person who knocked her out. Just barely, Pearl sees her glance at Marie, who is shaking her head. Keep going, she’s saying. We can score more points.

Because she was the first jammer to break through the pack at the beginning of the jam, Four has control over when to end the jam before the two minute limit is reached. The safe move there would have been to just end the jam, because the knockout put her back quite a few feet. However, her teammates, the blockers, are doing a great job stopping the other jammer from passing them and scoring. Plus, Marie is known for her risky moves, even on a runaway game like this one. She’s a legend in Inkopolis’s derby scene for a reason.

Four gets back on the track and is immediately accosted by the skater who knocked her out of bounds. Luckily for Four, a vertical grate is right in front of them, scattering the pack as everyone either sails through it in squid form or attempts to swerve around it. Just beyond, there’s a patch of green ink—Four’s team’s color—and Pearl sees her eyes land on it. If she can get herself into it, she can free herself of some of the blocker pressure and get some speed.

But the other team’s blockers see it too. And Four’s blockers see them. The other jammer is somewhere in the pack, closed on by Fresh2Death’s blockers and stuck behind a wall of two skaters. The other two blockers move to play defense, attempting to keep the other team from walling Four off.

Pearl feels her leg start to bounce. Four jukes toward the left, heading toward the inside of the curve, but then swings to the right. She passes one of the other team’s blockers, gaining a point, and then is blocked off by two more. The skates are loud on the floor as they shove at her, trying to knock her out of bounds, but she lowers her center and sails right into them. They throw their arms out, blocking her pass, and she jukes again, this time using the curve of the floor to head left again. Two of her own blockers meet her and they whip her forward, right into the ink.

She slides in and disappears, nothing more than a small ripple. Two of her blockers follow, flanking on either side, and when she hops out, she’s passed all four of the other team’s blockers. Marie waves her arms and whistles, a sharp, high pitched sound that Pearl knows well, and Four jabs her hands onto her hips multiple times, signaling the end of the jam.

“A grand slam,” the girl sitting beside Pearl says. She’s one of Pearl’s teammates, a blocker that keeps Pearl safe while she’s running jammer. Their team, Creatures of the Smack Lagoon, is Fresh2Death’s rival, and both Pearl and her companion are here to scope out the competition. Three (“Kraken Skullz” during a match) is one of Pearl’s closest friends on the team, and one of the most skilled blockers Pearl’s ever had the pleasure of playing with. She trusts Three more than she trusts herself sometimes.

“All thanks to Eight.” Pearl indicates one of Fresh2Death’s blockers, a tall, dark-skinned girl with the strangest hair Pearl’s ever seen. She’s one of Fresh2Death’s strongest skaters, and she’s currently looking up into the stands, probably trying to spy Three.

Eight (“Agent 8”—a joke Pearl isn’t sure she gets but which brings Three intense glee) and Three are close. Closer than they should be, considering they’re on rival teams. But, the captains don’t know and Pearl isn’t going to tattle. No fraternization is the rule, but Three laughs in the face of most rules. Eight, who is quiet and seems to have a wicked intelligence behind those eyes, doesn’t seem to care either, but Pearl has trouble reading her sometimes. Still, they seem happy, so Pearl isn’t going to say anything.

Three waves down at her, trying to get her attention. “Yeah, I saw. That was a sick whip. She grabbed Four’s hand and threw her so fast toward that ink. It’s like she’s got super strength or something.”

Pearl grimaces, because she gets that. Eight is notorious for her whips, specifically because of that strength of hers. Sometimes, Pearl doesn’t think it should be legal, but other times she sees plays like that and she doesn’t care.

“Looks like she’s off the next jam. I’m gonna go see her,” Three says as she stands. Eight is tugging her helmet off and slapping another blocker in so Marie must feel pretty confident in their lead now.

Pearl nods and watches Three go. Her long hair sways as she bounces down the stairs and Pearl sees her lean over the railing to give Eight a hug.

Alone now, Pearl checks her phone. No new messages from Callie. The last one is seared into her memory—find the new girl. She groans and stuffs her phone back into her pocket. Easier said than done, apparently.

“This seat taken?” A new, unfamiliar voice asks, and Pearl looks up. The only thought she has is tall before her brain gives up entirely. Because she is tall, but she’s also beautiful, and smiling, and has long, strange hair just like Eight’s which is also somehow nothing like Eight’s. And yeah, she’s talking to Pearl. She’s smiling at Pearl. Pearl in her dark, desperately-needs-a-wash hoodie and her baggy eyes and her bruised knees.

“Sorry,” the woman continues, and her voice has a musical quality to it, all lilting and enchanting. Of course it does. “This place is packed, and I saw your friend leave. I hope it’s okay...”

 “Uhhh,” Pearl begins, suddenly losing control of her tongue. She shakes her head to snap herself out of it. “I mean! Yes! Fuck, yeah, it’s open. Please.”

“Oh good. Thank you.” She sits primly next to Pearl and tugs impulsively on her jacket. She’s wearing tight, ripped jeans, a bandanna around her head, and a leather jacket over a soft, green shirt. She’s also got boots that Pearl really admires.

“Marina,” she continues, holding out a hand for a shake. It’s so formal that Pearl almost has to do a doubletake.

“Pearl,” Pearl answers, limply grabbing her hand. Marina’s hand is calloused like a Turf War regular’s, but her shake is strong and Pearl forces herself to tighten her grip. Competitive to a fault, she’s not going to let anyone one-up her.

Even if she is undeniably gob smacked.

“You ever been to a roller derby before?” Pearl hears herself ask.

Marina laughs, a high chiming sound, throws her head back with it, exposing the long expanse of her neck. Pearl feels her stomach bottom out. It’s such a strange feeling; she usually isn’t this desperate or pathetic.

“A few,” Marina answers, covering her hand with her mouth to hide her smile. “You?”

“Me? Oh, a few. Yeah.” Pearl looks back to the track, wishing that they’d just get on with it so she’d have something to focus on other than how hot she feels under her hoodie. Carefully, she shrugs out of it, so she only has her tank top between her and the world.

“Excellent,” Marina says. She leans forward on her knees. “It’s always nice to sit next to someone who knows what’s going on.”

Pearl swallows and decides that she very much doesn’t know what’s going on. Not really.

+++

Roller derby has been an underground sport for a while. Adapted from human roller derby, it never really reached the same notoriety as Turf War or Tower Control or Rainmaker or Splatzones, mostly because it didn’t require much ink. The rules were left mostly unchanged from the human sport, though a few obstacles were added to make the game more interesting, both in an attempt to draw more fans and to challenge the players, who had no problem jostling and skating around in circles for two minutes.

Grates were added to break up the packs and add a little variety and forethought. It wasn’t just skating in circles anymore. Now the skaters had to look further ahead and plan their moves well in advance. Jammers could escape walls in a grated section of the track, blockers could get in front of jammers, and pivots could maneuver into a better position. The skaters could either squid through the grates, losing a little momentum, or go around, breaking up the pack. (Personally, Pearl thought anyone who went around was a chump. She preferred to flip through the grates, maintaining as much speed as she could by pushing off with her skates into a forward roll, sliding into squid form, rolling through the grate, and then landing on her feet, losing only a little of her speed in the process. It was an advanced move, patented by Pearl “The Pearlverizer” herself, but she still thought the best strategy was to just take the momentum hit if it meant remaining in the pack.)

Ink was added to increase strategy. Before each period, the captains were given a precise amount of ink to lay on the track. The amount was the same for both teams and the captains could use it both defensively and offensively, either giving their team long stretches of breathing room where they could gain speed or providing a roadblock for the other team. Jammers usually always go for their ink, because it enables them to score easy points, so enemy blockers often have to cut them off before they can get to it, often by herding them away from it. Other times, the captain may put a long line of ink on the track perpendicular to their movement, forcing the enemy team to cross paths with it. They either have to jump over it or risk losing momentum or even getting stuck.

