#which once again proves my point every skater no matter how great they are can still improve themselves | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nugnthopkns · 3 years

Text

felt the lightning under my skin

word count: 13.7k

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

recommended listening: under the spell | springtime carnivore

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I wouldn’t. Come here.”

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

“Look! An owl!”

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I made the roster for worlds.”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s my girl.”

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning,” he repeats.

“That’s what that was?”

“Leave me alone.”

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

#this right here is my baby #joel farabee imagine #joel farabee x reader #joel farabee fic #philadelphia flyers imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #cwrites

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annerbhp · 4 years

Text

how you get the girl

(Harry/Ginny, meet-cute, muggle AU)

the ice-skating ring is full of fumbling people, but Ginny finds one person in extra need of help

Hot Dad is back again, Ginny texts Demelza.

Putting down her phone, she sells a round of tickets to a loud group of teenagers, passing them off to Stephanie to get them set up with skates. Their cheeks are all red with the cold evening air, the sun having just dipped behind the buildings. Mariah Carey is crooning about Christmas over the slightly staticky speakers. It’s all perfectly cheery and lovely, and even Ginny can’t help but smile at it, this season long having been a favorite of hers, no matter how old she gets.

Which probably explains how after working full days, she still lets herself get dragged into volunteering at the seasonal outdoor ice-skating rink set up in the old city center as a way to earn money for various local charities. She’s an easy mark, which her friend running the event never fails to capitalize on.

The obvious first-date skaters are the best in the evenings, the romanticism of the idea wearing off real quick the first time one of them knocks the other down and their asses get real familiar with the unforgiving ice. Ginny likes the look on their faces when she offers them one of the walkers little kids use sometimes.

Her phone buzzes with Demelza’s response.

Okay either bang him or stop texting me because this is pathetic and you know it.

Ginny sighs. I imagine his exceptionally beautiful wife would have a problem with that.

The wife you have no idea if exists or not? Seriously, I don’t have time for this. You’re cut off talking about this.

I need a new friend.

Ha! Good luck with that.

Ginny tosses her phone down in disgust. The worst part is that Demelza is right. This is beneath her dignity. But Hot Dad has been here with his son the last four nights straight, and selling tickets and collecting used equipment isn’t all that engrossing, especially considering Ginny is one of dozens of volunteers. Meaning she has a lot of time to stare and let her imagination get away with her. And her imagination’s favorite subject these days is Hot Dad. Once again here tormenting her as he wobbles around the rink with his son.

She can’t really tell how old he is, a knit beanie always pulled low over his head and a beard covering his face. He’s got glasses too. None of which makes it hard to see how attractive he is. (One time he forgot his scarf and she nearly had to take a break when he laughed at his son and the tendons in his neck stood out as he threw his head back and she thought how lick-able it looked.) He’s on the lanky side, which on skates occasionally makes him look like a newborn wobbly-legged foal, and even that is somehow charming.

Or Ginny is just really hard up and needs to get a life. Which is what Demelza loves to say. Also that Ginny is a workaholic. And sure, it’s been a hot minute since her last date. She just has a lot going on right now. Besides, this guy is definitely more than likely married.

So instead, she is going to happily, harmlessly ogle Hot Dad while he stumbles around the rink with his son, who has shown little to no improvement over the last week. In fact, if possible, they both seem to be getting worse.

Fifteen minutes later, Hot Dad nearly takes out a pair of teenaged girls, blocking the entire flow of skaters as he stops to thoroughly apologize while his son stands nearby and nearly laughs himself down onto the ice. And then actually goes down onto the ice.

Jesus.

Talk about the blind leading the blind. They’re going to cause a pile-up, she tells herself. It’s the only reason she grabs a pair of skates and heads over to help.

Really.

“Excuse me,” she says as she approaches.

He looks up and, shit, his eyes are like the most intense green she’s ever seen, and also, he’s definitely younger than she first thought, closer to her own age. But also young enough that he must have been Hot Young Teen Dad when his kid was born. But still just as hot as she imagined him to be.

Dammit.

“Not that I don’t admire your persistence,” she says, helping the kid to his feet, “but you two are rapidly becoming a hazard.”

Hot Dad straightens his glasses, looking sheepish. “We definitely are. But it’s an emergency, I’m afraid.”

“An emergency?” Ginny asks, trying to ignore the thrill of finally hearing his voice for the first time. And what a nice voice it is.

He grins. “Ted’s trying to impress a girl.”

“Harry!” the kid shrieks, looking mortified.

Ginny blinks, both cataloging Hot Dad’s name—Harry—and noticing the strange use of it by his son. Maybe he’s in that rebellious teenage phase where he calls his parents by their first names?

He’s still wearing gloves, dammit. Not that it matters. She doesn’t have time for Hot Maybe Married Dad right now.

Really.

“And you’re somehow supposed to help with that?” she shoots back before she can think better of it.

But rather than looking offended, Hot Dad—Harry—just grins back at her. “A hopeless case, I suppose.”

“Depends on how this is meant to impress a girl.”

“He’s going to ask her out for the first time,” Harry says, smiling at his son as Ted looks even more mortified.

“To go ice skating,” Ginny surmises. “Have you considered the movies, or frozen yogurt or, I dunno, anything not on ice?”

Ted shakes his head, looking earnest in the way only a young teen can. “It has to be ice skating.”

Ginny sighs. “I suppose I could give you some pointers. At least keep you from being a total disgrace.”

The kid gives her a dubious look. “You think you could?”

Oh, now it’s on. “You doubt me?” she asks, pushing back on her skates. Without another word, she does a quick tick around the circle, doing the second half backwards. With a quick spin, she comes to stop in front of them at the last possible moment in a showy shower of ice shavings.

Harry looks impressed, eyebrows lifted. “Were you a skater?”

“Hockey,” she says succinctly, used to people making assumptions. Then again, she’s hardly a delicate thing to be twirling around in tutus. Not that she couldn’t if she wanted to, thank you very much. But she’s more into smacking people with sticks than doing toe loops.

“I think this is your best hope, Ted,” Harry says. “The ice angels have smiled down on you.”

Ginny bites back the urge to clarify that she is in no way an angel and would be happy to prove it to him. Instead, she focuses on the kid, who she can’t look down on all that much considering he’s nearly at her height already.

“What do you say?”

Ted lets out a breath. “Please.”

She smiles. “Okay. But before we start, I need to know one thing. This girl you’re asking out. What are you going to do if she says no?”

His eyes widen, giving Harry a panicked look. “Oh, god. Is she going to say no?”

He pats his shoulder. “I think she’s more trying to make sure you aren’t going to use her powers for evil.”

“Pretty much,” Ginny says.

“I don’t understand,” Ted says, brow furrowed.

Ah, the innocence of youth.

“For example.” Harry turns towards Ginny. “I don’t think I got your name?”

“Ginny,” she says, trying to ignore the quiver she feels as his gaze falls intently on her.

He smiles, holding out his hand. She slips her gloved hand into his, shaking firmly. “Nice to meet you, Ginny. I’m Harry.”

“Hello, Harry,” she says, their hands still clasped between them.

He places his other hand on the back of hers, the gesture somehow endearing even as it’s terribly old-fashioned. “Would you go to dinner with me?”

She nearly blurts out a yes before remembering that they are playacting. And he’s probably married. And they’re standing in front of his son. “Sorry,” she says. “Dating customers is against the rules.”

Harry smiles at her—fuck, that is not okay. “Okay,” he says, letting go of her hand. “Sorry if I bothered you. I hope you have a great day.”

“You, too,” she says.

Harry turns back to his son. “There you go.”

“But that wasn’t a no,” Teddy points out.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “It was. If someone wants to go out with us, they’ll say yes. She doesn’t have to explain why or justify it. Plus, do you really want to go out with someone you had to convince?”

Okay, and now Ginny is not just lusting after him, but a little bit in love with the asshole too.

“No,” Ted says, frowning. “I guess not. But what would you do now?”

Harry puts a hand to his chest like he’s nursing a painful wound. “We slink back to our caves like men, feel sorry for ourselves for a little bit, and then pretend it never happened. And definitely don’t ask again.”

“But she’s at my school! I’ll see her every day. Won’t that be weird?”

Ginny expects a pep talk, don’t worry, of course she’ll say yes, but instead Harry slings an arm over Ted’s shoulders. “It might be weird for a while, I admit. But don’t be a pain in the ass and you’ll both get over it. Of course, she might also say yes. Is the potential weirdness and embarrassment worth the chance that she might say yes?”

A look of determination crosses his features. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “It’s worth her maybe saying no, if it means she might also say yes.”

“Well then, I think you have your answer.”

And now Ginny is pretty much fully in love with him. Ugh, her life is the worst.

“Come on,” she says, gesturing for Ted to come closer. “Let’s try a few rounds.”

She spends the next fifteen minutes giving him a few key pointers, enough that he’s not a complete hazard, but he’s still a long way from dating form. For one, the kid appears to have two left feet. Which, once he warms up to her a bit (and informs her that he much prefers to go by Teddy), his clumsiness pales in comparison to his general politeness and wicked sense of humor. She’s not sure what he’d say if she said those were going to go a lot further for him than his ice-skating skills.

They eventually come back to a stop next to Harry where he waits against the wall off to one side. They’ve just made it when Teddy careens over and nearly face plants into the ice. Harry reaches out for him, only to almost lose his own footing.

What a pair, Ginny thinks, not even bothering to hold back her laughter.

“Your son seems to have inherited your clumsiness,” she says once they are all steadily on their feet again.

Harry laughs, beaming at Teddy, but the kid just lets out a dismissive sound. “He’s not my dad. As if.”

“You could only be so lucky,” Harry says, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Remus may be smarter than me, but I am far better at pretty much anything requiring coordination.”

“That remains to be seen,” Ginny says, Teddy letting out an appreciative laugh.

Harry lifts an eyebrow, like maybe she’s twinged his ego. “Ice is not my natural environment.”

“Really,” she drawls. “Then what is your natural environment?”

“Pretty much anything but ice. I’m not picky,” he says, and somehow the unspoken arrogance is attractive.

Ginny tilts her head to the side. “I think I’d need proof to be able to judge that adequately.”

“Would you,” he says, voice lowering.

Fuck, the ice should be melting in here.

They hold each other’s gazes a bit longer than is probably proper, Teddy looking between them.

Ginny gives herself a little shake, turning back to the kid. “So, Teddy. I have some bad news and some good news.”

“Okay,” he says, looking wary.

“The bad news is that winter is likely to end before you master ice skating. I mean, you can keep trying. You’ll get better just through practice. But it’s going to take a while.”

He sighs, apparently not horribly surprised to hear it. “And the good news?”

“Well, why do you want to take this girl ice skating?”

“Because she loves ice skating.”

“Is she good?”

He nods. “She’s really good.”

“There’s your good news. And because I like you, I’ll let you in on a little secret. Tell her you’d like to take her ice skating because you know she likes it so much. And then tell her that you aren’t very good, but you’re willing to try and you’d appreciate it if she’d help you. Basically, what I am saying is don’t try to hide that you aren’t great at this yet. Just focus on enjoying being there with her. Honest is so much better than cool.”

She expects him to fight that, but instead he looks thoughtful, eventually nodding. “Okay.” He turns to Harry. “Can we be done now? My butt is so cold I can’t feel it anymore.”

Harry ruffles his hair again. “Yeah. I’ll take you home.”

Teddy heads off towards the exit, and he has improved at least a little bit, Ginny notices as she follows slightly behind. Harry keeps pace with her, even as he wobbles his way along, never more than an arm’s length from the edge.

“That was some good advice,” he says.

“Well,” Ginny says, “what’s the point of suffering through all that teenage angst if not to try to save the younger generation from repeating your mistakes?”

Harry laughs. “I hear that.”

They sit on the benches, pulling off their skates.

“I can take your skates here,” she says, stepping back behind the counter, ignoring the person already waiting to run this part of the booth.

He hands the skates up over the counter. His gloves are off now and she can see his perfectly naked fingers. Interesting.

“Thanks,” Teddy says.

“Good luck!” she calls out after him.

He waves, heading for the exit.

Harry lingers another moment, pulling his beanie off and revealing dark hair in complete disarray. “I’m realizing I’ve backed myself into a corner,” he says, leaning against the counter.

“How exactly?” she asks.

He drags a hand through his hair. “Because I can’t very well ask you out again without being a hypocrite.”

“Hmm,” she says, nodding solemnly at him. “That is a tricky spot you’ve put yourself in. I suppose sometimes it’s hard to live by our principles.”

He gives her a sad, lopsided smile. “You have no idea.” He pushes back from the counter. “It was nice meeting you, Ginny.”

“You, too, Harry,” she says.

He turns and walks away. Ginny eyes his ass, and, god, it really is a thing of beauty. He doesn’t even look back, and he’s going to do it. He’s really just going to leave her alone.

Amazing.

She counts three long beats before coming around to the other side of the counter and calling out after him. “Harry.”

He stops, turning back to look at her, waiting for her to catch up.

“For the record,” she says, “dinner never would have worked.”

“Sure,” he says, hands in his pockets.

“I already ate, and I’m stuck here until nine,” she says. “How about I buy you a drink instead?”

“You sure?” he says, voice slightly teasing. “Because I’d hate to have a date who had to be convinced.”

“Oh, believe me,” Ginny says. “You don’t need to do any convincing.”

He looks delighted, a smile lighting up his face, and Ginny is still having a hard time believing he’s real. “I’ll swing back around at nine them.”

She nods. “Looking forward to seeing you in your natural environment,” she drawls, giving him a wink.

He almost immediately nearly bumps into a trash can.

She lifts an eyebrow at him, but he just shakes his head. “Still shaking off the ice-skating legs.”

“Of course,” she says.

“Harry!” Teddy shouts from the exit.

“Coming!” Harry yells back. He looks at her. “Nine.”

She nods. “Nine.”

Giving her one last lingering look, he turns, giving her a great view as he walks away. Once out on the sidewalk, she can see Harry wrap his arm around Teddy’s neck, giving him a playful noogie as the kid fights him off.

Ginny smiles, watching them disappear before heading back to her station.

Back behind the counter, she picks up her phone, pulling up her conversation with Demelza.

Hot dad is not a dad at all, is gloriously single, and I am seeing him at nine tonight.

Get it, girl.

#annerbfic #hinny #seriously what is this #meet cute #american AU i guess #because I couldn't be fussed to mess with Britishisms #still on my indulgent bullshit lads #not lucky #but something equally ridiculous

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dreamiehrs · 5 years

Text

sweet chaos ➛ n.jm

genre: vampire!jaemin, mystery, a little fluff, jaemin’s also a skater (and a lil flirt), comedy, some angst

pairing: na jaemin x you

summary: you had never expected to get yourself involved with the high school’s mystery boy, na jaemin, but when you do, you can’t tell if it’s for the best or worst.

warning: some swearing, blood, a dead animal

note: the title is based on DAY6′s new song titled Sweet Chaos… go listen to their album right now!! kinda wrote this on impulse to be honest, but I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless!! (gif credit: @fashion-edit)

na jaemin was your high school’s biggest mystery boy.

he appeared out of nowhere one day, well, let me say that a little bit more realistically.

he was new in town, showing up in the middle of the school year. no one knew the reasoning behind why he moved when he did, and no one stayed around him long enough to figure it out.

he lived three houses down from you, which didn’t really matter to you as you weren’t looking to get involved with him.

he seemed like the loner type to you, but you were proved wrong as you would hear laughing down the streets late at night, the sounds of skateboard wheels scraping on the pavement.

when you couldn’t find it in yourself to fall asleep at night, you would find solace in admiring the said boy skating with some other boys. one night, when you had zoned out on his figure, he looked up to your window, your colored led lights changing colors ever so often.

you hadn’t noticed his stare, but when you finally had, it seemed like his eyes were piercing into yours, his eyes reflecting the dark red color your lights had changed to.

you ducked your head from his view, hearing the chuckle that came out of his mouth before skating away. you quickly finished up your homework before hopping into bed, hoping the rest of the night would lull you into a sweet dream.

when it came to school, you had shared a total of one class with jaemin, which was study hall. for a huge procrastinator such as yourself, that class was beneficial for your grades and your sleep schedule. you busied yourself with assignments from other classes, not noticing that jaemin was moving a seat closer to you every day in there.

until eventually, he was sat right next to you, you still not paying him any mind as you popped your earbuds into your ears and pressing play on a Spotify playlist.

you felt someone tap your shoulder and resisted the urge to turn and see who it was. it was probably someone messing with you, you concluded, as you continued to scribble down the answer to a math equation.

a few moments passed by until you felt the same tap on your shoulder, and this time you turned to your right to witness jaemin staring at something near your face.

you pause your music and move your hands toward your face. “what, is there something on my face?”

your question tears his gaze away from your neck and to your face, him chuckling at the fact that you covered your face with your hands.

