#and go ahead if you want that in fic or show like FULL SPEED AHEAD. great dynamic. not for me and not now

[varyathevillain]

one thing I definitely don't want out of the rest of S2 episodes, and afraid that will come to happen nonetheless due to the "love triangle" interview, or due to stereotypic expectations of "softer love saving from past abuse and toxicity", and also, like, LOTS OF SPOILERY STILLS for the episodes premiering tomorrow... is for Izzy Hands to come out of his fucked up dependent toxic love for Ed into another romantic relationship, especially if it includes Edward.

I want Izzy Hands to be developed as a character, to finally untangle his love towards Ed/Blackbeard, not through falling in love again... but through the love towards the crew, and of them towards him. I want for the trauma pack of attempted Ed Teach murderers to bond, not so hard it's impossible to untangle them from one another, but enough to see "yeah, all these people are together, and they're gonna stay shoulder to shoulder to protect one another".

I want a friend group that did bond through a traumatic experience, but came out trusting one another because of care, not trauma. I want that to be the crux of Israel Hands' development, to be someone who can finally see himself apart from Edward Teach, and apart from "this love he has", like a disease... I want him to embrace what he has yet refused to admit. that he wants to care for his people, his crew, and to be cared for back equally, without any dynamics of power in the way.

[nephalem-da]

I hope this is the ask box, I’m not exactly sure which one was correct but I saw your latest y/n x bill story and I wanted to suggest one?

Do it whenever you want but I was thinking monster falls AU where hunter!Bill catches y/n (not sure what creature, but something mythical would be cool) and he’s very proud of his catch, showing the angry y/n off to the henchmen- who are other various hunters now.

Also if you aren’t taking requests just ignore this lol

The Hunt

(Human!Bill Cipher x GN!Reader)

Time for a Human Bill fic (╯✧▽✧)╯

Genre: Monster Falls AU, Slow-burn Romance, Humor.

Warnings: Mild violence, Panic/Anxiety on the Reader's part, Mutual pining/awkward tension, Fluff with hints of playful tension.

Summary: Bill Cipher is a skilled hunter who captures you, a rare mythical Selkie, after an intense chase through the forest. Proud of his prize, he shows you off to the Henchmaniacs.

The forest was alive with sounds of pursuit. Every snap of a branch, every whisper of wind through the leaves, sent your heart racing faster than your legs could carry you. Your feet hit the damp ground in frantic steps, each stride uneven as you darted through the towering pines. Your lungs burned, muscles protesting with every rapid movement. But you couldn’t stop. Not now.

They were close.

Bill Cipher, the infamous hunter who prowled these woods, had been tracking you for days—maybe weeks. Time had blurred into a stretch of panic ever since you realized you were being hunted. And now, the moment you feared had arrived. You were the prey in a game you hadn’t asked to join.

The transformation had already begun—whether from fear or necessity, you weren’t sure. The smooth, dark skin of your seal-like form shimmered, glinting under the dappled moonlight that barely broke through the dense canopy. The dampness from the nearby river clung to your limbs, and the scent of wet earth filled the air. You could feel the shift deep within you—the urge to dive into the water, your true element, was overwhelming. But there was no time.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the night, startling you. The sound echoed in your mind, a reminder that you weren’t alone. Bill was close.

Your seal-skin was only half-formed, and you were stuck between two worlds—too slow to slip into the full speed of your natural form, too vulnerable in this half-shifted state. Panic surged through you. You had heard the stories about Bill and his relentless pursuit of mythical creatures. There were whispers among your kind about his cruel efficiency and unbreakable persistence. He never failed.

“Where do you think you're going, fishy?” Bill's voice cut through the silence like a blade, mocking and far too close for comfort. “You’re just making this harder on yourself!”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, but you didn’t slow. You couldn’t. With your lungs burning and your legs aching, you pushed harder, veering off the path and toward the river. Water—if you could reach it, maybe you could escape. Your Selkie form could glide through it effortlessly, leaving the hunter far behind.

But Bill had been planning this for too long, and he was one step ahead of you.

Just as the sound of rushing water reached your ears, you felt a sharp pull, the ground falling out from under you as a net sprang up, tangling you in its enchanted threads. You hit the earth hard, pain shooting through your side as you struggled against the bindings. The more you fought, the tighter the net seemed to hold, cutting into your skin and sealing your fate.

"Ha! Gotcha!" Bill’s triumphant voice rang out as he sauntered into view, his human form tall and menacing against the shadowy backdrop of the trees. His hunter’s outfit was weathered but well-kept, a wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over his eyepatch that was oddly shaped like a triangle, and a single, golden eye.

“There you are! That took longer than I thought.” He crouched beside you, tilting his head in mock sympathy. “You almost had me, you know? But no one escapes me.”

You glared up at him, your chest heaving with the effort of trying to free yourself from the net. But it was useless. The enchanted rope sapped your strength and neutralized your magic, leaving you half-shifted and vulnerable.

Bill’s grin widened. "You’re quite the catch. I was expecting something more boring, but a Selkie?” He whistled low. “That’s rare. Guess it’s my lucky day."

You growled, shifting your weight in the net, but Bill only smirked. He grabbed a fistful of the netting and yanked you upright, pulling you onto your feet. “Easy there, slippery,” he chuckled. “Wouldn’t want to hurt my prized catch before showing you off.”

As if on cue, Bill’s henchmen—the Henchmaniacs—emerged from the shadows, laughing and cheering at their leader’s success. They were rough, grizzled hunters who worked under Bill’s command, each more eager than the last to prove their loyalty.

"Nice work, boss!" one of them shouted, nudging the others. "Look at that catch!"

The others chimed in, offering their congratulations as Bill proudly dragged you toward them, your bound form stumbling in his grip. You could feel their eyes on you—hungry, calculating, and cruel.

“Hey, think it’s dangerous?” one of them asked, eyeing your Selkie skin with curiosity.

Bill scoffed. “Not anymore. I’ve got this one under control. Besides—” he leaned in close, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper—“they’re too smart for their own good, but not smart enough to escape me.”

You narrowed your eyes, but your glare only made Bill chuckle. He tugged the net tighter, making you wince.

Behind him, the Henchmaniacs began to busy themselves with camp preparations, their voices blending into the background as they moved through the clearing. A fire crackled nearby, its light casting flickering shadows across the monstrous landscape.

And just beyond the edge of the camp, you could see them—the creatures of Gravity Falls. They lingered at the edge of the woods, watching with wide, glowing eyes. They watched the hunters from afar.

You could feel their gaze on you, watching as Bill presented his latest catch. They knew the game, but none of them would step in. The unspoken rule was simple: if you were caught by the hunters, you were on your own.

Bill dragged you to the center of the camp, his grin never faltering. “Everyone, meet the new addition to our little collection,” he announced, loud and proud. “A rare, hard-to-catch Selkie. Not bad, huh?”

The Henchmaniacs cheered, but the monsters at the edge of the woods remained silent, their eyes glowing with something you couldn’t quite place—pity, perhaps? Or maybe frustration? They wouldn’t step in, but it didn’t mean they weren’t waiting for something to change.

As the night wore on, you sat by the fire, still trapped in the net and unable to shift fully into your true form. Bill hovered nearby, his smug expression softening just a bit as he poked at the fire with a stick.

“You know,” he said after a long pause, “I don’t usually keep my catches alive. But you... there’s something interesting about you. Might just keep you around.”

You glared at him but didn’t respond. Every muscle in your body was tense, your mind racing with thoughts of escape.

Bill’s eye flicked to you, studying your silence for a moment before he shrugged. “Fine. Be that way. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

But there was something in the way he looked at you that gave you pause. For all his bravado and arrogance, there was something else there—a flicker of curiosity, of something deeper. He wasn’t just proud of his catch; he was fascinated by you. And that, more than anything, made your pulse quicken.

Part 2 || Alt. Part 2

[monseulamourrr]

→ “a long road ahead.” || ahn yujin x reader fic.

— you set off on an approximate six-or-more-hour drive with your girlfriend and you come across your greatest enemy: boredom…

word count: 1.4k

tags: fluff, literally just yujin and yn being cute while on the road like stopppp, me when.

requested? : nope.

a/n: is anybody surprised that i'm already on my third yujin fic? no? yeah, me either... anyway this one's going to be kinda short since it's a pretty simple idea to begin with :] hope ya'll like it 🥺💕

yujin knew that as soon as you dropped your nintendo switch on your lap, you were bored as hell.

she was only able to take a few short glances in your direction from time to time since it was her turn on the wheel, but she could see it all in the little habits that you showed whenever you were weary. your eyes wandered, you couldn’t sit still, you weren’t sitting up straight like you usually did, and the most notable habit, you started talking with impatience evident in your voice.

your constant sighs along with your tiny mumbles and occasional grumbles were nothing short of adorable for yujin. especially with the way you got frustrated from playing animal crossing of all things. but having been your lover for years now, yujin knew all the things that would ease you and hopefully even cure your boredom.

she reaches for her phone and opens it, earning a ‘tsk’ from you.

“eyes on the road, miss.” you said, nudging your girlfriend’s arm.

“i got it, love. one sec.” yujin seamlessly switches to your favourite playlist and triumphantly smiles as she did so. you shook your head, not at all a fan of her recklessness. although you were happy that she thought of playing your favourite songs instead of the usual playlists for a trip like this.

a smile graces yujin’s face when she saw how you’ve relaxed on your seat, softly humming to the songs you love as you stared at the long road ahead.

“you don’t want to take a nap? it’ll be a while before we make a stop.” yujin said, eyes briefly switching from the gps and back onto the road. there were still three and a half hours of driving before the two of you reach your destination. even yujin thinks it might’ve been better if neither of you drove but instead, just flown to that other city.

“and who’s gonna keep you in check? surely not azzo.” you looked at yujin’s beloved puppy sitting on the backseat of the car. azzo was diligently decimating her chew toy. good girl!

“i promise i’ll only stay ten over the speed limit.” yujin says with a cheeky smile, earning a soft punch in the shoulder from you. you don’t fall asleep; it was impossible! yujin found every way to keep you up and alert either by randomly touching your face, taking your hand and kissing it, or simply just letting it rest on your lap. she probably knew, but you were so giddy. you couldn’t hide your smile, even when you turned your face away.

damn yujin. she will always make your heart jump.

if she wasn’t constantly touching you, yujin was singing. and when she was singing, she was a mess. head-banging, slamming her hands on the steering wheel, even honking out of nowhere. yujin didn’t care that she looked stupidly insane, she cared that it made you smile and laugh. although you did scold her when she swerved a bit after singing too passionately.

when you noticed that yujin had a pout on her face a few moments later, you knew only one thing could cheer her up. well, two things. food and kisses, mostly the food part. after giving azzo some treats, you proceeded on feeding yujin and yourself. she had insisted on bring some donuts for the ride, saying that she needed the sugar to keep herself awake. but you knew the silly thing just wanted some donuts.

“you picked all my favourites?” yujin asks. you hum in reply since your mouth was full. you don’t notice the loving look yujin gives you before she turns her head back towards the road. a small action from you, but one she appreciated beyond understanding.

“one could never go wrong with the excellence that is the strawberry flavour.” yujin says, licking her lips. you shook your head and wiped her mouth as best as you could before continuing one eating. yujin was much, much happier after getting fed and a much happier yujin was a much happier you of course!

eventually, and thankfully, you had to stop at a near-empty gas station for a bit of a break and to refill the tank. while yujin busied herself taking azzo out of the car to run around, you decided to stick with the car and fill it up. there were still a few hours of driving left, thinking about it made you groan out loud and roll your eyes. at least it was going to be your turn to drive though, it wouldn’t be too boring.

“babe, we should have lunch.” yujin says after you finished what you needed to do.

“wouldn’t that just keep us on the road for longer?” you asked, scratching your head.

“well, you need to relax! and we both know those donuts didn’t do too much for our stomach. come on, the restaurant’s open.” yujin nods her head to the eatery right next to the gas station—it was empty.

well, you couldn’t exactly say no to food, much less your girlfriend, so you ended up parking the car nearby and entering the eatery with yujin and azzo following close behind. you and yujin (and azzo) chose to sit in the booth on the farthest corner of the eatery, and you stared out of the window and into the empty road.

even if you miraculously teach your destination quicker than expected, there were still things needed to be done that would chip the day away fast. checking in at the hotel, dropping off all your things in your room, organizing the plans for your getaway, dinner, shopping, outfits—

“why’s mama so grumpy today, mommy?” yujin spoke with a ridiculous high-pitched voice. you turned your head and scoffed at the sight of her ‘talking’ with azzo.

“because mama’s got a lot on her mind! see that look in her eyes?” you were glaring at the snickering yujin. “she could summon a storm!” a hearty laugh leaves yujin’s mouth when you rolled your eyes. of course, you would never be upset at yujin and you knew that she was doing these seemingly annoying antics to cheer you up. you loved her a lot for that.

yujin lets azzo sit on her side of the booth before sitting beside you. she wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. automatically, you lay your head on her shoulder, sighing blissfully at the feeling of her warmth next to you. “let’s look in the bright side, okay? we finally have all the time in the world just for the two of us, and azzo. as soon as we reach the hotel, we can just have fun and do everything we’ve been wanting to do but couldn’t because of work. think about that, and suddenly, a few more hours of driving doesn’t sound so horrible, huh?”

as always, you could rely on yujin’s positivity to kickstart your own. you nodded, putting your hand on her thigh and squeezing it gently. “you’re right, yujin-ah,” you raised your head slightly, frowning. “sorry i’ve been real stingy this entire time.”

“nah, don’t worry about it,” yujin ruffles your hair and kisses your head, making you giggle and snuggle even closer to her. “i love you even if you’re feisty. and you know i love it when you are.” yujin winks at you, making you grimace and pinch her cheek.

“i love you too, idiot.”

you had a good time at that restaurant. you and yujin took turns feeding each other, discussed the details of your plans only to end up adding even more plans just to maximize your time and fun for as long as you can, and she even teased you about a gift she prepared beforehand which of course got you so curious that you asked her endless questions about it. surprisingly enough, yujin could control herself and managed to not spill a single clue about her gift. she said you simply had to wait and be patient like you always are.

(it was a promise ring. one she would give to you five days from now during a romantic candlelit dinner in a beachside restaurant.)

after eating, you, yujin, and azzo set off in your homey car once again. this time, however, you had a smile on your face! brought only by the cutest girlfriend that made the long drive a lot less boring and more fun, loud, and exciting.

[steddieas-shegoes]

The top of your blog says you're still taking requests,no pressure though of course: Eddie lives through the events of s4 and heals in the hospital, his name is cleared, Eddie spends his time with his uncle and his friends, plays games. He notices that Steve sort of remains on the back burner, shows up to little gatherings but keeps himself at a distance, busies himself with small tasks. Keeps the focus on Eddie, and is content to sort of stare at everyone, and not join in. Eddie gets worried and asks Robin whats up with Steve, why does he keep just standing in the corner or the kitchen smiling instead of joining in, I think he's bumming the kids out, Robin. And she has to calmly, and frightfully, remind him that Steve died over spring break. What are you talking about he's right there! I'd love a Ghost Steve who doesn't want to move on, wants to stay with his family. Doesn't want to be alone. Eddie is the only one who can see him at first(?)

OKAY SO THIS WAS SAD AS SHIT AND I LOVE THIS PREMISE. I especially love it because I have read A LOT of ghost Eddie fics, some where he was actually dead and some where it was a weird Upside Down thing and he was alive. I'm a big believer in happy endings so I went full speed ahead with the latter option for Steve. But since you requested ghost Steve not wanting to move on, I had to switch it up a bit to where Eddie couldn't just let it go. Still plenty of sad, but I had to make it hopeful and happy at the end because I am me. - Mickala ❤️

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

While Eddie was in the hospital, it felt like he was in a bubble. His uncle was the only one allowed to visit for the first week, and then the kids were able to come by when his name was cleared.

They weren’t themselves, a cloud of sadness around them, but that was to be expected with everything that had happened.

Dustin, especially, clung to him more than he expected.

He figured it would be rough, he did almost die, after all, but this was on another level.

Dustin was with him every day for hours, sometimes had to be dragged out by his mom who understood, but only in the way a person who doesn’t know about the Upside Down could.

Robin came by sometimes, a haunted look on her face, none of her usual energy anywhere to be seen.

He managed to get her to crack a small smile twice.

When he left the hospital, things somehow felt worse.

The government had provided him and Wayne a new trailer, nowhere near the trailer park, even managed to get Wayne a new truck since Eddie’s van had been destroyed and Wayne’s truck was on its last leg for the last year.

His name was cleared, but that didn’t mean people changed their mind about him.

He mostly stayed at home, didn’t even attempt to go to the store with Wayne or anywhere but Dustin’s house or the Byers’.

The kids started begging for normalcy in whatever ways they could: meeting up for movie night, bringing Hellfire back, dinner at the Byers’ house.

Eddie was on board with it, wanted to put everything in the past just as much as they did.

He went to movie night, at Robin’s house while her parents were out of town instead of at Steve’s.

Steve, who hadn’t visited him once while he was in the hospital, hadn’t made it to any hangouts with the kids, apparently was coping with everything by ignoring everyone.

Eddie would have to do something about it soon because the kids were clearly missing him.

Movie night was okay, but he decided to have the next one at his house.

He told Dustin to let everyone know, didn’t think he had to be specific about everyone.

Steve didn’t show up on time, which was unusual since he was usually Dustin and Lucas’ ride. They rode with Nancy and Mike.

Everyone settled in, Eddie started the movie and passed out popcorn, waved goodbye to Wayne on his way out the door to his night shift.

Everything felt okay, but without Steve, it didn’t feel right.

Eddie could admit to himself he had a crush on him. He had one on him in high school, but that was easy to ignore when he was an asshole.

Now, he knew Steve was a good guy, protected these kids and Robin and Nancy with his life and didn’t hesitate even when he should.

It wasn’t just a crush anymore, he realized that while he was in the hospital. It was full blown feelings. Love.

Eddie sat in Wayne’s recliner in the corner, keeping an eye on everyone through the movie. He glanced over to the kitchen and saw movement, but didn’t think anything of it.

They paused the movie halfway through for bathroom breaks and refills on snacks and drinks, and Eddie followed all the kids into the kitchen to get his own beer.

He was startled when he turned the corner and saw Steve smiling at him from the corner.

He didn’t want to say anything, figured the kids had already said hello and he was just letting them get their stuff first.

But it was kind of weird that he’d come in the backdoor of a trailer he’d never visited when he easily could have come in the front door. Eddie watched as Steve leaned against the wall of the kitchen, watching everyone move around without saying anything.

It was weird, especially because the smile seemed to transform from a genuine one to a sad one quickly.

He didn’t want to draw attention to it, didn’t know how much Steve let the kids see usually, so he turned to grab his own snack from the counter.

Robin was standing there, staring at him, eyebrows pinched together.

“What were you looking at?”

“Uh,” Eddie glanced back over and saw Steve frowning now. “Steve? Looking like a kicked puppy in the corner?”

Robin’s face went from confused to worried in a millisecond.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Steve.” Eddie gestured towards where Steve was still standing, but now he looked panicked, like he wanted to interrupt. “Please feel free to make me not look insane, Steve.”

Robin glanced over to the corner, then back at Eddie, tears in her eyes.

“Eddie,” she said, voice sad, like she was about to break the worst news in the world to him. Then, she did. “Steve died. Remember? We had to leave him.”

That can’t be right. He could’ve sworn Steve was there when he was being pushed through the gate, when he gained just enough consciousness to look around and take inventory of the people around him. Steve was there.

“When did he die? He was at the…with the bats…he was at the trailer…right?”

Eddie looked back in the corner and saw Steve looking down at the floor.

And then Robin was pulling him into a hug.

“Nobody told you. They were supposed to tell you. And we-” she let out a sob. “We just haven’t talked about it. It’s hard to. Last time we tried, Dustin had to be given anxiety meds. I’m sorry, Eddie. He’s gone.”

She was crying through the explanation, almost too much for him to understand what she was saying.

But he watched as Steve wiped at his eyes in the corner.

Like he was crying. Like he was there.

He knew Robin wasn’t lying, she would never lie about something like this, and it would explain a lot of the behavior of everyone and Steve’s absence up until this point.

“Robbie, I-” Eddie didn’t know if it would help or hurt her to know he could see Steve right now. He made a decision based on the way Steve was watching them now, his eyes wide and sad, like he would be crying if he could. “I can see him right now.”

Robin pulled away, looked at him, then over at the corner.

“Right now? He’s there right now?”

Eddie nodded.

“Can you hear him say anything?”

“No, he hasn’t said anything. I don’t think he can.”

Steve was still just staring at them, and Eddie knew he was stuck.

If he was truly dead, he wasn’t moving on the way people do. If he wasn’t dead, then something super weird was happening and he would have to get help from everyone.

But he didn’t want to involve the kids, not for this. Because if Steve was dead, like they thought, and they went through the trouble of trying to find him, they’d be hurting all over again.

But if he wasn’t.

“Robin, were you sure he was dead? No pulse or breathing, no movement?”

Robin’s eyes widened.

“I mean, I guess as sure as we could be with how rushed and emotional we were? Nancy couldn’t find a heartbeat and he wasn’t moving, and we waited as long as we could, but he didn’t wake up. Do you think he isn’t dead?”

Steve was watching them, his fingers tapping against his arms that were crossed over his chest.

“How long can someone survive down there?”

“Eddie, look. I already talked to Hopper about it. He said even if somehow Steve managed to survive his injuries, they were bad enough that he would have probably been found by something and attacked. And even if he survived that, he’s been down there without food and water and clean oxygen for a month. The fact that Will survived a week was a miracle.”

He didn’t push. He could hear it in Robin’s voice that she’d already thought of every possible outcome, probably even tried to plan a rescue mission at some point.

She couldn’t take the disappointment either.

Eddie dropped it for now, but he watched as Steve watched him.

He just had a feeling that this was more complicated than Steve being dead.

—-----------------------

He let himself mourn that night.

While he didn’t feel like Steve was dead, he knew that no matter what, Steve had been missing from all their lives for a month.

He cried for hours, he cried for Steve, for Dustin, for Robin, for Max, for everyone who Steve loved so much that he died for them.

Himself included.

Because that’s what it came down to: Steve died protecting them.

They all took a risk, but Steve paid the price.

It wasn’t fair. The guy who put everyone first was the first one gone.

Eddie finally fell asleep, but it was restless. He kept getting flashes of Steve in his dreams, his face bloody, his body bloody, his screams loud.

Which was weird for a lot of reasons, one of them being that he didn’t know what injuries Steve even had when he died. The ghost he saw in his kitchen earlier had just been Steve, not bloodied or broken or scared.

When he managed to get up, he went through the motions of his day: brush his teeth, shower, eat breakfast, do his stretches, play guitar, eat lunch, clean up, talk to Wayne.

But by dinner, he felt like he had to do something. He had to figure out why he felt this buzzing energy around him.

He waited until Wayne left to get their dinner at the diner and bring it home, then he called Robin.

“Robin, is there a gate open somewhere?”

“Seriously, Eddie.”

“I just need to know! Maybe you’re right, in fact, you probably are. But what if you aren’t? What if he’s stuck down there? What if he’s too hurt to find a way back here?”

Robin was silent, but Eddie didn’t let that deter him.

“I know you guys were pretty sure. And I know you wouldn’t have left if you didn’t believe he was dead. But you said yourself you were emotional and overwhelmed and feeling rushed because of everything happening. It’s not that far of a stretch to believe that he could be alive.”

“Eddie.”

Her voice was broken.

She didn’t want to believe him.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Okay.”

“I know it’s hard. It’ll get easier, I hope. His parents just sold the house, and his car, so. He’s gone. We have to accept that.”

“Okay.”

But it wasn’t okay.

He hung up with Robin, promised he would try to get some sleep, take care of himself. It was a lie.

He ate dinner with Wayne, pretended he was doing alright, pretended he didn’t still hear the echoes of Steve’s screams in his head.

Wayne left early for work, claimed he was picking up some overtime due to them being short staffed still after the quake. He said he wouldn’t be home until nine the next morning.

Eddie nodded and pretended to head to his room for the night.

He did a lot of pretending until he was alone.

Then, he got on the phone with El.

El had gotten attached to him while Max was in a coma, stopping by to talk to him after she’d spent an hour or so with Max. She saw him as a cool older brother, especially when she realized Hopper wasn’t his biggest fan.

“I need to know if there’s a gate open.”

“Eddie, I do not know if I can help with that,” El responded slowly, carefully.

