#and then i cut my hair and i feel a huge rush of relief and it makes me wonder

[wyrmhorde]

When I was young I spent so much time wadding my hair into a ball and shoving it up into a hat and now my hair is reaching some length again and I didn't realize just how much it would make me want to throw up

[moonselune]

Heeellllooo~~ can you please do one where Tav comes RUNNING to any of the bg3 folks you want because there’s a roach in there tent and they need them to kill it (bonus points if it flys)

bahahha I love this so much aha

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

You sprinted across the camp, heart pounding in your chest, and skidded to a stop in front of Karlach, breathless. She was sitting by the campfire, sharpening her axe, and looked up at you with an amused smile.

“What’s got you in such a hurry, sweetheart?” she teased, tilting her head.

“There’s a… a massive insect in my tent!” you stammered, still catching your breath. “It’s huge, Karlach! Please, you’ve got to get rid of it!”

Karlach grinned, her teeth flashing in the firelight.

“Aw, does my little warrior need her big, strong girlfriend to come save her from a creepy crawly?” she teased, playfully bumping your shoulder with her own. You gave her an exasperated look, and she laughed, patting your head affectionately. “Alright, alright, I’m on it.”

With an exaggerated roll of her shoulders, Karlach stood up, making a big show of cracking her knuckles as if she were about to face off against some fearsome beast instead of a simple insect.

“You stay out here, babe,” she said, winking at you. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You watched as she strode toward your tent, feeling a mixture of relief and amusement at her confidence.

You could hear her muttering to herself as she stepped inside, “Alright, you little bugger, let’s see what we’re dealing with…”

Suddenly, a piercing scream cut through the night, and your heart jumped into your throat.

“Oh gods, it’s flying! It’s flying!” Karlach shouted from inside the tent. You barely had a moment to process her panic before you saw a flash of heat and light, and suddenly your tent was engulfed in flames.

“Karlach!” you yelled, rushing forward. The flames crackled, licking at the fabric and threatening to spread. You grabbed the nearby bucket of water and doused the tent as quickly as you could, the fire sputtering out in a smoky hiss.

Karlach emerged from the tent, her hair singed at the ends and soot smudged across her cheek, looking utterly bewildered.

“It came right at me!” she exclaimed, pointing back at the charred remains of your tent. “And I panicked! My body just reacted, I didn’t mean to set it on fire!”

You stared at her for a moment, disbelief turning into laughter. You doubled over, clutching your sides as the absurdity of the situation hit you. “You were supposed to save me from the bug, not burn the whole tent down!”

Karlach scowled playfully, crossing her arms. “Hey, that thing was bigger than I expected! It had wings! And… and it was coming right for me! What was I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to be the big, strong one!” you managed between giggles. “Not start screaming the moment an insect flies at you!”

“Well, I saved you from it, didn’t I?” she retorted, trying to maintain her dignity even as her lips twitched with the urge to smile. “No more bug problem now, right?”

“Because you burned my tent down!” you shot back, still laughing.

Karlach sighed dramatically, then pulled you into her arms, her body warm against yours, still radiating the heat from her inner fire. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “How about this? I’ll build you a new tent, and I’ll even stay up all night to make sure no bugs get in. Deal?”

You couldn’t help but smile, snuggling closer to her. “Deal. But next time, I’m handling the insect.”

Karlach chuckled, holding you tighter. “Next time, I’ll just use my bare hands.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

You ran across the camp, heart pounding, your footsteps crunching over the dirt and fallen leaves. Your destination was clear: Minthara, your lover, who sat near the campfire sharpening her blade with slow, deliberate strokes. She barely looked up as you skidded to a stop in front of her, breathless and wide-eyed.

"Minthara," you gasped, trying to catch your breath. "There’s a massive insect in my tent."

The drow's eyes finally lifted from her sword, and she regarded you with a raised brow, a smirk already playing on her lips.

"A massive insect?" she repeated mockingly. "Truly, you are a weakling if a mere bug sends you running to me for help."

You frowned at her teasing tone, but you knew it came with a certain affection — as much affection as Minthara could express, anyway.

"It's not just any bug," you muttered defensively. "It's huge. I’m not going back in there until it’s gone."

Minthara stood up, stretching slightly, her lithe form moving with predatory grace as she adjusted her armor. She rolled her shoulders as if preparing for battle, a mocking smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Do I have to solve every one of your problems, or are you simply that incapable?" she asked, her voice full of playful disdain. "Very well, I shall slay your insect, my terrified little weakling."

You shot her a glare, but you let her stride off toward the tent. She disappeared inside, and for a few moments, all was quiet.

Suddenly, a sharp, startled yelp echoed from the tent, followed by the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard.

"Gah! Filthy creature!" you heard her curse, followed by a scuffling noise inside.

Then, the bug must have taken flight, because Minthara came bursting out of the tent, trying to maintain her usual composed demeanor but clearly rattled. She swiped at the air behind her as if trying to shake off whatever had spooked her.

You couldn't help it; you burst into laughter, doubling over as Minthara shot you a withering glare, her face flushed with both anger and embarrassment.

"Oh, look who's the weakling now!" you teased between breaths. "Big, bad Minthara, scared of a bug!"

"I am not scared!" she snapped, though her wide eyes betrayed her. "It simply caught me by surprise. I would have had it dealt with in moments, but—"

Before she could finish, the massive insect came buzzing out of the tent, its wings a loud, ominous hum as it flew directly toward the two of you.

Your eyes widened in shock as you yelped and ducked, watching as it darted past your head. Minthara swore under her breath, instinctively raising her sword as if to strike it from the sky, but it was moving too fast.

"It’s coming back!" you shouted, pointing as the insect circled around.

Minthara gritted her teeth, glancing between you and the incoming bug.

"Get behind me!" she ordered, though there was a new edge to her voice, betraying her nerves.

You couldn’t resist one more quip. "You’re not going to run again, are you?" you teased, darting behind her as the insect buzzed closer.

Minthara shot you a venomous look. "Mock me again, and you’ll be sleeping outside with the insects." But there was a slight twitch to her lips, as if she wasn’t entirely unaffected by your teasing.

With one swift motion, Minthara swung her sword, narrowly missing the bug as it veered off, flying into the night. You both stood there for a moment, breathless from the absurdity of it all.

"Next time," Minthara growled, "you handle the damn bug."

You chuckled, stepping beside her. "I’ll remember that." You paused, glancing at the now-empty tent. "So, want to go back in?"

Minthara sighed, sheathing her sword. "Not a chance."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

You ran through the camp, your heart racing, the image of the enormous insect still fresh in your mind. You burst into Lae'zel's tent, barely able to contain your panic.

"Lae'zel!" you gasped, trying to catch your breath. "There's a massive insect in my tent, please, I need your help!"

Lae'zel was sharpening her blade, her eyes narrowed as she looked up at you.

"A bug?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, her expression quickly shifting to one of disdain. "Pathetic. Are you such a weakling that you cannot deal with a mere insect?"

You huffed, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but you didn’t back down. "You haven’t seen it! It’s huge!"

Lae'zel snorted, standing and grabbing her sword, her eyes rolling as she muttered something in Gith.

"Very well," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I shall save you from this mighty beast. What an honor for a warrior of Vlaakith to slay such a fearsome creature."

You trailed behind her as she made her way to your tent, muttering under her breath about how soft you were, how strange your fears were.

"Insects, of all things," she scoffed. "You would never survive on the Astral Plane if you cannot even handle a bug."

But the moment she stepped inside your tent, her confidence faltered. A loud yelp escaped her as she spotted the insect.

“Mother Gith!” she spat, her voice suddenly laced with tension. "What is that thing?!"

You stayed just outside, barely able to stifle your laughter as you heard the unmistakable sound of her sword being drawn. "Weakling!" she had called you, and now here she was, facing the same fear.

“I will slay this abomination!” Lae’zel bellowed, and the tent shook as you heard her lunging at the creature. There was a metallic hiss as she swung her sword, and the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing. The tent’s fabric rustled violently as Lae'zel slashed at the insect again and again.