“no, just wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime.” he moves your hands away from your face, a smirk prominent on his face as you give him a pointed look.

“sorry, but I’m gonna be awfully busy until the end of the school year.” you tear his hands away from yours and go back to your assignment, trying to ignore the warmness his hands emitted.

“with what? staying up until midnight, trying to finish your classwork, but being distracted by me instead?” he whispers loud enough for you to hear, the sight of your ears reddening almost making him chuckle again. however, he wanted to see how long he could make this facade last until you gave in.

you turn towards him once again, gulping at how close his face was to yours. you pull your mind out of the gutter and push his head back with one finger before whispering: “sorry, but I’m never going to spend longer than I have to with you, jaemin.”

your reply leaves him speechless, and a few seconds later he whispers back into your ear: “let’s see how long you can keep that act up, dear.” before gathering his things and walking out of the room.

alright, so maybe he was more complex than you thought and maybe you were more stubborn than jaemin thought.

you didn’t miss the way his canines were sharper than usual, getting a sight of it every time he would open his mouth. he was… concerning, to say the least.

you’ve always avoided him like the plague, but after this interaction with him, you avoided him even more.

…which was almost impossible because he always seemed to be on your case whenever he saw you in the hallways.

he would bug you a lot about skating and tutoring you in math, which made you wonder why he was so interested in you.

was it because you locked eyes with him that one night? was it because you always avoided him? was it because you were awful at math?

who knew at this rate…

during late nights, you recognized one of his friends that he would hang out with, named lee donghyuck. the two would always be messing around with the other, and it was all fun and games until donghyuck pointed to your window.

“she’s up again,” he whispers to jaemin, whose trying to play off the big leap his heart took when he looked up to your window, seeing you staring out of it mindlessly. “why does she do that, anyway?”

jaemin scoffs. “she’s an insane procrastinator,” he waves his hands to try to get your attention, but to no avail. “I even offered to tutor her in math, but she just won’t budge.”

“just stay persistent. she’ll warm up to you eventually.”

“yeah, right.” he looks back up at your window again, surprised to see your hazy eyes staring right into his. his throat suddenly feels dry with you staring at him so intensely, his eyes flashing a blood red before he can even realize it.

you can barely notice the color in his eyes, but you just wave it off as you’re sleepy and delusional.

he now has a lazy grin on his face, darting his tongue out to lick at his lips, and you decide to just call it a night because 1) you’re exhausted and 2) you prefer sleep over jaemin looking at you like you’re his next meal.

he still has your curiosity piqued, and the next day you stride up to him in the hallway like it was second nature to you.

“oh? done with the act already, dear?” the smirk on his face makes you want to puke, but you’d rather not do that in front of the entire school.

“stop calling me dear, it’s not like we’re romantically involved or something.” you flip your hair, revealing your neck to the male.

his breath slightly hitches at the sight of your pale, untouched neck, and he has to force himself to look straight ahead so he won’t do anything irrational.

he looks back down at you, gulping when he sees you already gazing at him.

“lost all your confidence now, huh? I knew you weren’t all that.”

you’re tempted to walk away from him, but something keeps you rooted in place as you continue to walk beside him, the same knowing smirk plastered on his face.

“if you let me tutor you, I’ll prove your statement wrong.”

you laugh loudly at his declaration. “oh, you’re on.”

you don’t see the way his eyes glaze over red when you look down to answer a text, him just wanting to pierce through your skin.

but not yet, he says to himself in his head. not yet.

the day after that, he stops by your house, only being a minute late to your scheduled tutoring. he rings the doorbell and your dog, named Beau, starts her endless stream of barking.

you answer the door in a sweater and shorts, startled at the sight of jaemin in front of you. he sees your expression and points to his bookbag. “tutoring?”

“…ah.” you wave him in and close the door behind him. he takes the time to take in his surroundings before removing his shoes and letting you lead him to your room.

“it’s kind of a mess, sorry.” he glances around to see a few clothes of yours failed to be put away and your bed unmade.

“don’t worry, mine’s worse than this.”

the two you settle down at your desk, the one that has a great view of the street below you. you pull out your notebook and some worksheets you struggled with.

“so this is the view you get of me late at night? I gotta admit, it’s a pretty nice one.” you don’t even have to look at his face to know that he’s grinning.

you just shake your head at the boy. “besides that, can you help me with a few of these problems?”

he peers over them and gazes at you. “you know that these are like, the easiest ones on the worksheet, right?”

you sigh. “yes, but the teacher just goes way too fast through them. can you explain it slowly to me?”

the next hour or two is filled with jaemin explaining how to solve the problem, you attempting it, getting it wrong, redoing it, and still getting it wrong.

but luckily, jaemin has outstanding patience with this type of stuff and breaks it down for you in a way that you can comprehend.

once you finish the sheet, after much struggle, you hop onto your bed and close your eyes for a millisecond. you’re not phased when you feel the bed dip down beside you, hearing jaemin’s quiet breathing to your left.

“hey, jaemin?” you speak up after some consideration.

“yeah?”

“why did you move here, anyway?”

he scoffs. “I’m not in a good position to tell you that right now.”

you want to dig deeper, but your mind tells you not to. “fair enough. can I ask you something else?”

“this interrogation is still ongoing? damn, I didn’t know you were that interested in me, y/n.”

you roll your eyes, not bothering to fuel whatever was floating around in his brain right now. “why are you so involved with me?”

he’s silent for a second before shrugging. “you just seem like someone who doesn’t take other people’s bullshit. I admire people like that.”

you nod slowly, taking in his words. you can feel your cheeks heating up at his statement, so you jump off of your bed, jaemin’s eyes following your every move.

“wanna grab something to eat?”

his ears perk up at this. “oh? is y/n asking me on a date?”

“no, you fool.” you grab your keys, phone, and wallet as jaemin takes his time to get up from your bed. you stare at him as he moves each limb of his body extremely slow before you walk over to him and drag him downstairs.

“gosh, you’re so aggressive,” he whispers in your ear and you almost smack him right then and there. “I thought I was the man in this relationship.”

“jaemin, would you just shut up already?”

you two hop in your car and you put your key in the ignition before speeding off to the closest diner. the wind blows your hair wildly, you laughing loudly as jaemin turns the music up louder.

you’re close to the diner when jaemin asks: “wanna know something?” he knows you cannot hear him over the wind and the music. “I’m not human.”

“what?!” you yell loud enough, not hearing him over all the noise. he doesn’t answer you, or if he does, you still can’t hear him.

you guys arrive at the diner, you quickly putting your hair up in a ponytail after that windy drive here. “what did you say?”

“me? I didn’t say anything.” he walks ahead of you, hinting to you that he was done with this hectic conversation.

you followed closely behind as the host shows you two to your table before leaving you two alone. your waiter eventually comes back to get your drink orders and quickly leaves.

“wanna go on an adventure after this?” you raise an eyebrow at his suggestion.

“what type of adventure?”

he puts his finger up to his lips, before smiling a devilish smile.

“it’s a secret.”

“you always know how to reel me in, huh?” you joke before your drinks arrive and you two place your meal orders.

you take a sip of your lemonade while jaemin sips his soda, wishing it was your blood instead, before setting both of his elbows on the table, staring straight at you.

“since you interrogated me, it would be fair for me to do the same to you, right?”

“…likewise.”

you swear you can see his eyes slightly change color as he leans in closer to you. “so, y/n,” he draws out every syllable of your name. “why do you keep on ogling me late at night, when you should probably be doing your work?”

“I zone out quite often trying to focus on classwork, which coincidentally seems to be in your direction, as you’re always outside.”

he raises one eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink before continuing. “oh, so you’re an eavesdropper, then?”

you open your mouth to respond but the waiter interrupts you by setting your meals down onto the table. “saved by the light..” you mumble under your breath and you can see jaemin snap his head up at you. he couldn’t have heard you, right?

you shrug it off as you take your time eating your meal, the two of you having small talk about random things that pop up in both of your heads.

it’s calm for around five to ten minutes and you guys debate on whose gonna pay the bill.

“my treat. you just tutored me for around two hours and even came with me for dinner.” you slap your credit card down on the table, surprised to see that jaemin has beat you to it.

“no, I insist. although I’ve done quite a bit for you, I don’t think you should repay the favor just yet.”

“what do you mean by just yet?” he avoids your question as the waiter swoops in at just the unfortunate time, plucking jaemin’s credit card out of his hand. jaemin peeks at you and sees you defeatedly putting your credit card back in your wallet.

the waiter comes back promptly and jaemin signs the bottom of the receipt before the two of you head out of the diner. you two hop in the car once again, you getting ready to drive back home when jaemin stops you with an: “wait.”

“yes?” you turn towards him, waiting. he shoves his phone in your face, your vision blurry as you grab his phone from his hands. it was directions for somewhere. where? you didn’t know.

you look back at him again, a questioning looks in your eyes, telling him to ‘explain this.’

“it’s where I like to hang out when my friends don’t come over. I was thinking that could be our adventure for tonight.”

you glanced back at him, expecting him to be staring back at you, but instead, he was looking in the opposite direction, awkwardly scratching his neck.

“as long as I’m not bitten alive by mosquitos, count me in.” you rev the engine, handing his phone back to him so he can give you directions.

“that won’t be the only thing biting you tonight.”

“hmm? did you say something?”

“nope!” he chirps.

poor boy. you still couldn’t hear him, so you assumed it was nothing important. if so, he would probably just share whatever it was to you later.

the two of you arrive at a plain field, plastered with all kinds of flowers as you two wade through them, using jaemin’s jacket as a sacrifice to not sit on the ground.

you lie down on his jacket, gazing up at the night sky full of shining stars. certain ones seemed to sparkle when you peered at them, pointing out them to the boy beside you.

there’s a comfortable silence settled between the both of you, just taking your time to admire your surroundings and enjoy your teenage life for a little bit longer.

you can see him turn to you out of your peripheral, but you don’t tear your gaze away from the sky as you feel him scoot closer to you.

“y/n?”

“yeah?” you’re still not facing him.

he sighs. “my family and I moved here because of the neighborhood we resided in. it was terrible, for both my family and I’s health. we never felt welcomed there, and everyone who lived there was very cryptic. it freaked us out so much that we just left.”

you blink, absorbing his words. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. are you at least having a fortunate time here, though?”

“because of you, yeah.”

you choke on nothing at his blunt statement.

“that was… cheesy, but understandable. now, I’ve been dying to ask you something.”

he quirks an eyebrow. “and what is that?”

you gulp, his eyes now trained on your neck. “why do your eyes flash a dark red occasionally?”

“I―“

he’s interrupted by some rustling heard in the distance, the two of you immediately getting up. he hurriedly grabs his jacket and tugs you back to your car.

the drive back to his house is silent, you parking in his driveway and him getting out and walking towards your side.

“want me to tutor you again on Friday?”

you smile. “as long as it includes an adventure.”

he sends you a genuine smile for once. not a smirk or grin, but a real smile. “goodnight y/n, and sweet dreams.”

you chuckle. “night, jaemin.”

you don’t hear from jaemin the next day, which was odd. he also didn’t show up for study hall, which may have slightly bummed you out (which you would never admit to the boy, as he would be relentless with his teasing later).

you had expected him to be at school on Friday, the day of your tutoring and your supposed adventure with him, but you were dead wrong.

you send him a text as you’re lounging in your bedroom, which consisted of: “jaem, where are you?”

you lie on your bed for a few more minutes, checking your phone to realize that he still hasn’t texted you back. you groan in frustration as you toss off your shorts and pull on your jeans, practically running out of your house.

you count three houses down from your right, finally settling on his house and taking large strides to reach it. once you do, you press your finger to the doorbell, hearing shuffling inside the house in front of you.

you stand awkwardly for a few more moments until the door opens wide in front of you, revealing a tall, brunette lady, which you assume to be his mother, and a black cat looking at you curiously from behind her. “yes?”

“oh!” you squeak out. “I’m a friend of na jaemin. I was wondering if you knew where he was?”

she looks right through you, seeming uninterested. “ah, jaemin. he hasn’t been feeling well the past few days. I will go and get him for you.”

you open your mouth to speak, but she slams the door in your face, making you sink down as you hear her heels clinking away from the door.

she makes you flinch when she opens the door again a few minutes later, a sinister grin on her face when she sees your reaction. “he’s not here at the moment. he’s probably wandering around like always.”

your expression falters. “ah, okay. thank you anyway.”

“welcome,” she mutters. “and if you see him, tell him to get back home.”

“will do.”

she sends you a small smile before closing the door, leaving you standing like an idiot. you swivel around, walking down their driveway until a lightbulb lights up in your head.

“the adventure we went on! he told me that that was his favorite spot.” you mumble before running back to your house, hopping into your car and starting the engine.

you speedily head towards his hideout, somehow remembering the directions he showed you a few nights ago.

your music is blasting as you arrive, promptly taking your key out of the ignition and locking the doors before moving towards the top of the hill, where you two shared a magical moment.

“jaemin!’ you call out, seeing something freeze in the distance. you start towards it, a bounce in your step as you hoped it would be the said boy. as you get closer, you can faintly see a tuft of short dark brown hair, already accepting it as jaemin.

“jaemin?” you whisper, and he snaps his head up at you like he did at the diner, but this time, he had a crazed look in his eyes as he licked the dark liquid from his lips. you’re trembling at the sight of him, blood all over his mouth and dripping down his neck, his shiny fangs poking out, nearly piercing his upper lip. there’s an animal in his hands, you presume dead, and his eyes are turning a darker red the longer he gazes at you.

you scream as he drops the dead bunny and starts to stalk after you, your fight or flight response kicking in as you sprint away from him, looking straight ahead and not making the mistake all the protagonists do in horror movies, which was to look behind themselves while running away from a murderer.

however, jaemin’s too fast for your tiny legs as he eventually catches up to you, you now tripping on nothing as he stumbles over you, breaking his fall with his hands.

you two are now face-to-face, a drop of blood landing on your cheek as he stares deeply into your eyes. you bring your hand up, making him flinch before you start to wipe away at the blood messily smeared on his mouth.

“y-y/n… I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, I―“

you press your finger to his mouth, shutting him up instantly. “you obviously had your own reasons for not telling me.” you pause, using your other hand to cup his cheek, his breath hitching in the process. “I was worried about you, jaemin.”

“w-worried? aren’t you afraid of me?”

“jaem, you didn’t show up to school for two days. I had no idea what was going on, and this, this is all a tremendous shock to me.”

you feel something else hit your check, but instead of blood, it’s jaemin’s tears this time.

“I-I never wanted to hurt you, so I held myself back every day when I met you… and now, n-now you know what I am… just a creature of the night, wanting nothing more than to suck people’s blood and survive like we were born to do…”

you gaze into his sincere eyes and cautiously wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into an embrace. he stills, slowly reciprocating the hug.