“What if I say it’s for a really good reason?”

“I am sure it is, but I promised Dad I would not open one.”

“But what if there’s one already open?”

“There is not. I would feel it.”

Eddie sighed. He didn’t want to make El break a promise, but this was worth it.

He knew Hopper would forgive her and him if he was right.

“Has Will mentioned feeling anything weird?”

Sometimes Will felt things that even El couldn’t, usually things happening only in the Upside Down. Everyone’s running theory was that it was because of the time he spent down there.

“No, he just feels the usual.”

“What’s the usual?”

“It is just there. Sometimes it is more there than other times.”

“And right now? It isn’t more than other times?”

“I think it is just always more than other times since Vecna.”

Hm. That could be something.

“Why does it feel like more sometimes?”

“It is hard to say. Sometimes it is nothing, sometimes it is because something is moving and trying to get out.”

“Is it always a creature?”

“It always was before.”

“El, I think Steve’s alive.”

There, he said it. He said it to someone who could probably actually help him, who would would help him if she believed him.

“Why do you think that? They said he was not breathing.”

“I know, but, look. Robin even said that they were being rushed and were crying and could have missed something.”

“But it has been a month.”

“I saw him. In the kitchen.” He hated saying this to one of the kids. They all loved Steve so much and if he was wrong, he really didn’t want this to hurt her. “At movie night. He was there, but only I could see him. Robin said maybe it was a ghost, but it seemed too real.”

“It was Steve?”

“Even if he’s de-,” Eddie stopped. “Gone. If his body is where it was left, it should be put to rest here. And if it isn’t, and he’s alive, then we can save him.”

“But we will get caught.”

“Not if we do it tonight. Hopper works nights this week, right?”

“Yes.”

“So he won’t be home to know you’re gone. Will is over at Dustin’s. Jonathan is so high, he won’t notice you’re gone. Joyce will be asleep by ten. You can sneak out.”

“What if you get hurt? I cannot go down there.”

That was a valid concern.

They defeated Vecna, and the Mindflayer hadn’t been a problem since, but that didn’t mean the other creatures weren’t still prowling around down there.

Out of all of them, he had the least experience with them, and she had every right to be worried.

“I can handle it. I’ll bring Steve’s bat.”

—------------------------

He met El in the woods behind the cabin they were staying in. Hopper had redone it, adding two bedrooms and a bathroom so they could all fit more comfortably.

They silently hugged and kept walking further, away from any chance of being seen or heard.

El warned him that opening the gate was risky in other ways too. She had a lot of control over her powers, but sometimes using this much strength would leave her too tired to close it again, and they couldn’t leave a gate open for longer than it took for Eddie to get in, check for Steve, and get out.

They also ran the risk of her using a little too much power and making a gate that was too big for her to close at all.

But these were risks Eddie deemed worth it, and with some convincing, El did too.

They found a small clearing, big enough to make a gate that Eddie could fit through.

He didn’t let himself stop to think about the last time he was being pushed through a gate, how he was bleeding out and barely breathing. He only thought about how Steve was down there, dead or alive, and didn’t deserve to be.

“Are you ready?” El asked him, her hands digging into the earth below her.

“Ready.”

“Two hours. If you are not back in two hours, I call Hopper.”

That was the deal. That was the only way she agreed to do this.

He knew if it came down to him being gone for more than two hours, he’d probably be grateful to see Hopper.

“Got it.”

El nodded and closed her eyes.

The ground started shaking, Eddie held back the panic, and suddenly El was staring up at him, blood dripping from her nose, smiling.

The ground had opened between them, just big enough for Eddie to slip through, small enough for El to cover with sticks and leaves if someone came looking before their time was up.

“You will come back in two hours.”

“Sure thing, supergirl. With Steve, hopefully.”

“With Steve,” she added with a small smile.

Eddie didn’t think anymore.

He dropped himself down, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach when everything turned upside down on him.

He didn’t let himself hesitate, even though he wanted to.

He had a lot of ground to cover in a short amount of time, and if Steve was alive, he could be anywhere.

But he walked towards where Robin and Nancy had left him. It would at least confirm if he was dead, his body hopefully would still be there if so.

It was only two miles, but Eddie was never a very fast runner. The first mile went surprisingly well, much faster than he expected to be able to do it. But during mile two, he felt his legs shaking.

He was still technically healing, the physical therapy stretches he did every morning further proof that he still had a long way to go before he was completely recovered.

But he pushed through it, knowing that the way back would be worse and he couldn’t waste time now.

But when he got to the area between the Creel house and the trailer park, he saw no sign of Steve, or anything for that matter.

There weren’t even vines or dead creatures around.

He tried to remain calm.

Steve had been alive when they left him here.

He may not be now, but he had been.

That felt worse.

He pushed that aside and decided to run to the trailer park.

Steve wouldn’t have gone in the direction of the Creel house, and he wouldn’t have wandered aimlessly no matter how much blood he’d lost.

He would have gone to the place he knew they would be in hopes the gate was still open.

The trailer park had always been kind of eerie, even in broad daylight, so the Upside Down version was downright horrific.

Eddie ran directly to his old trailer, hoped that somehow Steve found shelter here.

It looked worse than what he remembered, blood on the floor from when they were half dragging, half carrying him after being a meal for the bats.

The door had been kicked in at some point, and he wasn’t sure how or when that could have happened after they left.

He almost didn’t want to know unless-

He could hear movement in the back bedroom. His bedroom.

It could be anything. Wind blowing through a broken window, a creature he wasn’t entirely prepared to kill, Steve.

God, he hoped it was Steve.

He slowly walked towards the bedroom, his hands shaking where they were holding on tight to the bat.

The door was open a few inches, and he could hear the movement more clearly.

It sounded like someone was in bed, shifting in the sheets.

Holy shit.

He pushed the door open.

Holy shit.

“Steve!”

Eddie dropped the bat and ran to the bed, only stopping himself from jumping onto it when he saw the blood.

There was a lot, though most of it looked old, like maybe Steve had crawled here and then couldn’t quite find his way back out.

Steve was pale. It was dark, and hard to make out a lot of details, but he could see that he was deathly pale.

“Steve?”

“Eddie?”

“Holy shit, Jesus Christ, Steve. Where are you bleeding from?”

“Um, I think my leg? And my stomach.”

His voice was raspy, sort of nasally like he was coming down with a cold. Could you catch a cold from being down here? Probably.

Eddie’s hands hovered over the sheets, ready to move them so he could try to help, when Steve suddenly turned on his side and threw up.

“Shit. Hold on, let me help you sit up.”

“Sorry. Sorry.”

Steve was crying, and Eddie didn’t know what to do.

He took a deep breath.

“You don’t have to apologize, Stevie. I’m sorry you’ve been stuck here. Can I check your heartbeat?”

Eddie needed to see if it was ridiculously fast or slow, needed to determine how quickly he had to move them out of here, if he could take a few extra minutes to try to patch him up or if he just had to put him on his back and run.

Steve held his wrist towards him and Eddie quickly found his pulse.

He counted like a kind nurse showed him while he was in the hospital, filed away for future emergencies so he could be useful.

“It’s a little fast, but I think that’s normal for the situation. Let’s get you up and we can go.”

“Go how?”

“You can hop on my back.”

“I-”

“Steve, it’s not up for debate. You’re coming back with me and I don’t care if it means I break my back.”

Steve nodded once, his eyes closing as if he was just too exhausted to fight.

Eddie was sure he was.

Even if he managed to sleep here, it couldn’t have been well. It’s hard to rest when you know scary monsters are just outside the door.

“Tired,” Steve said, almost like he could read Eddie’s mind.

Hell, maybe he could after spending so much time down here.

Something to test later.

He checked his clock. Still had almost an hour and a half to get back to the gate.

“Have you had anything to eat or drink lately?”

“Found some water four days ago I think? Maybe five. Managed to stretch it until yesterday. Food’s been gone for days.”

How was he not passed out?

“How much of this blood is yours?”

“All of it.”

Awesome.

Eddie felt his forehead. He had a fever.

Even more awesome.

He probably had infections, which can be treated if you get them taken care of quickly, but he could have had them for weeks by now.

Cool.

“Alright, on three, wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist. I’m gonna lift, and I just need you to try to keep leaning forward while I get you on my back.”

“Mkay.”

“And you cannot close your eyes. You hear me, Steve?”

Steve didn’t answer.

“Sweetheart, I need you to talk to me.”

“Mhm. Eyes stay open.”

“And mouth keeps moving. Alright,” Eddie helped him out a bit by placing his arms around his neck. “One…two…three.”

He lifted, and huffed out a sharp breath when his ribs started aching almost immediately.

“Okay?” Steve whispered against his neck.

“I’m okay. You?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Eddie let himself take one calming breath, just enough to get himself back on track. “Talk to me.”

“Hurts.”

“I know, love, but I need to know you haven’t passed out,” Eddie said sympathetically.

“Wanna hold your hand.”

God, okay. He could handle that.

He could.

“Okay, one hand for a minute. I need them both to hold you up though.”

He moved one hand up to his chest, where Steve’s hands were sort of dangling. He let his thumb run along the side of Steve’s hands, then Steve grabbed it and squeezed, surprising strength behind it.

“Is Dustin okay?”

Jesus Christ, this guy was half dead and still asking if others were okay.

“Yeah, he’s doing okay. Misses you, though.”

“Miss him.”

“Max is gonna be mad you came back from the dead in a more impressive way than her.”

“She can win.”

Eddie let out a laugh and tugged his hand back to adjust Steve on his back.

They had barely made it out of the trailer park and Eddie’s legs were shaking. He could do it though, he had no choice.

“How long?” Steve asked.

“A month.”

“Robin?”

“She’s hurting. She thought I was crazy. Didn’t wanna come because she didn’t wanna see you like she left you.”

“Not dead though.”

“Nope, not unless dead people can talk down here.”

Steve’s breath was hot against his neck, tickling him and sending chills down his back.

“You?”

“What about me?”

“Hurt?”

Steve’s voice was getting more strained, like he was doing his best to still talk but it was causing a lot of pain for him to do so.

“I was really hurt, yeah.”

“Still?”

“Not as much. Just a little.”

“Love me?”

Eddie knew he was losing it. The pain, the dehydration and hunger, the deliriousness. Steve didn’t have a clue what he was saying.

“What?”

“You love me?”

“Um.”

Steve squeezed his legs around Eddie’s hips.

“Came back. Love me.”

When it was put like that, yeah, Eddie guessed it seemed kind of obvious.

“Just a little.”

He could sense the eyeroll Steve wanted to give, but didn’t quite have the energy.

“I saw you. In my kitchen. Were you there?”

“Dunno.”

“Did you dream about it?”

“Just you. Kids. Robin. Missed you.”

“We all missed you.”

Eddie was making more progress, his determination to get Steve medical attention far outweighing any weakness or pain he was feeling.

“Ow.”

“What hurts, sweetheart?”

“Stomach.”

“Bites?”

“Mhm.”

Eddie could feel where the blood was soaking through his shirt, but he knew it wasn’t so much that he couldn’t at least make it through the gate before bandaging it up. He’d made it this long with them out, another 30 minutes wouldn’t kill him.

Hopefully.

Steve was quiet again, but he was breathing against Eddie’s neck steadily, so he didn’t push.

“Man, you won’t believe the place they gave me and Wayne. It’s got two bedrooms. And we have a whole kitchen instead of just a small counter area with a stove and fridge. Maybe you can cook us dinner when you’re better, you know, as a thanks for rescuing you.”

“Not a good cook.”

“I don’t believe that. Robin said you made her chicken parmesan from scratch for her birthday.”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, so chicken parmesan, my kitchen, soon.”

“Soon.”

They were close, creeping into the edge of the woods, and Eddie was trying not to panic at Steve’s silence.

“Stevie, just a few more minutes. Tell me about the first thing you wanna do when you’re back.”

“Mmm.” Steve’s head rolled back and forth like he was trying to focus. “Kiss you.”

“That can be arranged. What else?”

“Hug Dustin. Love him.”

“Yeah, he could use that.”

“Hug Robin. Love her.”

“She could use that, too.”

“Hug you, love you.”

He wouldn’t hold Steve to this, he wouldn’t. But it would hurt so much when Steve forgot about this whole conversation.

He bit his lip and nodded.

“Yeah, I could use that.”

Steve’s lips were pressed against his neck, most likely accidental, but Eddie let himself pretend for a moment it was a kiss.

When he reached the gate, he whistled to get El’s attention.

“Oh! Eddie, is that…”

“He’s alive. Really hurt and needs water and food. I need to get him through.”

El was prepared with everything and it only took a couple of minutes for them to get through the gate, Steve whimpering slightly as they moved him around.

“You were right.”

El seemed surprised, like she had only done this to give Eddie closure. She hadn’t expected Steve to be alive.

“He loves me,” Steve said.

El looked at Eddie, then at Steve, then back to Eddie.

“You love him?”

“I do. And I’ll love him a lot more if he stays alive. We have to get him to the hospital.”

“I can call Hopper?”

“Tell him to meet us at the cabin with an ambulance.”

“Jus’ need sleep.”

Eddie looked at Steve, mouth open in disbelief.

“You’re going to the hospital.”

“Sleep.”

“I’m not arguing with you. You can barely form a sentence. You’re going to the hospital.”

“You come?”

“I won’t leave your side.”

Eddie put him on his back again so he could walk towards the cabin, hopeful that Hopper wouldn’t ask a lot of questions until they got Steve taken care of.

“He is on his way!” El yelled from the porch, Joyce coming up behind her, hair a mess from being asleep.

When she saw Steve, her eyes widened and she nearly tripped running down the stairs.

“Oh God, Steve! Honey, are you okay? Of course not, you can’t even walk. You’re bleeding!”

“Mrs. Byers, can you get him some water maybe please?”

“Yes! Oh my God!”

She was running back up the stairs, mumbling to herself the whole way.

El giggled as she watched.

Eddie loved her.

He could hear sirens in the distance, and he hoped he would be able to ride with Steve.

He shouldn’t have to be alone anymore.

Steve’s eyes were closed, but Eddie kept his fingers on his pulse, making sure he didn’t have any changes while the sirens got closer.

Hopper’s patrol car arrived first, barely in park before Hopper was jumping out and running to where Eddie was cradling Steve.

Joyce came out with the water and handed it to Eddie.

“Dammit, why would you go down there alone? You know the rules.”

Eddie ignored him, just focused on getting some water past Steve’s lips.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Just a few sips.”

Steve’s lips moved, then he swallowed some of the water.

“There ya go. Good job.”

Hopper was watching in silence now, Joyce with her arm around him.

Eddie knew they were wondering how the hell they would ever get over leaving Steve behind.

The ambulance pulled up next, EMTs rushing out and asking Eddie question after question.

He had to keep it simple: found him in the woods, must’ve been out there since the quake with the injuries and level of dehydration. They took him at his word.

When they loaded Steve up, they let Eddie in only because Hopper insisted.

“I’ll be right behind you.”

And he was.

Eddie kept his eyes on Steve the whole time, but he could see the lights of Hopper’s police car in the window next to him.

Steve’s eyes fluttered open a few times as they hooked him up to oxygen and an IV, kept checking his vitals.

Eddie smiled at him each time, made sure he knew he was there and he loved him.

—---------------------------

It was two days before Steve woke up again.

The wounds weren’t bad, but they were infected, which was why they kept randomly bleeding despite not being very deep.

The infection was actually the worst of it, but it had potential to be life threatening if they couldn’t get it under control.

They pumped him full of pain relievers and antibiotics, fluids and nutrients.

Eddie sat by his bed the whole time.

None of the kids were allowed in yet, doctor’s and Hopper’s orders, but he heard Dustin in the hall multiple times a day giving it his best shot.

Robin hadn’t come by yet. Eddie knew she felt guilty, immensely so. She left her best friend down there, suffering, and didn’t even think to double check when it was safe to do so.

Eddie didn’t blame her, and he knew Steve wouldn’t either, but Robin would.

But when Steve’s eyes finally opened, bloodshot and glassy from his IV concoction, he smiled at Eddie.

“Love me?”

“Just a little.”

He fell back asleep a few minutes later, holding Eddie’s hand like a lifeline.

—------------------------

It took another four days before the doctors said he could be around others. His infection symptoms had gotten better and they believed the worst was over.

Eddie called Robin and told her to bring Dustin, no arguing. Steve was asking for them.

It wasn’t a lie, but he may have exaggerated it slightly just to get them here.

And when they did show up, everyone cried.

Robin collapsed next to the bed while Dustin folded himself against Steve the moment he was given permission to.

Eddie just watched from his chair, took in the way Steve comforted them despite the fact he was still in the hospital after spending a month alone in the Upside Down.

That was just who Steve was.

It probably wasn’t healthy, but it’s why Eddie loved him. Just a little.

[veryace-ficrecs]

Marineford fix-it fics

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

You Still Have Me by Rijus_Hope - Rated G

Ace is kneeling on the execution platform, ready to accept his fate. He wishes his father and crewmates hadn't come for him, but is glad that, at least, his older brother hasn't come to die for him as well. Or so he thought. Or: the Navy tries to execute Ace. Newly dubbed Emperor of the Sea Monkey D. Luffy shows the world why that was a mistake.

Retired doesn't mean weak by Dezace - Rated T

Gol D. Roger survived the illness that should have killed him, once again triumphing where he had no odds of winning. After Roger achieved his goal, he returned to the love of his life to live out his life with only calm days ahead. His son was born and doted on the boy, soon enough gaining two more sons in the coming years. He approved of their dreams and would not get in the way of them.

But he drew the line at executions.

The Marines better be prepared, because the Pirate King is coming, and he won't rest until his son was safe.

take these fists of mine (raise them one last time) by SkyGem - Rated G

Monkey D Garp is 76, and he's tired of giving up pieces of himself for the World Government. Monkey D Garp is 76, and his grandson is about to be executed. Monkey D Garp is 76, and his family is the one thing he will never give up without a fight.

The Sharp Knife Of A Short Life by Memories_of_the_Shadows - Rated G

Garp isn't the greatest parent in this world or any other by far, but he does try his best and he does love his boys.

Executing Family Reunions by RubyBlue2005 - Rated G

Executions are just less boring family meetups to the Monkey family.

You say there’s a monster in my past (but I don’t believe you) by Glaux_Bryonia - Rated G

The scheduled execution of the pirate Portgas D Ace, Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, did not go entirely according to plan… Or: what if Garp never told Ace he was Roger’s son?

All For One by missmungoe - Rated G

Some things never change. Except this time, one very important thing does.

the One Time Ace Turned Away by FMPtrumpets - Rated G

We all know Ace is well-known for never turning his back on a fight, but… what if Luffy managed to get him to walk away from Akainu at Marineford?

Emotional damage by Lerya - Rated M

Opening his eyes, Luffy found an oxygen mask over his mouth. What had happened that he needed that. He never needed something like that, Chopper was well aware that he would bounce back soon enough. Looking around now that his eyes were opened, he could see that he wasn’t lying in their infirmary. The lay out was different from theirs; from the way Chopper had decorated it.

The will to live is harder to keep than a will to die by Dezace - Rated T

Ace was chained down in Impel Down, waiting for his execution and death, knowing that nothing can change that. When Ace hears the news that Luffy was here and there for him, Ace couldn't sit still. Not anymore. Or: Ace decided that being the damsel in distress sucks and that if you wanted something done right, do it yourself.

there is thunder in our hearts by taizi - Rated T

He’s not close enough. He’s not going to make it. Even if he managed to shake off the soldiers in front of him and just threw his whole body at full-speed between Luffy and Akainu to take the blow, he wouldn’t get there fast enough. He doesn’t have enough time. He’s going to lose another brother, only this time it’s going to happen right in front of his eyes, from seven—five—three feet away. He’s ten years old again and learning what grief is. He’s ten years old and all that’s left of Sabo is the letter in his hand and a shared dream and the promise that Ace will look after their silly baby brother while he’s gone.  “DON’T TOUCH HIM!” Ace screams. It’s pure desperation. It’s the last human thing he’ll ever say if Luffy dies here. 

Whitebeard Pirates Guide to Gaslighting the World that Ace is Whitebeard's Biological Son by Thatoneanimequeen - Rated G

Ace being the brilliant genius that he is somehow convinces the Whitebeard pirates and others to get everyone to believe that he is Whitebeard's biological son.

walk the wire by Anonymous - Rated G

So they’re talking about the possibility that Whitebeard loses and Ace dies and Sabo can’t. There are locusts beneath his skin and a headache throbbing against his skull and a tick-tick-tick down his spine, a countdown, a warning, and he needs to go. “I can carry a black bag operation in Marineford,” he blurts, off topic, and the room blows up with noise. ///Sabo needs his memories, Ace needs saving, and Garp needs to rethink his life choices.

[vodika-vibes]

and in this case I would humbly request a spicy continuation of the Ordo fic 👀😄

💕

I Want To Have All Of You

Summary: Now that you've finally managed to get your first kiss from Ordo...your relationship continues going full speed ahead.

Pairing: Ordo Skirata x Reader

Word Count: 1748

Warnings: Y'all, this is straight up smut. Nothing but smut.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: Guys. Guys. I put off lunch for two hours to get this out for you. I'm starving and my hands are shaking, but have some well crafted smut! I'm not going to go make lunch and hope that the pest control guy doesn't show up while I'm making food.

Divider by Saradika

“Come on this side of the couch,” You murmur to Ordo. Ordo who has his forehead pressed against yours. Ordo who’s staring at you like a starving man would look at a steak. Ordo, whose hands are tightly gripping the couch cushion with a white knuckled grip.

“I…” He closes his eyes, and exhales slowly, deeply, and when his eyes open again you can see that he has a tight grip over himself again, “I need to finish securing your shelf, and then I should probably leave.”

Your fingers curl around his shirt, “You don’t have to, Ordo. You can take a break.” You lightly pull him down so his lips are hovering just over yours, and you tilt your head slightly to try and kiss him. 

He moves his head out of reach and you whine low in your throat, “Ordo-”

“Cyare,” the familiar pet name falls from his lips in a sigh, “I only have so much self-control, baby.”

“That’s okay,” You whisper, your hands sliding under his shirt to trail over his stomach, “Can I take this off? Please?”

He sighs again, “Cyare…you’re going to drive me insane.” Ordo’s voice is a low murmur.

“Is that a no?” You ask.

He huffs out a laugh, “It’s not a no, cyar’ika.” You keep your hands on his stomach, not moving your hands at all, though it’s obvious that you want to. Ordo watches you for a moment, and then he laughs and grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls it off in one smooth motion, tossing it to the side. “There. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” You reply as your hands start sliding up his stomach and over his chest, tracing muscles and scars and the many, many tattoos that cover his torso. “You’re so handsome.” you murmur.

“You talking to me, pretty girl, or my tattoos?” Ordo teases gently. 

You look up at him, and beam at him, “You, of course.” You slide your hand up over his shoulders and wrap your arms around his neck, “You’re perfect…I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Didn’t know you were so possessive, cyar’ika.” Ordo rumbles.

You flush, “Does it bother you?”

“No,” his arms slide around your waist, and he kisses you quickly, almost innocently, and then his lips trail from your lips to your neck, “It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” He trails his lips to your shoulder, and he absently moves your shirt to the side, before he bites down on the skin there.

You gasp and it very quickly turns into a moan of pleasure. “Ordo-”

He trails his tongue over the red mark rapidly appearing on your skin, “Was that okay?”

You nod mutely, and he clicks his tongue, “You have such a clever little tongue, cyar’ika. Let me hear your words.”

You whine quietly, and he nuzzles your throat with his nose, “Liked it,” You whisper.

He pauses, and then a wicked grin crosses his face, “Oh? What else does my pretty girl like?”

You try to press your face against his neck, and he allows it, for a moment. And then he’s pulling you back and his lips are moving to the opposite side of your neck to leave an identical mark on the opposite side of your neck. 

As he bites down on your neck, you try to pull him closer, but the couch is still in the way, and Ordo is completely immovable. “Come on, cyar’ika.” He coos, “What else do you like?”

“Um…” You try to make your brain focus for long enough to answer his question, “Like being tied up,” You manage to get out through the haze of lust.

“Good girl,” Ordo purrs in your ear and is rewarded with a faint moan from his praise, and then he pauses as the words register, “My good girl likes being praised too.”

You pout at him slightly, and he chuckles.

“No judgment, cyar’ika. Just need to know how to make you feel amazing.” Ordo promises with a light kiss to your wrist, “Do you have any toys, cyare?”

You nod mutely.