Otherwise, the rules were the same. Each team fielded a jammer and four blockers. The jammer was supposed to lap the other team’s blockers to gain points. The first jammer to break through the pack at the beginning of each two-minute jam was named the head jammer and could then control when the jam ended (before the two-minute time period was up). The blockers attempted to both block the other team’s jammer and to assist their own jammer in scoring points. The pack was a dangerous place full of shoving.

Needless to say, Pearl loves it.

She once had dreams of making it on the Rainmaker scene, but then her teenaged rebellion kicked in and she decided she needed to do something more dangerous and unorthadox to get her father to pay attention to her. Growing up rich and largely isolated on a massive estate had done some things to her sense of the world, so when she stumbled onto roller derby, with its team play not unlike what she was used in Rainmaker (except now with physical violence!) she was smitten. She joined a small team and quickly found her place as jammer. Small and fast was the name of the game, and Pearl was one of the smallest and fastest.

Derby became her home, even as she moved from team to team. Eventually, she ended up on a team with Three. Then they ended up on Tsunami Calamari, headed by Callie and Marie. Now she’s on Creatures of the Smack Lagoon because Callie and Marie can’t get along when it comes to derby. And she still loves it. She adores it, and not for the same reasons her teenaged self did.

Things are good. She has a family. She has a passion. She has a place.

And now, apparently, she has a crush.

+++

Fresh2Death wins the match, unsurprisingly. Marie puts Eight back in after they lose a few points and Four is traded out for a few jams so she can rest, but it’s still a blowout. Three never returns to reclaim her seat, most likely because she can see Pearl’s flushed, panicked expression from her new spot near the front. She even sends Pearl a thumbs up, the cheeky little shit, and mouths something that looks like “she’s gorgeous!!!” with a huge smile. Sometimes, Pearl regrets letting her friends know just how gay she is, because then she ends up in situations like this: in public, suffering from a panic because a cute girl is talking to her with no help coming her way. Some wingman.

Most surprisingly though, Pearl manages to get herself under control after a couple jams. Marina is clearly more interested in the match than in her, if the way she’s leaned forward onto her knees with her hands over her mouth is anything to go on. Her eyes are trained on pack, especially on Four as she’s put back on the field, and she hoots and hollers with the crowd when the blockers get rough or a jammer breaks through. At one point, she even springs to her feet to yell at Four to push it, and when Four shoves her way through, gaining three more points, Marina cups her hands around her mouth and hollers so loud that Pearl feels her hearts stop, simultaneously, for a second.

Between jams they talk, mostly about the match, but sometimes about the weather. Pearl hangs on every word but tries to make herself seem aloof and calm, answers with a smoothness that she definitely isn’t feeling, and she can tell that Marina is interested in her, especially when she smiles her most wicked, killer smile—the one she reserves for moments like these, when she’s trying to impress someone with the sheer force of her suave persona. She’s realized that most people are drawn to someone who seems comfortable in their own skin, and Marina seems to be no exception.

“How long you been into derby anyway?” Pearl asks after Four calls the end to another jam. She’s been the lead jammer far too many times this period, which is making the match kinda stale, in Pearl’s opinion. She likes them best when it’s an equal fight—more interesting that way.

Marina, who had been standing and bouncing slightly as Four hopped the corners and was whipped forward by Eight again, plops down next to Pearl. Her jacket, long discarded during the heat of a jam, is pooled on her seat but she doesn’t seem to mind as she sits on it. “A little bit.” Marina’s face is flushed with excitement, tinted the same neon green as Fresh2Death’s outfits and ink, and her hair is wild, moving as if it has a mind of its own. It bounces with each head movement and even brushes into Pearl’s bare shoulder a few times, igniting a few sharp nerve endings under her skin. She has to stop herself from shivering every time.

“You really like Fresh2Death, huh?” Pearl indicates Marina’s hair, its color, and her shirt.

Marina shrugs and looks down at her hands, suddenly pensive. “I’m new in town and they’re the first team I stumbled on. Plus, they’re one of the best.”

Pearl can’t argue with that. Both Fresh2Death and her own team are top ranked, always winning their matches, but she’s also a little biased. “What about Creatures of the Smack Lagoon?” She tries to sound nonchalant and not like Marina’s answer has the possibility to destroy part of her. After all, her team is her family, but, for some reason, Pearl finds herself very invested in Marina’s opinions.

“They’re good,” Marina answers, causing Pearl to relax a little. “They play a little dirty, but I admire that. Their main jammer is a sick skater. She’s so fast.”

Pearl looks up at her then, suddenly terrified that Marina is playing with her. She has to know, right? This can’t be a coincidence...

But Marina’s face is so earnest, without a hint of deceit, and Pearl has no choice but to believe that she really just doesn’t know what Smack Lagoon’s main jammer looks like. It’s possible, considering the helmets and the face paint and the speed.

(And the fact that Pearl tries very hard to keep people from figuring out who she really is. She’s not the rebellious teenager anymore and she understands what kind of press Hime Houzuki: Roller Derby Princess would get. She has a deal with her father that she keep a low profile—as low a profile as she can manage while playing on one of the top teams—and in return he lets her do what she wants without comment. He even helps fund the league, albeit under a false name. Really, it’s amazing what a difference a change of hair and clothing will do to keep you hidden. When she’s doing things on behalf of her father, she’s all soft edges, soft expressions, longer hair, and poofy dresses. But in the derby scene she’s all teeth, sharp edges, ripped fishnets, studded bracelets, short, bobbed hair, and snarls. No one ever recognizes the soft, humanitarian princess from the news.)

“Yeah,” Pearl answers, trying not to sound too proud. “She’s fuckin’ stellar. She’s one of my favorites.”

Marina smiles then and nods. “I’ve only been to one of their matches, but I plan on going to more. Would you like to join me?”

Pearl has a flash of panic, because she can’t very well agree to that. But she so desperately wants to say yes. But she can’t. Oh fuck, what will she say?

“Oh wait...” Marina cuts in, as if reading Pearl’s mind. Is her facial expression that obvious? “Creatures of the Smack Lagoon doesn’t have a match for two weeks.” Pearl breathes out softly, because she forgot about that. Callie is out of town and they can’t very well have a match without her.

“The Fishnets are up against Fresh2Death next weekend,” Marina continues. “Wanna meet up then? It’s nice to have a friend who’s into these things.”

Pearl doesn’t want to sound too eager, but she also is so eager, so she says “Yes!” way too quickly. It makes Marina laugh and she smiles again, a warm thing that makes Pearl ache inside.

+++

A few days later, Pearl and Three are skating around The Lagoon, the skating rink nearest Inkopolis Square. (There are at least three in downtown.) There are two rinks in this building, one banked and one flat, and Pearl and Three have made a tradition of a weekly Wednesday meetup, where they race each other around the banked track and then take to the flat one, Wet Floor blasting over the speakers, lights flashing in disco patterns. They skate together, talking and practicing jumps, spray ink on the rink and see how much speed they can gain in the smallest splotch possible. It’s an excuse to goof off and let off steam, Pearl from her double life and Three from whatever it is she does during the week. Pearl really has no idea what she gets up to and knows better than to ask at this point.

The truth is that this rink belongs to Pearl. Her father built it as a birthday present a few years ago and it’s what Creatures of the Smack Lagoon calls home. It’s also what Pearl calls home, especially on the weekends, when she’s free of any sort of responsibility. If she could, she would spend all of her time in here, skating in circles, screaming her lungs out along to every song that she knows. She feels her freest when she’s on skates or when she’s singing, so when she’s doing both she’s pretty sure she could fly.

“So,” Three says as she and Pearl skate together on the flat rink. Their rhythm matches the song and their feet move in synchronized movement, only falling out of sync when they come to a corner and Three has to lengthen her stride to get around at the same speed. “Did you see Fresh2Death’s new blocker? I never found her.”