“I love you, you know.”

he chuckles into your neck, inhaling your scent. “I know. I’ve known ever since that night.” he buries his head further into your neck, relishing at the fact that you’re so close to him.

“c-can I?” he stutters, and you laugh.

“yes, jaem. you can.”

he takes a deep breath. “okay.” he breathes out, before opening his mouth wide and piercing into your neck. you wince, uncomfortable at the sensation of your blood flowing out of your neck freely. he only takes a few gulps though, before wiping your neck clean and helping you up, eventually giving you a piggyback ride.

“well, then. ready for another adventure?”

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strangerdawn · 5 years

Text

The Pioneer

The Pioneer was a dream come true for a kid with scuffed knees and a ragged skateboard. I'd spend all week in class drawing old Flip graphics in the back of my exercise book and daydreaming about skating. My feet itching for my weekly pilgrimage to the park. I'd arrive at the park and skate until I couldn't. I'd injure myself or my parents would be parked outside honking the horn. Nothing else would stop me.

The first time I went to Pioneer, I didn't even drop in. I stood at the top of the flatbank, looked down, and thought about all the different ways I could hurt myself rolling down. Glued to the wall, I watched the older kids tearing around the park and stood in sheer awe. The videos I'd seen simply couldn't compare to seeing the rawness of skateboarding in person. I was fascinated by their speed, power and the mental strength they had to shrug off a heavy slam and try the same trick again. I barely moved from my spot all day and left without having even rolled down any ramps. I was disappointed in myself. I'd so desperately wanted to take part in the session but I had been overcome by fear.

I thought about the park all through school that week and begged my parents to take me back at the weekend. This time I was determined to ride down that flatbank. Saturday finally came around and my parents dropped me off at opening time. I paid my entry, walked over to the bank and scampered up it's lumber skeleton. At the top of the ramp I stood and looked down. I was terrified but I knew I couldn't leave without at least trying to roll in. I rolled up to the edge of the ramp and peered over. It looked like a hell of a long way down. I followed this routine over and over and over again. Each time inching closer and closer to the edge but never quite having the balls to let myself roll over. There came to be a point where I knew I couldn't take one more attempt without rolling in. It had to be this go.

When I eventually I mustered up the courage to go down. I pushed off, put my feet on the board, and felt my wheels roll over the lip. As I picked up speed I began to wobble and I got about halfway down before I slipped out and slammed hard. I shook as I felt the unforgiving concrete connect with my knee. It hurt, but not as much as I expected, and once I'd got that first slam out of the way my fear evaporated. I could do this. I knew I could do this.

I clambered back to the top of the ramp and waited for the right time to roll in again. My heart pounded in my chest and my knees shook from the adrenaline. I saw a space begin to open up and took a few dummy pushes like a bull preparing to charge. I took off with the last push and hopped on my board. My wheels rolled over the lip and into the bank. Time slowed as I felt myself pick up more and more speed. I braced myself for a fall but before I had time to think I was rolling along the flat. I couldn't believe I'd made it. My face lit up. Fuck. I had actually done it. I'd expected to fall but I didn't fear the pain. I just wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. All it had taken was the balls to push off, the strength to get up when I fell, and the belief that I could do it when I tried again the next time. I got hooked on skating from that point onwards and since then I've always been trying to chase that next challenge to push what I am physically able to do on a board.

I lived a town over from Pioneer growing up and found the scene in the local area to be a constant source of inspiration. There was everything a grom could dream of. The town had a local pro, a skate shop, an indoor park, a few skate crews, and a local video.

In a country notorious for it's damp and dark seasons living by an indoor skate park is important. England is a place where sunshine can all too often seem to be a mythic creature and the weather can snake you in a way that a child on a scooter can never match. The days where you watch a skate video and get excited to skate only to look out the window and see puddles forming on the pavement outside. Pioneer provided a level of security and a skate sanctuary on those drizzly days. I knew that when I felt that itch to skate there was always a place I could go bomb around on my board and empty my mind.

The park was originally set up when Rodney Clarke and Andy Willis approached the Pioneer Youth Club to see if they could store their homemade ramps there. They were tired of them getting ruined or vandalized when they left them elsewhere. They moved the ramps into the club and over time were allowed to build more and more additions. The park has been running and expanding ever since.

Andy Willis has been involved with the skate park since it's inception and was instrumental in the recent redesign and rebuild of the park. He has also been involved in a number of other skate parks around the UK. Most notably he was at the forefront of the Frontside Gardens project in Hackney Wick, a skate park built for the local community exclusively with materials left over from the construction of the London Olympics stadiums.

Andy's recent redesign of The Pioneer reflects the current state of skate culture. Modern skateboarding was birthed by surfers carving concrete banks but now the possibilities of what can be skated and how it can be skated have blossomed to include almost anything you find in the urban landscape. When these elements are placed in a skate park setting, skaters are able to practice their tricks in a safe space free from the interference of pedestrians or other difficulties found on the street. A great skate park architect will include a great deal of variety of obstacles in an arrangement that provides creative opportunities for fluid movement through the space. Not only that but a park needs to cater for the mixture of styles in contemporary skate culture. The new layout of The Pioneer has moved away from the traditional skate park structure of a few big simple obstacles arranged in a formulaic manner to a more complex range of small objects which provide greater creative opportunities for experimentation on a skateboard.

As a kid I'd occasionally see Rodney Clarke at Pioneer. He had great energy and composure on and off his board. Not to mention monster pop and the ability to conquer every obstacle in sight. Being able to see that level of skating in person blew my mind. I was amazed by the skate videos I saw coming out of America but I couldn't relate to the environment. The smooth concrete and seemingly endless sunshine was far removed from the grey skies and cracked pavement that surrounded me. Seeing Rodney skate completely demystified the other worldliness of LA skating and I was able to see that even in my hometown you could teach yourself how to skate to a high level. He was just some guy from my area who had put in the time to teach himself these incredible things. You would never see Beckham having a kick around in the local park but I could go to Pioneer and I might catch a glimpse of a professional skateboarder showing me the huge amount of creative possibilities with a skateboard at your feet.

This brought on the realization that on a skateboard, everyone is on a level playing field. Being bigger or smaller doesn't matter, it's simply how much time you have put in to learning the skill and what tricks or obstacles you have spent your time skating. When you see someone able to push themselves to such a high level it changes your perception of the possible and your ideas of what a person is physically able to do. The act of skateboarding instills the ability to learn within you. You understand what steps you need to take in order to teach yourself a new skill and gain the patience needed to learn something new. You become aware of your strengths and weaknesses on a skateboard and set yourself mental and physical challenges in order to be able to play with your board in a more sophisticated way. There is no glass ceiling in skateboarding and there is always something new to try. Can you learn a new trick or do an old trick longer, higher or faster?

Another inspiration for me at the park was Ben Rafferty. I grew up skating with Ben who is now a proud member of the Pioneer staff and lent a hand with the recent rebuild of the park. He's a ripper and a firm fixture in the local scene. I knew him when his skateboard looked taller than him and it'd didn't make sense how someone so small could throw himself down stairs so high. Ben started skating after he caught glimpses of his neighbour skating behind his garage and got his first board when Santa hooked him up with his very own Rhino deck when he was 10. Growing up he was one of those skaters you'd see every other week and in that time he'd learnt 10 new tricks. He looked completely unified with his board and it was almost impossible to imagine it any other way. His familiarity with the park shines through and he can attack the park like noone else. He sees lines that others would never notice and his bag of tricks on the course is seemingly endless.

I no longer live near the park but I still travel there when I get the chance and the place will always hold a place in my heart. Skateboarding can be a cruel mistress but we will always strive for those days when you're surrounded by friendly faces and everything is new and fun.

The Pioneer was first published in Radulthood (2014). Illustration by Otso Perasaari.

#radulthood #skate #skateboarding #skate park

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rosyredlipstick · 6 years

Text

a few weeks ago I begged @chargebolt-voltage to read Check! Please and they, amazingly, agreed and since then we’ve been screaming about it in our messages (with a heavy addition of all for the game content ofc) anyways i promised them a fic rec list so here we are

FICS UNDER THE CUT

at least it was here - @tallykale

Summary:

Eric Bittle never really envisioned himself ending up at Greendale Community College. (Most people at Greendale never envisioned themselves ending up there, for that matter.) But he’s here now, so he may as well make the best of a bad hand. He’s got a fresh life in Colorado, he’s probably going to pass French this year, and he never has to think about hockey or home again if he doesn’t want to. What really comes out of left field is the study group. (Community crossover/AU where life takes the scenic route and everyone meets at Greendale instead of Samwell. As per Greendale tradition, shenanigans ensue. Runs parallel to season 2 of Community, if you pretend that's set in 2015 and not 2010.)

This is seriously one of my favorite CP fics I’ve ever read! The characterization is amazing, and I seriously adore how the relationships slowly build (and so realistically too!) I had never watched Community when I read this fic but this convinced to bingewatch three seasons in a week and half just so I could reread and catch all the references. Amazing!

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a tale of love and how it finds you - nightswatch // @zimmermaenner

Summary:

Bitty sees Jack Zimmermann almost every morning, but he’s never said a single word to him. Honestly, Jack Zimmermann probably doesn’t even know that he exists.

God, this is SUCH goodie! Every once in awhile I end up rereading this fic like I don’t know EXACTLY what’s gonna happen AND EVERY TIME IT’S AS GOOD AS THE FIRST HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE!!! IT IS WITH THIS FIC!! Such a good meet-cute I wanna die.

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like a handprint on my heart - the_one_that_fell // @alphacrone

Summary:

"Dude, we've got an over-competitive golf dad, a badass art freak, a pre-med lax bro on the verge of a breakdown, a chronically naked rugby player, a beat-boxing giant, and an itty-bitty, baking figure skater - there's no way we came together accidentally. This was fate."

"Or it's the normal progression of human beings making friends. Chill out, bro."

(Or, the one where no one plays hockey, but it still manages to bring them all together.)

THIS IS SUCH AN UNDERRATED FIC THAT IM OBSESSED WITH! The bonding!!! They all come together so well??? I seriously love all the friendship here, and the development of relationships here is GREAT. Wow!!!

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Best Laid Plans Series - Euphorion

Summary:

"Dude," said Holster, his eyes huge, "that's so sad. We gotta get them together."

"This isn't a romcom, Holtzy, " Ransom said, patting his arm. "I'm sure that's not what Shitty had in mind."

"Actually," said Shitty, "that's exactly what I had in mind. And I've got a plan."

Pls read this entire series. The description is for the first fic in the series but honestly THEYRE ALL SUCH GOLDEN PIECES OF LITERATURE OMG

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jack zimmermann is a straight shooter - heyfightme // @heyfightme

Summary:

Bitty pats his shoulder consolingly with a distracted, “There, there.”

“I should’ve done a conference like PR suggested,” Jack mumbles, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “It got overshadowed by the game.”

“Oh, boo hoo, my four goals made people think I was good at hockey and distracted them from how gay I am.”

“It was against the Flyers though.” More mumbling.

Bitty makes a noise like pshaw, and says with long vowels, “Quietly confident, sure mister.”

---

jack tries his hardest to come out in a way that is noticeable but not over the top. he is, it turns out, much too subtle.

This is SUCH QUALITY CHARACTER! God, this entire fic had me crackling into a pillow. Great humor!!

Note: You have to be logged in on ao3 to read this one!

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those walls i built (well baby they’re tumbling down) - seeingrightly // @ch3ry1b10ss0m

Summary:

“Well, I hope you gave that boy your phone number,” Suzanne says as soon as the door closes behind Jack, and Eric drops his head to the counter with a groan.

OH GOD this is ~~~~THE~~~~ KID FIC OMG. pls read. Pls pls pls. This is probably one of my most reread check please fic. There’s another kid fic that i cant find rn but if you love this one ill go searching!

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Bless this mess and call it a home - pepperfield // @pepperfield

Summary:

The thing is, being able to talk to houses doesn't actually preclude them from conspiring to ruin your life. Dex finds this out a little too late. First comes the Dib Flip, then Nursey's bed, and the water heater...the Haus definitely has it in for him. ~ In which Dex has house magic, Haus has Haus magic, and at least one of them is in love with Nursey.

The first nursey/dex fic on this list and omg. Omgggg. You GOTTA. This is SO GOOD. im a bitch for magic au, especially if there’s disgruntled pining. Wow. so good.

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crossed wires - lecrivaineanonyme // @lecrivaineanonyme

Summary:

Will snorts. "You are unreal,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve had people in here crying because they downloaded a virus that can be removed in two minutes, and here you are with pie-filling in your computer, joking about how at least you didn’t fucking put rice in it.”

Derek grins. “It’s chill,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck. “Why worry? I know you got my back.”

Also known as the one where Nursey is constantly fucking up his laptop and Dex is the lucky Best Buy employee who gets to fix it.

This was probably like, one of my very first nursey/dex fics and at this point I’ve probably read it like, 100000 times. SO GOOD! I adore nursey sooo much omg.

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the jack zimmermann interview series - heyfightme // @heyfightme

In the thick of one of the best debut seasons the NHL has ever seen, Providence Falconers rookie and former hockey child prodigy Jack Zimmermann is proving that second chances make all the difference.

We talked to the Falconers’ number one to find out what makes a successful comeback.

---

a series of revealing interviews in which jack breaks his press silence (with a definite agenda).

READ. THIS. THAT’S ALL I CAN SAY OMG. READDD!!!

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Authors I rec:

PorcupineGirl (AO3)

Nightswatch (AO3) // @zimmermaenner

the_one_that_fell (AO3) // @alphacrone

rosepetals42 (AO3) // @petals42

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These are some of my go-to top favs but trust me, this fandom is FULL of great works. hope y’ll enjoy! happy reading!

#chargebolt-voltage #check please #fic rec list #zimbits #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #william poindexter #derek nurse #nurseydex #i love this fandom

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fairyrink · 7 years

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Bet On Me

Reggie x Reader

A/N: This is my first ever fic and I hope you all like it!! Requests for all other Riverdale characters are open!! (This is my first fic because Reggie is bae)

Word Count: 3369

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst, violence, heavy make-out session (is that even a warning?)

Summary: Reggie is dared to date Y/N, the sweet and popular untouched cheerleader. He does so, although not expecting to fall for her in the process.

School had started again, and with that so had the gossiping and the backstabbing. Summer had changed everyone. No, it wasn’t just the mysterious death of Jason Blossom, but it was also the puberty that managed to hit someone different every year. But then again, some people stayed the same; just like Chuck Clayton.

“God she’s so hot, why does she have to be such a fucking feminist?”

Chuck was the kind of guy who didn’t care about his actions or his words. I learned that through experience. So when he started to talk like that, I only liked to see who his next prey would be. My eyes followed his only to land on Y/F/N Y/S/N. She was the type of girl that everyone wanted to date. She wasn’t only kind, but also beautiful. Puberty hadn’t changed her apart from giving her the glorious body that she now owned.

“Just because she’s a feminist doesn’t mean that she won’t date anyone Chuck.” He looked at me with a frown, which was soon replaced by a challenging grin.

“Oh yeah? Then why don’t you go and give that theory a try Reggie? I bet you won’t even manage to score one date.” I smirked, accepting the challenge straight away.

“And I bet that I can last two whole months with her.”

“Alright Mantle, loser owes the winner one hundred bucks and lunch for a month.” Oh there was no way I was passing this up. Besides, who couldn’t resist Mantle The Magnificent?

“Deal.”

Reggie had to admit, he had never been so scared to ask out a girl. And as he got a good look at her from across the hall he finally realised what the whole fuss was about. Y/N wasn’t just some hot girl, no, she was way more than that. She was intelligent and excelled at every class, as well as managing to be a part of the drama club so that she could pursue her dream of being an actress. But it didn’t finish there, oh no, she was also a cheerleader, the co-leader if you will, which gave her the undeniable status of Cheryl Blossoms best friend.