He nips your shoulder lightly, “Use. Your. Words.” Ordo warns, “Or this stops.”

“Sorry,” You manage to get out.

“It’s okay, cyar’ika.” He kisses your shoulder, “But that’s the only warning you get.” Ordo presses a series of kisses up your neck, “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” You reply immediately.

“Good girl.” He kisses you quickly, and then pulls back, “Take your shirt off, sweet girl.”

You immediately grab the hem of your shirt, and lift it over your head, before you toss it to the side to join his shirt somewhere on the floor.

“Much better.” Ordo murmurs, his lips moving back to your shoulder to continue leaving marks on the newly exposed skin. “Now, my question, cyar’ika.” He reminds you gently.

“I have toys,” You confirm breathlessly, as you squirm under his onslaught. 

Ordo hums and moves his lips to your throat, “Take this off,” he murmurs as he snaps your bra strap, pulling a yelp from your lips. He waits until you're moving to remove the thin material hiding you from his view, before he asks his next question, “You use them often?”

You drop your bra to the floor, and gasp when his lips immediately move to the freshly revealed skin. A moan falls from you as he closes his lips around one of your nipples, “Yes.” You manage to gasp out.

“Since we’ve started dating?” He scrapes his teeth around your nipple and smirks when he hears a soft curse fall from your pretty lips.

“Yes!” You manage to get out.

He moves to your other nipple, “What do you think of, cyare. When you’re playing with yourself at night?” Ordo presses a light kiss against your nipple.

“You,” the word falls from your lips in a moan, “Always you, even before we started dating.” You clarify.

Ordo’s forehead falls to your shoulder, and a string of curses in several different languages fills the room, “You are making it very hard-” You interrupt him with your sudden giggles, and then you yelp when he pinches your side, “Difficult to focus, cyare.”

You flash him the most angelic smile you can, “I’m not doing anything.”

He leans in and kisses you so very lovingly, that you can’t help but to lean into him, “Finish getting undressed, cyare.” Ordo instructs with a small grin.

“Yes sir,” You pause when Ordo’s head falls back and he groans low in the back of his voice, “Oh…you liked that.”

He chuckles softly, “Get undressed, cyare, and I’ll show you just how much I liked it.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you scramble off the couch to slide your shorts down your legs, and toss them in the pile with the rest of your clothing. 

As you do this, Ordo circles around the couch and finally sits, though he still hasn’t removed his pants.

As soon as you’re totally bare, Ordo motions for you to come over to him, which you do eagerly. But he stops you from climbing onto his lap, which puts a pout on your lips. “Ordo-” You whine, as you wiggle your hips to try and tempt him into pulling you onto his lap.

He smirks at you knowingly, “My pretty girl is so needy,” Ordo teases.

“Yes, I am.” You agree with a pout.

“And what do you need, cyar’ika?”

“You. Just you. Always you.” You reply immediately. 

Ordo reaches out and lightly caresses your cheek, and then pulls you onto his lap. He catches your lips with his own, his teeth and tongue working in unison to leave you arching against him and breathless.

His name falls from your lips in a breathy moan as his hands trail down your sides. Ordo considers you for a moment, and then he takes one of your hands, in his and he presses a light kiss to each of your fingers, “Show me how you like to be touched.” He orders you softly.

The angle is a little awkward, which he apparently agrees with, as he lifts you off his lap and lays you down on the couch, your head nestled against the arm of the couch, while one of your legs is draped across his lap and the other is bent. 

“Show me, cyare.” He murmurs softly.

Your fingers drift down your body, and dip between your thighs. You gather some of your arousal on your fingers and then swirl your finger around your clit. You’re already wound so tightly from Ordo’s actions, that you know it won’t take long before you to fall over the edge.

And then you feel Ordo’s lips against your ankle, and your breath hitches. “Ordo-”

“Mm, I’m here, cyare.” His breath is warm against your leg as his lips trail from your ankle and up your calf, “You gonna cum over your fingers?” he asks, “Gonna make a mess of yourself. I bet you’re gorgeous when you’re falling apart. Show me, baby. Let me see it.”

Your finger moves a little bit faster, and you squirm slightly on the couch, and his name falls from you like a prayer for salvation. 

“That’s right, cyar’ika. Fall apart for me,” Ordo coos as he moves so he’s able to press his lips to your hips, “Fall apart for me and I’ll give you exactly what you want. Stars, you look so good like this. I bet you’re going to feel amazing around me, so warm and wet-” He nips your hip, and a stuttering moan falls from you. 

“Just like that,” Ordo breathes out, “So good. Such a good girl for me,” He praises, “doing exactly what I say.”

The combination of the praise coming from him, the feel of his teeth and lips on your overheated skin, and the sensation of your finger rapidly circling your clit is too much, and with a stuttering cry of his name, you fall over the edge. 

It takes you a minute to come down from your high, and you smile at Ordo when you see him lazily trailing his finger over your hip, “Ordo,” You murmur his name. “Did I do good?” You ask.

“You did great, cyar’ika.” He gathers you into his arms, and kisses you slowly, deeply. “Do you think you can keep going?”

“Yes,” Your answer is immediate.

And he chuckles and stands with you securely in his arms, “Not to worry, cyare, I’ll take care of you.”

[justanamesstuff]

The intimacy of being understood

Chapter 7

Matty Healy x f!reader

A/N: I know we have the episode but THIS IS THE END!! Thanks for always being here, for support my fics since the start...I'm so so grateful, my heart is so full ♥♥ Happy reading guyssss!

Warnings: flashbacks in dreams, mention of death, but theeeen fluff and PURE LOVE, typos.

Word count: 1.8 K

Blog Masterlist Series Masterlist

“Open it, Y/n.” she heard Jason said, feeling the cold metal of the car handle against her hand. “Go.” he instead. 

Her head didn’t turn around, her eyes staring down --fixated on her hand-- deciding what to do or not do. Was she going to continue there, trapped by memories? Or instead, she would free herself? 

Y/n pushed the car door open, exiting the small cubicle. 

Standing on the side of the road, she witnessed the car picked speed and in a blink of an eye it crashed against a big truck. The woman gasped, not a single sound reaching her ears. 

Her heart pounding loud in her ears when she reached the car. Y/n didn’t look, she knew it was him.

He was gone. Everything turned black.

Y/n opened her eyes suddenly, staring at the ceiling of her room. She tried to breathe deeply, feeling her beating heart. She was alive and Jason was gone. 

****************

For the past year and a half since Jason passed away, Y/n had been having dreams –sometimes nightmares– about him, about the car crash. Nothing as vividly as the one the night before. Contrary to past times, she didn’t feel her blood turned cold every time she recalled everything she remembered. Y/n felt like a weight was off her shoulders. 

As she said to Matty, Jason would always be part of her and have a portion of her heart. Even though, it was time to finally accept the reality and not fight it. 

Her phone vibrate on her hand, taking Y/n out of her head. She rolled her eyes to a pop-up notification --some celebrity gossip google wanted her to check. Y/n blamed only herself from the disappointment she felt, acknowledging that the chat with Matty would show the same last message Y/n had impregnated on her head if she checked. 

The absence of Matty and his lack of communication was driving her up the walls. She felt hurt, she felt anxious and a big variety of more feelings. ‘Did he forget about me?’, Y/n wondered about. 

Her mind jumped from one topic to the other, meanwhile she observed Kate helping her with the showcase. December was close, Y/n felt the need to get ahead of the game getting all ready for Christmas. 

“No, move it closer.” Y/n complained when her eyes focused on her friend. “No, Kate…left!” she shouted a bit too loud. 

Kate tried, saying, “Okay, sorry!”

“No-” Y/n stopped her. “You’re doing it wrong.”

Kate couldn’t bear with it any more, “Fine, here.” she said, turning around and giving Y/n the decorations she was trying to set. “Do it yourself.” clearly annoyed. 

Y/n watched her friend walk towards the front desk, frowning visibly and not making any type of eye contact with her. Practically ignoring her.

“I’m sorry.” Y/n approached her best friend, shyly. 

“Don’t worry.” Kate said, dry. 

Y/n tried interfering with her line of vision, kneeling down in front of the desk, “Katie…” 

“Y/n/n.” Kate said, faking not being angry and failing.

“I’m sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“I’m- It’s…I don’t know.”

The bookshop owner pushed up, letting her arms rest on the wooden surface, making a bed for her head. Y/n was tired, annoyed. 

“Sure, totally. I agree.” Y/n snorted with Kate’s antics. “Spill the beans.”

“Weren’t you mad at me?” 

“Yeah, come on. Talk.”

Y/n pondered telling her all what had been going through her mind the past few weeks. 

“He didn’t come.” she said, cryptic. 

Kate knew exactly who her friend was talking about, although she chose to tease her, “Who?”

“Kate!” Y/n pushed herself all the way up, looking at her friend. 

“Oh, Matty?” the urge to whipped her smug smirk was strong. 

Y/n breathed out, “This is useless….” work was waiting. 

Kate followed her close behind. 

“Amazing how we went from ‘oh, no…Matty is my friend’,” she mimicked Y/n. “To ‘he didn’t come to visit and flirt’.” Kate finished.

“We don’t flirt.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England!”

“Pretty boy you’re married to.”

“Handsome with his sausage fingers”

Both bursted into a fit of laugher thinking what they just said. 

“Anyway, why does it bother you?” Kate asked. 

“I- I’m not sure.”

“I believe you know.”

“No, I- it’s not like that between us.” Y/n resumed the previous conversation about Matty and her. 

Kate got distracted with a little snowman, and without thinking too much she said, “Do you want to be like that between you?”

“I- Yes. No. Maybe?” Y/n looked visibly unsure. 

“Oh lord, give me strength!” Kate whined dramatically. 

Y/n moved some books and toys around, putting everything like she pictured it. She didn’t turn around to look at her friend when she pronounced the next question.

“Did he performed these days?”

“Are you asking me to stalk him?” Kate was amused by Y/n's request.

“No! You’re a fan of his…”

“Band.” Kate completed the sentence for her.

“Yeah, The 1965.”

“75’”

“Kate, please.” Y/n hated how desperate she sounded. 

Her best friend checked her phone without complaining, “He’s over the other side of the pond.” 

“America?”

“Yep.”

“That explains part of it.” Y/n mumbled to herself.

Kate wasn’t following her, “Okay?”

“He hasn’t texted either.” she thought out loud, forgetting Kate didn’t know a little fact.

“Wait a minute!” the woman snapped out of her entrance, swiping through the 1975’s Instagram account. ‘Shit’, the word crossed Y/n’s mind. “You have Matty Healy’s phone number, and you didn’t tell me?!” Kate screamed. Y/n felt grateful they were alone that evening. 

“Sorry?”

“You bitch!”

“I’m sorry, okay? Sorry!”

“Since when?” Kate folded her arms like a mother scolding her children.

“Weeks ago.”

“Oh, you deserve coal this Christmas. Dirty girl!” 

Y/n explained, “It happened!”

“What else?”

“What?”

“What else you didn’t tell me?”

“Don’t be a toxic friend!”  

“I’m your sister! Tell me!”

“We walked and chat around the park.”

“Did you take him to our park?” Kate gasped, loud. 

Y/n felt little, “Mhm.”

“You bitch!!”

Y/n protested, “Hey! Stop with that!”

“I’m not sorry!”

“And I told him about Jason…”

Kate’s face fell, and her body sank down into the closest chair they had been using like a ladder. 

“You what?” Y/n’s friend asked.

“I know.”

“This is huge.”

“I know.”

“And then the book.”

“And then the book.”

Kate stared at Y/n, “What happened after that?”

“I texted him. He told me to keep the book.”

“This keeps getting better and better.” Y/n’s best friend cheered up a little. 

“I told him it wasn’t fair. ‘I’m going to gift you one’ I said, and he refused.”

“And…?”

Y/n took her phone out, searching with muscle memory the chat with Matty. 

“He sent this.” she showed her the text.

“Ajá.”

“No more texts, no more coming in. What if he got bored?” 

“That’s a Matty thing.” Kate couldn’t help to say. 

“Kate!” 

“Sorry, I- Doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe it does?” Y/n’s face scrunched. 

“No.”

Both of them went inside their heads, lost in thoughts. 

“I hate this.” Y/n broke the silence, walking, giving Kate her back. “I was fine.” she took a pile of books she had to tidy, absently pushing them towards the shelves. “I- My life was simple, you and the shop…a simple life after Jason passed.” she continued without hearing the door’s bell. “But hell no, Universe, God or whatever can’t see me happy. He, or she, whatever...sent a rock star to mess up with my calculated routine.”

“Y/n-” Kate tried to interrupt her.

“Shut up, Kate. I’m talking here.” Y/n didn’t spare her a glance, continuing tidying angrily. “Okay, so…he or Universe, whoever is in charge…thought it’s funny to mess with this woman,” Y/n pointed a finger to herself. “Let's put a perfect Adonis to spice things up.” she made a weird voice. “Rock star can come and go, talk with her…make her feel things again!! And then dis-”

Matty interrupted her ranting, “Hi, Y/n.”  

Y/n didn’t dare to move a muscle. She stood there, lifting a book midway towards its place. He was there, Matty was there.

“Oh, yes, he’s there.” Kate clarified. 

The woman slowly placed left the book, before turning around slowly. Her eyes meet his. Y/n felt her face on fire and her heart pulsing in her throat.  

“What-” she tried to formulate something coherent to say.

Matty smirked, “Adonis, hm?” 

Y/n shook her head, embarrassed, “I- I’m sorry. You weren’t sup-” 

“Oh, but I did.” Matty stopped her once more, approaching her.

“How much?” Y/n looked up again. 

Matty was close enough to tower over her. He was slightly taller than her, but enough to make her feel tiny. Her hands lifted between them, trying to push Matty without really trying.

“Everything.”

“I’m so sor-”

“I missed you too, Y/n.”

“You did?”

“Yes, Aphrodite.” he poked her. 

Y/n pulled a face, remembering all the crap she said minutes before. The singer touched her cheek, caressing it slowly. 

“Mmm, that myth doesn’t end well.” she told him. 

Matty couldn’t stop the smile that refused to leave his face, “Lucky us, we’re not truly Gods…” 

“What are you doin’ here?”

“We haven’t talked in weeks. I was missing you.” the singer admitted. 

“Matty.”

“Wasn’t expecting that monologue about me making you feel things.” Y/n groaned, letting her face move forward, resting on his chest, hiding from him. “Do you really hate me showing up in your life?” she heard him ask. 

Y/n shook her head. “No, absolutely no.” 

“I’m happy I heard you say all that.” Matty forced her softly, placing both of his hands at both sides of her face, to look at him. 

“Why?”

“Thought you got tired of me.”

“Shut up!”

“You didn’t reply! Or text after.”

“You brushed me off!”

“No, I didn’t!” Matty scoffed. 

But before they could continue bickering, Kate shouted from the other side of the shop, “Please, shut up and kiss!” which made them laugh. “This is getting boring.” she commented as if the scene was part of a film.

Matty’s face turned serious when he told Y/n, “I can wait all the time you need…” his hands were still touching her face, and Y/n rounded his wrists with her own. “I- Fuck, I like you so much.” the singer confessed. 

“I’m ready, Matty.”

“Are you sure? Because, as I said, I can wai-”

It was Y/n’s time to interrupt Matty, bringing him down to kiss him. She felt how his and her body relaxed, pushing even closer against each other. Y/n closer her eyes, feeling how safe she felt inside his embrace, letting him show her how much he had missed her. 

“Hell yeah! Free tickets now!” Kate celebrated. 

“Okay, yeah, she’s annoying.” Matty pushed his face a few centimetres away from Y/n.

“Rude!” Y/n’s friend booed him. 

Y/n watched them fight like kids, resting her cheek on his chest. Matty let his arms hugged her, keeping Y/n close and leaving a few kisses on her head.

Meanwhile they continued, Y/n thought how ready she was to open her heart again, and couldn’t wait to do it all with Matty. 

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

Taglist (let me know if you want to be included): @indierockgirrl @x-a-black-winged-dove-x @iregretbeingherewheniwas10 @hswannaknow @thefrontofmymind

[peachyloveswriting]

Ok, so I saw a post about how Plants can connect via touch, thus opening an emotional and mental bridge, however I decided to up the anti and spread upon the idea in an upcoming fic. So I'm going to explain it here for you real quick. To preface this I'm going to say that someone also gave me an Idea for how plants used to court other plants and I'm running full speed ahead with this idea.

(the courting process is basically when a plant decides to form a bond with another plant or species, therefore creating an emotionally charged connection. Emotions can be passed freely amongst them, sharing thoughts, etc...)

My idea is that there're two types of healing plants, the first one is like Vash: can heal other plants without second thoughts and has no issues doing so, they're the least likely to court. Type 1 forms the most bonds and that makes them least likely to bond deeply with any specific partner, as per usual they just heal others and that's about it.

Type 1 is the strongest between the two, the healing powers are limitless. Oftentimes these can be referred to as necromancers as some Type 1's have brought others back from the dead. They're notorious for this and are sometimes even sought after for nefarious purposes.

Type 2 is more like Knives, (In the show we never see if he can heal other plants so I got an idea) it's harder for type 2 to form a bond with another simply because they have to deeply want that connection, if the want isn't there then the bond cant be made. This is why Type 2 doesn't just go about healing every single plant they run across.

For type 2 the courting process is much different, if there's not a deep rooted need to form that bond then it's not happening. In most cases courting processes from Type 2 happen during dire situations or seeing another that they love deeply upset. Type 2 has two special abilities, the first one being able to calm the nerves of anyone they choose to connect with, albeit human or not. The sensation of calmness is damn near instantaneous, but it's stronger when physically touching. The second ability is a significant raise in vitality for the one they bond with, it boosts healing time and even removes scars.

There's so much more I have in mind with this idea so if you have any questions feel free to ask! I'd also love to hear what you guys think so hit me back with an ask or something.

[rc-writes]

I saw that you wrote for Erica from mbv and that’s so exciting!! Can u do a fem!reader x Erica (bi icon!) and they go on a cute date?

𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙨 | 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢

pairings: erica jones x fem!reader

warnings: brief mention of the word murder, fast fair rides, reader getting dizzy, i believe that's it

a/n: alright this time it seems like erica decided to be the one to have me finishing a request at 1am lol. anyways, i’ve never written for erica before so i was a little worried how this would turn out but i have to say i really like this. like i actually think i’ve succeeded at writing something more cute than funny for once lol. i should write for more female characters more often lol. also wanted to add that the examples of rides in this are inspired by different rides my town’s fair has had in the past. though i will admit that the first one in this i didn’t actually go on. i am more than willing to admit that i don’t do many rides and that one was a bit too out of my comfort zone lol. also i'm realizing i'm terrible at naming fics lol. anyways, i hope you like this as much as i do!

“You know when you said ‘let’s go on a fun date,’ I expected a bit more screaming and blood.”

“Why must everything involve murder with you? And there is plenty of screaming from that ride over there.”

The other day you suggested picking a surprise date idea for you and Erica to go on. There was a fair in town this weekend and you knew she wouldn’t go if she knew beforehand. Something about unattended kids running around crazy, overpriced bad food, and lame kiddy rides. You knew there was potential that she’d like it if she gave it a chance, so this was why you proposed it to be a surprise. And a surprise it was.

Erica’s eyes narrowed in annoyance at you. She tried her best to turn you down but the hopeful look on your face made it hard to. “Fine.” She huffed in defeat.

You practically squealed in delight and held onto her arm harder. “Okay let’s do the circle upside down one!”

You practically squealed in delight and held onto her arm harder. “Okay let’s do the circle upside down one!”

This particular ride was where most of the screaming was coming from. It was at least three stories tall and shaped like a giant circle. Each person was strapped to their seat by a metal bar that went over their shoulders and across their chests. The reason for such being that the train-like chart you were in would sway you from one side of the circle to the other side back and forth a few times before quickly sending you completely around the circle. With each sway the ride would get faster and faster which is how it gained enough momentum to send you around the full circle. This process happened four times throughout one ride. Which is exactly why you though it was the perfect ride to bring Erica on. “Pathetic little humans they are.” Erica chuckled as she watched the group ahead of you scream while on the ride. “I can’t believe people even find this scary.”

You shook your head with a slight smile at your girlfriend’s antics. “I think what is considered ‘scary’ depends entirely on the person. For example I am the only one who doesn’t think you’re scary.”

Erica turned to you sharply, clearly offended. “I am very scary.” She let her fangs show a little, just enough for only you to see.

You only smiled back at her, “Quite cute actually.”

Once more her eyes narrowed in annoyance at you and once more she admitted defeat with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll take cute.” You happily laughed at this.

Soon enough it was you two’s turn on the ride and you were both seated next to each other. From the moment your turn was up until it was time for the ride to start up Erica continued to insist that this ride was for the weak and she would probably find it incredibly annoying. This continued when the ride started to slowly rock back and forth, but that mindset quickly changed once the ride picked up speed.

For someone who acted all scary and tough, Erica Jones seemed to be no match for a fair ride that sends you in giant circles multiple times. On the first circle Erica’s hand immediately reached for yours and remained tightly held onto until after the ride was over. Her eyes were also tightly shut as she yelled curse word after curse word.

You on the other hand were laughing the entire time. From laughing at how wrong Erica was and because you were genuinely enjoying the ride.

“I can’t believe you were laughing the whole time, you psychopath!” Erica exclaimed once you two walked off the ride. You could only laugh more at this as you dragged Erica yet another ride. The deal of only going on one ride was out the window at this point. You needed to know how the big bad scary vampire did on other rides.

And so you and Erica rode ride after ride, none of which came to the same level as the first. After the initial shock of the first ride wore off Erica felt better going on more “intense” rides but insisted to never go on the first again. You even tried to bribe her with ice cream from one of the food trucks to try it at least once but to no avail.

The second to last ride of the night was one that spun you around for a few minutes while you could also spin your seat around as fast as you wanted. One person sat across from another and there was a circle in between the two. The circle in the middle could be twisted to make your specific “booth” spin to whatever speed you wanted.

Over the course of the night Erica has gained a bit more confidence in rides and decided to spin you guy’s “booth” as fast as she could. She even used a bit of her vampire strength to have full control over the speed and make it go as fast as she wanted specifically. You gripped onto the handle as hard as you could while also laughing as hard as you could. Erica was already finding the ride to be incredibly fun, evident by the huge smile on her face, but seeing you laughing with your whole heart and soul made things even better.

Once the ride was over Erica quickly jumped out of her seat ready for the next ride. You on the other hand felt a bit dizzy and nearly face planted trying to get off the ride.

Erica noticed your dizziness and quickly moved to catch you before you fell. “Woah there darling, no more of those spinning rides for you.”

“Just one more please?” Even though you almost just fell and the ground seemed to be tilting you didn’t want to go home quite just yet. For the third time today you let your saddened eyes try and convince your girlfriend to change her mind.

“Nope, no more spinning rides for you.” Erica shut you down quickly. She had to admit the sad but cute eyes had an effect on her, but the thought of keeping you safe override those feelings. “But I might have to make an exception for the ferris wheel.” She wasn’t a total monster.

And so you and Erica made your way over to the lighted up ferris wheel and took a seat in a cart side by side. You sat with your head on her shoulder and with her head on yours, hands held tightly together. The both of you sat silently as the ferris wheel started as you both stared up at the stars. With all the screaming and laughing throughout the day you were both admittedly very tired and wanted to just have a moment of quiet peace. Even if that by quiet that meant still having to hear other people yelling from other rides.

Once your cart made its way to the very top of the ferris wheel it suddenly stopped. Confused murmurs could be heard from the other riders signaling that this wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Did it stop working?” You questioned turning to look at Erica. The smirk on Erica’s face gave away the answer to your question. “What did you do?”

“I may have scared the operrater to stop the ride up here for a few minutes.” Erica’s smirk turned into a genuine smile when you started to laugh.

“Of course you did.” You giggled, playfully nudging Erica’s shoulder.

Erica nudged your shoulder back. “It proves that I am scary.”

“I never said you weren't scary to other people, just not to me.” You stated proudly.

Erica tried to look annoyed back but she couldn't hold back the genuine joy she felt in this moment. “You’re lucky I like you.” She held onto your hand, laying her head on your shoulder.

This time you were the one to lean your head onto hers and with a soft smile you replied, “I sure am.”