Suddenly, a loud buzzing filled the air. The insect had taken flight.

"Lae'zel! Don’t—" you began to warn, but it was too late. There was another wild swing of her sword, and a sickening rip. The whole side of the tent collapsed in on itself as Lae'zel hacked at it with her blade. More fabric tore, poles snapped, and you watched in shock as the structure of your tent crumbled to the ground.

Finally, Lae'zel emerged, panting heavily, her face flushed and her hair slightly disheveled.

"I have slain it," she proclaimed, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling as she gripped her sword tightly.

But before you could even respond, you heard that familiar, high-pitched buzzing again. The insect flew straight at Lae'zel, darting through the air with its wings fluttering madly. Lae'zel’s eyes widened in shock.

"What?! It still lives!" she cried, ducking as the insect swooped past her head, its wings brushing her face.

You couldn’t help but laugh now, your stomach aching from holding it in. "I thought you had slain it, mighty warrior?"

Lae’zel’s cheeks flushed with frustration. She scowled, swinging her sword at the insect again, but it easily evaded her blade, zipping out of reach. She let out a growl of pure annoyance, watching it disappear into the night sky.

She turned back to you, her chest still heaving, her sword now lowered.

"This… this was no ordinary insect," she declared, trying to recover her dignity. "A creature like that must have come from the Abyss itself."

You raised an eyebrow, still giggling. "Or maybe it was just a really big bug?"

Lae’zel huffed, glaring at you. “I should leave you to sleep in the open for making light of this!” But despite her words, there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes as she saw the shredded remains of your tent.

"Well," you said, trying to keep a straight face as you looked at the ruined mess behind her. "I guess I don’t need to worry about the bug anymore. Or the tent."

Lae'zel sighed, sheathing her sword. "Next time," she muttered, "I shall use less force." She looked over at the tattered remains of your tent, shaking her head. "But you will still owe me for this."

You snickered again. “Sure, Lae'zel. Sure.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Heart pounding, you sprinted through the camp, the image of the massive, many-legged insect burned into your mind. Without thinking, you headed straight for Shadowheart, who sat cross-legged near the campfire, deep in her meditation. You didn't bother to announce yourself, throwing yourself dramatically into her lap, wrapping your arms around her waist as if she were your last hope.

“Shadowheart!” you cried, your voice breathless, trembling. “Please, you have to help me! There’s a huge bug in my tent! I can’t go back in there; it’s too terrifying!”

Shadowheart’s eyes fluttered open, her meditation interrupted by your outburst. She sighed heavily, looking down at you sprawled across her lap with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

“Really?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “A bug? You’re a seasoned adventurer, a warrior capable of slaying monsters, and yet you run to me because of an insect?”

You buried your face in her lap, refusing to look up. “You don’t understand, Shadowheart! It’s enormous! It has all these legs and its wings buzz, and—”

She rolled her eyes, gently pushing you off her lap as she stood up, dusting herself off.

“You’re such a coward,” she muttered, though there was a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Fine, I’ll handle it.”

You watched with wide eyes as she strode purposefully toward your tent, grabbing a nearby staff and muttering something under her breath about the indignities she endured.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she called back over her shoulder, and you couldn’t help but grin, feeling a surge of affection despite the fear still coursing through you.

You waited outside, listening intently. There was a moment of silence, then a sharp whack, followed by the unmistakable sound of Shadowheart cursing in a language you didn’t understand.

“There, that should deal with it,” you heard her say, her voice triumphant. But then, a moment later, there was a high-pitched shriek, and to your utter shock, Shadowheart came barreling out of the tent, her eyes wide with terror.

“Shadowheart?” you began, confused, but she didn’t stop. She sprinted past you at a speed you didn’t think was possible for a cleric, her hair whipping behind her, and then you saw it—the enormous insect, wings buzzing furiously, chasing her out of the tent.

“By the gods, it’s after me!” Shadowheart screamed, completely abandoning her usual poise and grace, her staff forgotten on the ground as she sprinted around the camp, trying desperately to shake the creature off. You couldn’t help it—you burst into laughter, doubling over, clutching your stomach as tears of mirth filled your eyes.

“You’re not helping!” Shadowheart snapped, but there was no real anger in her voice, only the panicked breathlessness of someone desperately trying to escape.

As if on cue, the insect suddenly veered away from Shadowheart, its buzzing wings shifting its trajectory toward you instead. Your laughter died in your throat, eyes widening as the bug flew straight at you, its many legs wriggling in a way that made your skin crawl.

“No, no, no, not me!” you yelped, stumbling backward, waving your arms frantically in an attempt to ward it off. But the insect was relentless, darting toward you with terrifying speed.

Shadowheart, now standing a safe distance away, had regained her composure, and to your horror, you saw her smirking.

“Who’s the coward now?” she called out, clearly taking great pleasure in your predicament.

“Shadowheart!” you yelled, dancing backward as the insect buzzed closer, trying to keep it at bay. “Are you going to help me or just stand there and laugh?”

“I don’t know,” she said, feigning thoughtfulness. “I think I quite like this role reversal.”

“Shadowheart!” you protested, but before you could say more, the bug swooped in closer, and you let out a panicked squeal, leaping back with all the grace of a startled cat.

“Alright, alright,” she said, finally taking pity on you. With a quick incantation, her hand glowed faintly, and a burst of radiant energy shot out, hitting the insect and sending it tumbling lifelessly to the ground.

You collapsed onto your knees, still breathing hard, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Shadowheart approached, her expression smug as she extended a hand to help you up.

“You’re welcome,” she said dryly, as if you hadn’t just witnessed her own escape attempt mere moments earlier. You took her hand, letting her pull you to your feet, and couldn’t help but grin.

“Next time,” you said, poking her in the ribs, “I’ll let the bug chase you first.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away, lacing her fingers with yours instead.

“If you’re expecting me to be your fearless protector from every insect in the wilds, you might be disappointed,” she murmured, her eyes sparkling.

“Maybe,” you teased, leaning in closer. “But I think I’ll keep you around anyway.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheria:

You sprinted across the campsite, your heart pounding as the image of that massive, many-legged creature in your tent sent shivers down your spine. You couldn't even think straight, your mind full of its hideous twitching and the way its eyes had seemed to follow you. Without hesitation, you hurled yourself into Jaheira’s arms, practically tackling her as she stood by the campfire, calmly sharpening her blade.

“Jaheira!” you wailed, burying your face in her chest. “Please, you have to do something! There’s a giant bug in my tent, and it’s… it’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen! Please, just get rid of it, I beg you!”

Jaheira let out a long, exasperated sigh, though you could see the faintest hint of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth.

“A bug? That’s what has you in such a state?” She shook her head, wrapping an arm around you despite your trembling. “You’ve faced monsters, fought against gods, and yet a little insect sends you running?”

“This isn’t just any insect,” you whimpered. “It’s enormous, Jaheira! It has… too many legs and wings that make this awful buzzing noise, and it just looked at me!” You shuddered dramatically, clutching her tighter. “Please, you have to do something!”

Jaheira rolled her eyes, muttering something about the fragility of adventurers before patting your back reassuringly.

“Alright, alright,” she said, her voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “I’ll go speak with your fearsome creature.” She set you down gently and strode confidently toward the tent, muttering a nature-based spiel under her breath. “All creatures of this world are precious, beloved by nature, no matter how small or strange they may be. They have their place in this grand cycle of life.”

You watched with wide eyes as she approached your tent, pushing the flap aside. There was a moment of silence, then a faint rustling noise followed by what you swore was a low, indignant buzzing. Jaheira emerged a moment later, looking uncharacteristically upset, her lips pressed into a thin line.

You blinked in surprise.

“What… what happened?” you asked, hesitantly taking a step toward her.

“That,” Jaheira said, pointing back at the tent with her thumb, her expression turning almost pouty, “was the rudest insect I have ever come across.”