And seriously where did Chuck get off on calling her hot? Y/N wasn’t hot, she was a goddess. A goddess that fell from the heavens into this shitty earth and into this even shittier town. Everyone knew that she had the charisma and the talent to get what she wanted but that was really it. And that’s when it dawned on Reggie that no one actually knew her. Not really. She was a mystery to everyone, and yet everyone acted like they knew her.

But none of that mattered. No, he had made a bet and of course, Reggie Mantle never backs down from a bet. Especially since it’s just asking some girl out.

Mustering up the last bit of courage he made his way to the Y/H/C haired girl who was putting away some books in her locker. He cleared his throat, getting her attention quickly. Her Y/E/C eyes looking up quizzically through her lashes - which he thought was the cutest thing ever - only for her whole head to tilt up to properly look at the tall male.

“Hey Y/N.” I smirked at her, whilst also leaning against the lockers beside me.

“Umm hi Reggie? What do you want?”

“I was wondering if you would like to come to Pop’s with me after school? You know to talk and stuff?”

“Right. And since when do you want to hang out with me Mantle?” And there it was. The sass that rivalled Jughead’s oh so well.

“Can’t a guy just ask a girl out with no ulterior motives?” I sighed, great so this wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought it was going to be.

“Oh sure he can! Just not someone like you.” She fluttered her eyes at me sarcastically and grinned. I scowled, this was definitely not how this conversation was going to end.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re the biggest playboy in this town, right after Chuck of course, and that I will not go out with you, ever.” Ouch. Well she’s got a point.

“Look I know I don’t have the best of reputations but I really really like you. I like the way you always tuck you hair behind your ear because it’s always falling out of place, and I like the way you smile when you’re reading something you like and you think no one’s looking. Hell, I even like the way you always bite your lip during a football game because you’re worried that we won’t win. Please, just one date so I can prove it to you. If you don’t like it then I’ll leave you alone and won’t ask you out ever again.” By the time I finished my speech (which, by the way, I don’t know where I pulled from) Y/N was as red as her best friends favourite lipstick, her mouth slightly parted trying to form words.

“O-Okay. But just one date alright?” She quickly looked down when her eyes met mine and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at her shyness.

“Great! I’ll come and pick you up at 6:00pm at your house, okay?”

“Y-Yeah, I-I mean whatever.” And with that she quickly ran away leaving me with a satisfied smirk on my face.

Like I said, easy.

Y/N knew it was a bad idea when she agreed to go out on a date with Reggie Mantle. He was just a whole load of trouble and she didn’t need that. And if she were to be truthful it wasn’t even her fault. It was Reggie’s. Him and his stupid words and his stupid smile and his stupid perfection. She couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t interested because she was. She had had a crush on Reggie since she could remember and that silly crush then turned into more until he then developed into the hotness he is now and she just couldn’t call it a crush anymore. But she knew what Reggie had turned into, she saw it everyday when girls cried and he laughed with his friends. And that’s why she decided she couldn’t try and pursue her feelings. Reggie Mantle was bad news, so she had to keep her feelings for him a secret.

But secrets just don’t stay hidden when your best friend is Cheryl Blossom. So when she ran to her after getting asked out by Reggie, obviously the first thing she would say is: “Oh you are going to look hot as hell tonight!” And that is how she ended up missing her cheerleading practise. Just to look hot for Reggie Mantle.

“And done! Honey you are going to literally break Reggie. Oh he has never seen and will never see someone as hot as you. You are going to kick ass tonight Y/N, I know it.” Cheryl stood behind me proud, with her hands on her hips lightly nodding at my appearance. I looked in the mirror, assessing myself. I was wearing a short red skater skirt with a white fitting tank top under it. I had a simple velvet black choker that matched my velvet high heels. And to set everything I was wearing only one coat of black mascara with winged eyeliner and bright red lipstick.

“Cheryl you do realise we didn’t have to cancel practise today just for this, right?”

“Well duh, but you needed time to calm down because your star-crossed lover finally asked you out and because I’m a great best friend I will do anything in my power to make you comfortable.”

“You’re absolutely crazy Cher-” I got interrupted by the distinct sound of my doorbell ringing.

“He’s here! Oh and right on time. Dedicated? Check. Come on Y/N go and rock his world.” I gulped, realising that I was seriously not ready for this date.

Cheryl pushed me toward the stairs giving me her thumbs up. I sighed and walked down the stairs mentally preparing myself for what was waiting for me on the other side of the door.

“Hey-” Reggie didn’t finish his sentence as he looked at me up and down. His cheeks started to redden as he finally looked at me in the eyes. “Wow - I mean you look great Y/N.”

“Thanks, you don’t look so bad yourself. Oh and are those for me?” I gestured to the set of roses he was holding in his left hand, whilst looking at his attire. He was wearing black trousers with a white shirt that accented his muscles in all the right places, finishing it off with a red bomber jacket. I tried not to squeal at the fact that we were matching and held my hand out to take the flowers from him.

“Oh yeah. I didn’t know what your favourite flowers were so I just got the best looking ones.” I giggled at his facial expression while I went and put the flowers in a pot.

“Well thank you. My favourite flowers are violets, but roses come in a close second.” I smiled up at him once I finished placing the roses in a crystal vase my mum left at the back of our cupboard. “You ready to go?” He nodded.

“You know, for a girl that doesn’t want to go on a date you seem pretty happy about it.” My eyes widened as he slowly started to smirk at me.

“W-Well you asked me to give you a chance and I did. Even if I didn’t want to it doesn’t mean I can’t try and have fun.” I stuttered, mentally slapping myself for lying so badly.

“Whatever you say Princess. Now come on, I’m going to give you the best night of your life.” I took his hand as we headed to Pop’s smiling the whole way.

“Y/N! Hey, Y/N! Have you seen my jacket anywhere? Y/N?” Reggie called out as he walked down the stairs in his house to the kitchen looking for his letterman jacket. Looking inside for his girlfriend of two-months and a half, he grinned finally finding what he was looking for.

He chuckled in a deep town as he leaned on the door frame and looked at the said Y/H/C making breakfast in his jacket.

Just his jacket on.

“Y/N, I’ve been looking for that jacket you know.”

“Oops sorry.” She giggled as she put a plate of eggs and bacon on the table. “I didn’t hear you.”

Smirking at his girlfriend, he made his way towards her to wrap his arms arms around her waist and kiss her gently on the lips. “I gotta go Princess.”

“Already? But I just made breakfast. And this is the last day we have together before your parents come home.” She frowned as she placed her hands around his neck.

“I know but I have extra football practise today and being the new quarterback I can’t miss anything. Besides, my parents are probably going to leave again anyway.”

“Come on Reggie… Stay a little longer, please? At least have some breakfast before you go.” She whined making him chuckle and shake his head in disapproval. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… I’ve turned you into a bad girl haven’t I?” He asked making her giggle and shake her head. “No, Reggie, good girls are bad girls that just haven’t been caught yet.”

He quirked his eyebrow up at her, his in-famous smirk appearing on his face as Y/N him the plate of eggs and bacon.

“You’re crazy.”

“You love it.”

“You were great Reggie! I think you’re the best quarterback that we’ve ever had.” Y/N said as she hugged her boyfriend tightly.

“Trust me I know. There hasn’t been even one game we’ve lost since coach made me the new quarterback. And besides with a girlfriend who’s the best cheerleader how could I fail?” Reggie returned Y/N’s hug by picking her up and spinning her around, putting her down just so he could take off his helmet and kiss her softly.

After they both got changed in the changing rooms they met up outside ready to leave to go to the after party which was being thrown by none other than Cheryl Blossom.

“Y/N wait. I have something for you.” The said girl turned around curiously only to be met with a small blue box in front of her. Her eyes widened when Reggie opened it, as it revealed a necklace with a small infinity sign. She gasped as she saw the two engravings of her and Reggie’s initials. “Oh my God, Reggie it’s beautiful. But why?”

“I want you to always have me there with you. To know that I’ll support you through everything all the time. Think of it as a good luck charm.” Reggie grinned at Y/N as he turned her around and put it on her neck, gently kissing her neck before letting her hair fall back down.

“I love you Y/N.”

“And I love you, Reggie.” She said while putting her hands around his neck and kissing him. In a matter of seconds they started to kiss quicker, with more passion. Reggie bit Y/N’s lip, asking her for permission to enter. Y/N eagerly consenting by opening her mouth to let his tongue start exploring her mouth. She met his in the middle, their tongues fighting over dominance which Reggie soon won. Reggie brought her closer to him as he kissed her harder, grabbing her ass in the process. Y/N instead moved her hands up into his hair grabbing it and pulling it, making Reggie moan into her mouth. But before things could escalate anymore they were interrupted by a loud car beep. They both pulled apart quickly, Reggie groaning at the people who sat in the car.

“When you guys are done having sex in front of the school gates we’d like to go to Cheryl’s party.” It was none other than Chuck and Moose smirking at them both. “Come on, get in the car.” They both sighed, finally letting go of each other to walk up to the car. Reggie took the front passenger seat whereas Y/N sat next to Moose in the back. As Chuck finally started driving, he smirked at Reggie starting a conversation.

“So Y/N, I didn’t take you for a girl that dated jocks.” Reggie shot Chuck a threatening look, but Chuck continued talking.

“What do you mean?”

“Well you must know about our reputation and well our bets right?”

“Of course I do. I don’t get what this has to do with my relationship with Reggie.”

“Well you guys have been dating for three months now, I would’ve thought you would’ve left him by now. You know since you passed the two month mark.” Y/N looked at Chuck quizzically, not understanding where he was coming from.

“Chuck, shut up.” Reggie growled out, not ready for this conversation by any means.

“No Chuck, continue. What do you mean?”

“Well me and Reggie bet that he could only date you for two months but obviously he did way more than that. Tell me, did he also take your oh so precious virginity?” Y/N’s eyes widened, tears prickling her eyes as she looked at Reggie for any sign of what Chuck had just said of being a lie, all while she held the necklace that Reggie had just given to her. As she saw Reggie’s head down, not looking at her she scoffed trying to hold back tears.

“Stop the car Chuck.”

“Aw out so soon? But we haven’t even gotten to the party babe.”

“I said, stop the car Chuck.”

“Okay okay. Just calm down alright?” Chuck slowly came to a stop, letting Y/N get out of the car. The moment she was out she slammed the door. Making Chuck cringe but not say anything as he could tell her mood wasn’t one to mess with.

“Goddammit - Y/N wait!!” But she didn’t stop. She just kept walking away. Reggie turned around, scowling at Chuck.

“What?”

“Are you fucking serious now Chuck? Couldn’t you keep your mouth shut just for once in your goddamn life? I was going to fucking tell her in my own time!” Reggie was practically fuming, his hands balled into fists, struggling to not punch his so called best friend in the face.

“Dude, calm down. All I did was tell her the truth, not my fault she couldn’t take it. Besides, you’ve had your fun with her now, what do you care about her?”

“Didn’t it occur to you that maybe there was a reason I hadn’t broken up with her yet? Maybe that I actually liked her?”

“Ok Reg, listen. I get that you maybe are pissed that now you don’t have anyone hot to fuck anymore but it’s cool! I’ll find you someone real quick. And look on the bright side, you even won the bet.” With that Reggie punched him square in the face, Chuck’s face hitting the window of the car creating a crack in the window as well as blood flowing out of his nose. “Dude, what the fuck?!”

“I don’t want your fucking money. I loved her, Chuck.” And with that he got out of the car, running after Y/N in the night.

“Y/N? Y/N wait!” Reggie ran after the girl finally catching up to her.

“What do you want? You won your bet and proved Chuck wrong, just like you wanted. I’m no use to you now.”

“No it’s not like that! I mean it is but-”

“Oh just shut up Reggie. Listen to yourself, you can’t even lie.”

“I’m not here to lie, Y/N. I want to tell you the truth. So please, just listen to me.” As he said it he grabbed her arm, finally turning her towards him only to look down at her tear stained cheeks. His eyes widened pain flashing across them. She never responded so he continued to talk.

“That’s what it was, a bet, in the beginning. I had only approached you because of it. And that’s all it was supposed to be. But-but then I started to get to know you, and I wanted to keep learning more about you. Until I found myself thinking about you constantly and I just couldn’t get you out my head. Y/N it started off as a lie but I really did fall for you. And I’m sorry - God I am so sorry - for it to have started out like that but I am in love with you and my feelings won’t change. It’s not a lie. Not anymore. So please forgive me Y/N, I can’t live without you, I just can’t.” By the time he had finished pouring out his feelings to her he had his hands around her cheeks, his thumbs gently cleaning away the tears that were falling down like a waterfall.

“Fuck I hate you so much Reggie.” His eyes widened, slowly dropping his arms next to him, looking defeated.

“I hate how I actually fell for your stupid act and I hate how much of a dick you are. I hate how I’ve liked you for so long and actually believed that you were a good guy after all. I hate how even now I want to forgive you and I hate it how I still want to be with you. And what I hate most of all is that I still fucking love you.” She choked as she sobbed, her hand gripping his shirt tightly. Reggie held her tightly though, hands around her waist as he waited for her to let everything out.

“Reggie?”

“Yeah?”

“Forever, right?”

“Forever.”

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velvetcovered-brick · 7 years

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What I Read This Week (June 25 to July 1, 2017)

So. I read. A lot. And taking a page out of other’s books, I’m going to try and do a weekly list of the fics I’ve read this week. A lot are still being updated and quite a few were only updates that I read, but if you know any of these great writers, even some of these updates were hardcore.

Of Bright Stars and Burning Hearts by Reiya Viktor doesn’t remember the first time he met Yuuri Katsuki. This however, is what Viktor does remember…Part 2 of the Rivals series and companion fic to ‘Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches’. One small change alters the course of both Viktor and Yuuri’s entire lives, throwing them into a bitter rivalry that spans across many years and creates a world where they both tell a very different side to the story.

Tick Tock by AnimeFanime “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Yuuri sighed and glanced over at his mate, who squeezed his hand reassuringly. “There has to be some mistake…” “Unfortunately, all of your symptoms and tests indicate you’re in the early stages of a breeding heat.” "A WHAT?!?!"

The Selection by Galloping_Monroe Returning home on the tail end of an injury that ends his dancing career, Yuri Katsuki is trying to find his future again. As a Five, he knows his options are limited, but when he finds an invitation to Crown Prince Victor Nikiforov's Selection, he is convinced by a friend to apply.He never thought he'd be Selected.When he is, he finds that his world is changed forever, and that the Crown Prince is not exactly what he'd expected.

For the Camera by Noon30ish In which Yuuri becomes a pornstar and is 'training' under the one and only, the Living Legend, Vitya. Or the fic where, for Yuuri, sex comes first and love comes after.

boy next door by wingchestr In which Viktor buys way too much coffee from the cute barista at the coffee shop on the corner, and Yuuri has a terrible crush that Viktor never, ever needs to know about, and somehow it all works out in the end.

Met by Accident by paxton1976 Viktor is having the worst day of his life, oversleeping and late for work. To make things even better, he rear ended the car in front of him. His attitude quickly changes when he lays eyes on the other driver.

“I'm so sorry!” the other driver said when he reached Viktor.

He held a hand up to him, silently asking him to wait. The receptionist finally answered the phone and directed his call to his boss. Once he informed her he'd be late and no, he didn't know what time he'd be in, he hung up and turned his attention to the other driver.

Well, well, what do we have here?

The man was shorter than him by a few inches, jet black hair that was slicked back with a bit of gel. His glasses left something to be desired, but Viktor admired those large chocolate brown eyes. His lightly tanned skin was unblemished and looked so soft that Viktor wanted to run his hand along his cheek. His body looked enticing as well, but it was hard to tell from the overcoat he was wearing.

Simply put, he was fucking gorgeous.