[i-mybrunettelady]

20 questions for 20 writers

i was tagged by @accidentallyadorable, ty for the tag friend <3

tagging: @archesa, @thevikingwoman, @scionshtola, @antariies, @anneapocalypse, @ghostwise and whoever sees this and wants to participate <3

q1. how many works do you have on ao3?

i don't post all my work on ao3, but on ao3 alone, 28!

q2. what fandoms do you write for?

guild wars 2, wayfarer, ffxiv, blood moon, infamous, the exile <3

q3. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

tales of the red wayfarer - a cassander character study

overflowing - intellis pining

somewhere after midnight - cassmel post-sex cuddling and pillow talk

ties that sever, ties that bind - an inteus family study, currently being finished

songweaver - more intellis pining (all wayfarer works lmao)

q4. do you respond to comments?

always! they're few and far between so i make sure i do <3

q5. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

hard to say... i write angst, but i write hurt/comfort, so like. by that alone it's ties that sever because cass cries by the end of each one and is very much alone so like. ties that sever??? bonus points go for scenes of an arson site also.

extra bonus points go to on theokleia, my mother which is a part of the ties that sever series, but a piece that haunts me to this day.

q6. what is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

hm.. ones that gives me budging hopes are a flickering light, or a tale of two survivors (ffxiv) and my future will listen to me! i'm really fond of the endings of these two even if they're not typically... happy. i have happier endings but these two seem a different kind of happy to me. a wistful, hopeful happy as opposed to a typical happy.

q7. do you get hate on fics?

so far no and i hope it stays that way. i only recently hot my first hate ask lmaoooo

q8. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

yes! i write for.. pairings, moreso than one type. so far i mostly have mlm smut, and that's because they're cassander pairings and he is a bisexual/achillean dude, but i do want to write wlw smut if the inspo strikes, and i do wanna write some het scenes i have in my head (namely a crossover that's nyra/estinien atm tbh. i also wanna write nyra/mirka for that wlw stuff.)

i also have a nyra solo i'm very proud of :>

q9. do you write crossovers?

i wrote a wayfarer/ffxiv crossover (a flickering light), and i wanna write a gw2/ffxiv crossover (nyra and estinien!) i also wrote a wayfarer/gw2 crossover with mordrem!cassander (a story of how (not) to be a big head)

other than that i rarely write crossovers tbh

q10. have you ever had a fic stolen?

girl no god forbid :xxxx

q11. have you ever co-written a fic before?

a long time ago, yes, with @guildwarsgirl! it was a braham shippy one, and i wrote for braham <3

q12. what's your all-time favorite ship?

honest to god? i got a few ships i cherish and keep near and dear to my heart: cassmel (cassander and melchior, wayfarer), trammander (nyra and trahearne, gw2), elion (el and liv, gw2) and angelina and farro from blood moon! i may not write about all of them equally but i do cherish them deeply

q13. what's one WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i do have certain series i wanna finish, such as my nikartoirel apology trilogy, called trials and tribulations - parts 1 and two are out - and ties that sever <3 when ffxiv brainrot comes back, i'll probably finish the nikartoirel apology series.

one other thing i wanna finish but it's not high on my to-do list is nikartoirel bridgerton au <3 gotta love regency husbands

q14. what are your writing strengths?

character voice! on god i love character voice so much and it shows.

q15. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i technically am since english is my second language! so yeah, full speed ahead

q16.first fandom you wrote for?

gw2 baybee <3 back in 2021. my first fic was actually trammander <3

q17. favorite fic you've written?

please don't ask me that ;; but between us... my future will listen to me, ties that sever, ties that bind, say hi to yourself, scenes of an arson site, a gravitational pull !

q18. what are your writing weaknesses?

fighting scenes hands down

q19. have you ever had a fic translated?

not yet but if anyone wants to.. i owe you my LIFE,, i could also tecnically do it but translating your own work is hard as fuck

[swaps55]

Warning, super long ask incoming! I suppose this is just a letter of fangirling in all honesty, and apologies if I accidentally already sent a half finished draft of this lol

I just wanted to let you know that I value your writing so much. I feel that I’ve fallen in love with Sam and Kaidan’s love, and that your writing is one of the best I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, both within fanfiction and published works. Your writing is so compelling; the romance, the world building, the characterisation, everything! Every one of your characters feel like real people with patterns and behaviours that suit them and their motivations, they’re so believable and I love following them on their journeys. I think what I love most about your writing is that you’ve mastered show, don’t tell. When I’m reading any other fiction, I feel like I’m constantly searching for what you’ve portrayed in your work. You can really tell that you’ve put such love into Opus (and your other works, I’ve reread so many of the multiverse fics too), from the research of engineering and battle strategies, to bug behaviour even!

Essentially, I just needed you to know that someone out there is thinking of your writing daily. How incredible is it that this world that lives and breathes inside of your head, has now made a home in mine.

I also wanted to ask if you would ever consider publishing any original works in the future? I would read literally anything you wrote, your art holds a very special place in my heart now, I’ve even started learning the constellations and how to cross stitch because of you!

Thank you for your patience and I hope you have a lovely week ahead ☆♡

MAN, y'all are out to kill me with kindness.

You have no idea how much it means to hear this, especially right now. Back in March I hit a burnout wall running at full speed, and have been feeling some tremendous guilt over not making much progress on Mezzo the last few months. It's hard not to constantly fret that people will immediately assume I've abandoned the story and abandon it, too, and hearing this is a reminder that's not true.

I love this world and these characters, and it's the best thing ever that not only do others love them to, but they specifically love my versions of them. That's WILD. And amazing. You're so right about how incredible it is, so thank you so much.

As for original fic, years ago, I thought that's what I wanted to do, and I worked on some original projects. But here's the problem: I love sci-fi, I only want to write sci-fi...and I'm a terrible world builder. Give me a sandbox and I will happily build a castle, but I just don't have the right skillset to construct the sandbox.

That's why I've been so happy as a fanfic writer - I get a pre-built sandbox that I can go to town in and make whatever castle I want out of it. I have thought about trying to file the serial numbers off Cantata, but the world is such an integral part of that story that I wouldn't know how to do it and still have a story that means as much as Cantata does.

HOWEVER, never say never. I am not a world builder, but I married one. Real Life Romance Option is a phenomenal world builder, and a lot of his ideas can be found in Opus (you can thank him for the Can, for instance). He is happily building his own very cool sandbox, and it's entirely possible that one day I'll tell stories in it.

But Opus comes first! I still have Mezzo to finish, and two more stories to write to get Sam the happy ending he deserves, and I'm gonna do it, no matter how long it takes.

(Also, thank you in particular for calling out the bugs, because yes, I read a lot about bugs for Mezzo, haha!)

[anglophiletraveler]

The Monster Mash

Just a fun little fic with Anders and Mitchell celebrating their first Halloween as a married couple.

Ever since Anders and Mitchell married and moved into their new home, Mitchell has been bouncing at the chance to decorate for holidays.  Anders just rolls his eyes at the former vampire and lets him ramble on and on about what he was planning for their first holiday in their new home.  All of the remodelling on the house had been done so now there was nothing standing in Mitchell’s way.

It began in August.  Every couple of weeks a couple of boxes were delivered to their door.  Whenever Anders would ask his husband what they were, he was just given the “You’ll see,” answer.  Mitchell would open the boxes, see what’s inside and close them back up again and use either a red marker or an orange marker to mark an ‘X’ on the box.  Then he would smile and giggle like a child at Christmas time.

By September Anders had to go through a tunnel of boxes in his home office in order to get to his desk.  “Jooohnnn Mitchell-Johnson!”

Mitchell knew he was in trouble if Anders was using his full name.  He followed the bellowing to the office, “You rang? Anders? Where are you?”

“I’m right here,” a wall of boxes came down revealing Anders behind them.  “John, what the fuck is going on with all of these boxes?  You’re getting out of control here!  Are these Christmas gifts or what?”

Mitchell leaned against the door frame, “Nooo.  You said you didn’t care about decorating and whenever I tried to explain to you what I was going to do, you just blew me off, soooooo “

“So these are decorations?”

“Yep.  Halloween and Christmas decorations.  I have two more deliveries and then I can start putting up the Halloween decorations.”

“You have got to be kidding me Vlad!  I thought when you talked about decorations, you meant some pumpkins, some flowers and a few scented candles.  What the fuck did you buy?”

John got another grin on his face, “Would you like me to show you?”  He moved some boxes out of his way so he could  walk over to the desk and opened the laptop.  After some scrolling he showed Anders a picture of Halloween decorations.

“What the hell?  Are you really? John this is ….” Anders finally smiled, “fucking awesome!  And it’s going to take forever to get all of this set up!”

“That’s why I’ve been ordering it all ahead of time!  And with the two of us and maybe Axl and Zeb’s help, we can get it all set up in time!”

More and more, Anders' face was getting a shit-eating grin on it while looking at John’s plan. “But wait a minute.  John, I thought you didn’t like Halloween?”

Mitchell sighed, “Wellll that was before!  Before when I was a vampire.  Before we bought this super cool house.  I want to go all out this year!  But I also don’t want it to be so scary that it scares kids away, so that’s why I went with those,” Mitchell pointed to the Halloween pictures.

“Oh and this…” Mitchell said, “is for Christmas!  Whaddya think, love?”

“Wow.  I have to say I’m impressed, babe.  It looks like a Christmas wonderland!  I love it!  But THAT is going to take a lot of work.  Especially after having to take all of the Halloween shit down first,” Anders was getting pumped just thinking about it all.

“I know, but we can handle it,” Mitchell leaned down and gave Anders a big kiss.

*********************

After weeks of decorating, the big day finally arrived. Anders left  work early so he could get home and help Mitchell with any final touches, and start passing out candy to all of the little trick or treaters.   

Anders was trying not to speed to get home, but he was in a hurry and wanted to see the house all lit up and spooky. He never really got into Halloween as an adult because it was something which he was never able to do when he was a kid.  He always made sure that Ty and Axl had  costumes so that at least they could enjoy the holiday.  He was lucky if Ty decided to share his candy with him.  Anders and Mitchell had actually carved out their own pumpkins this year. He thought it was a dumb idea, but John insisted on it, so he went along with it.  It was actually really nice doing something like that as a first time for the couple.  New memories to replace old ones. 

He was getting a  kick out of looking at all of the houses decorated for Halloween on his way home.  He was amazed at the lengths some of them went to, well, including themselves. Mitchell had taken the day of Halloween off work to put the finishing touches on the house.  Zeb and Axl were supposed to help which worried him if they would even show up.  

He turned on his road and slowed down when he saw an orange and purple glow coming from where his home should be.

There were orange lights in every window of their house with witches, skeletons, ghosts and monsters in the windows.  All of the bushes and trees were wrapped in orange and purple lights which glowed under cob webs with fog coming up from behind the bushes.  “What in the world have you done John Mitchell?” Anders mumbled to himself. He didn’t know about the fog machine and all of the lights.  His favourite part was on one side of the house there was one skeleton on the roof helping pull up two more skeletons onto the roof!! 

He saw the giant spider in one part of the yard that had green lights for eyes on it that he and John set up the week before.  And there were ghosts hanging in the trees that they had hung up as well.   Another spot in the lawn was more skeletons with cowboy hats on, posed sitting in lawn chairs in front of a campfire made from sticks and orange and yellow lights.  The skeletons were holding sticks with marshmallows on the end like they were roasting marshmallows!  He pulled in the garage so that his car wasn’t blocking anything in the driveway.  He came out of the garage while the door was shutting and stopped dead in his tracks at something he had missed.

“What the hell John!  You made an archway to the porch!  I hope that doesn’t scare away the little monsters,” Anders kept looking amazed at what John had done.

“Do you like it?  I found it on Pinterest.  It’s made out of pool noodles!!!”

Anders gave John a big hug and kiss, “I can’t believe I heard the word Pinterest come out of your mouth.  But, this looks amazing!”

“Hey, what about us? We spent all damn day helping Mitchell put all of this stuff up.  It’s pretty cool isn’t it?” Axl said.

“Oh whatever Axl, it’s not like you had anything else to do.  I think the pumpkins we carved are my favourite things,” Anders smiled at Mitchell.

John smiled at his husband, “Mine too. I put them next to our chairs on the porch for when we pass out candy.”

They heard a siren go off to signal that trick or treating can start.  The kids had 90 minutes to enjoy going from house to house dressed as ghosts, goblins, witches and vampires.  

John looked around for Zeb and Axl, “Guys!  Go start the music!  The kids will be around soon. C’mon Anders let’s go sit up on the porch and wait for the onslaught!”

Axl had turned on the scary music that could be heard a couple of houses down.  Zeb had started popping popcorn in the huge popcorn machine that they had rented.  John had plugged something else in that turned out to be a bubble machine.  The bubbles looked really cool along with the fog rolling around the yard.

Anders was looking at the bowls of candy that John had bought, “John, you bought full size candy bars!  You know once word gets out we’re going to kids from miles around!” 

“That’s the hope!” Mitchell said.  “Look.  I made sure to buy candy bars that don’t have nuts in them for those with nut allergies, and I also bought bags of candy that was safe for little toddlers.”

Anders was shaking his head at his husband, “How much did all of this candy cost?”

Mitchell just mumbled something and turned his head hoping to avoid the question.  “Okay, let’s sit down. I think I heard some kids coming!”  Mitchell’s whiskey eyes sparkled with anticipation like a child on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa Claus, and Anders couldn’t deny him this excitement!

The first couple of kids stopped at the beginning of the sidewalk with their parents.  You could tell that they were looking at all of the decorations around the house.  They slowly made their way up the sidewalk with wide eyes and their little mouths open. There was a timid “trick or treat” from the two boys. The parents of course were smiling, taking everything in, “Wow, you guys did great decorating the house!”

Mitchell was busy with the kids picking out what candy they wanted.

Anders answered, “Thanks.  My husband did most of the work.  He couldn’t wait to decorate for the holidays after we moved in.”

“Well, welcome to the neighbourhood.  I’m Scott, this is my wife Becky, and these two superheroes are Cooper and Tate.”

Mitchell and Anders stood up to shake hands and introduce themselves to their new neighbours, “Very nice to meet you!” Anders offered.  

“Are those real skeletons climbing up your house?” one of the little boys asked.

Mitchell smiled, “Nah those are just plastic decorations.  They won’t hurt you.” 

The mother spoke up, “Boys what do you say to the nice gentlemen?”

The boys were still looking at their full size candy bars when one of the boys said, “Wow, these are the big candy bars!  Thank you!”

Anders and John both laughed, “You are very welcome!  Have fun!” John had the big smile on his face that Anders loved.  After the boys had headed back down the sidewalk, Anders gave John the look of wanting to drag him to bed.  John knew exactly what the look meant, “Oh no, you’re going to have to wait until later tonight for that, babe!”

*****************

It didn’t take long before more and more trick-or-treaters were coming in droves.  Apparently the word about the full size candy bars had gotten out, and John couldn’t be more happy about it.  They were both enjoying watching all of the kids walk up the sidewalk in various costumes.  Whenever there was a vampire dressed up in front of the couple, Anders got a chuckle at watching John interact with the ‘vampires’.  There were the other typical costumes like ghosts and witches and princesses.  They even had a couple of Thors visit them!  Axl and Zeb decided to have a little fun of their own and had pulled up a couple of chairs next to the skeletons at the ‘campfire’ to scare the kids whenever they wandered over to check them out!

Towards the end of the evening, two beautiful women and two young princesses came strolling up the sidewalk towards Anders and Mitchell.  Anders was impressed with the dresses the princesses wore.  It was obvious they weren’t the usual costumes bought at a store, and were hand made.  “Wow don’t you two look gorgeous in those dresses!  Who are you supposed to be?”

Mitchell looked at Anders like he was out of his mind, “You seriously don’t know who they are supposed to be?”

“No! I don’t.  Do you?”

The girls were giggling at Anders.

“Of course I do.  Duhhh!  This lovely lady here in yellow is Belle from Beauty and the Beast, and this lovely lady is Rapunzel from Tangled.”

“Yeah duhhh,” the little Belle laughed at Anders.  Now the moms were giggling at Anders as well.

The brunette mother spoke up, “You two are new to the neighbourhood aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged!” John said, “I’m John and this is my husband Anders.  It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.  I’m Stephanie, and this is my wife Camilla.  We live a couple blocks down on the other side of the road.”  Stephanie was obviously scoping out Anders, which Mitchell wasn’t too crazy about.

“You’ve definitely won the best house decorations of the neighbourhood.  Very impressive boys,” Camilla, a striking redhead, was making her intentions known as well.  

Anders caught Mitchell looking at him out of the corner of his eye.  He cleared his throat to try to clear the air a little, “And who are these royal princesses?”

“Oh, these are our daughters, Juliet is Belle, and Isla is Rapunzle,” Camilla offered.  

“Isla, huh?  That’s a beautiful Irish name,” Mitchell offered.

“You talk funny,” Isla noticed.

“Oh lassie that’s because I’m Irish,” Mitchell winked at the little girl, which made Isla giggle even more.

“My grandma is Irish too!” Isla reported excitedly.

John’s eyes grew wide, “Really! Well, maybe we’re related somehow.  You never know!” John couldn’t but fall into Isla’s blue eyes.

Camilla made sure the girls said trick-or-treat and thank you after Anders gave them their candy.  The foursome headed back down the sidewalk when Mitchell and Anders noticed they had stopped and the two moms were whispering to each other.   Camilla turned around and came back to the porch. 

Anders thought maybe they forgot something, “Hey did you forget something?”

“Well uh, Stephanie and I were wondering if the two of you ever play around?”

Mitchell choked on his beer that he just took a swig of!  Anders turned and looked at Mitchell and patted him on the back, “You alright there babe?”

Mitchell just shook his head.

Anders looked up at Camilla, “I’m afraid not.  You’re both beautiful women and I’m sure you’re a lot of fun to hang out with.  But, we’ve fought really hard to be together, so we’re pretty happy with the way things are, and we’re not looking for anything else.  But it’s flattering that you asked.  Maybe sometime the four of you can come over for a bar-b-que or something.”  John looked lovingly at his husband with what he said.

Camilla was watching the two of them and could see the love in their eyes, “Well, that’s a shame, we could have had a lot of fun together.  But I totally get it.  And we’d love to bring the girls over for dinner sometime.  Enjoy your evening boys.”  She winked and turned around and walked away.  

Anders and Mitchell watched the family walk away, and then looked each other in the eyes.  Mitchell grabbed Anders’s hand and kissed it gently.  “Thank you for saying that.  It really meant a lot to me.”

“John, let there be no question about how I feel about you and how I feel about our marriage.  There is no room in this marriage for anyone else besides the two of us.  Well, unless we get a dog.”  

Mitchell smirked at Anders for that remark, “Or two dogs.”

“Don’t push it!” Anders leaned up to give his husband a kiss.  Just then the siren went off to signal the end of trick-or-treat for the evening.  “Ohhh finally. I’m getting stiff sitting out here.   What do you say we take this inside?”

“Sounds good to me,” Mitchell looked over at Axl and Zeb asleep in the lawn chairs next to the skeletons, “but what do we do about those two.”

“Oh, just leave ‘em there.  They’ll eventually wake up.”

John furrowed his brow, “Are you sure?”

Anders opened the door for his husband, “Yeah, what’s the worst that can happen to them? Get attacked by a werewolf? Now get inside so I can take you to bed, Vlad.”

Mitchell took one more look at Axl and Zeb snoozing away before taking Anders’s hand and pulled him inside with him.  Anders turned off the porch light to signal that trick-or-treating was over.  “Now then Mr. Mitchell-Johnson,” Anders reached up to give a seductive kiss to Mitchell, “shall we go upstairs?”

***********************

Axl woke up choking on a fly, “What the fuck!  Zeb, what the hell time is it?”  He shook Zeb’s shoulder, “Zeb, wake up egg!”

“Hmmm, wha? What’s happening?”

Axl finally found his phone and looked at the time, “Shit!  It’s 1:30 in the morning!  They let us fall asleep out here and didn’t wake us up!”

“Bullocks!  But I was sleeping rather well though.”

“Zeeebbb!”

***********************

[sroloc--elbisivni]

(Another one from Whispering Forest :D This entire scene was breathtaking)

The woman in a grand kusode made of living scarlet maple leaves seated on a mountain as though it was the dais of her audience hall and looking out over the valley was an unfamiliar feature of the terrain. Her hair was swept around her like a wild wave and her face was smooth as a porcelain mask. Her name came to him like this was a dream.

“Aki-Onna-sama.”

“Miyamoto Usagi,” she said, still watching the valley. “You freed me once, when your life was at risk and you could have fled.”

Usagi searched his memory. “I’m sorry. I don’t recall this.”

“Mortals rarely do, and you were still a child then. But I owe you a debt. Witness.”

Send me up to 500 words from a fic and I will give you my director's commentary on it!

ahhhhhhhh aki-onna!!! okay i GOTTA get photos for this hang on--

these are the two actual looks we get at Aki-onna in the one Usagi Yojimbo story she appears in. (note baby usagi in the lower left of the right picture.) that's "Autumn." it was one of the first stories I read, because it's the fourth one in Volume One of the Usagi Yojimbo saga. I think this is about the point at which the switch in my brain got firmly flipped and i went 'oh i'm IN THIS in this.' it's still one of my favorites, and it's the first UY story i read that really went full speed ahead on 'this is a world of monsters and magic.' (there's an argument to be made that the whole thing is a hallucination usagi had but i think that's a boring explanation.) I knew from the beginning that this story was going to be leaning into autumn vibes, and i put together pretty quickly that if I was making it a theme she was the perfect character to incorporate. especially since this whole fic is my psyop to get people to read the comics.

originally I thought she'd be like....an information source, someone who provided a key detail to crack the whole thing open. she was supposed to show up between mikey getting attacked in the woods and the forest getting set on fire. at some point i realized she worked much better as part of the climax.

true story, before i wrote her into this and double checked my information, I genuinely thought Aki-Onna was an existing mythological personage Sakai had adapted into the comic. and then I tried to research her and every single english source i found just went straight back to the comics (it's possible that i'm talking out of my ass here and there's a mythology of an autumn lady that hasn't been translated to english that sakai picked up somewhere else.) there's the yuki-onna, a type of yokai like beautiful women who lead people to die in snowstorms, but autumn personified as a woman who can be imprisoned to stop the changing seasons...she's an original. i love her. she hasn't recurred since, and I don't think she ever will--I don't actually think canon Aki-Onna owes Usagi a debt. she's above and beyond him. it made for a convenient way to get her in the story, though, and an extra convenient way to see all the action of the climax. it was important to me that even though it's technically a deus ex machina, she herself is doing very little--she's holding back the rain until the moment where it will have the most impact, and she's letting Usagi see what he's brought about. every other character who has come up in this story has fought to get things to where they are. she's just stopping by.

i loved describing her, too, trying to convey this sense of OTHERWORLDLINESS that her image gives after you've gotten used to anthropomorphism. she gets compared to a force of nature and something inhuman, and is placed in an impossible setting. I picked that paragraph apart and put it back together several times to try and make sure the narration flowed because i wanted it to be all impact, nothing where the reader had to think about words. (fun research sidebar: this section is where i realized that 'kimono,' while a term in existence at the time, would not have been used to refer to most common formal garments--we get kusode instead. went back after this and edited leo being mean and hot scene accordingly.) in the same spirit of "she's just stopping by" and "everything about her needs to make an impact", she only has four lines in the entire story. which is! SOMETHING! when two of them are also the only exposition non-comics readers are going to get on her presence!!!!

i loved this scene for the imagery, and getting to draw into another part of the comics that meant a lot to me, and also for the way I got to make it the buy-in for the cutting between scene. it led into the scene that changed everything about the way I had been telling this story so far, and brought together everything--I had to do it in a way that made people want to come along with me. it's wonderful to hear you liked it!!!