Pearl sighs, because she forgot all about the whole point of being at the match. Rumor had it that Fresh2Death had a new blocker, one who was supposed to change up the whole team dynamic, and Three and Pearl were supposed to get a look at her, see how she played. Callie was adamant that they find out about her before the annual Fresh2Death/Creatures of the Smack Lagoon rematch next month, so they could adequately prepare. But it seemed like Marie was hiding her away for now.

Callie and Marie were cousins, everyone knew that, and they got along most of the time. But, when it came to derby, they couldn’t stand each other. Too many different opinions on how a jam should be played, how a team should be organized, how strategies should work. Most of the time, they were best friends, hanging out together during the week without problem, but when the weekend came and matches took over their lives, they were like acid toward each other. It was incredible to see, truthfully, but Pearl understood it. She led a double life too, albeit a completely different kind of double life, but she understood how it worked.

“Why don’t you ask Eight?” Pearl says eventually as they round another corner. The rink is empty, as it always is on Wednesdays, so she feels pretty safe talking about Three’s compromising relationship.

Three shakes her head and flips so that she’s skating backwards. Her expression is serious. “She would never tell me. You know how it is. When it comes to derby, we’re enemies.”

That’s true and Pearl knows that it hurts Three a little. She loves Eight with her whole being and it’s hard for her to turn it off when they’re facing off on the track. Eight, meanwhile, is way better at compartmentalizing her life, though Pearl has noticed that she tends to lighten up on her blocks when it comes to Three. She never really shoves Three too hard.

“Well, I guess Marie’s hiding her away until the big match. Guess we’ll just have to think on our feet.”

Three nods and flips back around so she can match Pearl’s stride again. It’s pretty uncommon for them to just skate in circles like this, all told. Usually, they skate erratically around the rink, dancing to the music, flipping from one foot to the other, jumping, skating on one foot, just generally showing off to each other. But, today, something is different. Pearl begins to feel a little antsy as they complete their third circuit.

“So,” Three begins again. “Who was that at the match anyway? She seemed into you.”

There it is. Pearl bites her lip and focuses on her feet for a second. She’s not sure how much she wants to say. She trusts Three like a sister but this whole thing with Marina feels precious in its newness. Does she want to tarnish that with idle chatter?

Oh, who is she kidding. Of course, she wants to talk about it. “She’s just a girl,” she says, trying to sound nonchalant and not like she was completely blown away. “She’s new to Inkopolis and she’s really into Fresh2Death.”

Three winces and cuts across Pearl’s path so she can skate in the middle of the rink while Pearl continues her circuits. The playlist Pearl loaded up is almost over, only a few quiet songs left, so they can easily hear each other from across the rink. “Ouch man. That’s rough. Too bad she’s not into Smack Lagoon. Then you’d actually have a chance.”

Pearl can’t help but laugh at the gentle teasing. “Hey!” she calls, indignant, and she cuts her loop short so she can speed toward the middle, where Three is rolling around on one foot, clearly taunting her. “You bet your ass I have a chance! She asked to meet up next weekend!”

Three puts her foot down and pushes off toward Pearl. They circle each other, in a sort of familiar stare off. “Wow, I’m impressed. When I saw her sit down next to you, I was sure you were gonna piss yourself. Congrats on holding it together.”

Pearl takes a light swing at her head but Three easily dodges by bending over backwards. “You’re the fuckin’ worst. Why do I hang out with you?”

Three grins a toothy grin and heads toward one of the entrances to the rink. Easily, she hops up onto the carpeted half-wall. “Because I keep your ass safe on the track!” she calls, and she begins to unlace her skates.

She has a point, but that doesn’t mean Pearl has to say so. She skates up to her and allows herself to slam into the wall with a loud bang, like a child skating for the first time. Three drops a skate to the ground and tugs at the laces on the other.

“You gonna go?” she asks. “Because I think you should. Fishnets versus Fresh2Death right?”

Pearl leans back on the wall, stretching her back and getting some of the pressure off her aching knees. Skating is fun, but it puts a lot of stress on her legs. “Yeah, and of fucking course I’m going. You think I’m gonna pass this up?”

Three shrugs and the other skate lands next to its twin. Three hops down and stretches down, a cooldown exercise to help the muscles in her legs. Her socked feet slide a little on the slick rink floor. “It’s hard to tell with you. Sometimes you flip and run away. Sometimes, good girl Hime gets in Pearl’s way.”

“I do not—”

Three grabs up her skates in one hand and waves over her shoulder. “Whatever you say. Just don’t screw this one up. She likes you. I can tell.”

Pearl watches as she slides into her clogs and leaves. Then, she looks down at her own skates, pink and scuffed, the same pair she’s had for years. With a sigh, she hops onto the wall and picks at the laces. When she lands back on solid ground, everything feels too heavy and slow.

Desperately, she wishes she could live on those skates.

+++

That Saturday, Pearl finds herself a seat in around the same spot as last week, and she waits. The Fishnets are a better team than last week, but word on the street is that Four was injured in practice the day before. Usually, that kind of thing would barely phase her, as a quick ink bath would heal her right up, but a pulled muscle is another matter. Those sometimes don’t heal right away.

Still, Pearl spies Four’s familiar helmet as the team skates in. She has the star, so she’s still going to be the jammer, at least here at the beginning, which makes Pearl worry a bit. She doesn’t want Marie to push Four too hard before the big match. She wants a fair fight.

Fresh2Death and Smack Lagoon don’t face each other often, just once a year, in a giant celebration of the sport and to ring in the summer. It’s usually a packed house and all proceeds go to charity, but it’s always a tight, heated match. The past two years have seen two giant upsets, wherein Three was almost splatted against a grate the first year and taken out of the match (Smack Lagoon lost that year) and where, the next year, Pearl managed her first grate flip, kept her momentum, and managed to grand slam (pass all four enemy blockers and score all four points) in the last jam, which gave them the win last year. This year though, it’s anyone’s game, and it all comes down to that mystery blocker that Marie’s hiding.

Pearl watches all of Fresh2Death skate in and doesn’t see the blocker. She didn’t think she would, to be honest. If Marie is keeping her hidden, then she’s not going to put her in in small potatoes match like this one. Besides, she probably knows Pearl is here.

Pearl sits back and waits. She’s dressed in nicer clothes today, because she likes to believe this is at least a little like a date—dark-washed jeans that fit like a second skin and a flowy, pink crop top. A gray leather jacket is tied around her waist and she’s wearing her favorite pair of boots. They’re heavy like skates and make her a few inches taller, and she sincerely believes that they bring her luck.

Fishnets has a solid lineup, so they hold out pretty well in the first period. (It also helps that Four is a little shaky and has to be traded out after every jam she plays.) Fresh2Death is only ahead by a few points, which keeps Pearl on her toes. Still, between every jam, she glances around, trying to spot Marina, but she’s nowhere to be found. It’s pretty disheartening, and when the first thirty-minute period is over, and they send in a Squee-G to clean up the ink so that the captains can change the layout if they so wish, she can feel her stomach tying itself in knots. (The Squee-G is a new addition and there’s rumor that they stole the plans from the Octarians. Pearl isn’t sure if she believes that though.)

When the second period begins, Pearl decides that she’s had enough waiting. If she’s going to be stood up, she’s not going to just sit here and take it. She could be at home right now, stuffing her face with ice cream, or at The Lagoon skating in circles with screamo music pounding against her head.

She stands to leave and makes it halfway down the stairs when she hears a voice calling after her. She doesn’t want to believe it, but when she turns she sees Marina, standing where she was just sitting. Marina waves her over, her long arm easily identifiable over the crowd and Pearl tries to keep herself from smiling too big. She takes the steps back up slowly, not as the pouncing, two-at-a-time pace that her body desperately wants.