Her voice was tinged with disbelief as if she couldn’t quite fathom what had just transpired. You tried not to laugh but failed miserably, a giggle escaping you despite the tension in your body. “Rude? Really?”

“Yes,” Jaheira insisted, her eyes narrowing. “I approached it with all the grace and respect nature demands, and I cannot even repeat the words it spoke to me!” She huffed, crossing her arms, and you couldn’t help but find her indignation adorable.

“Well,” you said slowly, still trying to bite back your laughter, “do you think it was rude enough to, you know, justify killing it?”

Jaheira stared at you, then sighed deeply, as though she were admitting defeat to some great, cosmic force.

“Yes,” she grumbled. “Yes, it was rude enough.”

“Thank the gods,” you breathed, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “Please, just get rid of it.”

Jaheira squared her shoulders, determination flashing in her eyes as she headed back toward the tent.

“I will deal with this insolent insect once and for all,” she declared, brandishing her staff with newfound purpose.

You watched, holding your breath as she marched back inside, ready to rid your tent of its unwelcome guest. But barely a second passed before there was a furious buzzing noise, and Jaheira came hurtling back out, her eyes wide with shock, the insect hot on her heels, its wings flapping frantically.

“By the Oak Father!” she yelled, ducking and weaving as the insect buzzed around her head, clearly having taken offense to her presence. She stumbled backward, tripping over a loose root and nearly falling in her haste to escape, all the while swatting uselessly at the creature.

You couldn’t help it—you burst into uncontrollable laughter, clutching your stomach as you doubled over.

“Jaheira,” you managed to gasp out between fits of giggles, “it looks like it wasn’t finished being rude!”

Jaheira shot you a glare, but there was a twinkle in her eyes despite her frustration.

“I’m glad you find this so amusing,” she muttered, though you could see the faint smile tugging at her lips. “Next time, you can deal with it yourself.”

“Never,” you replied, still laughing, and you reached out to pull her into a hug, even as the insect finally buzzed off to some other part of the camp. “That’s why I have you, my brave and fearsome Harper.”

Jaheira snorted, but you could feel her relax against you, her arms wrapping around you in return.

“You’re hopeless,” she said, but her voice was warm, her annoyance already melting away. “Completely and utterly hopeless.”

“Maybe,” you agreed, still smiling, “but at least I have you to face the terrifying bugs.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I loved loved loveddd writing this it made me giggle so much and I hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

You work as an aide in the Presidential Palace. It's not your cup of tea per say, but it's a job. A job with crappy pay, but a job nevertheless.

Your father was so proud of you for getting the job after your fall out with your ex. Yea, after you broke up with Odysseus Odair there was some tension at work, since you worked on the marketing team for his father's luxury cruise line company. So, you quit your job. You had to find a new one and a new place too, since your breakup had turned your life upside down.

Your father offered to let you move back home, but you wanted your independence; turned down his offer. He did help you find a new apartment and pay your deposit along with the first month's rent.

And after scouring the help wanted ads and job posting boards, you received a call for an interview for an office aide position in the Presidential Palace you applied for. You went to the interview and got hired right on the spot.

But, although you work in the Presidential Palace you've never come face to face with President Coriolanus Snow.

Or at least you haven't until the day you're running late.

The line in the coffee shop was ridiculously long. So long, that by the time you get your morning coffee you're a few minutes late for work. And, since you don't have a car, you have to run in heels to the Presidential Palace to prevent yourself from being too late.

As if 10 minutes late isn't bad enough.

But you're afraid of getting fired. You really need your job as an aide. Your savings account isn't very large, so if you lost your job you'd be screwed when it came to paying the rent.

So, you run a few blocks in your black kitten heels- paper coffee cup tightly held in your hand. You feel a sense of relief as you reach the large wrought iron gates and the hedges that surround the palace that you work in. Quickly, you rush thru the open gate and down the long pathway that leads to the large ornate entrance doors of the Presidential Palace.

The grip on your paper coffee cup is like a vice as you scurry inside of the palace. Your heels loudly click against the marble floor as you rush down the huge hallway, heading towards the fork in the road that’ll lead to your closet of an office that's right next to Chief of Staff Festus Creed’s office.

You're speed walking and just turned the corner to your office whenever you smack right into a towering solid wall of a man. You wobble slightly, nearly twisting your ankle due to your heels, and accidentally crush your paper coffee cup against whoever you ran into. The hot latte spilled onto your hand, your white blouse, and the jacket of whomever you accidentally bumped into.

“Watch where you're going, you clumsy, silly girl.” Berated a smooth, but low baritone.

You look up to apologize to the man you accidentally collided with, only to come face to face with the President of Panem himself.

President Coriolanus Snow.

And was he even more handsome in person then he was on tv, posters, and campaign ads. Platinum blonde hair, perfectly slicked back in a coif, striking icy blue eyes, clean cut angular jaw as sharp as a diamond, prominent nose, tall with broad shoulders and a thin waist; one that would be considered sluttty- President Snow was the whole package.

And as your bad luck would have it, you just collided with him and accidentally split your entire flimsy cup of morning coffee on him. Oh, how embarrassing.

To say you're flustered and embarrassed would be an understatement. You wish that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

Feeling like you’re currently under a microscope, you ramble out an apology of, “I'm so sorry, Mister President. I was rushing and didn't see you.”

“Yes, well, you just ruined my sports coat by not paying attention. It's a Tigris design and now I'll be attending a very important luncheon looking like a fool because I can't wear it.” President Snow complained, his voice cold and insulting.

“I'm so sorry; I can always buy you a new one so you won't be embarrassed about having a stained jacket during your luncheon.” You offer, feeling horrible for ruining President Snow’s suit jacket.

“Very well, go buy me a new jacket.” President Snow tells you in an aggravated tone. “Tell Tigris at her boutique that you need a man’s medium sports coat in royal maroon.” He instructs you before walking past you with regal grace.

Great…

Now you have to go out and buy a jacket that'll most likely deplete your savings. All because you accidentally spilled your morning latte on the president; ruined his jacket.

You step into a posh boutique and immediately start to hear your checkbook crying. Oh boy, the atmosphere just reeked of high end couture; of things you'd never be able to buy. But here you are, in a place you can't afford to buy President Snow a replacement jacket.

A tall, slender woman with warm blue eyes and a few black streaks in her otherwise light blonde hair approaches you. Her plum painted lips smiled as she greeted you with, “Hi, are you looking for something in particular? I have a few pieces that would look fabulous with your complexion and hair color.”

“Oh, I'm not here for myself. I'm just here to buy a men's jacket.” You tell the woman, that you assume is Tigris from how her hair’s styled.

“Are you looking for something in particular for your partner?” The fashionista asked while leading you towards the men’s section of the store.

“A royal maroon sports coat in a medium.” You tell Tigris what President Snow told you to in order to get his replacement coat.

She nods as goes to a rack that's against the wall where a bunch of jackets are. You see her go to one of the lower racks where jackets are in various shades of red. Tigris skims thru the jackets, only to pull one out that's a perfect match for the one you accidently ruined.

And when Tigris tells you she'll ring up your purchase you know it's time to walk to the gallows; to accept the syphoning of your savings.

Although you work in the Presidential Palace as an aide you've never been in his office. Yes, you knew exactly where it was, but never had a reason to go into it. Your boss, Festus, was the Chief of Staff so he was the one that went into the office for things.

And you should be knocking on President Snow’s office door, considering you need to give him his new jacket, but you can't do that. You're still embarrassed by the incident this morning and, to be completely honest, the platinum haired president intimidated you with his stoic, cold demeanor. Thankfully, you're friends with President Snow's secretary, Leo Davis.

The man's nice and befriended you in the staff’s break room during lunch shortly after you started working for the Snow administration. He's a family man and gives out good advice.

“Leo, I need you to give this to President Snow.” You tell the lanky man, who's sitting behind a desk a few yards away from the large mahogany door of the president’s office, as you place the boutique bag on his desk.