[altschmerzes]

Ok so I love your work (started watching 911 so I could read more of your fics lol), and I completely agree and empathize with every one of your posts about how the show has handles Jamie’s arc. This may be a bit messy but! Here we go,,

My dad is also shitty, like Jamie’s, and my mom has done so so much to protect me from that, again, like Jamie’s. I don’t talk to my dad anymore and probably never will and I certainly haven’t forgiven him and probably never will. The past couple episode really did a wee number on me (read: had a lil break down, we’re totally good tho ahahaha 😬👍) and led my mom and i to have some difficult conversations about forgiveness and the role it does or doesn’t play in our healing and growth and what not. And to put it short, the space you cultivate here on tumblr was really really helpful for me, both in processing and identifying why the episodes hurt and also in being able to verbalize and communicate it with my loved ones. Being so vulnerable is hard and sucky and I know you’ve gotten shitty asks, and I’m really sorry for all that. So,, I just wanted to thank you for being so open and genuine on this lil website, and let u know it means a lot

(on a lighter note i am so excited for like ever ted fic u are working on—the kid fic, the same story, this new fix-it—just ahhhhhhhh can’t wait!)

ahhhhhh man i am so flattered you like my work so much (i'm excited for those fics too!! been making a lot of progress with all of them and the 3x11 fic just hit 12k so full speed ahead on THAT) and i appreciate so much you taking the time and willingness to write this out and send it to me

those last couple episodes were rough for that, and i didn't have an easy time with them either. i'm so sorry you had to see that messaging for what i'm sure is the millionth time in your life - it's a horrible thing to be told over and over. but i'm also so glad you were able to communicate with the people in your life about it and that i could play even a little part in helping that happen and giving you space where those feelings are validated and you aren't alone in them is just.... man <3 i'm really glad that my choice to be open about my feelings on that stuff and why has meant something to somebody. you're right, it's a scary and difficult thing to talk openly about some of the rougher stuff i've experienced, and i've had people say some shocking things to me because of it, but it's all completely worth it for this. thank YOU, seriously.

we're coming up very shortly on what's going to be the seventh anniversary of when i went no-contact with my father, which is something i needed to do for my own safety and peace of mind and heart, after an attempt at reconciliation that went badly for me. without personal and societal pressure from people i knew, broader culture, and a lot of media narratives, i never would've let him back into my life in the first place, because it sure wasn't what i wanted. and even now, the rest of my family - who have all decided to welcome him back into the fold despite some reprehensible shit that ruined my life - is on me regularly, trying to push me into reversing my decision and speaking to him again. i've been lectured about forgiveness a lot, and stuff like the stuff we just saw just. never helps. there is only ever one story about people like us, and it's always our abusers' happy ending. never a moment considering maybe ours might be different.

anyways. seriously. thank you for this. it means a lot to hear, more than i can say. i'm really proud of you for everything you've done to protect your peace and keep yourself safe and have a good, safe, happy life away from him. that shit is so, so hard, even without the world around us constantly trying to make it harder. so in case you don't hear it enough, because none of us ever do, i'm really, really proud of you.

[cellophaine]

Can I request a fic about Matt Murdock and cats? Lol I can’t decide if he’d like cats or hate them, I’d love to read your take!

I'm so so sorry for taking so long to answer this!! This is more of a imagine drabble freestyle tossed salad spell jar type, and not a full fic. I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

Matt & Cat Co.

Author's Note: As you can tell, I'm running out of fic title ideas.

To me, Matt is a casual animal lover (this is a headcanon I've always had for him. This shall be on my headstone.)

He had many encounters with stray and house cats whenever he went on patrol. Matt would give them pats on their little heads if they approached him. Other than that, he usually respected their boundaries and minded his business.

Matt started dating you, and he found himself in close quarters with your beloved cat, which you lovingly named Moon. When Matt asked why that name, you told him it was because her eyes were wide and round like a full moon. Her dilated pupils often reflected the light cast on her, and you could see every little dot in her eyes.

The few first times that Matt came around to your place, Moon would keep her distance. She would always stay close to you but tended to avoid Matt. She would go so far as dodging Matt's outstretched hands when he attempted to pet her.

You made a show before Moon by rubbing yourself all over Matt to show that he was not a threat but a "friend." All for her to decide that you tried too hard and walked away, much to your disappointment and Matt's amusement at how hard you tried to make Moon like him.

Whenever Matt joined Moon on the couch, she would sit on the opposite end and stare at him with wide eyes as if she was assessing him, sizing him up with her cool, nonchalant gaze.

Something shifted the night Matt came to you with his injuries. The wounds were nothing Matt couldn't handle (his words), but they were quite serious. You were worried sick, fussing over his casualness and his bloodied cuts.

While you were patching him up on your bed, Moon jumped onto the bed and made herself comfortable within Matt's reach, staring and expecting head rubs from him. She couldn't understand why Matt wouldn't look at or pet her immediately upon her "invitation." She even swiped a paw over her head a few times and chirped as if to ask Matt to pet her.

You told Matt what she was doing and explained that Moon wanted head scratches. Matt put a tentative hand on her head, hesitant to fully go for it. Moon nudged her small, furry head into his palm, encouraging him to go ahead. After a few rubs, she purred happily as you quietly cleaned up Matt's wounds and tried not to get distracted by the cuteness of these two.

When you were done with his injuries, Matt rested peacefully on your bed in clean clothes, nestling under your warm blanket with your cat staying close as if to keep watch over him.

After that night, Moon became friendlier with Matt, albeit slowly. Matt would buy Moon her favourite treats, speeding the process along. He was determined to make your cat love him, and his enthusiasm surprised you as Matt didn't come across as a dedicated cat person to you. Eventually, Moon would rub herself against his legs whenever he came to your apartment, letting him scratch her head when he bent down to greet her. She would often chirp in hellos and form a loaf near where Matt chose to sit.

Your cat would ask Matt to pick her up by standing on her hind legs and pawing at Matt's leg. And Matt would always be happy to oblige her. Sometimes, when you came home after running errands, you would see Matt busying himself with something with Moon in one hand.

Moon loved to sit on Matt's lap when the two of you cuddled. She gradually preferred to plop down on Matt's side since his body heat was higher than yours. The fact amused you since it made you feel like you were third-wheeling them sometimes.

Matt would find fur on his clothes, and even though you profusely apologized, Matt didn't mind it at all. He said the stray hair was Moon's love following him around, like the little taps of her feet on the floor keeping him company wherever he went.

*Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated*

[duskholland]

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

ice hockey!tom x figure skater!reader — smut.

summary ↠ you can’t stand the ice hockey team. they’re loud, brutish, and incredibly annoying. it’s just inconvenient that you can’t seem to stop running into their star player, an irritatingly suave man called tom, nor deny the way your pulse quickens every time he’s around...   word count ↠ 20.2k. warnings ↠ mild depictions of sport-related injury including blood and nose breakage, a lot of bad language, some jealousy, and nsfw smut material! extended smut warnings are beneath the cut, but this is 18+ !!! minors dni.   a/n ↠ it’s funny because I tell myself I don’t like sport aus, yet this is somehow one of my favourite things that I’ve ever written...? the au is kinda ~obscure~ I guess, but it checked so many of my boxes whilst writing it, and I had a great time. it’s also the longest thing I’ve ever posted?! ahh !! I hope you’ll like dutchy, and give this a go even if you’re not really into hockey <3   —↠ there are so many different people that helped me out with this!!! in addition to all the wonderful anons that sent in ideas last month, I want to extend a huge thank you to @geminiparkers @tetralea @hollandharrison @honeyspidey @stixnstripesworld and @uglypastels for each helping out in some way, whether that be through brainstorming ideas, making incredible art, or teaching me about hockey and/or skating! <3<3 also—the biggest thank you ever to the lovely sammy @t-holland2080 for not disowning me after editing this for me and seeing my basic spelling errors lmfao. ily <3 hope you all enjoy !!

extra !! @uglypastels made two beautiful pieces of fanart for tom aka dutchy — you can view these here + here !!! @softholand​ also made an absolutely incredible moodboard based off the fic, and you can view that here :’) thank you to both of them for using their amazing artistic talents on this fic + making me literally like. the happiest writer on the planet :’) 

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extended smut warnings ↠ two sections of smut. this is a certified Horny Warmy™️ (thanks chlo for that category) so it’s very gentle, very wholesome. includes oral and fingering (fem-receiving) and protected MxF sex :’)

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

“Why are they always so noisy? How hard can it be to hit a bit of plastic?”

You laugh quietly, glancing at your friend, Yelena. She’s staring out across the rink, hands resting on the plastic barrier that lines the perimeter with irritation in her icy blue eyes. A warming blush tickles the apples of her cheeks, and it softens the expression of frustration that she wears so well.

“Seriously,” she adds. “Listen to them… It’s so… unpleasant.”

Your teeth catch your lower lip as you bring your gaze away from Yelena and instead onto the object of her anger: the hockey team.

Your eyes zip around the rink, watching as the players run through yet another drill. The team—Kingston Kites—, 20 in full, 7 currently on the ice, crash around the arena like a cyclone of a thousand moving calamitous parts. For the last few months, the practice rink at your sports centre has been closed, which has led to the pre-existing rivalry between the hockey team and your own team of figure skaters deepening. There have been arguments between your managers and theirs about which team gets priority over the exhibition rink. What’s emerged has been a bitter taste in the air. Simply put: the figure skating team dislikes the ice hockey team, and the feeling is mutual.

“I dunno,” you mutter. “I guess it means they’re working hard.”

The noises are rather distracting. You watch as the blurry figures, shrouded in the team colours of white, green, and orange, line up and take shot after shot at the small net on the ice. After each attempted shot on goal, the players have a tendency to release loud grunts and exclamations of exertion, and they echo around the empty arena. Whilst you agree with Yelena that the noises are irritating, a small part of you also admires their commitment.

“Perhaps.” Yelena steps back from the side and starts to stretch her arms. You do the same. There’s a fifteen-minute overlap in the scheduled slots on ice when the figure skating team uses half the rink to warm up as the hockey team uses the other to cool down. After the fifteen minutes play out, the Zamboni skims out the cuts in the rink, and the hockey team finally leaves you alone. It’s not ideal to share the rink, but every second you can spend practising helps. “I can’t stand them.”

You smile softly, slowly rotating your right arm as you warm up the muscles. “I know,” you agree. “You always complain about them.”

She scowls, eyes glistening with fierce irritation. “Because they’re annoying. So dramatic and messy.”

“Mmm, well, I don’t think they’re very fond of us either,” you respond. You bend over, slowly rubbing your fingers over the bandage you have wrapped around your right ankle. “Did you hear about Jenna and Lou in the gym last week?”

“No. What happened?”

You sit down on the cool floor of the arena, thankful for the many layers you’re wearing. As you slowly start to massage your ankle, you glance up at your friend.

“They got interrupted by a couple of the guys. Uh, Osterfield and Barrett? They wanted to do a weights competition or something.”

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

You smirk. “They won, though. Lou and Jen. Apparently, the guys stormed out. Couldn’t take getting beaten by a couple of skaters.”

Your friend cackles then offers you a hand up. You grunt as you stand and steady yourself, glancing down at your skates and checking the laces. A loud buzzer goes off, and you hear a few yells of disgruntlement come off the ice as the players realise it’s the end of their solo practice and the start of your turn on the rink too.

“Can’t wait to get out there,” Yelena murmurs, eyes sparkling. You nod in agreement and crack your knuckles in anticipation.

Together, you walk over to the small gate in the side of the rink, joining the line with the rest of your team. Ten of you make up the competitive figure skating team, and all of you wear varying articles of black, thermal clothing. You’re in a pair of leggings, a long-sleeved thermal shirt, and a loose burgundy t-shirt, drifting over the top. The cold doesn’t bother you as much as it used to, but that’s only through the years you’ve spent gliding around at sub-zero temperatures.

You sigh happily as you inhale a breath of the frozen air that hangs crispy above the rink. You step onto the ice, closing your eyes as you skate forwards, your body supported effortlessly by the skates you wear so well.

There’s a line of bright red cones set out across the middle of the ice, sectioning off the hockey players from the rest of you. You smile to yourself as you risk a glance across the rink and take stock of a few of the players, huddled together, grunting and exchanging low words of irritation. They look very funny, wearing various layers of thick padding and helmets—less formal than they’d be at a match, but still dressed up enough to mean business. You feel them staring at you, glaring and bemoaning the fact they have to share the rink, but you let it brush off you like water.

“Y/N! Show me your cannonball. Weren’t you working on it?” Yelena’s back, skimming to rest beside you, plaited blonde hair hanging in two bunches either side of her face. You nod, pushing off and checking the ice is clear ahead of you before skating into a space.

Nothing beats the rush of adrenaline that comes with skating. You think that you’re addicted to it now. The charge of the nervous build-up, followed by the relief of the payoff never gets old. Your fears of failure get swept away the moment you sink into the ultra-focused headspace of an athlete, and the buzz of reward you get every time you land a move perfectly trumps the blood, sweat and tears that such an unforgiving sport has taken from you. You wouldn’t be able to quit skating, even if you wanted to.

A cannonball sit spin is one of the hardest spins in your repertoire, and the element that has been giving you the most grief in your show routine. This season, you’re competing in the national circuit for solo ice dance. It’s not your first time taking on the competition—in fact, consistently over the last few years, you’ve been ranking higher each time you compete. Last year you finished third, and so this year, your eyes are fixed very firmly on the prize. You know securing first place in the competition will attract the Olympic scouts’ attention, and that’s your greatest dream.

Moving quickly, you skate in a brief semi-circle to build momentum before getting low, resting on one leg as you stretch the other out in front of you. Your hands curve around the ankle of your extended leg, and you use the energy to carry you into a spin, the fresh air wafting off the ice and cooling your cheeks. It carries out for a few seconds, then you have to concentrate as you exit the manoeuvre, brows creasing as you continue to turn. You end in a standing spin, arms held out as you slowly bring them back into your sides and end elegantly with a little bow.

Yelena claps, cheering from across the ice. “Fuck, Y/N, that looks perfect now,” she calls out. “Wouldn’t ever be able to tell that it was causing you trouble— oh, look out!”

Your eyes are only just beginning to widen in response to her concern when you feel a very strong figure slam into you, hurtling at top speed and taking you both down onto the ice. You don’t need to see anything beyond a flash of white, orange and green to know that it’s a fucking hockey player, and the ache of getting thrown to the hard ground is quickly overcome by the anger that replaces everything else.

“Oh, shit,” you hear a gruff voice say.

You groan as you try to sit up, opening your eyes just to see that the player is crumpled on top of you. Your chest feels heavy from where he’s laying sprawled over you, and you glance down to look at his face, a scowl holding tight over your features.

Despite the helmet and the visor sticking over the top of his face, you’re able to make out a few details of the man. He seems to be around your age, his skin pale but flushed warm from the cold and such a vigorous practice. The brown depths of his eyes swell with concern and guilt, pairing nicely with the regretful smile that pangs across his thin pink lips. You get a peek at his brown hair sticking out from beneath his helmet, and can’t quite stop your eyes from catching on the hard line of his impressive jaw.

“You idiot,” you mutter, shaking off the daze that comes with admiring such a handsome stranger. “Did you even look where you were going before deciding you were going to try and kill me?”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up, his expression of concern burning into irritation as he scowls at you.

“Fucking hell,” he replies. His accent twangs prominently, cool and unyielding. “It was an accident, darling.”

You grunt, rapidly scooting back across the ice the moment he’s clambered off you. He sits across from you, brushing at the pads on his knees as he stares at you remorsefully. You can’t tell if he’s pouting at you or the shards of ice messing up his knees.

“An accident is brushing into someone, not slamming them onto the ice,” you mutter. Bitterness sweeps into your voice. “Twat.”

“Alright, alright.” He throws his hands into the air and leans closer. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

You draw your lips into a tight-lipped frown and look away, ignoring him as you try to stand, only to end up wincing as pain shoots up your bad ankle. “Fuck,” you whisper, your irritation growing stronger as you try to rotate your foot and feel the pain thicken.

Opposite you, the man clambers to his feet, getting his bearings on his skates before begrudgingly sliding up you. Your eyes take in his figure, running the lines of his stocky form. It’s always hard to tell what the guys look like beneath the padding and the helmets, but he doesn’t look as tall as you’d expected when he was laying on top of you. He’s smaller than the rest of them, but you have a suspicion he can probably move remarkably fast. How else would he have been able to take you out so easily?

He offers you a gloved hand, staring at you through cold eyes. “C’mon,” he urges, when you do nothing but stare at his palm. “Let me help you up. It’s the least I can do.”

You eye him suspiciously, but you know you won’t be able to get up without some assistance. A brief glance at your team around you suggests they’re all watching your exchange, intrigued. So, you swallow your pride, grit your teeth, and slip your hand into his glove, digging your skates into the ice as he helps you back to your feet. A short hiss of pain falls through your lips as your ankle throbs. When your leg threatens to buckle, the man moves in closer and grabs at your waist.

“Woah!” he exclaims, holding you up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, trying to steady yourself, “no thanks to you.”

You hear him release an exasperated sigh, and he lets you shake yourself free, but his hand drifts down to pull at your arm and hold you back when you try to skate off.

“What do you want?” you snap, tension in your voice. Beneath the visor, you can make out the guilt dusting his face, but you’re too focused on your recurring injury to pay it much mind.

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

You pull your arm free again, and you hear a few hoots drift over from the other side of the rink. The word Dutchy rises louder, and you watch his expression twitch with irritation.

“Whatever,” you reply. You skate backwards, moving away from him, only relaxing when you feel one of your friends link her arm with yours. “Just forget about it.”

The hockey player looks as though he wants to argue with you, but when you harden your glare, he seems to let it go. He shoots you a very tight-lipped smile, mouth puffing a little with air, and then he picks up the discarded hockey stick and skates back to the other side of the rink. Your eyes briefly flutter over the bright text of Holland before he disappears, being enveloped back into the fold of raucous players as you sink into your friend’s side.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, touch far gentler than his had been.

You grimace, looking down at your ankle. “Yeah,” you reply, frowning sourly. Your eyes lift up across the rink, and you let yourself scowl. “Just pissed off.”

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Following the incident, and an incredibly bad skating practise, you find yourself reprimanded by your coach and put on bed rest for a few days so you can rest your ankle. It’s hard not to blame the distracted hockey player, but you know you probably had it coming. You’ve been walking the knife’s edge for several weeks with your injury, and as much as you hate to admit it, the time off is necessary.

The moment you’re allowed back on the ice, you’re there in a heartbeat. The training arena also operates as a commercial venue, and there are different slots available during the day for the general public to skate. After receiving the thumbs up from the team physiotherapist, you immediately turn up to one of the open slots available to the public, hoping to brush up on a few things before you rejoin your team in the morning.

For the first ten minutes of your practice, things go well. Your ankle is better for a few days off, and you’re able to sink back into your routine and get back to focusing on the gnarly parts that always throw you in a loop. It isn't too busy either, so there’s room to skate around and feel the air running over your face. It’s easy to get lost in it, your chest full of a lightness you’d spent the last few days bed-bound and dreaming of.

You take a break to drink some water after a while, leaning up against the barrier at the edge of the rink and bending over it to rummage through your bag. When you feel a presence behind you, you stand up, glancing back expecting to see a stranger, and feeling your eyes widen as instead, you recognise the man.

He looks very different without the shoulder pads and the rest of his ridiculous costume, but it’s him: Holland, the hockey player responsible for your skating ban. Still tall, and perched on hockey skates, but more relaxed. Like you, he’s wrapped up warmly, with a tight black thermal shirt curled around his arms, and another t-shirt resting over the top. His brown hair flies freely, bouncy and slightly curled, and his eyes are soft.

“Hi,” he says, biting at his thin lower lip. “Do you remember me?”

You frown as you skate to be in front of him, nodding slowly. “The guy that smashed me into the ice the other day?” you tease, voice cool. “Of course. How could I ever forget?”

You watch as his face darkens in shade, his eyes flickering down to your leg. “I’m, uh, Tom,” he leads with. “I saw you skating and I just wanted to see how you were doing… I haven’t seen you at practice in a few days, and I was, uh… sort of worried I’d seriously hurt you.”

Tom looks at you like he’s scared of you, and you have to bite back a smile as you wonder if you were too harsh on him the other day.

“Hmm.” You cross your arms over your chest and inspect him, gaze following how pronounced his biceps look, pushing up against his shirt. “Well, I was benched for a week.”

He curses softly, accented voice sounding out of place speaking such vulgarity.

“I’m sorry,” Tom says. He looks as though he means it, too. Shoulders sagged, eyes concerned, lower lip bitten red. “I promise, love, it wasn’t intentional. If I could go back in time and stop myself from behaving like such an inconsiderate twat, I would.”

You giggle slightly, unable to disguise the glee that comes with hearing him call himself a twat. You watch as his eyebrows arch up, confusion replacing his sincerity as he slowly crosses his arms over his chest. You’re still irritated by the situation, but you’re no longer incensed. It’s hard to harbour a grudge whilst he’s pouting so acutely.

“Well, Tom, I forgive you,” you say, voice lighter. He releases a deep breath, and you nod to affirm your point. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Instinctively, you offer him a hand and find a shiver rolling down your back as his warm palm presses up against yours. Tom’s grip is firm and grounding, and his skin is a lot softer than you’d expected.

“Y/N is a nice name,” he says, voice perkier. His eyes seem more alive, and you don’t miss the way he takes in your form with an inquisitive gaze.

Your lips twist into a smirk. “I’ve already forgiven you, you can turn off the charm now.”

Tom shrugs, eyes glinting cheekily. “It’s not charm, darling,” he returns. “This is just who I am.” It seems to be true, too. He’s a lot bolder now the air between you has cleared, no longer looking like he wants to melt through the ice.

You snort loudly and feel your heart quicken when he smiles. “Well, Tom, what are you doing here?” You quirk an eyebrow. “Don’t you guys practice in the mornings?”

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. He breaks off as he looks over his shoulder and waves a hand at the near-deserted ice. “Coach said I need to work on my sprints, though, and it’s a lot easier to do that without the rest of the team hanging around.”

“Makes sense,” you say, deviously deciding you want to see how far you can push him. “You hockey guys are always so slow on the ice.”

Tom’s jaw drops, and you watch as he straightens up and stands a little taller. He meets the challenge directly, and you can’t deny it—it’s attractive. The way he squares his jaw, flares his nostrils and hardens his gaze is hot.

“Fuck you,” he says, voice light, “I’m definitely faster than you.”

You smirk. “As if,” you quip. You raise a hand, twirling a finger around in the lazy direction of the centre of the rink. “Show me what you’ve got. I might give you some pointers if I’m feeling nice.”

Tom releases a very loud laugh, the skin by his eyes crinkling into fine lines. “You’re hilarious, love,” he responds. “Like a figure skater is going to be able to teach me anything of importance.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and you cross your arms as you stand a little straighter. “That’s bold talk from someone who doesn’t look where he’s going,” you tease. You run a hand through your hair, eyeing him closely. “I could easily beat you in any skating-related activity, and I wouldn’t even break a sweat.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, seeming to feed into the idea of a challenge just as much as you. There’s something about him that fires you up the right way—a shared competitiveness that burns as brightly in you as it clearly does in him. It overpowers everything else, taking over, enticing you into letting go of any residual resentment and embracing the chance to beat him.

“How about we put your bragging to the test, darling?” he suggests, tongue tracing his lower lip. His eyes flutter around the curves of your mouth. “A few races, just to see who’s really better.”

You don’t hesitate to nod. “Sure, Tom,” you agree. “But don’t be too pissy when I beat you.”

There’s something endearingly irritating about how confident he is as he smirks at you and leans forward to briefly rest a hand on your shoulder. “Same to you, Y/N,” he responds. “I know it’s annoying to lose.”

You just shake your head, scoffing as you push away from him and move down to the end of the rink. He follows you, coming to a stop on his chunky skates beside you.

“First one to the other side wins,” you announce, reaching back to rest a hand on the barrier. You tilt your head and stare at him until he does the same. “Ready?”

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

It’s slightly ridiculous how badly you want to beat him, but there’s just something so infuriating about Tom. Your competitiveness burns in your chest, makes your blood boil and your hands clench into fists, and you find your eyes zeroing in on the opposite side of the rink as tunnel-vision encroaches. You block him and everything else out, your desire to win taking over as you swiftly launch across the ice, skates clipping the surface with metallic sounds as you sprint it. You don’t break—you don’t give up, slow down, or even turn back until you’re slamming into the barrier at the other side, turning around just in time to see Tom come in behind you, lagging about a second behind.

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

Tom pulls a sour face, and it makes you giggle. “Best of three?” he offers. “C’mon, Y/N.” His elbow nudges against your side. “I’m still warming up.”

“Alright,” you agree. “But for the record, I still won.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tom mutters, shooting you a sly smile. “Just you wait.”

You win best of three skating forwards, but Tom manages to snag a victory when it comes to speed skating backwards. You can’t take the smirk of triumph on his face, so you offer up a third competition, yearning to prove yourself.

“Can you do an axel?” you ask. Your eyes drift down to his heavy hockey skates. “Or are your boots too chunky and annoying?”

Tom’s face twitches with doubt, but he’s quick to smooth it away. “Fuck yeah,” he states boldly. “I can do anything you can do.” If he doubts the truth of his words, he doesn’t let it show. “Just, uh… Show me how you do it first.”