“Sorry I’m late,” Marina says, playing with the end of one of her tentacles. She’s dressed similarly to last time, with those jeans and the green shirt, except this time she has a forest green flannel tied around her waist. “I was a little nervous...” She chuckles unsteadily and Pearl is shocked at her honesty.

Carefully, Pearl puts herself back in her seat, right next to Marina, and decides that she might as well tell the truth too. “It’s okay. Glad I’m not the only one.”

Marina smiles then, at ease. “So, what’d I miss?”

Pearl launches right into a quick play-by-play, watching Marina’s face as she intently listens.

+++

After the match, Pearl walks Marina through the parking lot. There aren’t that many cars because almost everyone takes public transportation so it’s pretty deserted. Still, Pearl will feel better if she sees Marina off, especially because she can see her own car with its familiar driver idling nearby. She’s not sure if she’s ready to explain that to Marina quite yet.

Marina walks right up to a motorcycle, parked illegally on the sidewalk. “I was in a hurry,” she says sheepishly as she pats the seat. “I was scared you’d be gone by the time I got here. And I was almost right!”

Pearl almost feels bad for that, but what else was she gonna do? She’s been stood up one too many times.

“Well, I’m glad I stuck around as long as I did,” Pearl says instead of all that. “Didn’t know you had a bike.”

Marina tugs the helmet on and flips the visor up so Pearl can still see her eyes. “Yeah, I like to go fast.”

Pearl can relate to that big time. “Yeah? So do I.”

“You want in?” Marina opens up the storage compartment and produces another helmet, this one almost exactly like the ones that the skaters wear on the track. “I promise to drive carefully.”

Pearl glances toward her car, at her driver who’s watching her with the low lights on. She so wants to hop on that bike, but she’s not sure where the night will take her, or where she’ll end up. And she has a brunch tomorrow with some of her dad’s associates’ kids. Hime getting in the way. Just like Three predicted.

She sighs and pushes the helmet away. “Nope, sorry. I have to be responsible tomorrow. You know how it is. Besides,” she grins then, trying to be coy, “we just met.”

Marina doesn’t seem that hurt by her refusal, which is a good sign. She drops the helmet back into its spot and closes the storage. “That’s cool. Same time next week?”

Pearl nods. “Of course. Don’t be late!”

Marina laughs and swings her leg over the bike. She turns it on and speaks a little louder to be heard over the engine. “I won’t! See you next week, Pearl!”

She speeds off, hopping the curb and swinging out into traffic with barely a turn signal. Pearl, feeling windswept and a little warm, watches her for a few seconds before trotting to her car. When she gets into the back, she slumps into the seat and doesn’t say a word to the driver.

+++

Next Saturday finds Marina waiting in the parking lot for Pearl. Unlucky, but not the end of the world, Pearl thinks as she thanks her driver and gets out. Marina’s in overalls today, a light denim with a green tub top underneath and her leather jacket around her waist. Boots again. Pearl threw on her shortest jean shorts and her biggest, pinkest t-shirt, tied in the back to give it a little shape. Boots again. They both love boots.

“Nice ride,” Marina says as Pearl jogs up. Her eyes don’t leave the car, where the driver has expensive sunglasses over his eyes.

“It’s my dad’s.” It’s not a lie. Pearl gently touches her hand. “It’s nothing.”

Marina looks down at the touch and smiles a small smile. “Right. Just unexpected. Let’s go in.” She reaches down and squeezes Pearl’s hand between her fingers briefly, sending a sharp spike of warmth through Pearl’s whole body.

The match today is boring, in Pearl’s opinion. There’s too much of a skill mismatch so Fresh2Death has the whole thing cinched in the first period. But all is not lost because Marina leans over after the first period is called and mutters, “let’s get out of here,” right next to Pearl’s ear. Pearl shoots to her feet and leads the way.

Pearl’s car is long gone so their only option is the bike, which Pearl hoists herself onto with only a little hesitation. Marina’s second helmet is a little too big on her, and she has to keep pushing it up when it slides over her eyes.

“Where to?” Marina calls over the rev of the engine.

Carefully, Pearl wraps her arms around Marina’s middle. She can just feel one of her hearts against her arm. “You like to skate?” Pearl asks, on a whim.

“A little, yeah!” Marina laughs.

“You know where The Lagoon is?”

“Of course!” Marina kicks the kickstand back and pushes off. Pearl leans into her back, only a little terrified. “Hold on tight! I’ll have us there in no time!”

+++

Because it’s Saturday, The Lagoon is packed. Marina parks a decent distance away and they walk in side-by-side, hands barely brushing. There are teens hanging out around the entrance and they all recognize Pearl. She gives them a hard look and, somehow, they read what she means: don’t say anything. One even opens the glass door for them.

Inside the music is pumping. Pearl isn’t sure who’s DJing tonight, but they’re using one of her playlists so at least they have good taste. She offers to pay and sends Marina off to find a table after getting her shoe size. In reality she just walks up to the counter and the skate attendant hands her two pairs without a word. Then, she goes by concessions and orders some soda, just in case.

Marina has her boots kicked off by the time Pearl finds her and she accepts the skates without a word. They’re in pretty good shape because Pearl has standards, even for her rental skates, and Marina pulls them on easily. She begins lacing without a single moment’s hesitation and that’s exactly when Pearl begins to realize that Marina might be better at this than she thought.

Pearl scrambles to pull her skates on as Marina quickly laces up the second one and stands. She easily glides toward Pearl and turns in a short circle right in front of her.

“When you said a little...” Pearl begins as she comes to her feet. These skates aren’t the ones she’s used to, so she slides a little before she gets a feel for them.

“I was being facetious,” Marina admits with a smile. “I love to skate!”

She reaches a hand out, palm up, a clear invitation, and Pearl easily accepts it. Marina tugs, skating forward on the hard floor. Easily, they crest onto the wooden floor of the rink and watch as the crowd of people circles around the rink. The lights paint their bodies with splotches of green, purple, yellow, red, blue, and Pearl gets lost in it for a second.

“I hope you can keep up,” Marina teases.

“You kidding?” Pearl scoffs. “I was born in skates.”

“Hm, we’ll see.” Marina looks down at Pearl with a gentle twinkle of mirth behind her eyes. “Short stuff.”

Pearl puffs up like an angry bird. “Hey, if we were all tall mountains like you, then no one would be!”

Marina chuckles. “I guess you’re right. Shall we?”

There’s a lull in the flow of people coming up, where a couple kids just left for pizza. Pearl easily pushes off and sails right into the gap. “Keep up with me!” she calls, and is rewarded with Marina’s frowning glare, eyebrows pulled tight as she follows quickly. She overtakes Pearly quickly and gets a little too close, bumping right into her. But, Marina’s instincts are fast and she grabs Pearl before she can fall, towing her close to her side.

Pearl feels herself flush and she quickly tries to recover. Easily, she gets her feet back under her and pulls away, but Marina refuses to let go of her hand.

They skate side-by-side like that, hands clasped, for a few rounds. Marina’s stride is longer than Pearl’s but Pearl keeps herself angled toward the center so that when they take the curves she can keep up. On the straightaways, Marina tugs her, going a bit faster, so that Pearl has to speed up or risk getting left behind. It’s not so bad though—Pearl is used to going much faster than this, with nine other people pushing and shoving her, so this is a delightful change of pace.

After the fourth or so circuit of this, Pearl feels a little braver. She lets go of Marina’s hand—which causes Marina to make a sound of discontent—and easily angles herself behind her so that she can grab onto her hips. A conga line of two, Marina picks up on what she’s doing quickly and puts on hand on top of Pearl’s for a second, just to make sure that she’s holding on. Then, she speeds up.

Pearl pushes too, sliding her feet in short busts to get as much speed as she can, but she can feel herself dragging a little, especially as Marina takes the curve wide to avoid all of the people skating on the inside. Really, they’re not supposed to be going this fast, but Pearl is the owner so no one will say anything to her. She feels her hands tighten on Marina’s sides, fingers digging into the fabric of her overalls, and, eventually, she gives up trying to skate with her. Instead, she squares her stance and allows herself to be dragged. On the corners, they drift like a drag racer, Pearl sliding wide to overcompensate for the speed, and she whoops as Marina pushes even harder.