Looking between you and the bag, Leo asks, “What is it?”

“It's a new maroon jacket for President Snow. I bought it to replace the one I accidentally ruined by spilling coffee on it.” You honestly tell Leo, who just nods.

“I’ll give it to him.” Leo assures you.

“Thanks.” You gratefully tell him before pivoting on your heel and going back to your own wing of the Presidential Palace to work in.

“Coriolanus, here's the replacement jacket that you made Y/N buy you.” Leo tells his boss, the President of Panem, as he walks into the office with the Tigris Boutique bag in his hand raised high up in the air for the most important politician in the country to see.

Coriolanus nods. Gesturing to a sitting chair in the corner, he says, “Please, put it over there.”

“Tigris is your cousin, you should've just called her for a new jacket instead of sending Y/N out to buy you one with her own money.” Leo tells his boss while going over to the corner chair and setting the bag down on it.

“She offered to buy me the jacket to make amends for foolishly colliding into me and ruining my sportscoat with spilt coffee.” The president defended himself against his secretary. Honestly, the cold blonde didn't see the problem in letting you buy him the jacket. You offered, after all.

“Y/N can't afford the fashions in your cousin's store. She's borderline broke despite being the daughter of Colonel Javani Halvir.”

“Colonel Javani Halvir's daughter works here? On my staff?”

“Yes.” Leo nods. “She's an aide for your friend and Chief of Staff, Festus Creed.”

“Send for Festus, I want to know everything about Miss Y/N.” Coriolanus orders Leo, causing the man to just nod and do as he's told.

President Coriolanus Snow found out very little about you from both Leo and Festus. Just surface level stuff, but nothing he truly wanted to know. The president want to know every single thing about you.

Apparently, hearing that you're the daughter of his late father's bestfriend (who had been deployed between a couple of district bases after the war) and stirred a lowkey obsession over you inside of Coriolanus soul. The cold hearted man never thought he'd meet anyone with a link to his past, a link to a time before the war. But then he met you in a whirlwind of colliding bodies and spilt coffee in a hallway.

Coriolanus, having a teeny tiny obsession with you, began to stalk you. He even felt bad about ordering you to buy him a new jacket since you truly couldn't afford it. Your purchase at Tigris' boutique had drained most of your savings.

Yes, he used his closeness with Livia Cardew to scour through bank records until he found your account.

But, although he felt bad about the jacket, the president wasn't going to reimburse you the money. He was too proud to do that. Coriolanus had an image to uphold and admitting he made a mistake in allowing you to spend your own money on that royal maroon sportscoat would destroy his image. President Snow's a cold, callous, and calculated man; nothing can change that.

He won't let it.

But, to make up for the whole jacket incident, Coriolanus does leave a large cup of coffee on your desk on morning. And under your cup’s a napkin with a tiny note scribbled on it in his flawless flourish.

Miss Y/N, please accept this coffee in replacement of the one our collision made you spill on me the other day. Please, come by my office at noon. We need to talk.

Coryo

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @princess-harvey @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[longhardtransitionreturns]

I'm too weak to stand by the time my wife and our midwife decide it's time to transfer me to the hospital to give birth to our son. I'm splayed listlessly in the birthing pool, my red-rimmed eyes half slipped back in my head. The baby is lodged so tightly in my hips that any tiny movement sends sharp spikes of pain through my pelvis. Pushing is white hot fire and absolutely out of the question so I'm left skewered on the girth of my baby, too out of it from pain and exhaustion to have anymore input on what happens next.

When the paramedics arrive they do their best to hide their shock when they find a 350lb bull dyke with a buzz cut and biker tats inked across her swollen GG breasts grunting in a pool so small I'm touching all the sides.

They move away to confer, likely about moving someone my size, but I'm too out of it to be offended. My big, hairy pussy is bulged out so far it seems almost impossible there's no head showing. My wife Monica moves to my head and kisses my cheek. I can tell she's scared but trying to put on a brave face.

The paramedic who is clearly in charge, a tall, butch Black woman with short nails and even shorter hair, jumps into the pool and introduces herself as Jean before announcing her intention to check me. I'm briefly relieved another lesbian is going to be the stranger who is digging around in my pussy then I feel her fingers enter my overstuffed hole and I can't bite back a weak moan at the intrusion. She rubs my bulge gently near my clit and makes a shushing noise. My eyes roll back in my head involuntarily at the intimate touch. I'm hurting too bad for it to be pleasurable but it gives me a tiny ounce of relief nonetheless.

Monica is staring down at me with worry on her face when Jean announces to her team that the baby is stuck on my pubic bone and the first step to getting it unstuck is to get me standing. I barely have time to protest before the 3 muscled young men taking orders from Jean are helping lift my bulk from the tub.

Even with five people supporting my weight I am unable to keep myself from falling gracelessly into a wide squat as the weight of my huge child drops down even further. My bulging pussy hits the water as I feel the unmistakable sensation of urgently crowning what must be an absolutely huge head.

I'm screaming about the fire in my crotch as Jean takes one of my meaty thighs, the biggest paramedic takes the other, and the other two support my back as I am lifted, legs spread around my crown, onto the floor beside the birthing pool.

The best case scenario, Jean tells me over my screaming sobs, is that I push it out right here and she and her team give me and baby a ride to the hospital. It looks like that might work for a few pushes but I'm fading faster than before and don't have much to give in the way of help. She briefly considers forceps but would rather get me to the hospital if my baby is still in danger of breaking my pelvis when I push him out. She reaches inside my rubber band tight lips to feel where the head had previously been stuck on a bone and noticeably pales.

She doesn't say anything out loud to alarm me or my wife but she tells her team with harsh urgency that we are transferring to the hospital immediately. I'm being moved again, still with my legs spread wide by men on either thigh, on to a bariatric stretcher and rolled out of my living room before I can even think to protest being rolled out of my front door naked, my crowned, leaking pussy bared for for all our straight, conservative neighbors to see.

I hear Jean telling Monica and our midwife that they're going to have to meet us at the hospital. Between my size and the seriousness of my potential injuries, they need all the room they can get to keep me intact until I'm able to be rushed into emergency surgery.

I don't hear whether my wife argues or not because I'm being lifted up into the ambulance. The jostling sends a sharp, warning pain through my pubic bone and I scream for them to stop moving me. Jean yells almost at the same time, glaring at her subordinates. She orders them to freeze with my feet tilted up into the ambulance and then leans down to place her palm firmly against my crown.

The counter pressure immediately eases some of the burning sensation around my lips and the ominous aching in my pelvic bones. I lay my head back and groan at feeling, for the first time since I hit transition, some of the pain lessening rather than intensifying.

I focus on how good it feels to have Jean pushing back on some of the insane pressure in my cunny while they settle me into the ambulance. A strap is placed around my straining middle and the stretcher is locked into place. One of the nameless young men starts an IV as the sirens start blaring and I feel the ambulance start to move.

Jean, still holding my crown, tells me her colleague is giving me something for the pain and that a surgical team is being assembled right now to meet the ambulance and rush me into the operating room.

"Everything's going to be just fine, Libby. You and your baby are going to be just fine as long as you don't push. No matter how bad you need to bear down, you can't. You will break your pubic bone and probably your tail bone and you really don't want to do that."

I don't. I've already started to feel the effects of the drugs and I'm still in more pain than I've ever been in my life but there is a thin, hazy distance from it now. I feel the warmth of Jean's hand around my crown and I blink up at her with what I think might be close to a flirtatious smile.

"Just don't move your hand, baby," I mumble and she clearly understands because her cheeks redden and she cracks a wide, slightly embarrased smile.

"Alright, Sappho. Glad those drugs are starting to work."

I probably wasn't going to respond because I was seconds away from passing out when suddenly the ambulance is hitting something with extreme force and my gravid body is bouncing up into the air. I see, as if in slow motion, Jean's steadying hand get ripped away from my pussy.

I'm slammed back down on to the stretcher and, inevitably, my bones shatter. When they give way my baby is ejected out to his shoulders before anyone can stop him to try to spare me even greater injury.