You have the suspicion he can’t remember what an axel is, so you decide to oblige him.

“Alright,” you agree, boosting away from him. His eyes follow you, and their presence on your figure brings a hidden smile to your face. “Watch this.”

You perform the trick easily. An axel is the simplest of all the jumps, and it gives you no bother to glide forwards, leap into the air, do a swift, neat turn, then land on your back foot gracefully. You could probably do it with your eyes closed.

“There!” you announce, smile on your face.

Tom gulps nervously.

“Easy,” he says, voice slightly quieter. You cross your arms and watch, incredibly amused, to see how far he’ll take his act before giving up. Tom skates forward, confident in his movements, eyes focused, eyebrows furrowed. He takes his time, failing to do anything beyond skating in a straight line before he suddenly, jerkily, attempts the trick.

Time moves in slow motion. It’s with a combination of glee and horror that you watch him fail spectacularly, doing a rotation of approximately 180 degrees before slipping on the return to the rink and landing flat on the ice, groaning loudly. The few of the people sharing the rink with you look around, concerned, and you’re quick to skate over to him, biting your lip guiltily.

“Well,” you say, stopping in front of him. Tom’s still on the ice, arms crossed, glaring angrily at his skates. “I admire you for trying.”

His attention shifts up to you, and his scowl intensifies. “Whatever,” he mumbles. There’s an element of amusement in his eyes, and he takes your hand when you extend it out towards him. Tom’s heavy, but he springs up easily, his fingers tangled in yours and jerking you a little closer. “That was way harder than it looked.”

You hum, and then gulp as he drops your hand. He’s near to you, breath crystallising into a cloud of icy fog in front of you. Your eyes glide over the spray of brown freckles on his face before skimming down the curved line of his nose until you can admire his mouth.

“Well, it is a sport,” you say, voice a little tight. You clear your throat, shaking yourself from your funk as you realise you’re just staring at his lips. “Just like… Like hockey is a sport. I know we make fun of it, but I doubt me or anyone else on the team could play like you guys do.”

Tom seems to enjoy the praise, standing with a little more confidence as you finish speaking. He nods, then brings two slender fingers up to nimbly scratch at his chin.

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

Tom smirks. “Well, we need to change that. Go down the end, I’ll grab a net.”

You don’t know how he manages to convince the supervisors of the free skate to let the two of you set up an attack zone in the end segment of the rink, but you don’t question it. The sight of Tom reappearing, haphazardly balancing a net, a hockey stick, and a puck in his arms makes you smile, and you briefly think about how easy it's been for your resentment to melt away. There’s something about him that’s incredibly warm, and you don’t dispute the realisation that he’d probably make a good friend.

“Right,” Tom announces. He’s set up the net and shown you how to hold the plastic stick. Now, both of you are staring at the puck, black and stark against the scratched white ice. “Just hit it.”

You glance up at him, sceptical. “Surely there’s more to it than that.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t know what I’m working with until I see you take a hit at it, darling.”

You nod. The stick feels unfamiliar between your hands, but you’re determined to make a better show of it than Tom when he tried to do the axel. After staring at the small open area of the net, you grit your teeth and hit it, watching with widening eyes as the puck soars wide out to the left.

Tom cackles.

“Well… That was an attempt,” he says. His grin doesn’t falter at all, even when you turn around to glare at him.

“Teach me, then,” you quip, scrunching up your nose playfully.

Tom hums, and you watch as he briefly skates away after the puck. You can’t stop yourself from staring at him as he bends over, the bottom of his shirt briefly riding up and exposing the printed band of his boxers. The words Calvin Klein burn into the back of your eyes, still lingering there as he turns and skates back to you. You blink rapidly, shame burning at your face as you try to look more like you’re focused, and less like you can’t stop your eyes from gravitating towards his figure.

He drops the puck back on the ice, just in front of your stick. “Your angle was wrong,” Tom says. “Show me your hands again.” When you do as instructed, he frowns and shakes his head. “No, it’s… It’s more like, your top hand higher, and the lower more angled… Uh… No, no, no. Can I just touch you?”

“Okay,” you squeak, standing a little straighter.

Tom skates forward, resting behind you. He doesn’t hesitate to carefully wrap his arms around you from behind, slender fingers curling over your hands and repositioning them on the stick. You feel like you’ve been electrified—eyes wide, skin responding to his touch. His breath, warm and minty, wafts across the side of your face, and you realise you’re holding your breath.

“Yeah...just like that,” he coos, voice a little softer. He squeezes your hands before letting them go. “Give it another go.”

You swallow back your nerves as you nod, waiting until Tom’s drifted back to hit the puck. You can’t stop yourself from smiling when it goes sailing into the back of the net, and Tom lets out a loud hoot.

“Fuck yeah!” he exclaims, laughing gleefully. “Look at that!”

You glance back at him, enjoying the expression of pride that finds his features. “Pretty good, right?” you say, playing it cool.

“Spectacular, darling.” Tom’s nodding, face alight. “Let’s step it up a notch.”

He brings you through a few drills, and you find yourself enjoying the game despite your early blunder. Before you know it, there’s the sound of a buzzer ringing, signalling that there are five minutes left of your session together. Tom rises to the challenge, announcing that he wants to end by watching you skate at the goal and shoot a point whilst moving. You fail at your first three attempts, unable to coordinate moving the stick, the puck and yourself without something going askew.

“Show me again,” you whine, growing conscious of the timer ticking down.

Tom skates closer, gliding easily with his hands behind his back. His thin lips wear his smirk well.

“Just visualise it, darling,” he says. “Believe in yourself, and you’ll do it.” He pauses, eyes skimming over you. “I believe in you.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

Tom skates backwards, beckoning you forwards with outstretched hands and a smile like you’re a toddler he’s teaching to walk. He leads your attack, mapping out your path before shifting out of the way just in time for you to successfully skate and hit the puck into the back of the net. His expression clears into relief, but as you start to celebrate, it’s quick to fall flat. You watch, eyes widening, as Tom gets distracted by you and drifts backwards into the goal, skates getting tangled in the netting. You lunge forward to try and catch him, only to make the situation a thousand times worse as you crash into him, grabbing at his shirt just as he manages to steady himself.

It feels like a cruel trick of fate. A repetition of the past, just, instead of Tom tackling you to the ground, it’s you that manages to slam him back onto the ice. It’s more comfortable this time around, though. For you. Tom’s chest is a lot warmer and softer than the ice.

“Fuck,” Tom groans. His face twists into an aching expression, then his eyes slowly blink open. As you make contact with his brown orbs, you’re surprised to see amusement shift across them. “Oh, how the tables have turned.”

You snort, taking stock of how muscly his front feels. You’re sprawled out completely over him, face suspended above his, Tom’s palms holding your waist. It’s intimate, especially when he reaches up with one hand and pushes your hair from your face so he can peer at you better. You can’t stop your eyes from going straight to his lips.

“S-sorry,” you stammer, voice breathless. You admire the way his hair is spread out around his head, bold against the ice like a halo. “I don’t know what happened.”

“‘S okay.” Tom’s quieter too. His gaze circles quickly between your eyes and your mouth. There’s something cockier about him, and you know the way you’re clinging to the front of his shirt has something to do with it. “I think you fell for me. Again.”

He’s leaning in. You start to do it, too, even go as far as to let your eyes drift close. He gets so close that you can almost feel the warm outline of his lips, brushing against yours, but then there’s the loud noise of a buzzer vibrating through the air. As the sound dies, it serves to signal the end of such a tender moment, as well as the end of the session.

You startle and push off him as you shoot him an apologetic grin.

“Sorry,” you say. You’re shaking a little, but you hope he puts it down to shock. You manage to clamber up and offer him your hands.

Tom accepts your help, and he groans as you help him up.

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he says, pausing to shake out his legs and slide forward. He swings your palms through the air, squeezing at your fingers as he very gently twirls you beneath his arm, then moves in nearer. “Accidents happen. I’m not surprised you wanted to be on top of me.”

All you can do is laugh and hope Tom can’t tell how he makes the base thrumming of your heart pick up.

“As if,” you return. You glance down at your intertwined fingers and feel your heart pang. “A hockey player? I could never.”

Tom just smiles, then squeezes your hands before letting them slip from his grasp. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs. He nudges your shoulder then shifts away, off in the direction of the net. “You know there’s no one that could give you as good a time as me.” He’s joking—it’s obvious in the cadence of his voice, the smile on his face. But why does it feel so layered?

“Ha ha,” you respond, skating over to him. When you notice him struggling, you dart forward and grab the net, slinging it over a shoulder. You glance back, arching an eyebrow as you decide to test the water. “I have had fun, though,” you add. “With you.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, ruffling up his hair with a hand. His smile lights up his entire face.

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Almost a week passes, and though you don’t see Tom again, he’s certainly on your mind. You find yourself thinking about him all too much, considering he’s a hockey player, and it goes against the team ethos you’ve been surrounded by.

One day, after practice, you end up sitting on a bench outside the rink, waiting on Yelena as she finishes talking with one of your coaches. Bored and curious, you pull out your phone and decide to open Instagram. All around the arena are banners advertising the hockey team’s social media, and you find yourself drawn to the official account with a few easy taps. You start to scroll through the feed, eager eyes skimming over every face until you find the one you’re looking for.

It’s Tom, from last season, clutching the victory trophy in his hands as he’s held on his team’s shoulders. His face is animated, pulled wide in a large grin as he stares at the camera, the skin by his eyes pulled into smile lines. He’s tagged in it, so, curious, you click through and look at his profile. Unsurprisingly, it’s set to public, and you’re careful as you scroll down.

His photos are exactly what you’d expect—a collection of team photos, action shots, and gym selfies. Typical hockey player, but the longer you spend staring at one of his selfies, the cuter he seems to get. Trying to shake yourself out of the daze, you scroll back up, thumb absently wandering over to his Following list. Your eyes widen as you see your profile, at the very top of the accounts.

Tom follows you…?

Brows furrowing, you flip onto your own account, double-checking this new fact by typing out his username in your followers tab. He pops up, at the top, and you sit back, blinking.

Interesting.

After taking a brief moment to compose yourself, you go back to his profile and follow him. You start to flick through his story from the day. You get about halfway through when a shadow casts over your figure. You glance up, expecting to see Yelena, only to startle when it’s Tom.

“Hi,” he offers, raising a hand in greeting. You blink a few times in quick succession, glancing between your phone which shows a mirror selfie from him shirtless in the gym to where he’s now standing in front of you, burgundy hoodie on, flask in hand. You immediately turn your phone off.

“Oh, u-uh, hi,” you say, voice suddenly thick. He tilts his head to the side, an amused smile finding his lips as he sees you flustered. “What… What are you doing here?”

“I was in the gym,” he says, telling you information you already know. “Saw you down here on my way out, thought I’d say hi.” He rocks back on his feet, looking a little nervous. “I, uh… Keep thinking about last week. On the ice.”

“Oh?” Tom nods. He hesitates, and you realise he’s just awkwardly standing in front of you. “Wait,” you say, shuffling up the bench. “Sit.”

He perches on the wooden slats beside you, offering you his flask. “It’s hot chocolate,” he says, cheeks blushing slightly.

“After the gym?” you return, arching a brow.

Tom smiles. “Fuck yeah,” he says, pressing the flask into your hand. “It’s good, trust me. And, uh, I don’t have any germs or anything. I think.”

You snort, clicking the top open as you look at him over the brim. “Well, I wouldn’t mind catching anything from you,” you say, speaking before you have time to process the words.

Tom’s eyebrows soar up his forehead, a short chuckle leaving his lips as you hide your embarrassment behind the metal flask. The burn of revealing such a humiliating thought is quickly soothed away as you taste the deliciously sweet liquid.

“Well?” Tom coaxes, stretching an arm up as he scratches the back of his neck. His hoodie smells of fresh fabric conditioner. “Good, eh?”

Begrudgingly, you nod. “Yeah,” you say, shooting him a soft smile. Trying to move on the conversation, you return to what he’d said before sitting down. “Uh, what was that you said? About last week?”

Tom nods, seeming a little less apprehensive now to speak to you after your enthusiastic praise. “I was just thinking about how fun it was to skate around with you. It sort of made me regret not getting your number, darling.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “You can have my number if you want, Tom,” you say, speaking softly. His eyes are so pretty up close. “And I’d be down doing it again. I’m free every Wednesday afternoon.”

He nods his head, curls bouncing from the enthusiasm. You pass him back the flask, carefully angling your phone away from him as you unlock it, quickly exit from Instagram, then open up contacts. You watch him input his number, tongue between his lips as his brows furrow. He curses softly as he messes up the numbers and has to backspace a few times, and you have to focus hard on not letting your face betray how cute you find the whole interaction.

He’s cute.

“There you go,” Tom says, passing your phone back. He stands from the bench, tilting the flask towards you. “I’ve gotta go,” he adds. “Carpool. But, uh… See you tomorrow?”

You nod, biting back your smile. “Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds good.”

Before he leaves, Tom darts down to gently kiss your cheek, his lips lingering there for a moment before he springs back and walks away, waving as he goes. As his broad smile fades from sight, you find your hand drifting up, going to your cheek and touching the spot which tingles with the remnants of his kiss.

Swallowing back your nerves, you return your attention to your phone. You open your contact, clicking on Tom and opening up a text message. After a brief moment of contemplation, you decide to play it safe.

Y/N: hey x

A moment later, the notification changes from delivered to read, and the typing bubbles pop up. You shift on the bench, holding your breath.

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

Despite already spending most of your days on the ice, you carve out another hour every Wednesday afternoon and dedicate it to Tom. Over time, he teaches you hockey, and you continue to give him pointers on his skating. After a while, you even manage to coach him through a jump. It’s easy with him. There are no expectations, no routines you need to nail. All you have to focus on when you’re with Tom is having fun—and also trying not to fall too deeply into the reserves of his deep brown eyes. Tom feels like a breath of fresh air—if the air also happens to be loaded full of charm, cheek, and wear an irresistible smile.

Halfway through the hockey league, you end up at the arena on a Saturday night, staying late with the rest of the figure skating team. Your competitive season begins in two weeks, so the team is in for outfit fittings, everyone split across the changing rooms at the arena. You’re competing solo this year, which grants you the rare position of having the freedom to design your dress—a privilege you’ve had a lot of fun with.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp. “I can’t believe how nice it looks.”

You’re staring at a clothes mannequin, wearing the costume you’d spent hours conceptualising with the team’s designers. It’s a shade of red that perfectly compliments your skin, accented with silver and gold detailing in a beautiful pattern over the front. Gems glimmer and sparkle, and you can’t stop your eyes from tearing up as you look at an object of such beauty.

“Do you like it?” Standing beside the masterpiece, eyes nervous, is Jazzy, the lead costume designer. When you clasp your hands together and nod, she releases a deep sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you in it and start marking out the alterations.”

You feel a little bit like a doll, standing on a raised platform as you pull on your costume, but it’s worth the reward of seeing yourself in the dress. After slipping into it, you pull your hair back and pin it sloppily, so you’re able to admire the ensemble fully. You’re in tights, matched to your skin tone, and the tops of your thighs are covered by the red material. It floats down, and you run your fingertips over the hem of the velvety skirt as a smile finds your lips.

“Stunning,” Jazzy compliments. She passes you a tube of lipstick. “Try that one.”

You carefully smooth the shade over your lips, noting with enjoyment how the hue matches the bodice of the dress. As you stare at your reflection in the mirror, you release a breath. When you have your face painted and your hair done properly, you’ll look the part, and clinging to the image of what you’ll look like on competition days is enough to steady some of the nerves. Even if you mess up your routine, you’ll do it looking like you deserve to be there.

“I love it,” you say, releasing a breath. You reach up and pull your hair free, running a hand through it and ruffling it, so it sits normally. You do a small spin, smiling as the material drifts around the top of your legs. “You did an incredible job. Thank you so much.”

“Thank you for wearing it so well,” she returns, winking. “Let’s get a few more opinions.”

It isn’t long before the changing room is swarmed with the rest of your team, each one of them wearing garments in various stages of completion. The men are here too—four of them, combining with the five other women and yourself, bringing your team up to an even ten. Each season, your team puts forward various combinations of skaters for the duet, team, and solo events. You’re one of the only skaters competing solo this year—a decision your coach had made as she decided she wants no distractions for you as you try to reach Olympic level. The only other member of your team in a similar position is Tai, your lean, incredibly friendly male counterpart.

Tai saunters across the room, running a hand through his thick black hair. His outfit is deep purple and shimmery, and you wiggle your eyebrows as he does a little spin.

“Pretty sick, right?” he says, shaking a sleeve at you. “I look like Dionysus.”

“So cool,” you compliment. You do a small spin too, smiling widely. “What do you think?”

“Stunning,” Tai returns. He nods to affirm his point. “You’re going to kill it, Y/N. This is your year.”

You smile nervously. “I hope so,” you reply. You take a tight breath. “I really hope so.”

Before the conversation can continue, there’s the slamming of a door opening, followed by an approaching wall of noise—men, talking loudly, a few of them hollering. You raise an eyebrow towards Tai, who scowls.

“Saturday night,” he says. “The team are in the playoffs.”

“Wait, is it a home game?”

Tai nods. “Starts in twenty,” he says. His frown intensifies. “They’re so loud. Idiots.”

You watch from your position on the dressing podium as flashes of white, green and orange pass by the open door. It’s the hockey team, alongside their coaches and their managers. They walk determinedly in the direction of the hockey changing room where you presume they’re going for a pre-game pep talk. You can’t stop yourself from scanning the crowds, looking for Tom. When you fail to seek him out, you feel your heart pang sadly in your chest.

“Y/N?” Tai’s looking at you, amused. “Are you okay?”

You swallow, then nod. “Yeah,” you mutter. “Just tired.”

He hums, eyes wide and sympathetic. “Me too. It’s been a busy week, hasn’t it?”

It’s easy to agree. At this point in the season, with so few weeks to go before the competition begins, you’re at the rink every day.

“Absolutely.”

You stifle a yawn. Your eyes flutter back across the changing room, and you see your tired sentiments seem to be shared by the rest of the team. As they slowly start to leave the room, it grows quieter. Tai drifts away, lingering in the corner and talking with Jazzy and Yelena. It isn’t long until you’re the only four people remaining. You spend a few moments taking photos of your fit in the mirror, trying to get in all the angles so you can send them to your family and fuel their excitement about the season. Your actions are interrupted only when there’s a tender knock on the door, and you glance up towards the entrance to see a bulky, padded figure. Tom.

“Uh, hello? The hockey room is across the corridor,” Yelena says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tom isn’t in his helmet, but he is perched tall on his skates. You’re able to watch as his face twitches with annoyance. He offers a tight smile to Yelena before glancing straight at you, raising a teasing brow.

Chest feeling tight, you step forward, padding quietly towards the door. Your friends are all looking at you, but you’re more preoccupied with Tom and the way his eyes seem to glint as they take you in your form. There’s a small swagger to your step as you watch him shift from leg to leg, his cheeks warm and red, eyes full of appreciation as they stick on the curves of your hips, chest, and then your lips. Your suit is tight, and it brings you enjoyment to watch him admire you. He clears his throat as you fall to a stop in front of him.

“Hey,” you say, voice quiet, perplexed. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a game?”

Tom nods. “Yeah,” he says. His tone is darker, and it catches slightly. “I, uh… I wanted to see you.”

You bite your lip, standing a little straighter. “Oh.” You can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Well… Do you like it?” You toy with the hem of your skirt. “It’s my outfit for the competition circuit.”

“Give me a spin, darling.”

You oblige him, feeling slightly giddy as you do yet another rotation. You hear him hum, and when you fall to a stop in front of him again, you’re closer.

“Beautiful.” Tom rubs together his hands, slender fingers gloveless and unaffected by the imminent game. He rocks back on his skates, clicking his tongue as he looks a little apprehensive. “I, uh… I was thinking about what you said last week about never going to a hockey game before.” He pauses to dig through one of his deep pockets, pulling out a few pieces of paper. He offers them to you tentatively. “If you want, I have some spare tickets for tonight’s game. Pretty good seats. My family normally use them, but they’re busy tonight, so…?”

It’s with a mix of shock and gratitude that you nod your head immediately, reaching out to take the tickets. “I’d love to, Tom,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

He grins, face lighting up. “Perfect,” he returns. “Maybe you’ll be my lucky charm.”

Your teeth graze your lower lip, and you smile. “I hope so.”

Tom opens his mouth as if to say more, but then there’s a holler from further down the corridor.

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

He grimaces, rolling his eyes. “Well, that’s me.”

“Dutchy?” you question.

Tom shrugs, then turns around and extends his thumb over his back to gesture at his jersey. “Holland,” he says. He turns back to look at you, grinning. “Just a nickname.”

You coo. “That’s cute.”

Tom licks his lip. “‘S not the only thing that’s cute.” You barely have time to respond before he’s leaning forward to quickly kiss your cheek. “Have fun!” he says, already on his way down the corridor.

“Good luck!” you return. You can almost feel the ghost of his touch, resting on your face so perfectly.

Tom turns, right at the end of the corridor, and he winks. You don’t realise how tightly you’re holding yourself until he disappears, and your lovestruck muscles unravel.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s hard to explain to Tai and Yelena the relationship you have with Tom, so you just give up after a while. They accompany you to the arena. You manage to change your dress for something more casual, deciding to keep the red lipstick on. Tom’s seats are at the end of the rink, positioned mid-way up the stands. They give you a clear view across the ice.

The atmosphere is electric. You’re surrounded by the home crowd, decked out in replica jerseys, printed scarves, and hats that have Kingston Kites printed all over them. It’s a sea of white, green, and orange, and you can’t stop yourself from slipping out during the first break to buy yourself a scarf—just to support the team, and Tom. The teasing you receive from your friends when you reappear is hard to ignore but mellows out when you procure a bag of Maltesers you’d also bought from the stand.

And Tom… Tom.

Tom’s incredible. You can’t keep your eyes off him. The silhouette of his padded figure feels like it’s burnt to your memory. When he’s on the ice, he’s magnificent, commanding the space well, grunting and spinning as he plays. When he’s waiting for his turn on the bench with his team, he’s focused and calm. His eyes are sharp and intense, glinting almost black beneath the harsh rink lighting as they follow the puck across the ice. You find yourself admiring everything about him—watching the way his cheeks are flushed a rosy red, his jawline sharp and fierce. He’s on fire, passion rolling off every part of him, and, quite honestly, it’s incredibly attractive.

Tom’s explained the basic rules of hockey to you a few times, but there’s a stark difference between him telling you, quietly, how line rotations work and actually seeing them in action on a scale like this. The players swap out every minute, only staying on the ice for a short burst of energy as they chase the puck around. Tom, holding the loose position of centre forward, goes wherever needed, carving up the ice like it’s his one task in life. You’re high in the stands, but even from so far, you’re able to see the determination and the passion burning in his eyes.

The game is brutal. By the time it reaches the third and final twenty-minute segment, the score is tied 2-2. You watch, on tenterhooks, as Tom jumps the barrier on the side of the rink, swapping in for one of the players and taking his spot on the ice.

He’s antsy, as are the rest of the team. You know it’s an important match, and if they want a chance at continuing to the next stage of the competition, they need the result to swing in their favour. Your eyes are wide, fingers curled into fists as you watch Tom cut up the ice. The helmet on his head protects his skull, but you can make out a few strands of dark brown hair sticking out, and you find yourself struck with the very prominent and aching thought that you’d quite like to play with it.

The puck ends up at your end of the rink, and the Kingston Kites take on a defensive strategy as their opponents try to put pressure on the goalie and get in another shot. You find your eyes trained directly on Tom and startle as you catch him looking up at you. Through panting breaths, his lips quirk into a brief, tight smile of recognition, but then it sours as his eyes slip beside you and look at Tai. Your friend is sitting to your right, his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders, and you’re casually leaning into his side. It’s entirely platonic, but you don’t miss the way Tom’s eyebrows shoot up as his gaze hardens and his jaw sets with determination.

The whole interaction lasts less than a second, but as Tom refocuses on the game and hurtles after the puck, he seems more aggravated. You sit forward, gaining a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you shrug off Tai and stare at Tom. Your eyes follow him as he goes in hard, trying to wrestle the puck out from beneath his opponent’s stick. It looks to be a bit of a mess, and you hear everyone in your section gasp as Tom roughly elbows the other guy. He goes spinning with a yelp, and the referee blows on the whistle, pausing the game. There are a few yells of ‘Dutchy’, coupled with disgruntled hollering from the people around you as they question the referee’s decision to pause.