I like to go fast, Marina told her last week, and Pearl sees it now. The long profile of her body as she moves the quad skates, gliding as fast as she can around all the people, in tempo with Wet Floor’s Don’t Slip, she’s built for it, all those long lines, those muscled legs, the pumping of her arms. It’s intoxicating to watch her, especially for someone like Pearl, who loves these skates and this rink like she loves her home. Someone like Marina is exactly who she needs.

Marina throws her hands up, lets out a loud yell, and coasts through the next straightaway, giving up the speed for a small moment of relief. Pearl lets out a yell of her own and the people around them echo it, everyone joining in a moment of celebration. The DJ turns the music up a little and the crowd speeds up in return. Slower people filter to the edges while everyone else begins to move their feet a little faster.

Marina takes them to the wall, where she slams into it. Pearl easily detaches herself so she doesn’t crash into Marina, and stops next to her. Together, they lean against the wall, the carpet biting into their palms, breathing heavily, and Marina begins to laugh.

It’s a free sound, one that Pearl hasn’t heard in a long time, and Pearl watches as it takes over Marina’s whole body. She shakes with it, breathless, and falls over so that she’s leaning against Pearl. Her head lands in the crook between Pearl’s neck and shoulder and she can feel Marina’s breath against her skin.

“Thank you,” Marina mutters once the laughing has passed. “I needed that.”

Pearl, her body alive with the sheer sensory overload of everything that just happened plus Marina, merely leans her head so that it’s resting on top of Marina’s. “So did I.”

+++

That Wednesday, Three and Pearl don’t talk, just skate wild circles around each other in an attempt to push themselves to go faster. There’re small patches of pink ink scattered around the banked track, which they hop in and out of to gain even more speed. Pearl pushes herself hard, but then thinks briefly about Marina and nearly takes a tumble at a speed that would have definitely left her a little splat of ink on the track. That’s when she decides she’s had enough.

She skates to the wall and grabs her water bottle, which she squirts into the mouth and down her throat. When she puts it down, Three is there, sitting on the wall and kicking her heavy skate-clad feet against it.

“So, your mystery girl.”

Pearl can’t help the giant grin that crosses her face.

“Oh, you sly squid.”

+++

After that, Pearl has to set her sights on the big Fresh2Death/Creatures of the Smack Lagoon match. It’s only two weeks away, and Callie has them scheduled for matches or practice both weekends. As a result, Pearl is prepared to make some hefty excuses if Marina asks to see her. But, to her surprise, the requests never come. When Pearl texts her asking if she wants to hang out, just in case, Marina tells her that she’s busy for the next couple weeks but that she misses her.

It’s a surprise, since she never mentioned anything. But then, they’ve been on like one date. Maybe two if you count the first time they purposefully met at the match. Maybe three if you count the time before that. Pearl isn’t exactly in a position to be asking questions.

Still, she’s a little disheartened. During the week, she stays home and doesn’t talk to anyone (except on Wednesday) and on the weekends she finds her way to The Lagoon, where her team easily wins their matches. Pearl “The Pearlverizer” falls back into the jammer groove quickly, and Three “Kraken Skullz” does a great job on blocker, like always. The matches are easy as pie.

One evening during the week, when she’s sick of her own shit (she spent the day playing video games and sunning herself out by the pool, all the while moping because of how lonely she was), she texts Marina asking for coffee. Marina answers quickly. I can’t today! But how about this time next week?

That’s after the big match, which means that Pearl will be free as a jellyfish. ok! u coming to the big match at the lagoon this weekend???

Marina’s reply is fast and curt. I’ll be there. ;)

+++

The day of the match, Pearl opens the rink early so she can make sure everything’s ready. The staff have been briefed and she’s paying them massive overtime because today’s going to be hectic. The banked track is on the second floor and only one set of elevators is working, which means that they’ll probably have quite a few impatient people hanging around the lobby. Also, the lower, flat rink is closed, which is another thorn because it’s Saturday—their busiest day—but Pearl can’t spare the staff to run it.

Everything goes smoothly for the most part. Tickets are bought and collected, concessions goes smoothly, the stands fill steadily. No one forgets their skates. Callie paces back and forth, her long hair swinging wildly against the back of her legs. The grates are in their places. The Squee-G, on loan from another rink because Pearl hasn’t gotten around to ordering one, works perfectly. Judd appears with two splattershots and two ink tanks, already adjusted to the two colors, which Callie inspects to insure they’re equal. He sweeps away to let Marie do the same. Three’s helmet is missing but they find it in a locker.

Pearl stretches before putting on her skates. Her fishnet tights are ripped from last match, but she hasn’t bothered to buy new ones yet. Her white, cropped tank top and black athletic shorts are the same ones she’s been wearing all year and they’ve seen quite a few tumbles, but they’ve held up. Her skates too, white and pink, recently cleaned of scuffs, are familiar, the pair that she’s been using for two years, frequently repaired and cleaned.

Everything goes a bit too smoothly. It makes her suspicious. Before the match, Callie calls everyone together and gives a speech, but Pearl hears none of it. She’s too busy scanning the bit of the crowd she can see, trying to find Marina. Once Callie’s done, they all put their hands in the middle of the huddle and chant their old chant, Smack! Smack! Smack! Lagoon! before throwing them up and breaking. Three pulls Pearl away, fidgeting, looking nervous, and Pearl braces because this is it. There has to be something wrong. There always is.

“I need to tell you something,” she says, but is interrupted by the announcer, booming out “It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Welcome Fresh2Death to the rink!”

The crowd roars and Pearl watches as the team skates out, followed closely by Marie. Marie and Callie lock eyes from across the rink and Pearl can practically feel the lightning that sparks between them.

But then, her attention is dragged away because a very familiar sight appears right behind Marie. Tall, with her wiggling hair—so much like Eight’s yet nothing like Eight’s—pulled into a high ponytail, and dressed in a green and black checkerboard skirt and black crop top. It’s—

“Holy shit,” Pearl hisses. “It’s Marina! Marina is their new blocker?” She rounds on Three and sees her face, not surprised like she expected, and something inside her shifts uncomfortably.

“That’s her name? It’s nice,” Three says.

“You knew,” Pearl accuses. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Three holds her hands up, a gesture that proclaims innocence. “Eight told me like ten minutes ago! I didn’t know!”

“How did Eight know?”

“I guess Marina talked to her! Look!” Three points across the rink, where Eight is clearly caught up in the same argument with Marina, if their body language is anything to go on. Marina turns to look at them and her hands rise to cover her mouth. It almost looks like there’s tears in her eyes. “Looks like Marina didn’t know either. Small world.”

Pearl stares across at Marina and sees her shake her head. Her hands come down and she mouths something slowly, hand stretching out toward Pearl. Didn’t know. Pearl deciphers. Talk later?

Pearl breathes out slowly, tries to calm herself. She nods once, right in Marina’s direction and it seems to calm Marina down immediately.

So, it’s just like Three and Eight then. During derby, they have to pretend not to know each other. Fine. Pearl can do that.

(At least, she thinks she can.)