I'm writhing and screaming incoherently as I feel Jean gingerly pull my son out the rest of the way. I can feel his heft shifting around pieces of bone in me as he slithers out and I am acutely aware how badly I wish I could lose consciousness.

I don't. When my son leaves my body to be handed off to one of the men and my clenching cavity clamps down on nothing, I am catapulted into another stratosphere of pain. I start hyperventilating and am barely able to understand Jean as she straddles the stretcher in between my legs and starts to touch my lips.

"Libby, hold on for me, honey. I'm gonna do something and it's gonna hurt like the dickens and then it's going to feel amazing. Just keep breathing for me, sweetheart."

Why I look down right at that moment I will never know but I watch her gloved, fisted hands plunge into my pussy and my asshole at the same time. I use my last remaining strength to wail in protest as it feels like a white hot iron is being rammed through my pelvis. Then she does what can only be described as a punch with the fist in my cunt and I almost throw up with how suddenly relieved I feel because of whatever Jean's hands are doing to hold my gravely injured body together.

Don't get me wrong. I'm still in agony. But between whatever Jean's fists just did and the drugs starting to kick in even more, I'm barely able to do anything other than lay there and whimper.

When we get to the hospital the medics have just taken me down from the ambulance when Monica runs up. She takes in Jean, straddling the stretcher in between my legs and then the position of her fists in both my holes. My face is a rictus of pain and shock and I'm horrified to discover I can't talk. I'm not even able to close my mouth when I feel drool slipping down my chin.

I look up at my wife, who's being handed our 15lb baby. She walks beside my stretcher as I'm rushed in to the trauma bay. I fight with all my will to be able to muster up the strength to say one more thing to the love of my life before the drugs pull me under completely. The fact that I'm about to almost die on the table three times because I'm silently hemorrhaging into my abdomen as we speak is the only thing that comes between me and divorce later so stupid were the words I chose to say.

"Jean's hands feel so good in my ass and my pussy. God, it feels so good."

[eddies-whoreee]

Mary on a Cross

Summary: you’re the preacher’s daughter and Eddie is the devils advocate. What happens when your two paths cross.

CW: corruption kink, daddy kink, spankings, finger sucking, degradation.

The damp summer air, after a rain storm hit your face as you walked out of the Church, you had just got done helping your father set up for Wednesday practice and were heading home to study for your English Quiz the following day. But knowing your luck, you car wasn’t starting. You huff about to head back in the Church to retrieve your father so he could either help or give you a ride home. That’s when you two met. “Excuse me, I see you’re having trouble with your car, I can help” he spoke, words like electricity rushing through your body. “Yeah, um it was working fine earlier now it just won’t start” you speak soft and small. Immediately feeling as though his gaze is seeing straight through you, burning holes in your skin.

He gives you a soft smile, “okay just let me take a look under the hood” he says, you nod and walk to your car. You felt suddenly insecure and exposed in your thigh length plaid pink skirt, white t-shirt and white thigh high sock, pulled together with your light pink Mary Janes matching the color of your skirt perfectly. “Okay sweetheart just pop the hood for me and I’ll see if I can find the problem.” He tells you. You do what he says. After inspecting it and messing around with the car. “I think its your battery it’s dead, I don’t have my stuff with me, I can give you a ride if you’d like.” He speaks. “Oh, Um, my dad says I’m not supposed to get into a car with strangers” you peep. “Smart man. Okay how about we un-stranger ourselves, I’m Eddie Munson.” He tells you with a flirtatious smile. Blush scatters across your cheeks, “I’m Y/n Y/l/n. Preacher’s daughter” you reply.

That’s how you ended up here, 4 weeks later, bent over Eddie’s lap. Tears rolling down your face as he lands another harsh slap on your redden ass cheek. “No! I’m sorry, d-daddy! S-so sorry” you manage to speak through your broken sobs. “Sorry? Sorry, for what? Being a fucking brat? Sorry for being a worthless bitch? Huh?!” He asks roughly landing another smack on your ass. Making you yelp, “yes! S-sorry! C-Can’t take it” you cry squirming under him. “Stay still, this is what you wanted. I’ve told you over and over again-” he’s cut off by your whimpers. “Stop.” Smack. “Talking.” Smack. “Back.” Smack. “D-daddy! N-o-o p-please! C-can’t nonono” you can barely manage a full sentence. You mind all fuzzy, the pain making your cognitive senses hazy. “Two more baby two more and you’re all done m’kay?” He coos rubbing over your sore ass with his hand, providing what little comfort he can in this situation. “Y-yes d-daddy” you mutter. Once he gives you the last two, you let out a huge sigh of relief, knowing it was finally over.

As he picks you up to straddle him, you immediately cling onto him snuggling your head in the crook of his neck. Tears flowing heavy and hot. “D-daddy, hurts” you cry. “I know baby, its supposed to, how else will you learn your lesson” he tells you running his hand through your hair. You groan, “t-thank you daddy” you say giving his neck up until his jaw small wet kisses. “You’re welcome baby” he coos giving your forehead a kiss. “Fingers, suck please daddy” you ask looking up at him with your glossy doe eyes. He smiles smugly at you, “how would your dad like to know that his precious angel is begging to suck on my fingers” he asks condescendingly. You groan throwing your head back making Eddie chuckle. “Okay here baby” he says pushing two fingers into you mouth making you moan in satisfaction. You were his perfect corrupted angel.

[kltira]

Lmao was cutting up a pork roast for tamales before I then cut my finger. I practically bled everywhere before I bandaged it up. Then I almost legit passed out which hasn’t happened to me b4 w/ blood. Can I get Nagito hurt/comfort where I’m his gf/fiance & he comfort’s me after I cut my finger?

┊₊˚{☁️}  “Band-Aids” ₊˚꒦｡

꒦꒷︶꒷ ꔫ Requested by...꒱꒱ @oceanmoonlune ( #cutiekittysender : oceanmoonlune )

ꔫ Fandom꒱꒱ Danganronpa

ꔫ Genre ꒱꒱ Fluff {100% sfw}

ꔫ Type and pairing꒱꒱Oneshot ( Nagito x Reader )

ꔫ Pronouns꒱꒱ She/Her, fem reader

ꔫ Content Warning(s)꒱꒱Blood, pet names, nagito self degrading himself, danganronpa spoilers, swearing

ꔫ Summary꒱꒱ Making food is more difficult than it seems. Before Nagito got home from class, you were only attempting to prepare him some lunch, but it appears that your cutting abilities aren't as strong as you had assumed. You got reckless and cut your finger very badly. Fortunately, Nagito arrived home in time to rescue you from your injury.

ꔫ Author note(s)꒱꒱OUCH! I hope you're okay! <333 Yes, I would be honored to write this request, especially since I have a huge crush on Nagito hehe.

In your relationship, Nagito was adamant about spoiling you rotten; ‘you were his whole world and gave him so much hope it was the least he could do’ he would always say, like it was the simplest thing in the world and didn’t cause your heart beats to speed up and time freeze around you. Nagito wouldn’t let you lift a finger if he could help it, and thus he would often happily cook for you both. Nagito’s cooking was surprisingly delicious, even if he doubts that claim. Today you had an idea while Nagito was still in class: you wanted to return the favor and cook something for your loving boyfriend to eat when he returns. Here you are making a basic bento box, which you thought you could manage since it does not require much culinary expertise. You continued to tuck bits and pieces of the meal into the little box, humming a tune along the way. However, you wanted to add one more ingredient. Seeking a specific sharp object, you eyed the kitchen counter, and soon after, you found it, removing the knife from its holder. The knife glittered in the sunlight, showing off how sharp it was. You took the handle, gripping it firmly and eyeing the cucumber in its entire form. With a confident hand, you began slicing through the cucumber, the blade gliding through its skin. Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice how your grip on the knife tightened with each cut, until, with a swift motion, the knife slipped, and you felt a sharp pain shoot through your finger, and before you could react, a trickle of blood ran down your hand, dripping to the floor.