Yutopia by AnimeFanime 'Yutopia...' Victor’s azure-hued eyes widened as he gazed upon the golden gate of the Omega temple, sparkling in the morning rays under its covering of snow. It was the most renown of its kind in the world. The Alpha breathed deeply, but picked up only the scent of incense wafting from within. A small smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. 'Of course, they wouldn’t allow that heavenly aroma to escape. It would drive every Alpha mad. They’d be breaking down the doors.' He chuckled softly.

Bound to Please by paxton1976 By a small twist of Fate, Viktor and Yuuri meet in the Katsuki's secondhand bookstore 'Bound to Please'. Friendship comes fast as they offer something the other has never experienced before. As they strengthen and grow individually, they realize the other holds the pieces to make them whole.

He Calls Me... by stillmadaboutpetra (Part 2 of Dog People series) Five times Yuuri is overheard calling Victor by his nickname and the one time he totally means for someone to hear.

Private Photos by phoenixwaller It started innocently enough - Yuri looked so amazing when flustered and aroused that Victor had to take a picture. Little did he know that it would eventually develop into a contest to see which of them could take the filthiest photo of the other.

we are lost, but we are not gone by persephoneggsy The Dollhouse deals in fantasy, but Victor Nikiforov just needs one night.At least, until he finds himself wanting more. And it's all because of Eros, the beautiful Active that's consumed his every thought.

"Be My Sex Coach, Victor!" by lucycamui Yuuri Katsuki has always been his own worst critic, and a series of unfortunate short-lived relationships has him convinced that he flubs things more in the bedroom than out on the ice. So, of course it would turn out that the ridiculously charming Russian he's matched with online is a pornstar.But perhaps, a 'professional opinion' is exactly what Yuuri needs...

You Can't Plan for Everything by RivDeV Yuuri forgets that he has a scheduled heat coming up until it's just a couple weeks away. He scrambles to get everything ready in time, including deciding whether he'll spend it alone or with someone. Victor only wants to help.

Katsudon by azriona Hiroko doesn’t need to see to coat pork cutlets in egg and panko. She has made this dish for her family for over thirty years; she’ll make it another thirty, if she’s lucky.Now she makes it for Yuuri and Victor as they fly home from Barcelona, with silver around their necks and gold around their fingers.

The Next Level by azriona So this is being engaged to a fellow skater: it’s trying to figure out whose sweats are whose, writing competition dates on the calendar in different colored pens, late-night arguments over sequins versus feathers, running out of the really good foot plasters after the shops have closed for the night.The skating season continues (as skating seasons are wont to do), while Victor and Yuuri negotiate the shifts in their relationship, their careers, and their home rink.Sometimes, things even go as planned.

Only a Silver Medalist by Cryellow Yuri Katsuki has just won a his first ever Grand Prix medal and it's....silver. He's pretty proud of himself but Viktor says he won't kiss gold. How will Yuri deal with his relief for winning and anger at Viktor? The best way possible- through spanking and sex. Too bad Viktor won't kiss gold. He seems eager to kiss other things though...(One-shot! Right after the GPF!)

Only a Gold Medalist by Cryellow Finally back in St. Petersburg with the prospect of winning more medals in his sights, Viktor finally seeks the revenge he's been waiting for weeks. Yuri isn't the only one who can dominate in their sex life, and Viktor is determined to prove it. Should Yuri have just stayed out of the house? Probably, but it's not like he regrets it. (Sequel to Only a Silver Medalist! One-Shot after the GPF!)

Submission by SuggestiveScribe Viktor leaned forward, breath whispering just behind the shell of Yuuri’s ear, “If my Yuuri wanted me to submit, I would be elated to experience submission.”

Icicles Melt in Summer by Shadow_sensei Victor Nikiforov. Oddly, no matter how many times Yuuri repeats the name to himself, it still sounds beautiful, the r rolling off his tongue and the v melting on the tips of his lips like a mint. But more to the point, Victor Nikiforov, model for the Agape shoe and accessory line and face of Stammi Vicino Menswear, is sitting in one of his chairs.Or, the one where model Victor Nikiforov is searching for his raison d'être in Brooklyn, New York, and finds much more than that in a small, jasmine-scented hair salon.

The Boyfriend Experience by cryingoverspilledvodka Katsuki Yuuri is an accomplished escort at 23, operating under the pseudonym Eros, in Detroit. When one of his favourite clients sets him up with none other than world-renowned figure skater Victor Nikiforov, the delicate balance between Yuuri's personal and professional life teeters ever closer towards ruin.

Kept by TeaSippinSpirit Yuri Plisetsky is sent to an Omega House to learn how to be a proper Omega. But when he catches the eye of a powerful Omega and his Alpha, plans begin to change.

Katsudon for Two by AnimeFanime An ongoing collection of YOI ficlets/drabbles...

Shared Gravity by phoenixwaller Yuri Katsuki doesn't advertise his alpha status, in fact he'd rather it be relatively unknown. He feels that he's never fit the stereotype, and is much happier blending into the background. However, much to his dismay, his alpha instincts are awakened one summer morning.At first he's angry, believing that his new coach, Victor Nikiforov, has brought back an omega in heat for a day of passion. But when he intrudes to order the couple to a safer location he learns the truth. Victor, the most decorated male figure skater ever, has his own secret.From there an inexplicable gravity grows between them, their shared secrets pulling them together in ways that both learn to cherish.

empty spaces between stars by astudyinrose Victor gets just as drunk as Yuuri at the Sochi Banquet, and they disappear together after the dance-offs. They wake up the morning after with rings on their fingers, and pictures of them kissing after getting married the night before are all over the tabloids... but neither of them remembers a thing. They decide to stay married for a while for the sake of Victor's sponsorships, and in exchange, Victor coaches Yuuri through nationals...

All Eyes on Me by Kizuna_Auri Yuuri, under the username of Eros, is a size queen omega who most certainly does not have an obsession with fellow camboy and legendary silver-haired alpha Aria. Just like Phichit is not the most meddlesome roommate known to man.

Such is Life by dia_dove "Yuuri knows something is wrong the moment the small group of men enter the Katsuki family onsen."----One night changes Yuuri's entire life.

Skyscraper Hearts by ingthing They meet on a damp Friday night at a restaurant on the high-rise lined hills of Hong Kong.From that moment forward, they're entangled.

Language Barriers by Galloping_Monroe Victor Nikiforov had always wanted to travel the world. When an opportunity arises to spend his final year of university study abroad, he is quick to leap at the chance. Twelve months spent in twelve different countries, he can't wait to see new places, meet new friends, and finish out his degree with a bang. He just didn't expect to fall in love along the way.Yuri Katsuki only applied because his friend forced him to. He's just trying to get through the year, keep his head down and his grades up. Victor has other ideas.

#yuri on ice #yoi fanfic #you guys i'm not kidding when i say i read a lot #i have no life and no friends so what else do i do #this was all seriously read in one week #granted some were just updates but still #what i read this week #wirtw june 25 to july 1

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belovedyuuri · 7 years

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Stammi Vicino (AO3) ~3.3k; in thanks to @may-darling

Summary: canon-compliant ringback music fic with some anxious!Yuuri or that one fic in which Yuuri gets caught singing his heart out along to Stammi Vicino.

The first time Yuuri called his favourite ice skating designer’s office, he expected his call not to go through, anyway. Art Skating was one of the most sought-after ice-skating companies in the entire country, after all. They designed unique skates and costumes for each of their clients – and, in contrast to their competition, theirs were comfortable. Of course lots of people would call them at all times.

(The fact that it was patronaged by Viktor Nikiforov himself had completely no influence on Yuuri choosing it. Not in the slightest.)

As he waited for his call to be answered that first time, Stammi Vicino played softly against his ear, completely taking him by surprise.

They must have changed last year’s ringback tone to this one. How had they got their hands on it? And during the season, too?

Yuuri listened to the entire track before cancelling the call.

The next time Yuuri called, he tried to remember at least a couple of words of the song as he waited for his call to go through. He hummed as the song repeated. After that, he gave up and ended the call.

He googled the lyrics and found the English translation as well, and he finally knew why his heart had ached upon hearing the song that first time and seeing Viktor skate to it. Really, Viktor’s program had expressed everything the song touched upon, he was not surprised at the meaning. It still felt good when all the pieces of a story clicked into place.

He couldn’t find the song itself anywhere, though. Even on YouTube. He desperately wanted to listen to it again and again, maybe download it on his phone so it would play in his ears till he had every note and foreign word memorised.

...his call hadn't been answered yet so he guessed he should keep calling. And if he got to listen to the song on repeat as many times he wanted, well – that was just a bonus.

One day had passed and Yuuri still hadn’t talked to anybody in the office. They were either very busy or slacking off and not feeling like taking any calls. It was his gain, really.

He knew the song by heart by now, humming in tact of the melody and imagining Viktor’s program to it.

That had been one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Every movement, spin, and jump had whispered – and then cried – of loneliness, longing, love.

Yuuri put his hand on his heart, trying to soothe its clench at the familiar feeling, affected by the emotions once again.

The line went dead and it occurred to him that somebody had cancelled the call without even picking up. Guilt gnawed at him and stopped him from dialling the number for two days after that.

It was the urge to hear the song again that made him call the number again. This time, he was safe – nobody picked up, nobody hung up, he was comfortably ignored and allowed to enjoy the tremors running through his body when the singer’s vocal gained a crescendo.

He hummed along to the music with his eyes closed. The song ended and started up again. Yuuri allowed himself to sing the first couple of words.

“Stammi vicino,” Yuuri sang, headphones connected to his phone, the track sounding so much clearer now. “Non te ne andare. Ho paura di perderti.”

Yuuri had long since stopped picking up on the signal informing of the call still trying to go through. Nobody had picked up yet so he doubted it would change.

Phichit wasn’t home yet, either. He didn’t have to be quiet.

It was all about emotions bleeding out of that song now. There was nothing else.

“Partiamo insieme.”

That was his favourite part, both in the song and in Viktor’s performance. He could feel the man’s impatience flowing through him, the momentum approaching. Yuuri closed his eyes and continued to shuffle around the room, imagining he was back on the ice, practising by copying the routine he’d fallen in love upon first glance.

”Ora sono,” he drawled, letting his voice carry on, unstrained, louder and heavier so he could sing that on that final—

Something clicked. The music died instantly.

“Hello?” a male voice said, just a second before Yuuri’s voice kindly shut up.

Shit.

It took a moment of silence on both ends before the man on the other side let out a chuckle.

“Don’t worry, it happens to me all the time. I’ll hear the song once and it won’t leave my head for the rest of the day,” he said, his rs pronounced strongly, in the same accent that Yuuri knew from watching countless interviews with Viktor Nikiforov on TV. Then, to prove that he was speaking the truth, the male voice rang through Yuuri’s headphones, singing too fast and slightly off-key, “Partiamo insieme. Ora sono pronto!”

Only when it was quiet again did Yuuri’s body finally got rid of shock and managed to move. He pulled the headphones off his ears, unplugging them from his phone, and pressed the device against his ear.

“I—I’m so sorry!” he squeaked, feeling so hot as though fire itself was licking at his face. “I didn’t—I thought nobody would—I’ll just—I’ll hang up, I’m so—”

“Nonsense,” the voice on the other side said warmly. “It is the sole purpose of this phone to call it when clients have any questions or problems to be solved. Do you have one of those?”

Yuuri swallowed his embarrassment down and nodded before his mind caught up with him and reminded him that the other man couldn’t see him. “I—yes,” he muttered and was rewarded by the sound of a gentle chuckle.

“Now,” the voice continued, “I’m sorry to say that Mr Ivanov’s receptionist is away at the moment. I answered the phone because the constant ringing sounded like it was an important matter.”

Yuuri clenched his eyes and tried hard not to apologise again. The man had thought the call was important while, in reality, Yuuri had been having a singing fest. Honestly, though, it couldn’t have been only him calling this afternoon. Right? “I’m really sorry,” he whispered anyway, sitting down heavily on his bed.

“It’s okay! I don’t know when Varya is going to be back, but I can write your message down so she can get back to you as soon as possible. I’d tell her myself but I... tend to forget things.”

Yuuri opened his eyes at the offer, his fingers clenching a bit on his phone, several thoughts running through his head at the same time.

He could finally get his problem fixed. He wouldn’t have to struggle with anxiety every time he needed to call the same number again and again. He could skate in his own skates sooner this way. And he probably wouldn’t embarrass himself like that again.

But then... He wouldn’t have an excuse to listen to Stammi Vicino anymore...

That wouldn’t do.

Yuuri took a breath, bracing himself for the draining task of turning somebody down, and started, “That’s very kind of you but I really don’t want to take your time—“

“I have a note ready,” the voice informed, followed by a click of a pen that crushed Yuuri’s plans completely. There was no way out of this.

He sighed, giving up, and dictated his case to the other man, listening to his acknowledging hums, repeating words when he was met with silence that was a little too long.

“Alright, let’s see if I’ve got it right: your blades need to be re-secured and your skates need a major check up?”

Yuuri nodded. “That’s correct.”

There was a hum on the other side of the call. “Alright. Varya will call you back when she’s here. What’s your phone number?” the man asked, and Yuuri could hear the scribbling as he told him the digits. “M-hm. And your name?”

“Yuuri Katsuki.”

The quiet scribbling stopped at once.

“Yuuri Katsuki?”

“Yes. Double u,” Yuuri said, tapping the fingertips of his free hand against his knee. The man from the phone was silent which only made him feel more nervous. “I’m from Japan,” he offered as an explanation.

Something crashed on the other end of the line, making him jerk. He quickly looked at the screen of his phone to check if he accidentally ended the call—but no, it was still on.

He heard “You’re Yuuri Katsuki?” coming from the phone so he put it next to his ear again. “The Yuuri Katsuki? The figure skater?”

“I—”

“Are you sure?”

That made Yuuri snort softly—of course he was sure, he had been Yuuri Katsuki for over 23 years now.

Doubts entered his mind in the next moment, though. The man he was talking to knew his name and he didn’t sound Japanese at all, so it was unlikely that he had been following the brighter points of Yuuri’s career.

No, he sounded Russian – which wasn’t surprising, considering the company was owned by Russians.

Which also meant that the man knew Yuuri’s name because of his total failure at last year’s Grand Prix.

Could the fact that he had destroyed his performance so much mean the company was going to refuse him their services?

Oh, God, were the consequences of him losing really that great?

“Hello? Yuuri?”

“Yes,” he rushed quickly, covering his eyes with his free hand. “I’m sorry for the trouble, I’ll let you off n—“

“You can bring your skates immediately.”

What? Was he hearing right?

“I’m... Excuse me?”

“Is today alright?”

“I—I live in a different state—”

“Tomorrow, then?”

Tomorrow? It normally took weeks of waiting for an appointment at Art Skating.

Yuuri breathed out, staring at a point in front of him which accidentally turned out to be one of his Viktor Nikiforov posters. He needed his skates in perfect condition if he wanted to skate on the same ice as his idol again someday. The sooner he’d get that, the better.

If agreeing to such a rushed, strange offer meant Yuuri had a better chance at reaching his goal, then so be it.

“Tomorrow’s perfect.”

Later that day, Yuuri was stuck trying to decide which train ticket to buy online. The man from the phone had never explicitly told him what time he was supposed to arrive. Was 10 am too early? Or 3 pm – too late? Or maybe noon – but people might be getting a break around that time.

For a moment, he considered calling Art Skating again, but the burn of embarrassment from earlier was still too overwhelming. He doubted his call would go through fast enough, anyway.

Just as he thought about clicking out of the site and forgetting about the entire thing – who was he to skate with Viktor Nikiforov on the same ice again? He had already got his once-in-a-lifetime chance and he’d ruined it – his phone pinged with a new text message.

It was from ‘V’.

Yuuri frowned.

V? Since when did he have this contact saved in his phone?

Yuuri, Mr Ivanov will see you at noon. Don’t forget to bring your skates!