#splatoon #splatoon 2 #pearlina #pearlina week #off the hook #ashe writes #ashe talks #katie #i took the time to post this here #even tho i'm pretty sure it's not gonna get reblogs #oh well i'm proud of it #i wrote this in about 6 hours. my wrists are DEAD #long post

[sims-psycho]

I’m pretty sure I already asked you the hella cute questions for Billie 🤔 So odds for Luna and evens for Kit! 💕

ok, so, this took me so. fucking. long. but I love you for it cuz I’m shit at char development so thANK YOU FOR ASKING ANGEL!!! ♡ ♡  

1. Who was the last person you held hands with? ~ Kane of course

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing? ~ I know this probably isn’t what you mean, but I have a meeting with the drama teacher at college today to see if I can help with the costume design for the musical and I’m pretty excited *smiles*

5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you? ~ I know he would because he may or may not have had to in the past *blushes*

7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now? ~ Yes, me and Kane are really good

9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? ~ Depends on who it’s with

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say? ~ ‘Yeah sure, do you need anything else?’ to my mum, she wants me to grab some stuff from the shop on my way home

13. Do you like it when people play with your hair? ~ My hair gets really tangled so not really

15. What good thing happened this summer? ~ summers not over yet! *giggles*

17. Do you think there is life on other planets? ~ Absolutely, even if it’s just a shred of bacteria, the universe is to extensive for use to the be the only ones

19. Do you like bubble baths? ~ Ooo, yes, a lot *laughs*

21. What are you bad habits? ~ I’m a bit of a workaholic, so I guess that’s sort of a bad habit

23. Do you have trust issues? ~ I don’t think so, thankfully

25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with? ~ My nose is really wide and, yeah i know it’s silly but everyone has their insecurities i guess

27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker? ~ Not at all, I love my skin tone and my heritage

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up? ~ I’ve only really been with Kane

31. If your hair long enough for a ponytail? ~ I guess, but it’s not really ‘long’ more just big

33. Spell your name with your chin. ~ ,ljna *giggles* I tried

35. Would you rather live without TV or music? ~ As much as I love a good Netflix binge I’d have to say TV, music is just so good in so many different situations

37. What do you say during awkward silences? ~ Depends on the situation, but I normally try and say something positive, if not that I just stay quiet

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in? ~ I only really buy second hand clothes, or I make them so I don’t really know

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? ~ Yes, the core of someone never changes, but how they view the world does

43. Do you smile at strangers? ~ Sometimes *smiles*

45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning? ~ I guess I just always have stuff to do

47. Have you ever been high? ~ Maybe….*looks sus*

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about? ~ Yes *looks uncomfortable*

51. Ever wished you were someone else? ~ When I was a young teen, but I don’t think that’s that unusual

53. Favourite makeup brand? ~ Milk makeup

55. Favourite blog? ~ n/a

57. Favourite food? ~ Any kind of caribbean food my mum makes

59. First thing you ate this morning? ~ Crumpets *cute smile*

61. Been suspended/expelled? For what? ~ Omg never, that would be the end of my life right now

63. Ever been in love? ~ I am right now *blushes*

65. Are you hungry right now? ~ Not really

67. Facebook or Twitter? ~ Facebook

69. Are you watching tv right now? ~ How did you know!? *looks shocked* I’m halfway through sex education and it’s hilarious *giggles*

71. Craving something? What? ~ I could always eat dark chocolate, it’s my favourite

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? ~ Yeah…..my little bunny *blushes*

75. Favourite animal? ~ I like deers,  just think they’re really elegant

77. Chocolate or Vanilla? ~ Vanilla

79. What colour shirt are you wearing? ~ It’s like a pinky red sort of colour

81. Favourite tv show? ~ I really love Killing Eve

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2? ~ Who even likes mean girls 2!? *scoffs and laughs*

85. Favourite character from Mean Girls? ~ Gretchen *giggles*

87. First person you talked to today? ~ My mum

89. Name a person you hate? ~ I don’t think I really hate anyone

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now? ~ No!!

93. How many sweatpants do you have? ~ Only a couple pairs, and I only wear them in the house

95. Last movie you watched? ~ Me and the gang watched birdbox last weekend, it was really creepy

97. Favourite actor? ~ I don’t think I have one

99. Have any pets? ~ We have a cat called Beanie, technically she’s my mums cat but she’s also kinda the family cat *smiles*

101. Do you type fast? ~ Oh yeah, it’s like fire comes off my fingers *laughs*

103. Can you spell well? ~ Uhh, yeah *smirks*

105. Ever been to a bonfire party? ~ I’ve been to a bbq party with family, but I don’t think thats the same *giggles*

107. Have you ever been on a horse? ~ Yeah, me and my sisters used to go to a horse riding club when we were little *smiles*

109. Is something irritating you right now? ~ Nope

111. Do you have trust issues? ~ No, I don’t have any reason to distrust anyone I know

113. What was your childhood nickname? ~ Little moon, or sometimes just lune

115. Do you play the Wii? ~ Me and my sisters used to play the super mario wii all the time when we were kids *smiles*

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup? ~ Yeah, it’s alright

119. Favourite book? ~ The Art of Faminisim

121. Are you mean? ~ I….I don’t think so

123. Can you keep white shoes clean? ~ Can anyone? *laughs*

125. Do you believe in true love? ~ Yeah, I think I do

127. What makes you happy? ~ Luckily, a lot. Off the top of my head, my family and friends, Kane, fashion and art and music and good food and a lot of other things *smiles sweetly*

129. What your zodiac sign? ~ Cancer

131. Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? ~ Be incredibly confused because Eli’s gay *laughs*

133. Favourite lyrics right now? ~ “You and I, wide awake / With the sky falling down / As we wait for the morning / Is there a place in the stars / Where the sky goes to sleep? / We got no way of knowing” Feel by Jacob Collier and Lianne La Havas

135. Dumbest lie you ever told? ~ Oh I can’t remember, I’ve probably told some dumb ones to my parents when I was younger though

137. How tall are you? ~ 5′7

139. Brunette or Blonde? ~ My hair is brown

141. Night or Day? ~ Day

143. Are you a vegetarian? ~ No, but I wouldn’t say I’m a huge meat eater either

145. Tea or Coffee? ~ Tea, I have lots of herbal teas that I drink depending on my mood *smiles*

147. Mars or Snickers? ~ Ooo, snickers

149. Do you believe in ghosts? ~ Yes, sadly it happens to unrested spirits *lowers head*

2. Are you outgoing or shy? ~ I’m super outgoing dude *laughs*

4. Are you easy to get along with? ~ I’m so chill, what are you sayin, of course *winks*

6. What kind of people are you attracted to? ~ Oh man, anyone who’s fit straight off, but people who are just ‘out there’ y’know

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind? ~ I saw a spunk on the beach last night, she disappeared before I could introduce myself

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? ~ Kasper, he lectures me all the time

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now? ~ Ooh, that’s a toughie, uhhh, Cake by the Ocean, Funky Duck, Feels Like Summer, Andromeda aaanddd…..Wonderwall *laughs*

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles? ~ Sure, why not *chuckles* a lot of crazy shit happens everyday man

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? ~ No joke, don’t know the last person I kissed, oops *laughs, embarrassed*

18. Do you still talk to your first crush? ~ Nah

20. Do you like your neighbors? ~ They’re a’ight. They don’t really leave there place though

22. Where would you like to travel? ~ I dunno, I’ve been to a lot of places, don’t really know where I want to go next

24. Favorite part of your daily routine? ~ I normally skate to the cafe Billie works at most mornings and grab a smoothie

26. What do you do when you wake up? ~ Jerk off *smirks*

28. Who are you most comfortable around? ~ Andie for sure, she sucks a lot sometimes, but she’s my sister and no one really gets me like she does

30. Do you ever want to get married? ~ Meh, maybe someday, but not for a loooooonggg time *chuckles*

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with? ~ you have no idea how happy I am i got this question *laughs cheekily* Chris Hemsworth and Cara Delevingne, I wouldn’t need to get any for like a year if that happned *laughs*

34. Do you play sports? What sports? ~ I surf and skate a lot, it’s kind of all I do tbh, me and Kas box together sometimes too

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them? ~ Yup *smirks*

38. Describe your dream girl/guy? ~ Someone adventurous and confident who can put me in my place *winks*

40. What do you want to do after high school? ~ Man, no one has asked me about school in like, 40 years *laughs*

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean? ~ I’m never quiet *smirks*