Your movements halted abruptly, a jolt of fear coursing through you as you instinctively attempted to shield the injury with your other hand, a surge of panic gripping at your chest. The cut appeared more substantial than you initially thought, the sting of pain reverberating through your nerves, a reminder of your heightened sensitivity. "shit, shit, shit!!" you hissed through your teeth as you cupped your hand under the dripping blood, a sloppy attempt to not make a mess.

Luckily or unluckily you didn’t know, but you heard the creak of the door opening and your certain loveable white haired boyfriend walked in. You questioned the time as he appeared unexpectedly early, unless you simply lost track. You idly shake your head, clearing your thoughts. It wasn’t the time to worry about that, though, as you were still bleeding everywhere. You looked over to Nagito as he entered with a widened expression. Nagito dropped all his things and rushed to your side without a word. He looked with gentle eyes at your injury as he took your finger into his hand releasing a deep breath out in relief. "...I somehow feel my bad luck caused this, how could you ever forgive me my love?" Nagito frowned. You shook your head putting your uninjured hand to his soft cheek in a comforting manor "Koma, I just cut myself making you food. By no means is this anyway your fault by your mysterious luck cycle or whatever." Nagito pouted at this but knew better than to insist on his self deprecating behaviour. He seemed to have turned around back to his bag he dropped unzipping the front pocket and taking out bandaids he kept with him for such unfortunate accidents. "...You made made food for me?" Nagito questioned as he delicately wrapped the bandage around the small wound on your finger giving it a small kiss before looking back at you for a response. Your face heated up as you flexed your now bandaged finger "Y-yeah! It's...It's not much, but I wanted to do something for you!" Nagito's eyes glimmered while he looked into yours with nothing but love and admiration. "...I love you so much, my hope" he says cracking a smile; soon enough before you could mutter an 'i love you too' he was leaning in and kissing your soft lips his hands brushing a strand of your hair away from your face. He kissed you with pure bliss until you both ran out of breathe and needed to separate even if your whines suggested other needs. The white haired boy eyes darted behind you to the almost finished bento box that he now knows was for him, it made his heart flutter just thinking about how generous you were even if it was just a simple act. "Well, my hope, how about we finish making the bento box together?" he tilted his head and gave a blushed over smile before going over behind you and putting his hands around your waist holding you close to him.

[halsinsbiceps]

So apparently I don't have an account on AO3, which I thought I did.

Anyway, if anyone is interested in my F!Tav/Halsin slow-burner, please give this a read. Once I have an account up and running, I'll post to AO3.

Please be kind, as this is my first fanfiction since I was like 14 and my first piece of writing I've ever introduced to the Internet.

Fic below the cut.

A Great and Sudden Change

A Baldur's Gate 3 Fanfiction

Chapter 1

Enelya woke face-down in the sand.

Granules clung to her hands and cheek in wet clumps; water soaked her leather druid armor and chilled her skin. A dull ache throbbed behind her left eye. Thick, fishy air gusted her hair into her face, along with the acrid scent of smoke and charred flesh.

The moment she cracked her eyes open to the light, the throbbing exploded into a blinding headache. If she had not already been on the ground she would have been leveled by the pain.

So instead she lay with her cheek pressed into the muck, and willed herself to remember what had happened.

She had just left Baldur's Gate, well-rested and with a restocked pack, headed east along the River Chionthar on her way to the Emerald Grove to meet with the druids there. The birds had been singing happily and the sun was hot on her face when everything fell silent, and a shadow overtook her.

Then she was trapped in a box…or some sort of pod? Flashes of tentacles and flesh, wet and pliant, flooded her mind. A small worm, teeth bared as it neared her face, panic rising in her chest. Pain seared through her face before everything fell into darkness.

Next she saw a humanoid creature with yellow skin in shining armor, then a woman with black hair and large green eyes. In the next flash she saw demons, imps...and a mind flayer, its squid-like face vivid in her mind's eye, and its voice pushing into her mind as it commanded her to the helm of the Illithid ship. Finally, she remembered the ground rushing up to meet her as she plummeted from the sky.

Enelya promptly retched into the sand.

When her stomach finally stopped heaving, she pushed herself onto her knees and wiped gritty vomit from her chin and cheek. Keeping her eyes closed, she blindly reached into the satchel hanging at her side, feeling her way through the bag until her fingers wrapped around the cool neck of a glass bottle.

The healing potion worked quickly to wash away the bitter bile coating her tongue. The throbbing behind her eye all but disappeared, while her nausea and aches lifted almost immediately. She stoppered the bottle with a relieved sigh, then tentatively opened her eyes.

The first thing she noticed, aside from the quickly setting sun, was the smoking wreckage of the nautiloid. Black smoke plumed in ominous pillars into the orange and pink sky. Tentacles the size of trees lay limp all around her. Following their line of destruction through crushed rocks and snapped trees, she saw the collapsed body of the ship through the smoke.

Gods, it was huge.

Enelya stood shakily. The warmth of the sun was fading as it sunk behind the hills and cliffs that surrounded her. She needed to find shelter, and quickly.

She came upon the first body as she rounded a rocky outcropping. She felt bile rise in her throat as she took in the mangled flesh of the fisherman. One of the brain creatures from the ship lay still in a pool of blood next to it. As Enelya continued down the beach, more and more bodies cropped up, each flanked by still more brain creatures.

After the seventh body her stomach heaved again. She caught herself on a rock as she gagged, her palms snagging the rough surface.

"Are you alright?"

Enelya instinctively pulled her dagger from her belt and spun as her training overtook her sickness for the moment. Green eyes met hers. The woman from the ship stood before her, her hands raised in a sign of peace. "I'm sorry," she said. Her voice was soft, almost child-like. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Enelya shook her head. The fear waned into relief, though her heart still banged against her ribs. She sheathed her dagger. "It's alright," she replied with a sigh. "I'm rather jumpy, it seems."

The woman nodded. "As am I. Makes sense, I suppose." She hesitated, then asked, "Do you know where we are?"

"I don't."

The two regarded each other warily for a moment. The woman was well-armored, although Enelya did not recognize the markings adorning her breastplate. Her dark hair hung over one shoulder in a banded braid, exposing ears that were not quite as pointed as Enelya's own.

"I'm Shadowheart," the woman said suddenly. "And I wanted to thank you, for rescuing me up there. You had precious time to waste, but still stopped to help me. It says quite a lot about your character, especially with that gith pushing you along."

A shiver ran across Enelya's mind as her emotions were assaulted. Disgust and suspicion flowed through her, but not at the woman before her. The githyanki's face flashed before her eyes, a sneer twisting her scarred face. As quickly as the emotions came, they went, leaving Enelya feeling almost empty.

Shadowheart pressed a hand to her temple. "Damn," she said. "I forgot about that. Haven't seen anyone else around here. Have you?"

Enelya shook her head again, still reeling herself from the sudden onslaught of emotions that were not her own. "It's only you, me, and these poor souls, I fear."

Shadowheart eyed the darkening sky. "Well, either way, we should find shelter. Tomorrow we can look for a healer."

"'We'?"

Shadowheart gave her a small smile. "Our odds are better together, don't you think? Besides, I think I can trust you. Why save me just to slit my throat?"

Enelya relaxed slightly and returned the smile. "I appreciate that."

"Come on then. I saw a fortress or something this way. It's not much, but it'll keep the wind at bay."

Shadowheart led her down the beach, away from the bodies. The silence that fell over them wasn't quite comfortable, but they quickly fell into sync and began collecting bits of driftwood at Enelya's suggestion. Once they reached the ruins, they had enough between them to keep a small fire going through the night.

Once the fire was lit and roaring quietly between them, Enelya pressed her back against the cold stone wall of the ruins. A heavy door was set into the wall, but it was locked up right. Shadowheart lamented the loss of real shelter as she jiggled the knob.