Ah. V for Varya. Yuuri had been Art Skating’s client for a long time now, it was possible that he had got the receptionist’s work number at one point or another. That was probably that.

He sighed in relief, sent a quick reply, and finally bought his ticket, all the while thanking all the gods that were listening for Mr Ivanov’s receptionist finally getting back to him.

He stopped just before the main door to Art Skating. The entire wall of the building was made of the kind of glass that mirrored more of the outside world than allowed a newcomer look inside. Yuuri froze with his hand outstretched before it could reach the door handle and looked at his reflection in the wall.

What if the man from yesterday was there, right behind those doors? What if he accompanied the receptionist or Mr Ivanov’s secretary? Had he told everybody how Yuuri had embarrassed himself, that he had hogged the line long enough to forget that he’d been making a call anymore?

What if he had been asked to bring his skates only to have them confiscated?

Yuuri clutched protectively at one of the shoulder straps of his backpack. Was that even possible? Was that something that happened? He probably should have read the entire Terms of Service (or was it Rules?) on Art Skating’s website before coming.

Maybe Yuuri shouldn’t have told that man his name, after all. Maybe he should just go back.

No, he thought, shaking his head and lifting his chin. He looked into his own eyes in the reflection and dared himself to stop thinking.

He opened the door and walked in.

“Mr Ivanov will see you himself,” the receptionist, Varya, told him after she’d learned his name and called her boss. She got up from her chair and showed him the way to the elevators, saying, “He’s waiting for you in his office. Third floor, room 300, it’s the last door at the end of the corridor.”

Before the elevator doors closed, Yuuri caught the sight of Varya rearranging fresh flowers in the broken-then-glued-together, expensive-looking vase standing on her desk.

Viktor had apologised greatly for that flower vase, not being able to explain to Varya how exactly he had managed to knock it over from its secure spot. The only thing he’d known had been the fact that he’d talked to Yuuri Katsuki again after months of radio silence on the Japanese skater’s part. The world had stopped when the man had introduced himself that first time over the phone and then it’d started to spin uncontrollably, two or maybe three times faster than normal. Viktor had had to clutch onto the receptionist’s desk not to give in to the surprise and fall over.

Yuuri Katsuki. The man who had changed Viktor’s life and mentality during one night, through one shared dance-off, one conversation, one dare. The man who had surprised him for the first time in a decade, stepping out of the lines of what’d been appropriate and bringing joy back to what had been supposed to be entertaining but had been repetitively only about responsibility for years.

The man who had saved Viktor’s number in his phone and had never called.

(He had replied to Viktor’s message yesterday, though. “Thank you c:”. Hadn’t that been the cutest thing to reply with? Viktor’d spent a full hour afterwards failing to hide a smile at the memory of the emoticon. So cute.)

Really, it had been such a lucky coincidence that Viktor had happened to be around when the call had come.

He had heard rumours about what’d been happening with Yuuri before. He’d heard about him losing early that season. He’d heard people speculating he’d been planning to retire – for sure this time. Viktor had caught himself thinking that, if it’d been true, then he probably wouldn’t have got another chance to meet the man.

Yuuri had called to make an appointment to have his skates check-up, though. That had meant he’d been planning on using them.

It also meant Viktor hanging around Varya’s desk right now, having pulled some strings for Mr Ivanov to see Yuuri on such short notice, with himself waiting for the meeting to end. He was not letting the opportunity to see Yuuri again go even if it meant staying in the U.S. a bit longer than planned and hearing about it from Yakov later when he returned to Russia.

(Yakov who had refused Viktor’s plea to call coach Celestino and ask him for Yuuri’s number before. Perhaps Viktor was rebelling for that one without even thinking about it.)

The clock stroke two when the elevator doors opened again and Yuuri Katsuki himself walked out, a smile on his face. It was a softer version of the banquet smile Viktor kept in his memory for lonely days in his empty apartment.

The man put on his backpack, readjusted his scarf, and started to walk towards the exit—when he finally noticed him and froze.

“V–Viktor?”

Yuuri wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t even remotely prepared. How was Viktor Nikiforov in here of all places? Wasn’t he supposed to practice for the Grand Prix? Wasn’t he supposed to be in Russia? Wasn’t he—

Viktor smiled—at him—and waved his hand, turning away from the receptionist’s desk. “Yuuri! How was the meeting with Mr Ivanov?” he asked, the smile brightening even more. “Are your skates in good condition now?”

Yuuri just... stood there, gaping, until the words finally reached him. His body jerked and he straightened his posture immediately, cheeks growing red because surely Viktor could see that he hadn’t been keeping a figure skater’s physique for the last—how long had that been?

“It was—They’re good now,” he stuttered out, lowering his eyes a bit so he wasn’t looking directly at the living legend in front of him.

God, he felt unworthy of even looking at Viktor in the shape he currently was. And to think that it was Viktor who had started the conversation, that he’d asked—wait a moment.

Yuuri frowned and glanced up. “How do you... How do you know?”

Viktor chuckled softly.

Chuckled. That was... Oh, no.

“We talked on the phone yesterday,” Viktor said, grinning. “Don’t you remember?”

Oh, no.

Yuuri had sung on the phone yesterday. Loudly. He had made a fool out of himself.

The voice on the other end of the call... Of course it sounded different. He had never talked with Viktor Nikiforov on the phone before.

Yesterday, somebody—Viktor had picked up. Viktor had talked to him and had taken his message. Viktor had reacted so strangely upon hearing his name.

Of course he had. The last time they’d interacted, Yuuri had turned his back on him offering a photo. And before that, Yuuri had failed completely on the same ice as him.

He pitied you, Yuuri’s mind whispered to him, seeming perfectly reliable right now. That’s why you got the appointment; charity work, probably.

No, he thought, quietly, weakly, but it was enough not to show anything there and then, not to break.

He willed himself to smile and nodded, looking away again. “I remember. Thank you for doing that.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence interrupted only by Varya typing away on her computer, until Viktor shifted where he stood.

“Yuuri—”

“I need to go.” Yuuri had already shaken off the claws of shock mixed with uncertainty and continued his steps, eyes fixed on the glass door that separated him from the fresh air he needed now. “I have—my train, I need to catch it.”

“Oh, I can—”

“I’m really grateful for what you’ve done. I’m sorry again, and thank you.”

He reached the door and that was it.

Again, Yuuri was leaving his life, this time willingly, with no tiredness or serious responsibilities as excuses. He seemed... Ashamed.

But he still hadn’t mentioned a thing about the last time they had seen each other.

One last time, Viktor promised himself, watching as Yuuri walked out the door, seemingly with no recollection of the effect he had had on him ever since that banquet. Or maybe he knew fully well but chose to ignore it, ignore him. Viktor narrowed his eyes.

Surprise me one more time, Yuuri Katsuki, and I’ll make good on our deal.

This time, I dare you.

A month later, Viktor was cuddling with Makkachin on the sofa in his too-spacious-too-empty apartment when his phone alerted him of a new text message. It was full of emoticons and exclamation marks, no comments, a sign that Chris’s all-out partying spirit from last night hadn’t quite left him yet.

Following the line of winking and kissing emoticons was a link that led him to a video site.

Viktor clicked play.

#yoi #yuri on ice #yoi fic #victuuri #viktuuri #dude there are so many variations of the ship name I won't even try to tag all of them #b tries to write #m #anxious Yuuri #fic #viktor spelled with a k

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living-the-reallife · 7 years

Text

The Cluster (BTS fanfic)

Warning: 18+, sex, language

Word count: 2223

Pairings: group, reader x member(s), reader x (group)

~There will be multiple endings and by multiple I mean easily 20 different endings if not more, as I finish each one I will link it back to this post. Enjoy!~

He was a man who knew exactly what to wear on any day to draw all the ladies attestation to him, and you were no exception. The only problem was if he caught wind of this, he’d never leave you alone. Because that’s what he did. He’d tease and taunt until he got what he wanted and you refused to be another play toy to him, especially one who cared so genuinely for him.

He was your best friend of 6 years, almost 7, and during those years you two had grown every close. Close enough that you had even met his band members before they all debuted. You were lucky to call him your best friend, and you knew that, but sometimes he was too much for even you to handle. He was a kind person with a great sense of humor and oh he had a body to die for, but more than anything he was loyal and trustworthy. He was always there when you needed him, well up until recently.

When you got this new job as Got7′s stylist, he was unhappy to say the least. He told you time and time again to leave this job and just live with him and the band, but you always refused this offer. You wanted, no, you needed to stand on your own. But Jung Hoseok was too stubborn to let you stay with Got7 even as just their stylist.

“Y/N, come on.. I just don’t trust them with my best friend”, that’s the last thing you honestly remember him saying. That day he had whined for hours about you accepting the job, but you couldn’t turn back now. If only you had realized this job would cost you your best friend. Since that day, no matter how many texts or calls you sent, Hoseok never once replied or answered you. He had kept himself far away from you, and it was unnerving to say the least. In the last 7 years, you hadn’t been with Hoseok, he was with you every step of the way until now.

But now as you look outside the small cafe window you see an all too familiar group of people heading towards you. Your first instinct was you jump up from your comfortable seat in the far corner and run out the stained glass doors to go greet your best friend and his group, that is until you realized there was a girl with them. Instead you just grit your teeth and close your laptop, walking up to the register to order the sweet delicacy you’d been contemplating since arriving at the cafe a few minutes ago.

Your heart dropped as you sauntered your way to the register, gently tapping your nails against the cold granite counters while ordering the seasonal favorite.

“A pumpkin spice please,” and with the the barista smiled and nodded, taking the cash you’d handed him and going to make your drink. You decided to wait at the counter, happy that it was finally a beautiful day outside, but also upset at the group entering right behind you. Their loud and familiar laughter ringing in your ears like bells. One hand fell to your side and started playing with the hem of your white skater skirt while the other hand continued you tap the counter in front of you. The footsteps got closer but the laughter died down to nothing except the breathy giggles of whatever girl had just followed them. You felt a hand rest on your shoulder, attempting to turn you around to face the owner.

“Well hello there-”, you turned around and brushed the bangs out of your face with a gentle smile at what was once your best friend.

“Yeah, good to see you too Jung Hoseok,” you felt yourself inwardly scoff at the blonde girl attached to his arm as she tried so hard to get his attention back on her. The group behind him all stared at you with their jaws dropped past the floor, seeing the all too familiar face. The first to step up to you was Taehyung, he was always the first one to hug you when he saw you.

“Oh my god, where have you been,” Taehyung quickly grabbed your wrist and hugged you like he hadn’t seen you in decades. You giggled at the safe feeling of being trapped by Taehyung himself. He wasn’t forceful or rough, you could feel how much he genuinely missed you through his hugs.

“Tae-Tae, I missed you too,” you chuckled out in raspy breaths. Taehyung refused to let go of you, which made it very hard to breathe, but you honestly didn’t mind. You felt guilty that you had hurt him so much, but by all rights, you had tried.

“Tae, don’t break her,” you heard a voice interrupt, “we all want to hug her too”. You chuckled as the familiar voice of SeokJin came closer and pulled away Tae, wrapping you in gentle arms of the motherly man of the group. Jin was your emotional support, he kept you stable and made sure you ate properly. All the boys took care of you in their own way, but none of them were Hoseok, that much everyone knew.

“Okay Jin, hand her over,” NamJoon’s voice boomed with a pleasant bass behind it. He wasn’t loud in an annoying way, it was relaxing and comforting. He was quickly to pick you up and hug you as tight as he could, squeezing the last bit of air out of you.

“Joon, she’s dying, let her breathe,” Jimin’s gentle hands pried Joon away and held you gently, allowing you the chance to breathe properly before the next hug. Sure enough another pair of arms were prying you away and holding you close now, but not the ones you really wanted. Jungkook and Suga both hugged you and made sure you could breathe, because the last thing they wanted was to murder you on accident.

“Thanks guys, it’s really great to see all of you again, I missed you guys,” You beamed a smile at the and let out a slight giggle as everyone else smiled with you. You dragged them back to your booth in the corner while Hoseok and his blonde kept ordering drinks and glaring at you.

“So what happened,” Yoongi was the first to ask the question they all wondered about for months. Last time they had seen you was 6 months ago, you had long cascading hair that went past your shoulders, which was now replaced by short slightly curled strawberry blonde hair that just hit your chin. You waited, everyone eyeing you out of curiosity, you just shrugged and nodded towards Hoseok.

“Ask him. I told him I got hired as Got7’s stylist and he stopped talking to me,” you huffed out as the group looked over their shoulders to Hoseok, who was clinging onto that girl. He laughed and she giggled, trying to look like a cute couple.

“He lied to us… He told us you left us,” Jungkook looked at you shocked and let the words spill from his pale pink lips. To say you’d never checked out each of the guys was a lie because they were all very attractive.

“Why would he even say that if it was a lie,” Taehyung asked aloud, hoping no one paid him any attention. But you never missed a word that fell from their lips, you never had. You sighed a low sigh and rubbed your temples.

“I don’t even know,” you grunted as you were shoved over while Taehyung and Jungkook moved closer to you, allowing the overly dramatic couple to sit down as well after having returned with the drinks. The table fell into an eerie silence, except for the couple who never stopped giggling. You scoffed and got out from the table, swaying your hips just a little more dramatically as you walked to the counter to grab your drink. You made sure to stay up there and flirt with the barista who had taken your order, leaning over a little bit more than usual to lean on the counter top while you spoke to him. When you had finished, you quickly spun around to find all the guys except Hoseok red with discontent, which came as a total shock to you.

“Hey guys, you wanna leave the couple here and we can go hang out somewhere else?” you pondered what you had just asked but realized it was too late to take it back. They all nodded too eagerly and paid the tab as they stood up and walked out the door surrounding you. Everyone of them suggested their place because Hoseok had no plans of coming back there for a while, so you all headed towards their dorm, a slight chatter of conversation filled the air around you all as you walked down the busy streets.

“So what do you have in mind,” you asked no one in particular as you finally entered the shared dorm. You were glad that they didn’t live too far from your own apartment because it made it really nice to be so close to them all the time. You were suddenly pulled from you thoughts as you felt a pair of hands grab your face and crash their lips against yours without warning. Soon after was another set of hands and lips replacing the previous pair. You quickly opened your eyes and stepped back seeing a red-faced Jungkook and a pink-tinted face of Jin. But before you could register what was happening NamJoon was on you, lips crashed against yours like he’d been craving you for years. His sweet and passionate lips soon replaced by much softer and yet harsher lips which you could only assume was Yoongi. The next moment you opened your eyes you noticed there were 3 people left in the room with you, 2 of which you could distinctly see and being Jimin and Taehyung.. But who was the last one?

You watched as Taehyung walked closer to you, gently kissing you as if he was scared to hurt you. After a few second of gently kisses and lingering fingers, Jimin rushed in and pressed his lips to yours, taking the initiative to bite your lower lip and groan against your lips which made you involuntarily let out a small moan. This small noise only proved to encourage Jimin as his hands traveled down your sides and to your hips, slowly snaking his arms around and roughly grabbing your ass as he yanked you even closer to his body. At this point your head was reeling with possibilities and so was Jimin’s, but he quickly let you go and grabbed Tae’s hand, pulling him back towards the bedrooms. When you turned back around you watched as the last figure whisked himself around, a startled noise erupting from your throat as you watched your best friend Hoseok take large steps towards you before grabbing your face and crashing his lips against yours with immense amounts of passion and love. You instinctively closed your eyes, Hoseok’s plump lips melting into yours as his tongue darted out to lick your lower lip. Hoseok’s hands gently traced down your sides, his fingertips caressing your hips, and used both his hands to roughly grab your ass and hoist you up as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He was eager and fast about walking you back to the bedroom, where you were quick to notice that all 7 men were here now, waiting and watching you. Hoseok gently put you back down, walking over to the rest of the group before sitting down and watching you. Jin quickly stood up and was the first to say anything about the scenario.