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean? ~ Defo bottom of the ocean, I bet theres a lot of my shit down there *laughs*

46. What are you paranoid about? ~ I dunno, sometimes I freak out because the government is fucking up our planet and shit but Maya always tells me one day we’ll be the ones pulling the strings and it makes me feel alright

48. Have you ever been drunk? ~ *laughs* oh yeah

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore? ~ Pink i think *chuckles*

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself? ~ I’m perfect, what are you saying *smiles cheekily*

54. Favourite store? ~ Theres this tiny sakte shop across town that sell all sorts of cool shit

56. Favourite colour? ~ Like a greeny-blue kinda colour

58. Last thing you ate? ~ I think like an apple or something

60. Ever won a competition? For what? ~ I’ve won a fair few surf competitions in my time *smirks*

62. Been arrested? For what? ~ I know have, but I can’t remember what for, hasn’t happened in a while, I’m obviously not trying hard enough *winks*

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss? ~ pashed my p.e teacher in the kit room, that shit was hot *smirks cheekily*

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends? ~ n/a

68. Twitter or Tumblr? ~ Twitter

70. Names of your bestfriends? ~ Andie, Kapser, Teegs, Erik, Maya and Max. I’ve got some friends back in Oz but I haven’t seen them in forever

72. What colour are your towels? ~ Black, cuz we emo in my house *laughs*

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have? ~ None, i got this scraggly monkey thing that hangs from my rear view mirror in my car though *chuckles*

76. What colour is your underwear? ~ You wanna take a look yourself darlin’? *winks and smiles cheekily*

78. Favourite ice cream flavour? ~ All of them, I fucking dig ice cream so much, especially ben n jerry

80. What colour pants? ~ You really into my clothes aren’t you *smirks* I got green trunks on

82. Favourite movie? ~ The original Alien is fun

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street? ~ 21 jump street defo, although I did like mean girls waay more than I thought I would when I saw it

86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo? ~ Shiiiit, I fucking loved that film, haven’t seen it in years though, whats the turtle called again? You know the really stoned one? *laughs* yeah him, or the shark

88. Last person you talked to today? ~ Kasper, I think

90. Name a person you love? ~ Getting all sappy now are we *smirks* want me to say you? I can if you want babe *winks*

92. In a fight with someone? ~ Nah, don’t take a lot to get me there though *smirks*

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have? ~ A fucking lot *laughs*

96. Favourite actress? ~ Margot Robbie is hot as fuck *smirks*

98. Do you tan a lot? ~ I’m tan 24/7 bby *chuckles*

100. How are you feeling? ~ High as fuck *laughs*

102. Do you regret anything from your past? ~ Yeah, but I try not to think about it, live in the moment and shit

104. Do you miss anyone from your past? ~ Sometimes, but I normally forget about it within a couple of mins

106. Ever broken someone’s heart? ~ Ahhh probably, have you seen me, how could I not *winks*

108. What should you be doing? ~ Fuck all *laughs*

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt? ~ Fuuuck, yeaaaaah

112. Who was the last person you cried in front of? ~ I don’t cry around people….I don’t really cry at all tbh

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state? ~ I’ve been all over the world darlin’ *smirks* I’m a cultured guy *chuckles*

116. Are you listening to music right now? ~ I’m in a cafe and theres music playing so yeah

118. Do you like Chinese food? ~ I like all food

120. Are you afraid of the dark? ~ Haha, I do most of my wirk in the dark so I fucking hope not *laughs*

122. Is cheating ever okay? ~ No, unless your girl or guy cheated first, then it’s just payback

124. Do you believe in love at first sight? ~ Yeah, I’ve seen it happen

126. Are you currently bored? ~ Nah, you’re very entertaining *smiles cheekily*

128. Would you change your name? ~ Nah, my name’s alright

130. Do you like subway? ~ Not really, I don’t eat a lot of fast food

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? ~ Kasper I think

134. Can you count to one million? ~ I Have to to count the reasons why you and me would make a cute couple *winks and then laughs*

136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed? ~ Closed, who the fuck leaves it open!?

138. Curly or Straight hair? ~ My hair is kinda wavey, and on other people i like all types, I don’t descriminate *smirks*

140. Summer or Winter? ~ Summer!

142. Favourite month? ~ June duh, it’s my birthday month

144. Dark, milk or white chocolate? ~ yes *laughs*

146. Was today a good day? ~ It was a’ight

148. What’s your favourite quote? ~ Maya and Erik spurt some educational shit at me all the time but fuck do I have a ‘favourite quote’ *laughs*

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page? ~ the closest book to me right now is in the library across town so no way mate *chuckles

#luna steel #kit #oc's #character development #i've been chipping away at this for so long #it was super fun tho! #chuskasims #ask #asks #reply #answer

[winryofresembool]

Love Can Melt the Ice, ch. 18

Summary: Figure skating time! Part 1.

A/N: Long time no see! Sorry about the long wait, but here it is, the first part of the “grande finale”. I can’t believe we are finally here :’) I’m so excited (and also terrified) to write... whatever it is that comes next. Some important figure skating info for those who are not that familiar with the sport: like I hopefully make clear enough in my fic, the competition consists of two parts, short skate and free skate, and this chapter has the short skate part.

This chapter is dedicated again to some of my very favorite people on this website, aka @criis55 and @automail-freak-and-alchemy-freak because you guys have blessed me with so many pics, and there aren’t enough words to describe how much it means to me. You are simply wonderful ♥

Please enjoy and REVIEW because that way we’ll finally get to the part you all have been waiting for ;) (Oops now I spoiled it)

Previous chapters:  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5.5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 pt 1, pt 2, 16, 17

Next chapter: [x]

Companion pieces (note: these are all post Olympics happenings so reading the main fic first is recommended): 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Words: 2100+

Genre: general

Warnings: swearing, no news there :D

“Brother, you seem kinda anxious,” Al noted as the two of them were approaching the figure skating arena. It was finally the day of Winry’s individual short program, and like promised, Ed was taking Al to see the competition. Which of the brothers was more nervous (about two very different things), was up for debate.

“I do not! You’re the one who hasn’t shut up about Mei Chang the entire morning! I don’t think we should interrupt her today; this is her most important competition so far and I bet she is just as focused as Winry is.”

“Since when are you the voice of reason of the two of us?” Al frowned at his brother, looking genuinely surprised. “Are you really the same person who left home two weeks ago?”

“I… of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?” Ed asked nearly aggressively, his stuttering and the red blotches on his cheeks betraying him.

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re in looooove,” Al stressed the last word as annoyingly as possible. “And you know what they say about love? They say it changes people.”

“I… just… Listen, can we just go inside now? It’s fucking cold out here.” The glare Ed shot at Al would have scared someone who wasn’t as familiar with him as Al was. He didn’t let the topic go that easily.

“We can, but you can’t deny what I just said.”

“You can’t deny a fist on your face soon. The automail one.” Ed lifted his right hand threateningly.

Al snorted. “You know, that sounds more like the Edward I know.”

Ed punched Al on the shoulder, although just lightly, but the younger brother didn’t even seem to notice. He stopped on his tracks, his gaze on a person who had just come out from the arena through the side door only the competitors and staff were allowed to use. She had dark, braided hair and a red (Xing’s national color) coat covering her short, pink dress in which she was supposed to perform. She seemed to be on her way for a quick warm-up jog, not noticing the two golden haired boys near her. When she started running, a small bow fell from her dress, and Al decided to yell after her.

“Ex-excuse me, miss, you just dropped something!”

She turned to look at the speaker and noticed the bow on the ground, picking it up before turning her attention fully to the two quite fascinating looking boys.

“Oh! Thank you so much!” She had an unreadable expression on her face for a moment, as she kept taking them in. “Do I… know you from somewhere?

“I don’t think so,” Al answered.