"Just not in the cards for us," she sighed. She sank down on the other side of the door from Enelya, keeping a fair distance between them. They watched the fire in silence.

"Enelya."

Shadowheart turned her head. "Sorry?"

"I'm Enelya." She waved her hand. "I forgot to tell you earlier, when you introduced yourself."

"Ah." Shadowheart's gaze returned to the flames. Embers flew into the air with a crackle, and she followed them with her eyes. "I suppose I can forgive your lack of manners this time."

Enelya laughed quietly, a sound that surprised her. "Careful, you don't know me yet."

"True." Shadowheart shot her an amused look. "But I have a feeling we'll get along just fine."

Enelya sighed and rested her head against the wall. After another moment she looked over at Shadowheart. "Where are you from?"

She sensed the other woman's uneasiness in her hesitation. "Baldur's Gate," she said after a pause. "I was headed there when that thing took me."

Enelya waited for her to continue. When she didn't, Enelya said, "I'd just left Baldur's Gate myself. It was my first visit. Quite a town, isn't it?"

Shadowheart snickered and closed her eyes. "You could say that. Where were you going?"

"East, towards Elturel." Enelya shifted into a more comfortable position.

"You're a druid?"

"That's right. From the High Forest."

Shadowheart sighed. "I've heard stories about the druids. It always sounds so peaceful, living out amongst nature. Romantic, even."

Enelya didn't reply, and they sat in comfortable silence again for a time. Shadowheart's head lolled to the side, and she jerked awake with a mumbled apology.

"Get some rest," Enelya told her the third time she startled. "I'll take first watch."

While Shadowheart quietly dozed against the wall of the ruin, Enelya tried to quiet the worrying thoughts flitting through her mind. In the morning, they would find out where they were, and with any luck, a healer.

And this would all be over.

[deadlynavigation]

Hello May i have a m! Wednesday x reader, where he is giving his partner kisses on their face but his partner keeps laughs because his hair keeps tickling them.

Hellish Mornings

Fandom: The Addams Family

Pairing: Male!Wednesday Addams x Reader

Warnings: Slightly out-of-character Wednesday.

Author's Note: Wednesday and reader are aged up in this- same as previous fic. Can yall think of nicknames for Wednesday too? I have nothing.

Do not copy, plagiarize, or translate any of my works or their assets.

Wednesday has always been the early riser in the relationship. No matter what, he’s the one to be up early, running around the house before your alarm has even gone off.

And sometimes, it’s nice- he’s waiting for you almost every morning, leaning against the kitchen counter with coffee and a kiss ready. Or he’ll still be in bed, holding you close as he traces every inch of your skin with his eyes as he waits for your stunning eyes to flutter open.

But other times, it gets on your nerves. Like today.

It was going to be a rushed morning, and you knew that. You had to get to work early for a huge presentation, and Wednesday had an appointment accidentally scheduled an hour earlier. You were both dreading it, but at the same time, you knew Wednesays’ habit of rising early would make things a lot easier.

And it was, it definitely was. Just not in the way you had imagined it to be.

Your alarm goes off at an ungodly hour. The sharp ringing sends you into a murderous mindset, and as the day’s upcoming events come back to mind, you’re about ready to start a war. But you hold yourself back, instead choosing to roll over and shut the very, very annoying wake-up call off. And you would’ve popped out of bed, but two long arms stretch out and yank you right back into bed.

“Stay,” Wednesday murmurs into your hair once you’re back in his arms.

“Baby, are you feeling okay? Why aren’t you up?” You question, slightly shocked that your boyfriend isn’t fully awake.

“I’m perfectly fine. I just don’t want you going into today with that murderous glint in your eyes.”

A smile starts to grow on your face. “I thought you liked that look.”

“I do,” Wednesday groans. “I do. But to not have time to enjoy it thoroughly would be hell.”

“Then I’ll save it for tonight,” You whisper. He groans, this time louder, but moves on fairly quickly.

“I’ll live,” Wednesday whispers back, leaning in to plant a kiss on your lips. He kisses you once more, drawing it out before pulling back and moving up your face. He continues his attack, his hair slowly moving into your space and brushing against you. It’s cute- until it starts to tickle.

“Babe-” you laugh, cutting off your sentence. Wednesday immediately backs up, but before he can question what’s wrong, you run your fingers through his lengthy hair.

“Your hair,” you breathe. “It is way too long for it not to tickle while we’re making out.”

Wednesday sighs in relief. “I’ll get it cut soon. In the meantime,” he leans back in, covering you in kisses as his hair drapes over you once more.

And you can’t help it- you start to laugh, harder than before. He backs up once more, rolling his eyes in faked exasperation before fully rising from the bed.

“Well, since you can’t handle my hair, we’ll get up. Time to face this hellish day, my love.”

And as you both ready yourselves for the day, nothing else is said, but in the back of your minds:

It’s slightly less hellish with you.

(Navigation)

[bbyquokka]

Hi lovely :) I was wondering if you can write anything fluffy with Felix where he’s on a date with his shy gf thank you <3

first date

FLUFF BELOW CUT - MINORS, AGELESS AND DEFAULT BLOGS; DNI!

warnings: gn reader, established relationship, kissing, fluff & lots of it words: 0.9k ~ (924)

dont repost. dont translate. feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

"you look so beautiful tonight yn.” felix gives you a soft and warm smile; a smile that sets your soul on fire and butterflies to flutter erratically in your stomach.

“thank you.” you say, feeling your cheeks flush a nice pink colour. he grins before picking some food up with his fork.

felix and you met via mutual friends, what is actually meant it that, is your friends set you both up on a blind date. sure, you was annoyed that your friends did something like this (as was felix) but the more time you spent with each other, the more you realised how compatible you both are.

similar interests, thought processes. similar habits and hobbies. it's like you've met another you, but in felix form. you're both going steady, deciding to take it slow and not rush. you both thought it was best to start of with a few dates first as well as the only psychical contact being hand holding and hugs.

you have yet to kiss one another.

some days you really, really want to kiss him. those days where he is being extra (extra adorable, hyperactive, sunshine vibes) you just wanna grab his freckled cheeks and smush your lips against his

felix feels the same. as someone who's love language is touch, it's becoming increasingly hard for him to not touch you, to keep his hands off you when all he really wants, is to hold you. to feel your soft skin under his fingertips. to feel your warmth and have you hair tickle his chin as you rest on his chest.

he wants to feel your soft lips against his. your fingers in his hair as he holds you so close in fear of you being a dream.

some days he feels like he is living the dream. you're so beautiful, so gentle, so ethereal, that felix is scared to wake up one day and it be a dream. but when he sees the usual “good morning, my sunshine 💛😚” text, he breathes a sigh of relief - because you are real!

tonight is your first date with felix. you stressed you didn't want anything too fancy but felix had other plans. he booked a table at a nice restaurant, a restaurant that serves the finest of foods for x amount of money. it's not expensive per say, but it's a little on the pricy side - but that doesn't bother felix in the slightest, because you're worth every penny.

he made sure to dress up. so far, you've only seen him in casual wear. hoodies, tees, jeans. this time, he opted in black jeans (because comfort) but with a dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows and vest waistcoat, paired with a black bowtie. his blond hair slicked back to keep out of his eyes and his face left make up free. (he knows how much you adore his freckles)

you too, also tried your best. dressing in your best clothing, spraying your most expensive cologne. you want your first date with felix to be one that you will never forget.

once done with the meal, felix walks you home. you make idle chit-chat, the conversations free flowing. you're both comfortable within each other that you don't have to worry about whether you're oversharing or being too much, felix adores you for that and that brings you a huge amount of comfort.

his hands soft against yours, thumb stroking your hand as you both walk to your home. he occasionally squeezes your hand, gently pulling you into his side and kissing your forehead gently, a sweet gesture that's enough to make you mentally scream and kick your feet.

“well, this is my stop.” you say as you stand on the doorstep, facing felix.

“i guess this is where we part ways. well, until tomorrow that is.” he laugh softly.