“Fucking hell,” Yelena murmurs, leaning forward on her elbows and staring across the ice. “Your guy is crazy.”

You suck in a breath, watching as the referee points at the penalty box and Tom stomps towards it. You can almost see the frustrated steam pouring from his ears.

“He’s… passionate.” You bite your lip. Somehow, you feel responsible for his outburst.

“Shit,” Tai mutters. He too leans forward, until all three of you are sitting there, elbows on your knees, staring at the penalty box. “That’s kind of hot.”

Your throat feels dry as you watch Tom throw his stick on the ground of the penalty box. Given all the walls are made of plastic, you have an unobstructed view as he pulls off his helmet and tosses it on a seat too. He marches a few paces up and down, speaking angrily to himself, his expression one of pure irritation. When he finally sits down, he runs a gloved hand through his hair, pushing away the sweaty strands that stick so deliciously to the top of his flushed forehead. You watch, your breath light and shallow, as Tom jerks off the glove and shoves his fingers into his mouth, pulling out his mouthguard before picking up a bottle and squirting a long stream of water into his open mouth.

“Fuck,” you murmur, eyes transfixed. There’s a heat in the pit of your stomach, building as you take in the way Tom’s glowing with a mix of exertion and anger. The match is continuing back on the ice, but you can’t stop looking at the hot flush of his cheeks and the angry lines of his flexed brows and curved jaw. “It is.”

A minute passes, and Tom slowly seems to chill out. It’s only as the seconds fall down into the 30s that he finally seems to release his tension, fixing his mouthguard, and his glove before glancing up at the stands. You’re surprised when, again, he looks directly at you, his entire demeanour shifting when he sees the concern in your eyes. His features soften, lips losing their angry frown and mellowing into a warmer smile, and you watch as his gaze grows fonder.

Yelena hits at your knee immediately. “He’s in love with you,” she announces, certainty in her voice.

You can’t stop looking at Tom, not even when he breaks contact with a wink and shoves his helmet back on.

“Shut up,” you murmur. “He’s not. We’re just friends.”

Tai cackles. “Fuck off,” he says. “Yelena’s right. Friends don’t look at each other like that.”

You sit up, glaring at him. “Like what?”

He smirks. “Like you want to jump each other.”

It’s hard to dispute that one, so instead, you just cross your arms over your chest and stare back at the ice. “You’re wrong, but okay.”

Yelena nudges your side. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

You swallow nervously, briefly looking at her. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” she promises. “But… If I am, I’ll let you style my hair for the rest of the season.”

Your eyes light up, and the way that Yelena smirks, you can tell she knows the offer is too good to refuse.

“Fine,” you agree. Your eyes shift back to Tom, watching as he vaults back over the barrier and joins his team. Apparently they’ve forgiven him for the penalty, as he’s welcomed back with firm pats on the back, and you can see his blinding smile from across the rink. “I’ll do it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

The Kingston Kites win the match, and the arena is quick to empty. You part ways with your friends as they head home and you end up wandering the changing rooms as you try to hype yourself up. There’s a text from Tom waiting on your phone, simply asking how you’d liked the game, so you respond and tell him that you’d much rather go over it in person. After agreeing to meet him outside his locker room, it’s just a waiting game.

You reapply your lipstick and mess around with your hair to kill the time. It’s a little eerie being alone in the skating changing rooms, and as time passes, you hear fewer people hovering around the arena as the players slowly leave the building. It’s hard not to get stuck in your head as you think about your plan to confess your feelings, so you end up pacing in the long corridor that winds between the skating changing rooms and the hockey locker room.

The corridor is bright white and decorated with various sporting memorabilia. Autographed jerseys, shining medals, and printed photographs hang framed on the walls. On your side of the corridor, you catch glimpses of yourself, wearing a tracksuit and hugging your friends, showing off your medals, mid-action on the ice… It makes you proud to see that your team has placed you so frequently in the collage, and you feel a swell of bittersweet gratitude in your chest as you look at snapshots of competitions gone by.

On the other side of the corridor is a similar spread for the hockey team. You stroke at your chin as you examine this season’s photos, skimming your eyes over the group shot and trying to spot the people that you know. When you see Tom, dead centre, grinning widely, it makes you smile.

“—I’m just saying, Dutch, something was going on with you tonight. It can’t happen again. We can’t have you losing focus at this stage in the competition.”

The sound of a gruff voice drifting up the corridor makes you startle, and you glance down to see two figures emerging from the locker room—Tom, and one of his coaches. Tom has traded his gear for a pair of blue jeans and a loose black hoodie, and you watch as he nods and looks at his coach with wide-eyed respect.

“Of course, Spike,” he responds, voice clear, open. “It won’t.”

You watch as Spike sighs, then gives Tom a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Good lad.” He walks back, then makes the okay sign with his fingers. “Your final goal was phenomenal, though. More of that next game, and less time in the penalty box. Got it?”

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

Tom grunts and the two separate. You watch as he tugs on the front strings of his backpack before turning, his face lighting up as he spots you, leaning against the wall. He quickly strides towards you, footsteps echoing against the cold passage.

“Hey,” Tom calls out, voice bouncing down the hall.

There’s an uncontrollable smile on your face as you stand up and walk to meet him halfway. Tom instinctively wraps you in a hug, lips catching on your cheek when he pulls away.

“Hi,” you reply, voice shy. Tom smells of shower gel and mint, his curls a little damp and darker than usual. “Congrats on the win.”

Tom smirks, nodding as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Thanks, love. Did you enjoy it?”

You release a short laugh. If enjoyment equates to found it incredibly erotic, then, of course, the answer is,

“Yes. Loved it.” You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing. “Did you get in trouble for the penalty box?”

He winces, grimacing at you with his teeth glinting. “A bit,” he admits. “Doesn’t matter though, ‘cos I scored a goal after. I just need to, um… Not do it again.”

The air between you is thicker, and you find yourself swallowing as you note the way Tom’s looking at you, eyes hungry.

“What happened?” You say, testing the waters tentatively. “You seemed fine, and then you got… Fired up.”

Tom swallows. “I… Just got tetchy.” He clears his throat. “Who, uh… Who were you at the match with?”

You smirk, realising that your hypothesis was right. “My friends. Yelena and Tai. They’re on the team with me.”

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

He steps closer. “Did they like the game?” he asks.

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

Tom chuckles, briefly glancing at the floor before drawing his eyes back to you. They linger on your lips, and your breath hitches as he tentatively, testingly reaches out and places his hands on your hips. When you sink into it, he grows bolder, pulling you closer until your faces are near. You love the way his hands feel as they rest on your waist.

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

It’s hard to concentrate when Tom’s standing so close to you, looking at you with his eyes so intense, but somehow you manage to wrap your arms around his neck and nod. “Yeah,” you admit. You toy with his curls, giving them a short tug when he groans enjoyably. “I always think you’re hot.”

Tom wears his smirk so well that it’s almost infuriating.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he asks, fingers softly caressing your sides. When you squeak out a noise of affirmation, Tom lets his nose brush up against yours. He swallows deeply, nervousness mixing with his teasing. “I think you’re stunning, too. All the time, but especially tonight, when you were sitting up there, wearing a team scarf and watching me play.”

“Oh,” you murmur. It’s hard to maintain eye contact with him when there’s so much going on in the depths of his gaze that it dizzies you. “Thank you.” Growing a little bolder, you let your fingers glide up, tangling in the ends of his hair. “It was fun watching you play. You’re really talented, Tom.”

His nose is still cold against yours, and you let your eyes fall shut as he slowly traces patterns over your sides.

“Thanks, darling.”

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, you feel a shiver roll down your spine as the pet name falls from his lips. Usually, you’d be able to play it off from the cold, or like you’re stretching a muscle, but he’s holding you so close that you’re sure he felt it.

“Tom,” you say, voice hushed. You feel safe in his arms, you feel loved in his arms, but your skin is still crawling with built-up desire. There’s an ache in your chest that burns brighter with each second he lingers so close, but yet remains so far. “Do you want to…”

“What, sweetheart?”

Again, your breath catches. You hear Tom release a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, his lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as his lips, warm and slightly chapped, explore your own.

It’s a little fumbly, and it takes a few moments for you to learn the slopes of his face so intimately, but once you’ve both readjusted and altered your positions, it’s quick to heat up. Tom’s fingers grip your waist tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into his hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, you feel him slip his tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

You end up against the cool brick wall, making out like you’re both teenagers again. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too. You moan softly as Tom pulls away from your mouth, his attention shifting to your neck. As you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to him, you whimper as you feel his lips drag over your exposed skin. He nibbles and suckles until he finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You tug on his air-dried curls, coaxing him back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of his mouth on yours. Tom sighs, and you can feel him smiling into it.

There are noises, coming from further down the hall, and when they increase in volume, Tom reluctantly pulls back from your mouth. He links your hands together and swings them through the air, looking up to meet your eyes. His face is cute, lips puffy and red, eyes dancing with hope.

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

You jump as a holler comes from down the hall, echoing off the vast brick walls. Tom’s expression shifts, his lips pursing as he glances down the corridor. He turns away from you to yell back.

“What?”

You think it’s Osterfield, one of Tom’s friends. He too is dressed casually, standing tall with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“We’re going out! Don’s got us the VIP section down at the Grove. C’mon!”

Tom looks torn, a ripe line carved out between his brows. He glances back at you, biting his lower lip.

“Go,” you urge, smiling softly. “Celebrate with your team.”

He frowns slightly. “Come with us?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, it should just be you guys.” As much as you like Tom, you can’t think of anything worse than going on a night out with the entire loud, boisterous hockey team. You smile encouragingly when you see the turmoil in his eyes. “You deserve it.”

“Are you sure? Because I can stay here, and we can—”

You lean up, moving your hands back down to his shoulders as you kiss him very softly. “Go,” you urge, whispering against his thin lips.

Tom leans into you, keeping your lips pressed until you can feel him smiling into it. He begrudgingly steps back. “Thank you,” he says, “for coming to the game. And being so lovely.” His lips quirk a little taller. “And for letting me kiss you.”

“Well, it didn’t take much convincing.” You cross your arms over your chest and lean back against the wall, your figure feeling colder without Tom’s touch. His eyes run the lines of your face, gaze warm and comforting.

“Have a nice night,” he says. There’s still hesitation on his face, so you step forward and kiss his cheek before gently pushing his shoulder.

“You too” you respond. Tom finally walks away, but only after shooting you a wink.

You lean back against the wall, pulling out your phone and staring at the blank screen as you discreetly keep your focus on Tom. When he reaches the end of the corridor, Osterfield thumps him on the back and murmurs something unintelligible which earns him a shove into the doorway as the two friends leave together. Tom glances back just before disappearing, and you smile at him as he waves his hand playfully.

Once alone, you release a tight sigh of contentment. You deflate, sagging against the wall as you feel your heart beating faster in your chest. Absently, one of your hands drifts up, fingertips resting on the outline of your lips. Your mouth is still warm from Tom’s kisses, and your heart feels a little softer, too.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

You don’t see him for a while, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t constantly on your mind. At some point, Tom adds you to his private Instagram story, and it feels like a gentle confirmation that he feels the same way as you. You stay in constant contact, and he starts to send you more memes and silly texts each evening. The smile on your lips barely fades, and every time your phone lights up with a new text from him, you get excited.

Unfortunately, the high doesn’t last forever. All too soon, it’s a week before your first competition, and the good feeling finally goes away. As extended practices cut into your life, you’re left frazzled and stressed, trying to balance your team’s expectations against your own personal competitiveness. It doesn’t help that your ankle is giving you grief again.

“No, no, no. You’re better than this, Y/N! Stop cutting the spin too early. You have to extend it into the end of the beat!”

It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re exhausted. The bags beneath your eyes hang heavy, and every manoeuvre you try to execute just seems to leave you worse than before. You’re cold on the ice, and your bones are chilled from fatigue and stress. Everything aches, and try as you might, you can’t land the final ten seconds of your routine. Your coach has forced you to go over it again and again, minutes blurring to hours as your frustration festers.

“It’s not working,” you call back, reaching up to tug on your hair. Your coach is leaning against the rink barrier, resting on her elbows as she watches you, pursed lips.

“Do it again,” she encourages. “Faster!”

You grit your teeth, skating back into the centre of the ice. The music starts again, and you run through the entire final section, nailing the parts that you know. Yet, as you reach the big finish, you falter. You end up flat on the ice, frustrated tears burning your eyes as your ankle throbs. As the track cuts out again, you hear your coach’s loud sigh, carrying across the ice.

“Pack it in. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

You grimace as you climb back to your feet, wincing slightly.

“I can do it again,” you call back, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You want to. You have to.

Your coach shakes her head, lips set in a firm line. “You can’t,” she responds. “You’re worn out and making mistakes. Your injury won’t sustain you.” She pauses to shake her head. “This isn’t what any of us want, Y/N, but you need to rest.”

Your fingernails dig into your palms as you grit your teeth. “But—”

“No. Go home.” Your coach pushes off from the barrier, shaking her head. When you fail to move, she turns back, arching a brow. “Go.”

A string of irritated cuss words falls quietly from your lips as you reluctantly skate from the centre of the rink. Your fingers go to your cheeks, wiping away the cool tears that fall from frustration. It’s a private session, but a few of your team are hanging around. Their sympathetic smiles and gentle arm pats make you bristle, and you’re silently seething as you stomp over to one of the benches and throw yourself onto it, groaning.

You lie down and stare at the ceiling for a while, trying to focus on your breathing. It’s just one bad training session. You’ve landed the end section of your routine plenty of times before. It’s just a bad day.

…But it’s also a bad day, one week before the first rounds of competitions, where a performance like the one you just gave would have you finishing in last place, your Olympic dreams crumbling to pieces.

You close your eyes, clenching your hands into fists as you stretch out over the bench. Your teammates know to give you space, so you aren’t sure why you feel a shadow falling across your face. You ignore it for a few moments, putting it down to someone unknown peering at you fleetingly, but when it persists, you pry an angry eye open.

“What— Tom?”

For the second time, you find yourself surprised by his presence. Tom is standing beside your bench, swallowed by a deep green hoodie with a blue denim jacket pulled over the top of it. In his hands are a stack of papers and his eyes are full of concern.

“Hi,” Tom says quietly, looking a little embarrassed. His cheeks are dusted light pink. You wonder how long he’s been staring at you for. “Are you okay? I, uh… I saw the end of your training.”

You feel rigid and breakable as his eyes pool with warmth, his gaze like tender sunbeams. When he steps closer and presses a gentle hand to your shoulder, your stress bubbles over. As you bring your knees to your chest, you press the side of your face into them, blinking up at him as a few tears skate down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, cooing softly. “Don’t cry, darling.”

Tom gently coaxes you up the bench and sits behind you, throwing a leg either side of the wood to straddle it. You let him pull you back into him, his arms feeling warm and strong as he hugs you tightly from behind. He burrows his face into your neck, warm hands going up to cup your cheeks as his fingertips carefully flick your tears away.

“I’m not sad,” you murmur, swallowing back another wave of tears. “I’m just annoyed.”

“I know.” Tom pauses, and you take a moment to breathe in the scent of fresh laundry. “It’s the most frustrating thing in the world when you can’t get something right. But if you work yourself into the ground, you won’t ever be able to do it.”

“But- but what if I want to work myself into the ground,” you mutter, causing him to chuckle.

“Then you’d be silly.” Tom kisses your cheek, his lips warm and light. “And you’re not silly. You’re the strongest athlete that I know, Y/N. You just need to let other people look after you. Let… Let me look after you.”

Your breath hitches and slowly, you pull your face away from your knees. You stretch your legs out in front of you and turn to look at Tom, curiosity in your gaze as you think about how close he’s holding you, and how passionately he’s speaking to you.

“Thank you,” you say, voice quiet. A shy smile curls across your lips.

Tom hums. His hands fall down to your shoulders, and he gently squeezes your arms. “Go have a shower,” he says. “You’ll feel better, and then I’ll look after you some more.”

You reach out, fingers twirling around the strings of his hoodie. “You’re too nice to me,” you murmur, shyly ducking away from his gaze. “How are you so perfect?”

He laughs, the sound so ripe and joyful that it brings warmth back to your chest.

“I’m not,” Tom disputes. “I just care about you.”

You hum, and before you can lose your cool, you lean in and softly kiss him. Tom’s still for a moment, but then he pushes closer, gently and delicately kissing you back. His hands swoop down to hold your waist, lightly stroking over your sides. When you pull away a few moments later, you feel steadier.

“Hmm,” you say, mind running slow, ensnared by the glimmers of warmth in his eyes. “I like kissing you.”

Tom chuckles, nose brushing yours. “I like kissing you too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It turns out that Tom’s right—you do feel better after having a shower. As you find yourself in the deserted skating changing rooms, the sight of your troubles being swirled away down the plughole releases a large part of your stress. The hot water coaxes your good mood back, and it continues, even when you have to wrap up your ankle again.

By the time Tom reappears, knocking gently on the changing room door before entering, you feel better. You’ve changed clothes, washed your hair, cleansed yourself of all the bad energy that had clogged you up. You feel like you again.

“I got this for you,” Tom announces. He holds a disposable cup in his hand and presents it to you with a grin. “Hot chocolate, for m’lady.”

You roll your eyes as you accept it, looking up at him with gratitude warming your chest. “Thanks, Tom.”

He glances down, eyes taking in your form. You’re again stretched out on a bench, one of your legs bent at the knee, the other laying out in front of you. A few bandages hang around, and Tom looks at them curiously.

“How’s your ankle?” he asks, chewing on his lower lip as he stares at your fluffy sock.

“It’s okay,” you reply. “I braced it. Should be alright as long as I take it easy.”

Tom nods, then very slowly walks to the end of the bench. He runs his index finger down the bottom of your leg, his touch light but warm. You’re in a skirt, your legs bare and exposed, and as you take in the mischievous glint in his eye, you wonder what he has in mind.

“Y/N,” Tom starts, voice gentle. His fingertips play around with the top of your sock as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes. “Can I kiss it better?”

You’re breathing a little lighter as you look at him. “Yeah,” you agree. “Go ahead.”

Tom kneels on the floor, settling beside the bench with ease. With gentle fingers, he rolls down the top of your sock, just far enough so he’s able to leave a very soft kiss to your tender skin. He doesn’t linger there too long, his eyes fixed to your face, but his lips don’t leave you, either. Very carefully, taking his time, Tom starts to drop kisses to your skin. He gradually works his way further up your leg, dusting warm, open-mouthed kisses from your ankle to your shin, then your knee.

You shift on the bench as Tom starts to come higher, one of your hands drifting down to rest in his curls. You put the disposable cup on the floor as you watch him. There’s a heat slowly building in the pit of your stomach, and with each meeting of your flesh and Tom’s mouth, it grows more pronounced. It isn’t long before you’re parting your legs, his lips pausing at the bottom of your thigh as he changes from light kisses to deeper, needier sucks. A short whimper travels from your mouth, wobbling into the air as his lips draw the blood to the surface of your skin.

“You’re so pretty,” Tom murmurs, looking up at you from the ground. His eyes are wide, darkened with lust. He splays his hand along your neglected thigh, rubbing gentle circles to the skin. You whimper when he drops his tongue to lap over one of the marks he’s pulled to the surface of your skin. “Do you want me to go any higher?” His voice is raspy.

The space between your legs is throbbing, and immediately you nod. “The, uh, the door,” you murmur, voice shaking. Tom presses a final kiss to your inner thigh before standing up. He winks at you before jogging to the changing room door, easily flicking the lock, then coming back towards you. “Are you, um… Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Tom grins. He sinks down to his knees beside your head, his hands tugging the bottom of your legs. You sit up on the edge of the bench and turn as your thighs open over his shoulders. Tom kneels between them, his bed of brown curls complementing your skin tone nicely. He presses a kiss to your neglected leg before his hands carefully skim up to play with the hem of your skirt.

“I wouldn’t mind one bit,” he replies, his voice a little darker. He tilts his head as he meets your gaze, smirking softly. “I’d really like to. Do you want to know a secret, darling?” Tom’s fingers slide up, his index and his middle making contact with the front of your panties. As he traces delicately over the front of your core, small arcs of pleasure roll out from your centre. The way his lips twitch taller makes you wonder if he can feel the way your cunt seems to throb.

“Yeah,” you respond, voice light. A whimper passes through your lips as Tom applies a little more pressure to your covered clit, your hips gyrating down to meet his fingertips in response.

He pulls back, only to push your skirt out of the way, tutting quietly when you mewl.

“Been wondering what you’d taste like for ages, love,” he coos. He uses his grip on your thighs to pull you closer, and you moan when he buries his head between your legs. Your panties are still on, but that doesn't stop Tom from nosing up against your slit, hot breath fanning out across your warmth. When he draws his tongue over the front of your panties, you release a breathless whine. “Bet it tastes as pretty as you are.”

You reach down and bury your hand back into his curls, pulling Tom closer as he ghosts his tongue over the front of your panties. He’s lapping lightly up your slit, the pleasure muted but still there, and your eyes fall shut as the muscles in your thighs tense.

“Fuck, Tom,” you whine, feeling your cunt pulse. “Take them off. I need more.”

His nimble fingers are quick to follow your instructions, and as soon as your hips are falling back to the bench, his mouth is on you. You cry out as you finally feel him, the pleasure direct and far greater than you’d expected. Tom devours you, using both of his thumbs to press your lips apart as his tongue travels all over your heat. He spends a while focusing on your clit, the tip of his tongue firm and unrelenting, but when you start to whine a little louder, he teases you by drawing away. He flattens his tongue and licks a few broad strokes up your centre, moaning against you until you’re fisting at his hair and shaking.

“Fuck,” you whine, voice barely there. “Feels so good.”

Tom’s complete attention is on you and your eyes roll back when he teases your entrance with his mouth. One of his thumbs rolls up to toy with your clit as he pushes his tongue into you, your walls throbbing as he explores you. You push him deeper, obscenities mixing with slurred acclamations of his name, and it’s as though you can feel your pulse hammering in your head.

“Knew it. Tastes like fucking heaven,” Tom murmurs, pulling away from your entrance to shoot you a smirking smile. He brings two fingers to your pussy and teases you there, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead when you moan and rut down against them, taking agency and fulfilling your desires. “Shit, baby. You’re so wet.” He fucks your heat, eyes moving off your face and fixing on the mess between your legs as he coos. “I can feel you clenching around my fingers. Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” you whine. When Tom drops his head and wraps his lips back around your clit, you cry out. “Getting so close,” you say, words tangling together as your chest heaves. You feel so hot, your body trembling as your edge hangs in sight. “Keep going, f-fuck, Tom. You’re so good.”

He adds a third finger to your heat, and your jaw slackens. Tom changes the angle of his digits a few times before curling them just right, and he continues to stroke up against your g-spot as you cry out. You stammer out a few words of warning, and he moans in response. The vibrations of the sound coupled with the way his tongue is applying the perfect amount of warm, sloppy pressure to your clit push you over the edge. As you peak, you fall back onto your elbows, tightening your grip on his hair as your pussy throbs, taking wave after wave of pleasure as it rocks across you and smothers you.

Tom doesn’t stop until you’ve ridden it out completely and you’re sensitive. With a push at his hair, you coax him away, still trying to gather yourself as your throat feels dry. The expression of cocky fulfilment hanging from his lips makes you shiver, and you almost moan again as you take in the sight of his chin, glistening with your arousal.

“How was that?” he asks, cleaning his chin with the back of his hand. Tom carefully stands up, still looking at you as he leans back and picks up a box of tissues from one of the benches. He passes a few to you then leans back against one of the lockers, looking at you admiringly with his arms crossed.

“Really good,” you manage, voice still a little hoarse. You clear your throat and ignore his chuckle as you take care of the mess between your legs with a tissue. Your eyes soften when you look back to him. “Thank you.”

Tom just nods, taking the used tissues and binning them before making a quick stop by a sink to wash his hands. When he strolls back over, he stands in front of you and cups your cheeks in his palms. You stare up at him, smiling as he meets your eyes.

“Glad I could make you feel nice,” he says, voice soft. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now… If you have time, I want to take you home. Run you a nice bath, make you some lunch. Make sure you’re looking after yourself.”

You feel your face warm as you listen to his musings, and find yourself biting the inside of your cheek. “You’d want to do all that for me?”

Tom nods. His hands run over your face, fingertips gently caressing your cheekbones. It’s as if he’s examining you, trying to ensure that you’re okay, that you’re safe, that you’re happy. It makes your heart soar.

“‘Course, darling. I care about you a lot.”