“There’s a reason we dragged you back here, honestly, we all really care about you in more than just a friend way,” Jin stopped and looked at your face waiting for a response. You could feel the shock setting in but you tried your best to hide it. Seven gorgeous men were in front of you, saying they care about you as more than just a friend.

“Now, there’s a few ways this can go down, but it’ll be weird,” Jin stepped closer to you and spoke in a gentler tone, attempting to soothe everything.

“Choice a, you can have us all. Choice b, you could have one member. Or choice c, you can have 2 members. It’s entirely up to you y/n,” Jin’s voice got softer as he listed off the choices. Your mind reeled with this information, knowing you could have them all or in 2’s or singles. It was soo much to take in at once.

“Well if I go with all of you then each of you would need the same amount of attention and love, if I go with pairs then there’s Jimin and Kook, Tae and Yoongi, Jin and Joon, and Hoseok.. But if I go with singles then it’s only one of you..” You listed the choices out loud, genuinely considering all of them. You pondered all the possibilities in your head and finally chose.....

So what do you choose?

(Group)

Single:

(Jungkook) (Jimin) (Taehyung) (Namjoon) (Jin) (Hoseok) (Yoongi)

Pairs:

(Jimin*Kook) (Jimin*Jin) (Jimin*Joon) (Jimin*Yoongi) (Jimin*Hoseok) (Jimin*Tae)

(Kook*Tae) (Kook*Jin) (Kook*Joon) (Kook*Yoongi) (Kook*Hoseok)

(Jin*Joon) (Jin*Tae) (Jin*Yoongi) (Jin* Hoseok)

(Joon*Hoseok) (Joon*Tae) (Joon*Yoongi)

(Hoseok*Yoongi) (Hoseok*Tae)

(Tae*Yoongi)

#bts #kpo #smut #fanfiction #bts fanfic #bangtan boys #bulletproof boys #taehyung #jungkook #jimin #seokjin #namjoon #min yoongi #jung hoseok

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i-read-good-books · 7 years

Text

fic for victuuri week day 6!

I’m late! So sorry but i am a busy bean. The rest will be coming soon. This is based off @tanaw (who is awesome) ‘s reincarnation au art (so go check that out!)

Title: in another life

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: about 5.7k

Summary:

Yuuri doesn’t know how long they stay there, frozen in that moment, how long he thinks about the things he wants to say to Victor, the things he wants to say - not now, but in time, as he grows to know him better. How long he thinks about the fact that he truly wants to know him better, that he’s letting his soul be touched by someone for the first time in years.

He doesn’t know how long they stay there, a knight and a mage - the unlikeliest of companions - but he does know he never looks away.

Link on ao3: here

Full fic under the cut

They meet in the heat of battle.

The mage comes to his aide when he’s surrounded by fire and deafened by the screeching of evil spirits near the eastern waterfalls. There’s a whirl of blue ice suddenly, stepping between him and his enemy and just a flash of teeth in a quick smile. Their movements match the other’s effortlessly, a predetermined partnership weaving itself as they dodge attacks and try their best offensive, sweat dripping from both their brows.

It’s been twelve years since the fight against the nymphs began; three since it became serious enough that the roads aren’t safe. People say it takes a dozen men to take down one of their basic spirits.

They do it between the two of them in under ten minutes.

“What’s your name?” the mage asks, lips curling into a smirk. There’s no trace of the spirit left, just the residual faint smell of rotting apples in the air, the most surefire way to know if nymph magic is involved.

He looks up from where he’s leaning against one of the rocks that make up the waterfalls. It’s almost impossible to hear him over the wind and the rushing water, but somehow the mage’s voice reaches him without trouble, clear and strong. He has an accent. The knight wipes his sword against the rock on instinct, sliding it smoothly; it doesn’t have any blood - spirits don’t bleed -, but old habits die hard.

He meets the mage’s eyes, and smiles, slightly shy. He hasn’t seen a mage that powerful in the last decade, and certainly not one that beautiful and kind enough to help him when he was in need. “I’m Yuuri.”

“Yuuri,” the mage repeats, his voice curling over the syllables like he’s licking honey, savouring every drop. He has an accent, his consonants resonate in a way he’s never heard before. The mage smiles back at him, relaxing his smirk, and holds out his gloved hand, “Hey, Yuuri, I like you. I’m Victor.”

…

“Oh my god,” Yuri groans, burying his face in his hands and pretending to barf. “What the hell is that bastard doing?”

“Who are you talking about?” Victor smiles, moving to ruffle his hair and pouting when the teenager hisses at him, recoiling and raising his arms to protect himself. He’s in that age. “Did you make a skater cry again?”

“Stop bringing that up, I was twelve the last time it happened,” Yuri groans, as if it wasn’t simply three years ago, but a distant era in the past. Victor will never get over how teenagers measure time. “And I’m talking about Yuuri Katsuki, otherwise known as a walking fucking disaster.” He grabs Victor’s shoulder, shaking him a little, and points him in the direction of the ballroom, where people are gathering to chat, forming small groups that are divided into which complexity of English one can speak, and if they’ve known the other skaters for some time. Following Yuri’s finger, he looks in its direction.

Victor’s eyes go wide, jaw dropping open. His breath hitches.

Yuuri Katsuki (he’s heard of the name before, a champion in Japan - great step sequences, last place this final) is dancing.

He’s dancing, completely free, in front of all the exhausted athletes and expensive patrons. His hair is messier than it was during his programs, a bit longer now, which Victor thinks is a great improvement, and it’s far easier to notice that his trousers fit him almost ridiculously well when he’s moving around without the edge of nervousness competition brings. Every aspect of him seems liberating; his shirt buttons are undone, his eyes shut, and his hands are clapping to the music, following the rhythm perfectly.

Honestly, Victor thinks, he looks like he’s having the time of his life.

Before his eyes, Yuuri lets out a short, delighted laugh as the music picks up, sinking to his knees and jumping back up in a sudden movement, receiving a loud whoop from where Mila is talking to her friend. Yuuri notices and waves at her, winking and falling to the floor again with expert control.

Victor can’t help but think, He’s beautiful.

On cue, he takes his phone out, giggling like a schoolboy, “I’m taking a video of this.”

“To share online?” Yuri raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t think you were that cold, Nikiforov. The guy’s drunk off his ass.”

“Um,” Victor doesn’t say, No, I wanted to take a video so I can watch it during my lonely, lonely nights and cry about how pretty this man is. “Yeah, I won’t share it. Just - for other stuff.”

Like crying. And debating whether or not to send him a Facebook friend request at 2 am.

The young skater huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “And anyway, it’s pretty fucking sad.” He turns his nose up, “That dancing’s terrible.”

Victor smirks, “It is?” Frankly, he thinks it’s absolutely mesmerizing and yes, zoom in, Victor, good man. He yelps, excited, when Yuuri starts jumping around, humming and smiling. “So you think you could do better?”

Yuri frowns at him, scoffing, offended, “I know I could do better.”

“Hm,” Victor flutters his eyelashes. “Can you prove it?”

The skater’s eyes narrow.

It takes him ten more seconds of innocently sipping his glass while struggling not to drop his phone (that’s still recording), and then Yuri is marching up to Yuuri Katsuki and break dancing it out.

Victor’s laughing like he hasn’t in months; snapping pictures, clapping along when either of them manages a pretty risky move, and politely awwwing for Yuri when he loses, rubbing his shoulders in reassurance. Well, what did he expect, going up against such an obvious master of the craft? God, Victor needs to fan himself after watching Yuuri Katsuki slide on the floor without a care in the world. The only thing missing is a stripper pole.

It’s maybe because he’s thinking about Yuri, wondering if he’ll develop an eternal grudge against Katsuki, or because he looks away from the man for a few seconds to steady himself (don’t embarrass yourself against a king, Victor, this is your only chance to look good!), that he doesn’t notice Yuuri standing in front of him until he turns around to find him waiting there.

Their noses are almost touching.

Yuuri smells like champagne, and sweat, and he’s panting, blinking rapidly. He has the hugest smile on his face Victor’s ever seen, something so purely joyful that it tugs at his heartstrings. Clumsily but firmly, he bows a little, wobbling as he goes down, and holds out his hand, beaming, “Dance with me, Victor?”

He’s got a slight accent, and his speech is slurred from being drunk as fuck, obviously. This is silly, and there’s people here who pay for Victor’s livelihood who probably don’t want to see him dance it out with the person who got last place, no matter how much Victor doesn’t care about that. Plus, he doesn’t know the guy at all, really, he could be a jerk who just dances really nicely.

And yet, Victor, feeling like his heart might burst from his chest, doesn’t hesitate before taking his hand, breathing out, “I’d love to.”, and letting himself be led.

…

Victor and Yuuri get to know each other slowly.

It’s not easy to travel, even if it’s in a small group and the both can pretty confidently take on several enemies at once. The roads are solitary, slivers of grass growing between the stones in the path, marking the fact that they haven’t been stepped on for months. Weak nymphs and their basic spirits are everywhere, showing up at the most inconvenient of times; transforming the mere act of bathing in the river or managing to stop and eat a chore that makes Yuuri’s skin prickle with alarm, his heartbeat quickening. It’s quite understandable that he doesn’t chit chat much.

But being with Victor the mage and not speaking to him seems something akin to a crime, for him.

“You know,” the mage murmurs, hands curling around his hood. The inside of it is covered with pale furs, glowing next to his creamy skin. “You haven’t told me your story, you know?”

“You haven’t asked,” Yuuri mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat. He’s been hunting for nymphs for as long as he can remember, training until daybreak to strengthen his muscles, sharpening his reflexes without rest - and he gets tongue tied whenever Victor smiles at him. Sometimes he gets unbearably embarrassed about his crush. “It’s not that interesting, anyway.”

“Let me be the judge of that?” Victor asks, voice soft. Around him, small snow crystals glow into existence before melting and falling to the ground. It continues to amazing, this way in which Victor displays his magic openly and unashamedly, despite what some think about mages.

Trying to be courageous, Yuuri gives in, “I lived in Hasetsu all my life. I was there when the attack happened.”

The mage frowns, his blue eyes colouring with concern, “That’s not… Japan?” At his slight, sombre nod, his expression tightens, alarmed. “But it was destroyed by the nymphs.”

“Aye,” Yuuri sighs, fingers grasping his sword’s hilt. “I remember. Lost my horse, my money, and my home. Thankfully, my family survived.”

I considered Vicchan to be family, he doesn’t say, keeping his voice level. He’s learnt to be tough, after fighting with Mari to defend their home, temporal as every place they stayed in was. Now that they’re no longer together, now that Mari defends their parents with her archery and Yuuri has chosen to travel alone, he has to fend for himself. She can’t coddle him anymore.

“I’m glad,” Victor says firmly, taking him out of his thoughts. He moves until they’re almost beside one another, stopping and standing in front of him, mouth slightly parted.

Yuuri blinks; Victor doesn’t walk like normal people - that would defeat the purpose, what with him being a mage - he glides on the floor, making no sound, white light flickering around his feet. They’re closer than they’ve ever been right now, if he doesn’t count their battles, now that they’re motionless in the middle of the deserted road. Victor takes his hand - Victor’s powerful, delicate, warm hands take his, so incredibly gently, and he brings them upwards, brushing Yuuri’s skin with pale lips. “I’m glad that you didn’t lose them, Yuuri.”

He doesn’t know how long they stay there, a knight and a mage - the unlikeliest of companions - but he does know he never looks away.

…

“Oooh,” Victor crows, resting his arms on Yuuri’s shoulders from behind the living room couch at the onsen, smirking at him. “You ever have a lover, Yuuri?”

The man blushes bright red, turning his face away as if to hide his obvious embarrassment. He fidgets with his hands, nervous, and murmurs, “Um, not really.”

“Never?” Victor can’t really believe it. Does he expect him to believe that? The man who boldly asked for a dance at the banquet? The man who shines on the ice like an angel? The man who skated his program without faltering? “A man like you?”

That makes Yuuri snort, just a little, “Yeah, Victor, a man like me. I’m not that much of a catch, you know.”

“Nonsense,” Victor dismisses it immediately, patting his head in reassurance and beaming when he sees Yuuri smile at that, just slightly. “You’re a national figure skating champion! You’re young! You’ve got a university degree! You’re extremely nice! And well,” Victor coughs, swallowing.“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m not -” Yuuri chokes over his own words, flushing even more deeply and waving his arms in front of him. “I’m not beautiful.”

Victor narrows his eyes, poking at his side, “Modesty doesn’t suit you, Yuuri.”

It’s a lie. Everything suits Yuuri. He’s annoyingly wonderful like that.

“Well,” Victor jumps over the couch and sits beside him, fluttering his eyelashes seductively. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

“T-thanks,” Yuuri says, ears red. He runs his fingers through his hair, still flustered, before murmuring, in the softest, most tentative tone he’s ever heard him use, “I think you’re pretty, too.”

Victor’s dead. He’s deceased. Victor needs - he has to go, and bury his face in his pillow. Yuuri’s voice there? Fucking adorable. He can’t help but think, giddy, he called me pretty! Yuuri Katsuki thinks I’m pretty! Me! Yuuri!

Out of the corner of his eye, while he’s freaking out, he sees Yuuri relax slightly, and subtly nudge his thigh closer to Victor’s. It’s a bit unsure, a bit uncertain. So Victor nudges back.

…

“Let me handle this,” Victor tells him, smirking.

They need information from a nymph expert in the area who’s rumoured to frequent this tavern. Also a large fan of pretty boys and not a huge fan of people asking for information, according to their source (lovely village lad called Eimer). Apparently, he knows where this region’s main spirit, the Dragon, is located.

Yuuri’s grip on his sword tightens. If they can get rid of the spirit, the nymph will be weakened enough to be vulnerable to their attack. Nymphs have to distribute a large amount of their power to their main spirit so as to keep their basic spirits in line and control the region, which means it depletes their energy levels if they go down suddenly.

Victor requests surprises him, though. He blinks, “You want to get the information by yourself?”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor throws his long hair back, letting out a soft sigh and curling his fingers around the cords of his cape, teasing the motion of unlacing. “Trust me, I can make him talk.”

His eyebrows shoot upwards, a smile curving his lips, “Oh?”

The mage shoots him a dirty look, “I’m a very desirable man, Yuuri Katsuki.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he replies, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m just wondering if it wouldn’t be suspicious for a mage to be sniffing around a nymph expert. You’re not exactly welcome around here.”

Victor sniffs, turning his nose up, “Stupid belief that nymphs are mages gone mad. As if that has any basis in reality.”

“I know,” Yuuri says, lightly touching his forearm in support. They’ve had a few close runs with angry people calling Victor a nymph and throwing stones at them. It’s almost impossible to hurt them, of course, not with Victor’s shields and Yuuri’s skills in play, but it must hurt to hear someone condemn him like that. Mages are raised in the academy, so they often don’t meet other people until adulthood. He saw Victor’s face, the first time a child insulted him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to never see that again.

“I can do it, too, you know.”

Victor’s eyes soften, “You’re such a sweetheart.”

“Maybe I’m just possessive,” Yuuri suggests, feeling brave, and relishes the startled blush on the mage’s cheeks. He coughs lightly, pleased, “I’ll be out of there in ten minutes.”

“... Optimistic,” Victor chokes out, still rattled. It isn’t often that Yuuri initiates the flirting, he knows that. But well. It wouldn’t have been nice to watch Victor drape himself over a potentially dangerous informant. Sometimes he really is a bit possessive.

“Just watch,” Yuuri winks.

They both go in, although Victor puts his hood up. His features are too fine to be any common villager, telling the tale of a life spent at the academy instead of in the fields, his hands uncalloused, and his snow crystals are too noticeable. He can pass for some time, but Yuuri will have to be quick.

No worries. He’s been quick before.