“Wait a second…” She finally recognized them, and Ed swore she had stars in her eyes when she asked Al: “Oh my god, are you Edward Elric? This is such an honor…”

Al just stood there awkwardly for a moment, not knowing what he should tell her. Finally, he decided to go for the truth: “Sorry, I believe you got us mixed… I’m Alphonse Elric, and this is my brother Edward.” He pointed at his shorter older brother. The girl eyed Ed suspiciously; admittedly, he didn’t look his best at that moment. Everything about him screamed he had just been in a fight; he had small bruises on his face, his leg was in a cast, his untied hair was sticking to various directions, and the worn leather jacket he had chosen to wear to avoid being associated with team Amestris was hazily thrown on his shoulders.

“Re-really?” she asked, “I… always had a different kind of picture of you in my head…”

Ed grumbled something incoherent under his breath, making Al laugh and say: “Don’t mind him. He’s always been like that. I… I’m gonna assume that you are Mei Chang, aren’t you?” he asked, suddenly more shyly.

“Yes, that’s me,” she admitted. “How did you know?”

“I may have watched your performances on TV…” Al answered, blushing just slightly.

“That’s funny because I’ve heard a whole lot about you! My brother’s the captain of team Xing so he talks about hockey and different hockey players a lot…” She shook her head and continued: “Honestly, I can’t believe I ran into the Elric brothers right before my competition! Are you going to watch it?”

“Yes, actually! Well, Ed here is going there to see his girlfriend” (Ed’s glare towards Al was nearly deathly this time) “but I am really looking forward to seeing your performance!” Al said smoothly.

“Oh, really? So, Mr. Alphonse.” Mei seemed to have lost the last of her interest in Ed with the g-word, but instead she casted Al a curious look when she asked: “Are you the older brother?”

Ed, who understood she was referring to his height, had almost reached his boiling point and asked angrily: “What makes you think that?” Al immediately stepped in: “I think my brother here is simply trying to tell that he’s the older one. But that doesn’t matter, I got the looks and the wits.”

Mei giggled at Al’s joke. “Alphonse, you’re too much.”

“Pffft.” Al waved it off.

May checked her watch and noted: “Hey, I should be going, but do you think we could continue this conversation maybe once my competition is over?”

“Su-sure!” Al replied, flustered and surprised by the fact that he had managed to attract this girl’s interest so quickly. “Where should we meet? Do you know any good cafes or restaurants here?”

“I know some! But I really need to go now so let’s text later, OK?” She slipped a piece of paper with her phone number into Al’s hand. “See you soon!”

“See you!”

“How… did you do that?” Ed asked when Mei was out of hearing distance, looking beyond shocked.

“Oh brother, some people just have the skill. And you know, politeness can take you far.”

Ed just rolled his eyes and started heading towards the front doors of the figure skating arena.

…

Winry was waiting for her turn in her dressing room. Even though she was nervous, a weird kind of confidence was surging through her, making her feel less awful. After all, this time she was only responsible for her own performance, and no matter what happened, at least it’d be over after this competition. Weirdly enough, one part of her was very eager to find out what would happen after that… And she realized she felt that way because she’d finally get to know what was going to happen to her and Ed.

Ed. She wasn’t 100% sure if she had done the right thing by asking for some space, because after the practices, when she was alone in her room, her thoughts started drifting towards unwanted direction. But she tried to reason that he needed that space just as much as she did, because admittedly things between them had progressed fast. Emotionally, at least. Physically... well, she supposed sharing a bed was already something. Either way, it would probably do good to him to have some thinking time.

She allowed her thoughts to drift for one more second, wishing she’d see the brothers in the audience, before someone announced that it would be her turn soon. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, stretched her back and arms and started walking towards the rink. There was a mirror on her way, and this time, she could see the swan she was supposed to be for this performance more clearly. As she observed her reflection for a moment, she realized the white dress or the feathers in her hair didn’t do it, it was her facial expression.

The previous skater got her points, and Winry started gliding on the ice. There were so many people watching her that she couldn’t spot the two golden haired boys, but she trusted they were there. Now it wasn’t time to think about them, it was time to convince everyone who was watching her that she was worth an Olympic medal.

Thankfully, the routine was so familiar to her that even her nervousness couldn’t make her forget it. Her first element was the layback spin. Winry started pretty carefully, having just enough speed to keep the spin up long enough to not lose points. In the story she had built around this routine, it was supposed to represent all the confusion the swan felt when she realized she didn’t belong to the group she was in. After that she took her first steps in the outside world, shaky and insecure. The step sequence had always been her favorite part, because it allowed her to express the vulnerability she herself had felt after her parents’ death, a feeling that was difficult to express orally.

Next came the difficult triple lutz – triple loop combination, and she knew that if she nailed it, she’d be a strong medal contender. The landing wasn’t as perfect as she had hoped but at least she had done everything she was supposed to do and didn’t think she’d lose a lot of points for it. After that she was time for her axels. That was the part she was particularly nervous about because of the outcome last time. She knew a double axel was usually no problem for her, but… what if her foot started hurting again? She had another performance already the next day and she couldn’t afford to get injured…

She sighed of relief (hoping it wasn’t too obvious, though, because even her facial expressions mattered in a tough competition like this) when she managed to land safely, and the foot didn’t react to it in any way. Now she had gone through the hardships the swan of her story experienced, and the rest of her routine would be easier. The last jumps, another short step sequence, and two different spins (that she was notably more confident about than the first one) to finish the routine. Her smile was wide and genuine when she bowed and curtsied to the audience. Suddenly, she thought she saw a tiny bit of gold in the audience, not too far from her, her smile widening even more. She was out of breath and her ears were ringing a bit, but that didn’t matter at the moment.

She knew she had definitely done better than last time.

Would it be enough, though? That she couldn’t say yet, because some of her toughest competitors were yet to skate, and a lot would naturally depend on her free program as well.

Garfiel came to her when she left the rink and hugged her.

“You nailed it, girl! I’m sure you’ll win this!”

“Uh, thanks,” Winry said modestly, “but I wouldn’t cheer too much yet. We don’t even know my points!”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve seen you perform thousands of times and I know that was one of your best ones yet. If the judges didn’t see that… they are blind.”

Winry just smiled as Garfiel guided her to the seats where they would listen to the point announcement.

…

“Aand Winry Rockbell’s points are… 81,95!”

“Is that good? Is that good? Al, is that good?” a very nervous young man in the audience asked his brother as the audience around them was roaring excitedly.

“Hell yes it is! There are only a couple of skaters in this group who can come anywhere near that amount of points,” Al answered, happy about Winry’s success.

“In that case…” Ed jumped from his seat and yelled: “FUCK YES! THAT’S MY GIRL!”

“Ed, you might want to calm down a bit,” Al reminded him. “Unless you want that reporter to find you again…”

“If she wins this entire thing, I don’t care to whom I’ll be telling how awesome my girlfriend is.”

“Ed. Girlfriend?”

Ed’s eyes widened when he realized what he had just said, but there was no point in denying it anymore.

“Um… I am… kinda… planning to ask her once this thing is over…”

“That’s awesome! I’m so happy you’ve finally come to your senses!” Al exclaimed, getting a sour look from Ed.

“I wish we could go to celebrate with her,” Ed said much more to himself than to Al, but Al tried to cool him down:

“This competition isn’t over yet. Mei’s pretty good, you know.”

…

Everyone’s points were announced, and it turned out Winry finished the short program in the second place. Lan Fan from Xing had bested her with 0,10 points, and Mei Chang was only 0,2 points behind her. Paninya was fourth with 78 points and Rose wasn’t far behind either. Overall, Winry was content because she knew she had done her best, and everything was still up in the air; 0,10 points was nothing in the free program event where more points were given. When she left the arena, she felt happier than she had in a while. But that was only until she saw a conflicting view in front of her.

Ed was talking with one of her rivals.

#edwin #edward elric #winry rockbell #fullmetal alchemist #ice skating au #my fics #lcmti