You tilt your head to the side so you can kiss the inside of his palm. “Okay,” you agree. You stand up, wincing slightly as your ankle disagrees with taking your weight. Tom’s hands move down to hold your waist, steadying you. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You start to walk, only to look back at him and glare jokingly. “Can’t believe you ruined my underwear,” you say. “Feels fucking freezing without them on.”

Tom arches a brow, picking up his bag and slinging it over his back before catching up to you. “Um, I think technically it was you who ruined your underwear.”

You scrunch up the tip of your nose, only for your scowl to melt when he kisses it. When you reach the door, you undo the lock and open it, letting Tom through before following him out into the corridor.

“Whatever,” you reply, sinking into his side. His hand is warm in yours, your fingers tangled together nicely. “Worth it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

With the final match of the season underway and the league title up for grabs, the atmosphere is electric. The stands are packed, frenzied by the presence of the large broadcasting cameras that stream the match live to thousands online. Sitting in the home section, the noise seems louder than it would be elsewhere in the arena. Everyone around you is as invested in the result as you are, and as the energy rises and falls, you feel connected to the mass of strangers around you. You know that they share the ache in your fingers built from the tight clenching of your knuckles into fists, and the strain of your eyes as you spend too long staring at the bright white ice.

The score is 4-4. The players from both teams have been giving some of the most convincing performances of their careers. It’s been close all match.

You hadn’t been sure that you’d be able to make the game, your own days filled with the later stages of your competition, but you’re glad you managed to swing it. Tom needs you.

He’s skating well. He’d assisted one of the team’s goals, and managed to subvert several other shots on goal attempted by his rivals. Tom looks as handsome as ever, face flushed, eyes focused, figure bulked wide with protective padding, but you know he’s nervous. He’s looking up at you more than usual, his teeth gritted together, and his jaw tensed. It’s clear just how much the title means to him.

It’s been a few weeks since Tom came and picked you up after your meltdown at practice, and since then, your feelings for him have escalated. You think it must be a form of torture to watch someone you care about so much getting pushed around, and injured, and hurt on the ice, knowing you can’t do anything but sit and watch it play out in front of you. Every time he gets slammed up against one of the plastic wall barriers, you wince, almost feeling the pain yourself, and despite him always brushing it off and getting on with the game, you worry for him.

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

Beside you is Harry, one of Tom’s brothers. You’d met him before the match when Tom had thrust a ticket at you and told you that he’d wrestled it off one of his other brothers. Your guilt had been assuaged when you’d been told that Paddy finds the finals too stressful to sit through. Harry’s been entertaining you all evening, acting as a buffer between you and his parents, who make you feel nervous being so close to.

“Shit,” you agree. You wince as Tom gets barged into and goes spiralling across the ice, only stopping when one of his teammates catches him. “This is actually brutal.”

Harry makes a low humming noise. He turns to glance at you, then he hesitantly reaches down to pat your knee.

“He’ll be fine, though, Y/N,” he says, speaking a little awkwardly. “It’s uh… just part of the job. He’s used to it. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s broken his nose.”

You hum as you think about the wonky lines of Tom’s face. “True,” you agree. You pull your team scarf further around your figure, snuggling into it in search of relief. “Just isn’t nice to see him hurt.”

Harry makes a humming sound of agreement and releases your leg with a final pat. The game continues, and before you know it, they’re into the last third. As the clock ticks down from 20 minutes, things are tense. Tom blurs with the rest of the team, and your eyes skim around all the figures, moving and spinning across the ice like it’s choreographed. There’s something quite beautiful about how they’re able to execute formations and manoeuvres amidst such chaos.

Your eyes stick to the back of Tom’s jersey, screaming Holland in bright orange. He’s closing in on an opponent, trying to steal the puck with gritted teeth. The air leaves your lungs as the scene plays out in slow motion, your eyes widening to the size of gold coins as you watch the larger man smack the puck with ferocity, attempting a shot on goal before Tom manages to steal it. Instead of the puck flying near the goal, the angle flicks it to the side, and the entire section around you gasps as it soars through the air and collides with Tom’s face. His eyes are fine, given the visor on his helmet, but his nose is exposed, and it bears the brunt.

Your heart stills for a moment, the volume of the arena fading out completely as you see Tom go down, clutching at his nose as a trail of blood drips over the ice. There’s the sound of a whistle, and you only start to breathe again when you see one of Tom’s teammates haul him from the rink. His blood freezes to the ice, leaving a trail of dark marks staining the ground behind him.

“Fuck, fuck,” you find yourself saying, finally tearing your eyes away from Tom to stare at Harry. Tom’s brother is wincing. “What do we do?”

Harry shrugs, grimacing. You look back to the ice to where Tom’s being dragged on his skates back to the team bench. You can see him smiling, but it's indisputable that he’s in pain. You can see it in his eyes, and the way his blood mixes with the salty blend of aching tears. “Can’t really do anything,” he says. “Told you his nose gets it.” Harry pauses for a moment, then gently elbows your side. “You could go down, though. They’ll probably do a quick fix in the tunnel. I doubt he’ll want to be benched for the rest of the match.”

You nod stiffly, but find yourself hesitating. “Are you, uh, sure that he’d want that? It wouldn’t be annoying?” When Harry turns to raise an eyebrow, you chuckle nervously. “I don’t want to knock him out of the zone, y’know?”

Harry’s eyes fill with understanding, but you think you can still detect a layer of teasing to it. “My brother is actually obsessed with you,” he says. “He watches compilation videos from your competitions every single bloody night. Even if you broke his heart, I doubt he’d ever be able to find you annoying. So…” Harry pokes your shoulder. “Get down there, alright?”

You shoot him a smile, unable to pretend that his words don’t warm your heart.

The game is still paused, yet you hurry down the aisle, stepping over trays of discarded nachos and half-filled plastic pints of beer as you utter words of apology to the disgruntled fans. Moving quickly, you dodge up and enter one of the back stairwells, flashing your team ID at security. The arena is a complex system of back corridors and passages, but you know them inside out.

You reach the long corridor that connects the changing rooms to the ice, and you see Tom standing in the middle of it. He’s surrounded by people—doctors, his coach, a few reserve players. Out in the arena, you hear the game pick up, but back here, time is standing still.

“Stay still,” one of the medics says. Tom grumbles something before yelling out a light curse word. The closer you walk, the more you see. Tom’s holding a bunch of stained tissues to the bottom of his nose as the medic quickly bandages his bridge. It’s not advised for him to go back on the ice with a broken nose—but you also know that with ten minutes left on the clock, the patchy fix-it job probably won’t cause permanent damage. You quite like Tom’s wonky nose, anyway.

“He’s such a twat,” Tom grumbles, wincing again. “Did he get benched?”

“Yeah. Penalty.”

“Good.” Tom folds his arms over his chest. When the medic pulls away to dig through his bag of bandages, Tom glances up the corridor. His eyes widen as he sees you, and you watch him do a double-take. When you raise a hand in greeting, his face softens. “Y/N?”

“Hi,” you call out, stepping closer. “Is it okay I’m here? I, um… I was worried.”

He nods, only to receive a scolding from the medic. Smiling sheepishly, Tom beckons you closer. He offers you a hand, gloveless and cold, and you hurry forward to take it.

“‘Course,” he murmurs. Now close, you’re able to see the flecks of dried blood on his face. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, speaking softly as if he knows how frazzled you feel. “Happens all the fucking time.”

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How is he? Looking after you?”

You chuckle. “He’s funny,” you say. You roll your thumb over the back of Tom’s knuckles as he winces again, the medic pushing his ice pack out of the way so he can dab a wet tissue at Tom’s nostrils. You realise that his nose has stopped bleeding.

“Funnier than me?”

“Never.” You squeeze Tom’s hand. “You’re doing well out there.”

“Thanks, darling.” Tom glances away from you, looking back at the medic as he finally steps away to gather his stuff. “Can I-?”

“Yes,” the medic confirms. “Just don’t touch anyone. The second you’re done, come find me and I’ll fix you properly.”

Tom nods, then bites back a noise of pain. “Thanks, Doc,” he murmurs. Tom looks back to you, dropping his voice as you’re left alone with him. “I, uh, I gotta go,” he says, tilting his shoulder back in the direction of the ice.

“Okay.” You shoot him a soft smile and squeeze his hand before stepping back. “Good luck, Tom. Smash it.”

He pouts slightly, a wedge forming between his brows. “Kiss?”

“Kiss?” you repeat, snorting softly. When Tom nods sadly, you step nearer and press your hands to his shoulders. You lean up and capture his lips in a warm kiss, smiling into it as his palms paw at your waist. For a very brief moment, you get lost in it, overcome by the round lines of his chapped mouth and the heat of his hands, but you force yourself to step back. You can feel how badly he wants to be out on the ice. “Good luck, handsome,” you say, whispering against his lips. You step back and cross your arms, smiling widely as he blushes. “You’ve got this.”

Tom gives you a final nod, eyes alight. “See ya in ten!” he says, before turning on his skates. You stay watching him until he reaches the end of the corridor, and the smile is still on his face as he turns back to grin at you. The arena goes wild as he reappears, and you find yourself biting your lips as you try to control the butterflies in your stomach.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom lives about twenty minutes from the arena, and you find yourself waiting on his front step. With your knees pulled to your chin, the chill of a March evening cools your face. You don’t feel the cold much—instead, you’re distracted by the images of the team winning, playing on loop in your mind.

It’s a blur. A snapshot collection of Tom scoring the tie-breaking goal, the sight of the crowd going wild as the final buzzer sounded, the spray of champagne foam sticking to the ice. You’d hung around afterwards, receiving a very messy kiss from Tom who was vibrating from excitement. After a round of celebratory photos, Tom had been hunted down by the medics, and he’d pulled you aside briefly to ask you to meet him here.

You sigh as you stretch your legs out in front of you, looking down at the laces of your shoes and how they contrast the dark cement paving stones. Tom shares his house with Harrison and Harry. You’ve been here a few times, and it feels odd to be here without him.

“Y/N!”

You startle as you look up, so distracted by the loops of your laces that you’d failed to see Tom. He finishes clambering out of a large car, and you think you catch a glimpse of Harry in the front before it goes speeding away from the pavement. Tom approaches, his nose bruised but free of bandages, a wide smirk on his face as he picks up into a light jog. When he reaches you, he sweeps you to your feet, taking your hands firmly and kissing you before you have a chance to say a word. You shiver as he reaches up to cup your cheeks, craving the body heat, sinking into him and the scent of his fresh shampoo.

“You’re shivering,” Tom murmurs, pulling back to stare at you. His eyes widen as guilt shadows his features. “Fuck, how long have you been waiting for me?” He steps back to dig through his pocket, tongue settling between his lips as he hums.

“Ten minutes,” you estimate. When his eyes widen, you shrug bashfully. “Hasn’t been that bad. Next door’s cat came and said hi.”

Tom scowls as he steps past you, driving his key into the front door with ease. “Little ratty thing, isn’t it?” he mutters. He opens the door with a flourish, then steps aside to invite you in. When you walk across the threshold, Tom winds his arms around you from behind, pressing his chin to your shoulder before tilting his lips so he can kiss your cheek. His warm breath fans out across your face. “I’ll warm you up, darling. I’ll make you feel better.”

Ten minutes later, you’re in his bed. Despite his promise of warming you up, you seem to be losing more and more clothes. What had started out as a celebratory kiss has ended in you straddling him, grinding over Tom’s crotch as he gasps into your mouth and grabs at your waist.

You like being on top. It gives you better access to Tom—to the sight of his face constricting with pleasure every time you grind a little harder, and to the sound of his small moans. There’s a shadow along his nose and lining the swell of his cheeks from the break in his nose, and if he wasn’t so tender, you’d try to kiss it better. Instead, you decide to make him feel better in a different way. He’s calmer now than he’d been at the arena when he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you or his lips away from your neck, but the longer you spend making out with him, the more eager he gets. There’s a dark spark in his eyes that matches the fervour in his grip.

“God,” he murmurs to your lips. “You’re such a beautiful girl.”

A hot flush travels through your body, and you shy your face into his neck. You distract him with kisses, dragging your lips over the firm flesh of his warm skin.

“Can I mark you?” you whisper, dragging your lips up to his ear. Tom moans loudly as you move your teeth over his earlobe and bite lightly.

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, rolling his hips up against you. You’ve ditched your jeans, and so has he, but where you’re still draped in a shirt, Tom’s chest is bare and exposed. You run your hand over his arm and feel his muscles there as you kiss up the side of his neck. Deep marks follow in the wake of your lips, but they aren’t nearly as pretty as the sound of Tom’s moans. “Fuck, darling. Shit. Feels so good.”

Tom lasts about a minute more before growling and pushing you from his neck. His eyes glint and a shrill squeal leaves your lips as he picks you up and presses you down onto the mattress. As your back sinks into the bed, the slats creak. Tom cages you in with a forearm either side of your head, one of his hands drifting into the ends of your hair as he very lightly rests his nose against yours.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” Your smile twists a little darker as Tom rolls his hips against yours and you feel his cock straining against his boxers. You reach up to play with his hair, tugging on the strands when Tom moans. His curls are fresh and fluffy, air-dried after the shower and silky smooth to touch. You’ve been together a few times since he ate you out in the changing rooms, and though you’re yet to go all the way, you’ve picked up on a few of his preferences. “Are you okay?”

He isn’t doing much, just staring at you, lips parted. His eyes skitter across the shapes of your face before linking up with your own, and you feel your heart clench in your chest as Tom shifts his hand to cup your cheek.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs. He’s speaking quietly, voice gentle as if he’s being fragile with you. “I, um… I want to ask you something?”

You tilt your head to the side. “Right now?” you ask. To prove your point, you snake a hand down between your bodies and apply pressure to his member with the flat of your palm. Tom groans, eyelashes fluttering out across the top of his cheeks. It seems to take him a lot of self-control to nod, and you feel his hips quiver as he holds himself back from grinding into your hand.

“Yeah.” Tom takes a moment to pause. “We’ve been hanging out for a while, Y/N, and I really like you. I think that you’re so talented. And beautiful. Shit, you’re really beautiful.” He chuckles, his nerves showing on his face. “I can’t imagine being with anyone else. I wouldn’t ever want to be with anyone else. So, darling… Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He pulls back to peer at you, teeth clenched, eyes wide.

A smile breaks out across your face.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Tom,” you whisper. You lean up to kiss him just as he leans down, and you gasp as you accidentally hit Tom’s nose with yours. He groans, pulling up and dramatically falling onto his back as his limbs splay out. “Shit,” you giggle, sitting up and crawling closer. Tom’s pouting, tenderly poking at the edge of his nostril as he grimaces. “Sorry, baby.”

Tom melts, pulling you back on top of him. “Call me baby again and you can do anything you want to me,” he mutters. A small blush finds his face as he comprehends his words, and you end up smiling softly as you settle over his thighs. One of his large hands curls between your legs and you whimper as he teases you over your panties for a few moments. When he finally dips his fingers beneath the silky material, you find yourself whimpering.

“Feels good,” you moan, pressing your hands to Tom’s chest as he rolls two fingers around your slit. You get antsy and grind down against his touch, wriggling up his legs until his fingertips nudge against your hole.

His hair is spread out against the white sheets of the bed, face screwed into an expression of concentration as he curves his digits into your heat. You whimper, tossing your head back as he works you open with ease, brushing up against your g-spot and stimulating it until you’re gasping. As heat slowly begins to take over your body, you reach down to the hem of your shirt and pull it off. Next to go is your bra, and you guide Tom’s other hand to the curve of your breasts as you ride down on his hand.

“Look so pretty up there,” he murmurs, biting at his lip. “Like an angel, or a princess.” Tom skims his thumb over your nipple, smirking as you whine. “My princess.”

You gnaw on your lip for a moment before sitting up, letting Tom’s fingers slip out from you. You reach down and hook your thumbs beneath the material of his boxers, and Tom seems to get the hint.

“I need you,” you say, speaking quickly. You have to roll away to kick off your pants, and by the time you’re ready, Tom’s sitting up again. He slides up to sit against the headboard, fiddling with a condom and sheathing himself before you can spend too long admiring his length.

“C’mere then, lovie,” Tom coaxes. He pumps his cock in his fist a few times before hitting at his thighs, beckoning you forward. His lips kiss your forehead as you straddle him. Blindly, you reach down to cover his hand in yours, and together, you guide his tip to your entrance. Your slit is hot and pulsing, your body worked up from the teasing and the anticipation. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks, voice softer.

You shoot him a teasing look. “Yes,” you emphasise. You bite your lip as you slowly lower yourself onto him, gasping softly. “Been thinking about this for so long, Tom.”

Tom grasps your lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it harshly before flicking it up and stealing your mouth in a deep kiss. You moan as you settle there, in his lap, your walls stretched around him completely. You can feel everything—the curves of his cock, the press of his tip against your velvety walls, the feeling of his skin on yours. You love it.

It’s quick to become hot and intense. Tom’s hands on your waist, your fingers tangled in his hair. The stretch burns to enjoyment before long, and then you’re just lost in it. You feel so bare to him, beyond the fact that your naked bodies are intertwined so closely, like he’s able to see straight through you. For someone who spends so much of his life fighting aggressively, Tom is remarkably soft. His hips are firm, and his thrusts unrelenting, but his lips on your face are warm, and the words of heated affirmation he whispers into your ear make you melt.

“So tight, princess,” Tom moans, grasping at your waist. He kisses you, groaning into your mouth as you continue to ride him. You alternate your movements, swapping between deep bounces and swirling your hips in broad circles so that you get to feel every delicious line, bump and curve of him. “God. Feels like fucking heaven.”

“I know,” you manage, voice hoarse. You’re not embarrassed by the way there are wet sounds of arousal filling the air—it only seems to spur Tom on as he squeezes at your waist.

Things blur quickly. You can tell that he’s wound up from the stress of the game, and his hand is shaking when he reaches up to cup the top of your heat. You’re quick to match his arousal, feeling your own climax jerking closer as Tom brings his thumb down to your clit. You’re aroused, and your slit is wet, so it’s seamless as he toys with the bud.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, the syllables blurring as your eyelids drop closed. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and his begins, but you like it. Tom wraps his other arm around your hip and holds you close, touching his lips to yours as he finally spills.

“You’re so perfect,” he moans, his eyes screwing shut. “Shit, Y/N—”

The action of him throbbing against your walls pushes you over the edge too, and you’re panting into him as warm shivers spread over your entire figure. You’re full of a golden buzz as you stop moving, stilling with his cock still pressed inside you. Tom’s lips come down over the top of your head, following in a line from your forehead down your nose before going to your lips. When he finds your mouth, both of you are smiling.

“Wish we could do that forever,” he murmurs. “Felt amazing, darling. You’re amazing.” There’s a rosy flush to his cheeks, and he looks at you like he’s won the greatest prize of the night. “Stay?”

“Overnight?”

“Yeah. Right here.” Tom reaches out to hit the mattress. “I’ll cuddle you,” he promises. “Make you tea. Bring you breakfast.” He smirks. “Make love to you all night.”

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

Tom raises a brow as if he likes the sound of that, then seals the deal with a softer kiss.

“Perfect.” His hands skim up to cup your breasts, and he pecks your lips a final time. “Girlfriend.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

There’s an hour to go before you skate in the biggest competition of your life. You’re at the largest arena in London, killing time on one of the practice rinks as you try to forget that you’re so close to delivering your final routine of the season. This routine will decide if you come out on top or not and reveal whether you’ve managed to impress the Olympic talent scouts.

You feel a blend of two very fine emotions—confidence and nervousness. You’re prepared, you’re in control, and you’re ready, but that doesn’t make the prospect of going out there any less daunting. Adrenaline soothes the nerves, and distraction is your best friend.

Tom’s sitting on one of the benches, flitting between watching you and messing around on his phone. You’ve learnt that he’s the only person you like to be around before a competition, and in the month you’ve been officially together, he’s become your rock. He seems to get you—understands the way your brain spins when you’re stressed like this, knows when to step near and when to leave you alone. As if sensing your thoughts lie with him, he glances up from his phone.

The month off from competitions has been kind to Tom. He’d had a cracking set of bruises following his broken nose, but they’re healed now, and his skin carries the golden glow of a champion. After mouthing a few words to him from across the ice, you watch him sit up straighter and put his shoes to the bench. Tom had brought his skates to the arena, despite not being the one competing, because he knows, just as you, that sometimes the best way to relax before a competition is to mess around and distract yourself. Sitting beside him is a very large banner, hand-painted, that wears the words, Go Y/N!. He’d made it with the rest of his team, and you’d almost cried when he’d unrolled it and given it to you, grinning with pride like a small child showing off his art project.

You do a few spins as you wait for him, the small practice arena blurring. A few other people are hanging around—mainly your friends, and a few coaches, but none of them pay attention to you. You go so fast that you miss whatever it is Tom scoops up from the bench and then proceeds to hold behind his back, keeping it out of your sight as he skates towards you. A frown finds your lips as you drift nearer, squinting your eyes.

“What’s that?” you ask, trying to make out the object.

Tom juts out his lower lip, eyes dancing teasingly. “Not gonna say hello, darling? That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

You shoot him a poisonous look but sigh when he just smirks in response.

“Hello,” you say. You skate forward, planting your hands on both of his cheeks and drawing him in close. Tom’s lips are warmer than yours, and you savour their firm press. When you pull back, you cross your arms over your chest. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Begrudgingly, you shut your eyes. You hear the rustling of plastic, and then smell the scent of fresh flowers. Tom presses a bouquet into your hands, and your lips twist up at the corners.

“You can open them now.”

It’s a bunch of roses, dark red and delicate. You trail a thumb over their petals, breath caught in the back of your throat. Your boyfriend continues to speak as he watches you.

“You said that no one had ever bought you flowers before,” he explains, voice steady. “I was going to save them for afterwards when you win, but I know you’ll end up being given about a thousand when they all see how talented they are, so I wanted to get in first.”

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

“They’re beautiful, Tom,” you whisper. His confidence in you, and the support he shows you, every single day, means everything to you. He means everything to you. “I love them. I…” You look up, meeting his eyes as you finally speak the words that you’ve felt so strongly but kept tucked away in your heart for fear of rejection. You aren’t scared anymore. “I love you.”

Tom’s eyes widen, his lips briefly parting. There’s a heart-stopping moment when he betrays nothing, but then life twitches across his face. He relaxes, sinking forward to touch your waist as he pulls you closer and brings his lips to yours.

“I love you too, darling,” he says. He’s able to press his nose against yours now, and you feel his cold tip press to your face as you shift the bouquet into one hand and curl the other around his back. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

You smile against him. “It was lucky, wasn’t it? That out of all the people on the rink that day, it was me you managed to crash into.”

Tom chuckles. “Felt less like luck at the time,” he admits. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

You smirk. “I was pretty mad. Can you blame me, though?”

“Nope.” Tom kisses the tip of your nose. “Worth it, anyway.” He surprises you by skating back, plucking the bouquet from your hand with ease before spinning you beneath his arm, cooing as the hem of your dress flutters in the air. “Did I ever tell you how much I love your outfit?” he adds. “You look like a princess.”

Your cheeks hurt, and when you stop spinning, you turn to face him.

“I feel like a princess,” you admit, accepting the flowers for the second time. “Does that make you my prince charming?”

Tom nods, smiling. “It’d be an honour.”

The air between you stills, and all that’s left is love.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, glancing down. “What if I fuck this up? What if I fall over? Or- or what if I don’t land a jump? What if my ankle can’t take it?” You gnaw on your lip. “Then it’ll all be over.”

Tom soothes you with a hand on your cheek. “You won’t fuck it up,” he says, voice confident. “You’re incredible, Y/N. You know the routine, and you know yourself. You’re ready for this.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting warmly. “You’re going to go out there, smash it, then you’ll come back, and we’ll celebrate. Alright?”

You look down at the roses, then back to your boyfriend’s face, and you know that you believe him.

“Okay,” you agree. You bite your lip before darting up to kiss his cheek. “Love you, Tom.”

His eyes are full of adoration. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”

Tom presses his forehead to yours, and you relax there. With your fingers grasping the flowers and his hands caressing your waist, you let him support you. You let him kiss you, and hold you, and love you.

(And, later on, you let him hold your shiny gold medal, too.)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

i hope you guys liked dutchy as much i liked writing him :’)) this has taken almost a month! if there’s any interest, maybe we could do a hockey!tom blurb night soon...? idk ! i’d be down. let me know if you’d be too <3 thanks so much for reading!!!! please let me know what ya think!

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