He leaves his sword with Victor, warning him to be watchful, before he changes in a small closet space he finds empty, taking off unnecessary furs and struggling not to feel observed. There are eyes everywhere. Once he’s got his clothes on, he messes up his hair a bit, erases some of the bags under his eyes with powder Mari and him used to buy at the Hasetsu market, and nods, satisfied.

Yuuri walks out of the small closet swishing his hips and letting just enough of his chest show, and ten different men and women turn to stare at him. Victor, from where he’s skulking near a table in the back, drops his glass noisily on the floor, eyes wide.

Aren’t you supposed to be subtle? Yuuri muses, slightly excited. He doesn’t really unsettle Victor much, and it’s nice to see him lose his composure a little.

He seduces the guy into telling him all the possible info, dropping spare touches on his arm and fluttering his eyelashes. He makes sure to trail his fingers all over the man’s face, and leaves before the guy realizes he’s just spilled important data to a travelling man working at a nearby ‘entertainment venue’ (code for pleasure house).

“...I did not expect that,” Victor gulps when they’re out of the tavern, glancing back at him, already wearing his regular clothes, in amazement. “That was...extremely educational.”

“Oh, really?” Yuuri blinks innocently, very purposefully pulling on his sword’s hilt before letting it drop all the way into its sheathe, watching Victor’s eyes track the movement. “I think I held back too much.” His heart is beating its way out of his chest, but he powers through. “If you want to learn though,” he licks his lips unconsciously. “I could always teach you.”

Victor lets out the tiniest whimper he’s ever heard, chest quivering up and down, and quickly walks ahead.

…

“I know!” Yuuri shoots up from the dinner table, breathless, with his cheeks flushed red. “I finally know what my eros is!”

He turns to look at Victor triumphantly, curling his fingers into his fist, “Pork cutlet bowl!”

For a moment, Victor wants to tear his hair out, to shake him and tell him, “No.”, because he’s seen Yuuri’s eros, seen him seduce him more expertly than anyone he’s ever met in his life, reeling him in and digging his hook all the way in. He wants to kiss him until he can’t think, his head is dizzy, and he finally lets go.

But Yuuri isn’t ready, that’s plain to see. Yuuri shuts the door at night, and hesitates when Victor is close, blushes at proximity incredibly easily. Yuuri is still figuring out what he wants, apparently, and the fact that he might have made the first move while drunk can’t change that. He’s going to have to be patient; it’s worth it, for a guy like Yuuri.

So Victor beams at him, grabs his arm, and declares, “Then you will be the pork cutlet bowl that enthralls men!”

The way Yuuri smiles at him, relieved and reassured in his choice, lets him know he did the right thing.

…

The Dragon spirit is at the top of the mountain - at least, that was what Yuuri’s informant claimed - in an area without many trees but near a stream, so the nymph can feed off its energy. There’s a minimum of two days travelling uphill in desolate terrain until they reach its hideout, and it’ll be tough, with no moment to rest. It’s extremely dangerous to fall asleep while so close to a main spirit; anything can attack, masking themselves with the spirit wards; basic spirits sneak into dreams if they’re strengthened by the main spirit’s power, and the mind must be alert at all times to stop nymph possession.

Yuuri knows this. He’s lived amongst nymphs for the better part of his childhood; Japan was a disaster that fell quickly enough, but nymphs followed their journey all the way out of the island, attaching their main spirits to vessels and landing in fertile grounds.

Nymphs are terrible, parasitic creatures who barely have any distinguishable emotions and lack an organized society. Contrary to what the stories said about them before they took over, nymphs aren’t beautiful maidens with kind words, but shorter, sickly-looking tiny women with sunken cheeks and bottomless black eyes. Yuuri won’t ever get the image of a nymph spreading her wings as she flew away with a child out of his mind, not for as long as he lives - her yellowed teeth shining, her claws wrapping around the baby, the way she glowed as her feet touched the earth.

They are distinctively non-human, and they aren’t mages, either. No one could mistake a nymph for them. They don’t have feelings, they don’t lure unsuspecting travellers to their doom. It’s almost ridiculous, how easy it is to hate them for sucking the life out of their home, out of their people, out of their hope.

But their blood is just as red as Yuuri’s is. And the screams of terrified agony - high-pitched, desperate, pleading - as he drives his sword through them while not allowing himself to falter, sound just like people’s.

“Do you want to do this?” Yuuri asks, swallowing hard. He’s been through too much to give up now; he’s already killed nymphs before. But Victor… Victor fights because he wants to practice his magic in peace, because he smiles at his ice crystals and draws snow mustaches on Yuuri’s face while he’s sleeping. Victor fights for the Academy, for his apprentice, a boy named Yuri, too.

Victor deserves better than risking his life alongside a mediocre knight; he deserves battalions, legions, armies.

Victor’s standing in the middle of the path, his bag with their provisions lying at his feet. His hair falls loosely all over his shoulders, covering up his hood. He looks at Yuuri, and says, very quietly, “I want to fight with you.”

“Are you certain?” Yuuri needs to know. He takes a step forward, biting his lower lip. “Victor, are you sure -?”

“I want to court you properly, you know,” Victor cuts him off, eyes fixed on the outline of the mountain in front of them. “I want you to get to know my apprentice. I want…” His hand curls into a fist, cold wind whipping his hair back. “I want to fall asleep next to you on the road without fear, Yuuri.” He finally looks up, determined. “I can’t be with you until I die if there’s creatures trying to kill us every second now, can I?” He smiles, amused. “And I still haven’t introduced you to the mage academy scholars, Yakov would never forgive me for marrying without his approval, anyway -”

Victor doesn’t continue then, but that’s because it’d be a little complicated, what with Yuuri’s lips monopolizing his mouth for the moment.

…

It’s cold, Barcelona.

Not as cold as St. Petersburg, of course; Spain’s got nothing on that. But cold enough that Victor sees Yuuri - sniffing every couple of minutes and sneezing - and frets, wrapping scarf after scarf around his neck, taking out gloves from every pocket he has, not even hesitating to warm up his face with breathless kisses.

“Victor,” Yuuri whines, pushing him away slightly. “We’re in the middle of the street!”

“But you’re freezing,” Victor pouts, wrapping his arms around Yuuri stubbornly. It’s almost his birthday, goddamnit, isn’t he allowed to hold his lover close, at least? “You’re not used to these cold winters.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow at him, a small, amused smile on his lips, “I’m from Japan, not Brazil, Victor. I’ve seen snow before.”

“Was it frightening?” Victor teases.

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight, I hope you know that.”

“So cruel,” Victor clutches at his chest desperately, biting his lip to keep himself from smiling. He knows Yuuri enjoys thinking his threats come off as serious most of the time, when really anyone can see from a mile away that he crumbles in the face of puppy dog eyes. Yuri has so far gotten soda six out of the six times Yuuri swore not to let him have some. His Grandpa hates them and won’t allow the kid to stay at their place.

“Hmph,” Yuuri rolls his eyes. “I can see when you’re being patronizing, Victor!”

“Right,” Victor replies cheerfully, dropping another kiss on his cheek.

“I-I’m telling you,” Yuuri chokes out between giggles. Ooh, ticklish. “This is so embarrassing…”

“No one knows you,” Victor whispers, his lips brushing Yuuri’s cheekbone as he moves to speak into his ear. “We can just have fun here.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri whispers back, and then says. “Except for the fact that there’s two teenagers taking pictures of you.”

Victor turns automatically. It’s true; two teens wearing ‘I HEART NIKIFOROV’ t-shirts with his face plastered on the front. The minute they notice him being aware of their presence, the short one screams and grabs the other one’s forearm in what seems like a death grip, before yelling, “¡No me lo puedo ni creer, tía! Aaaaaah, nos está mirando.”

Victor doesn’t know much Spanish, but he’s willing to bet there’s something about how cool he is, right there.

“They’re saying you’ve gotten old,” Yuuri tells him, as if the git knew Spanish.

“That is a lie,” Victor gasps, quickly switching his attention to glare at Yuuri. “I am not old. And even if I were,” Victor flicks his hair, “I would still look amazing.”

“You’ve spent the last few months drinking and binge-eating pork cutlet bowl while you had me on the steamed vegetable and pure protein diet,” Yuuri reminds him. That comes up a lot, in their arguments. Yuuri’s not the diet kind of guy, regardless of how loyal to his career he is. Victor currently has three chocolate boxes hidden in his part of the closet. “You deserve to be called all the insults in the world.”

“You still love me, though,” Victor says, his voice soft. He reaches out for Yuuri’s hand, and he immediately takes it, entwining their fingers without thinking. It’s become almost second nature these days, to reach out and find Yuuri waiting, to wait until Yuuri reaches out to him.

“Yeah, Vitya,” Yuuri goes on his tiptoes, gracing him with a single kiss on the tip of his nose and chuckling when he blushes bright red. “I still love you.”

…

Yuuri has never doubted the fact that Victor is strong. He’s always known that, and has worked tirelessly to match his level and grant him a chance against their enemies, to cover for him and compliment his style.

They’re strong, together.

The Dragon is stronger.

…

“Victor,” Yuuri starts. He looks troubled, his fingers curling into a fist on top of his thighs.

“Yes?” Victor smiles, trying to be reassuring. Tomorrow’s the final, and they’re engaged. It’s only natural that he gets nervous, especially if it’s Yuuri. He just hopes his anxiety isn’t too bad.

“Victor,” Yuuri begins once more, voice firm. “After the Grand Prix Final, let’s end this.”

…

It all starts to go wrong once Yuuri lets himself think they can actually do this.

They caught the Dragon while it was resting, thanks to Victor’s stealth, and managed to attack it in quick, efficient hits, staying light on their feet and saving energy for the entire battle. Even when the situation worsens, when the Dragon rises up to its full height, glorious and lethal, they maintain their composure, making sure that everything goes according to the plan.

The spirit feeds on the nymph to gain its power and although she’ll likely be aware that losing the guardian to her region is not a viable option, she’ll still take time to redirect her powers to one particular entity. Besides, she won’t be able to keep it up for long if someone else chooses to fight her. They must wear the Dragon out then, must outlast it. This nymph isn’t like the half-dead ones Yuuri’s seen in the wastelands or on the paths, the ones who can barely muster up three basic defense spirits. It’ll be dangerous.

They’re doing well, and then Yuuri gets hit by the spirit’s blast of pure white fire.

It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Yuuri has been stabbed, has been stepped on, thrown against walls, hit, slapped, has survived attempted drownings… he’s known violence all his life, has grown to expect it rather than recoil at the first sign of it, to accept it as part of his life.

But then the flames lick his skin, teasing and biting, and he starts screaming.

It bites at him, gnaws on his body, ripping apart the folds that keep him together. There’s nothing to run away from, nothing to shake off, no wound to put pressure on, no possible remedy - there’s just heat, unbearable, eating away without mercy, burning through cloth to sink its claws into him and make him choke.

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe he can’t breathe.

- cold.

Yuuri’s body cools down immediately, a change in temperature so brusque he feels dizzy with it, panting and clawing at his throat. He’s shivering while his blood pulses from the fire, while red rivers leak out of his red-hot wounds. There’s snow on the ground where he’s lying, he can feel it cushioning his body, recognizes its texture from being around it so much because of -

“... -uuri, Yuuri, oh for the Mage’s soul, Yuuri, pl- please.”

“V-Victor,” he rasps out. “Victor,” he repeats.

“I’m here,” Victor chokes out. Yuuri can’t open his eyes, but his heart constricts at the pure agony in Victor’s voice, gut-wrenching. “Yuuri, come on, I have to get you something -”

Neither of them are healers. The most Yuuri can do is tie a tourniquet, from days at the camps he and his family stayed at, but his knowledge of medicine doesn’t extend to burns like this. He can’t - he’s not sure he’ll survive this.

“Dragon,” he whispers, coughing. He manages to see a little, from between his eyelashes. Victor still looks gorgeous, even when his vision is blurry. It makes him want to smile, a little, and touch his cheek. He looks really worried. Victor shouldn’t be that worried about him.“Dragon.” he insists.

“I don’t care about the stupid Dragon,” Victor bites out, as if they haven’t spent the last few days chasing after it, sacrificing hours and hours of sleep and time because of it. He’s crouching protectively on top of him, “Yuuri, stay with me, I’m begging you.”

“You’re pretty,” Yuuri blurts out, woozy. It all hurts so much. The words seem to come from far away. “Want to dance?”

“What -? Nevermind,” Victor dismisses it, fussing over him. His hands are shaking. Why are they shaking? It’s still cold, but Victor’s immune to that. And anyway, the place is heating up. Yuuri’s hot. Should he be hot? That doesn’t sound right. “My wards won’t hold for much longer, we need to get you somewhere safe, I’m going to call Otabek, he can help you -”

“Be my coach, Victor,” Yuuri slurs, barely conscious.

…

Victor doesn’t notice he’s started to cry until his tears are pooling together on his lap.

…

Yuuri comes to with the worst headache he’s had in his life, spitting out blood as he writhes on the floor.

The cold - the sweet, blessed cold - is gone, and now there’s fire again, except his skin isn’t the one suffering under it this time. It’s everywhere, poisoning the air, making him cough black smoke and struggle to breathe. The only thought on his mind is - where is Victor?

…

“I’m retiring, after this,” Yuuri says, with that half-smile of his Victor knows better than he knows his own hand, the half-smile that fights to show how completely happy he is with what he’s saying, while burying the regret underneath.

Victor imagines a world in which he skates and Yuuri doesn’t - a world in which Yuuri doesn’t spend his morning hours lazing in the rink, in which he doesn’t stay up until 3 am because that’s when the best offers for skating equipment come in, in which he doesn’t rehearse jumps in Victor’s living room, accidentally breaking his lamp for the fourth time. Figure skating has become so deeply integrated into what he associates as Yuuri in the time they’ve known each other that, although he can say without a doubt that he’d stay with Yuuri regardless of whatever he did with his career, he doesn’t know if Yuuri would be happy with that.

If Yuuri would want that.

“Your career isn’t dead, Yuuri,” he whispers, trying not to plead and yet desperately wishing to.

“It’s dying,” his fiancé murmurs, shrugging.

…

Victor’s losing.

Victor’s fighting on his own at the top of the mountain, defending himself and Yuuri as best as he can. He’s on his last resources of power; Yuuri can tell by the way there’s no snow around him like there always is, just faint droplets of water hanging in the air.

“Victor!” Yuuri yells, wincing at the sound of his voice. His lungs are filled with smoke. “Victor, I’m coming!”

For a moment, Victor turns, his blue eyes widening, his lips quivering with relief before they decide on an exhausted smile. His shoulders go down, losing some of their tension. He says, “Yuuri -”

That’s the precise second when the Dragon’s claw comes down, almost as if in slow motion, and tears through his neck like it’s sandpaper.

…

“Oh my god,” Yuuri breathes, eyes following the shape moving on the TV screen. “Who is that?”

“That’s Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuko answers, not missing a beat. She sounds giddy, grabbing his hands to get his attention. Her ponytail swings from side to side as she gushes. “He’s like, the best skater in the world. Can you believe he’s only 14?”

“...Yeah, I can believe it.”

There’s something familiar about Victor Nikiforov, something that calls out to Yuuri immediately. He moves swiftly and surely, like the ice is his element, like his jumps are supported by rising and falling tides.

He’s watching him, curious and interested, when Victor Nikiforov gives a look at the camera after his spread eagle - an intimate, heated glance accompanied by a perfectly delivered wink, and Yuuri’s heart skips a beat.

He bites his lower lip, “Hey, Yuuko, can we learn that program?”

Maybe he could meet him at a competition one day.

Yeah, right, Yuuri sighs much later as they’re actually practicing the program, which is absurdly complicated. He purses his lips. As if he’d meet the best skater in the world. In another life.

fin

#victuuriweek #day 6 #au prompt #victuuri #yoi #yuri on ice #fic #fanfiction

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