“but we will be on video call in less than thirty minutes, lix.” you giggle. “its like we can't be apart from one another.”

“well, that's true. i want to spend all my time with you, yn.” felix steps closer to you, his hand gently placed on your hip. you wrap your arms around his neck gently, fingers interlocking behind his head.

“i want to spend all my time with you to lix.” you whisper, slowly closing the gap between you both. “thank you for tonight. you didn't have to pay.”

“no, but i wanted to.” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut as your lips brush against each other gently. your heart thumps erratically against your ribcage, threatening to burst out. your palms become clammy, the feeling of excitement bubbling in your stomach, but you have to play cool.

“let me pay you back”

“how?”

you gently press your lips against felix's. he hums softly, moving his lips against your slowly. it's a sweet, delicate and gently kiss. a kiss that's filled with love and pent up want and desire. you tangle your fingers in his hair as you share the sweet kiss under the clear night sky, felix pulling you flush against his body.

your mind slowly goes numb, heart beating scarily fast. either because you're excited that it's finally happened, or the fact your kissing felix but your ability to breath becomes little to none. soon, you have no choice but to pull away. a soft whine of disapproval emits from felix's lips, his finger hooking under your chin before leaning in once more.

“just a bit longer. i don't want this night to end, not yet anyways.”

note: thank you for the request anon. it got my own heart fluttering, ngl! don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. i’d love to hear your thoughts ‹3

tags [open]: @sstarryoong ; @oshimee ; @septicrebel ; @bbujiikseu ; @cixrosie ; @alyszaen ; @hyunluvxo ; @writerracha

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Arthur's Sacrifice

Part 3

______________________________________________________________

House arrest and ravioli 

“Come here love, meet the rest of the family huh.” Arthur held his arms open wide and waited for his daughter to embrace him. She politely walked over and hugged him back tightly. She missed family affection. There always had been someone to pinch her cheek, hug or kiss her in Italy. On the boat Luca couldn’t keep his hands or lips off of her, his mother was full of face touches and hugs for her.  The Shelby’s seemed to only ruffle the hair of kids or kiss spouses in semi private moments. 

Filomena was grateful to be near her father, it still seemed foreign to call him father, papa or da as he’d asked. He’d tried teaching her a few words in his language and she learned quickly earning favor among Polly and Thomas who would quiz her and teach her new words to impress him.

Linda was softening up to her as well. Filomeana took her fiance's advice and tried asking Linda about her faith. She was even learning how to cook the English way from her. As long as she listened and acted interested, they were good. 

She was even getting to play peek-a-boo with her brother Billy. He was a giggly little lad and loved to tumble and run. Ran right into trouble like her father seemed too. 

Things were looking up just in time for Tommy to call everyone to his house to live until a threat to the family was taken care of.

She hated not knowing what was going on. If they were in danger, how and why was she exempt? Why couldn’t she do something useful. She spent her days playing with the kids and trying to stay out of the way. 

She crept downstairs at midnight, unable to sleep and starving for real food. Her uncle Thomas had told her she was free to roam inside the house and could go into any room but his office. She didn’t care about what he was doing in his office.

She snaked her way into the kitchen and found everything she was looking for. Spreading out the flour she got to work. She was surprised at all the various cheeses, herbs and spices from her homeland. She got to kneading her pasta and cutting out her shapes to add the filling to her  ravioli. She had accidentally dropped the pot alerting whoever was in the kitchen. The loud clanging no doubt woke up more staff and family.  She blushed, embarrassed,  turning quickly and found two men staring at her. 

"Mi dispiace" I said in a rush then realizing I used Italian to apologize. I hadn’t meant to cause a scene let alone disturb anyone. I truthfully hadn't even heard them in the kitchen, how big was this house? 

“Va bene, principessa." The man had my attention. He’d told me it was okay. He definitely was Italian. Handsome with olive skin, dark hair and a mustache that was well groomed and a troublemaker's smirk. I sighed in relief. 

“Stai bene?”  The older gentleman came up to me, he was wiping blood off his arm with a kitchen rag. He looked much older like my grandfather back  home. My heart twisted, the man I thought had been my grandfather, I chide myself. He’d probably been preparing the stag the men had drunkenly drugged into the house tonight. 

“Yes, I’m alright.” I could feel the tears welling up. “You had no idea how nice it is to hear my own language’” I rambled on. They both smiled at me kindly. The older man took my pot and put it in the oven. I got the water going to a boil. We all chatted about Italy, London, America and so on. I hadn’t realized how well traveled they were. I was young but suddenly felt a bit left out. 

Of course the younger man, Antonio, had asked me if I was seeing anyone. I mention my finance Luciano, he was American. I told them about the wedding in New York. He kept tossing me odd glances. Apparently Antonio had lived in New York for many years. I asked if they knew each other by chance, he told me New York was huge and probably not. I caught him smiling at the other man though. Was I that naive or was he lying? I knew something was off. 

Once the freshly made sauce was plated we all dug in and talked. I kept trying to cover my mouth from laughing so hard.  My heart needed this so much. I couldn’t wait to tell Luca I’d made Italian friends.  At two a.m. I crawled into my guest bed grateful for the interaction. 

______________________________________________________________

[starstaiined]

trick or treat! mari yellowjackets pairing (jackiemari if you want specific but i don’t really mind) maybe? 👀

WRITER TRICK-OR-TREAT !!

DELETED SCENE // group interview, band au

It takes a few minutes for the room to settle back into anything resembling silence as Natalie struggles to keep the hula-hoop going. (She, so valiantly, refrains from flipping them off as they continue to giggle.) Mari can't help but eye the fishbowl of paper slips suspiciously. "Do I like, have to, or is passing an option?" The resulting jeers tell her all she needs to know; there's no getting out of this. With a sigh, she reaches forward and plucks the first white strip from the truth bowl.

WHO WAS YOUR BIGGEST HIGH SCHOOL CRUSH?

The blood rushes to her face. Oh, God. Talk about a shitty card to pull. "On second thought, I think I'm feeling a little more da-"

"Hey hey whoa whoa, you're got to answer the question, Flores!" Lottie darts forward to grab it from her hands, and Mari shifts to avoid her. Unfortunately, it's directly into Jackie, who plucks the paper from Mari's grasp.

"Who was your biggest high school crush? Oh, I know this one!" Jackie wiggles her eyebrows, lips curled into a mischievous grin as she feigns swooning and falls into Mari's lap. "Danny Mears! Oh, you were so down bad for him, MarMar. Which, just saying, you dodged a huge bullet. Heard he's like, dating his cousin or some shit."

"It's his second cousin. So it's like, technically legal." Mari manages to string together, in an attempt to soften the blow.

Tai snorts. "Wow, what a distinction. Still technically a total loser."

"Okay, he wasn't that bad—" Mari defends, but Jackie's laughter cuts her off.

"Oh God, remember his hair??"

Nat joins in from the sidelines, hula hoop clattering to the ground. "How could any of us forget??"

"Guys, give Mari a break!" Mari feels a modicum of relief as Lottie interjects, before breaking into a fanged smile. "She's never had the best taste. I mean remember—"

"He wasn't my crush." Mari blurts it out, before freezing.

"He wasn't?" Lottie echoes. She looks genuinely perplexed. The band as a whole does.

"Okay then, who was?"

"You can't say that and not elaborate."

Mari looks down, her face several shades of red. She mumbles her answer. "Jackie."

The hula hoop clatters to the ground as Nat gapes, Lottie and Tai mirroring the shell shocked expression. "You had a crush on me?" Jackie asks after a minute.

"I mean, yea, how could I not?" Mari laughs, awkward, as she rubs the back of her neck. "It was the first day of soccer try outs. You guys were helping Coach run everything and you partnered with me. You were like, like this superstar. And you told me I was really good. And after, my mom was running like really late. You could've left. I mean you must've had better things to do than sit with a stupid little freshman. But you sat down next to me and waited. I mean, you even gave me your fruit by the foot."

"They're your favorite." Jackie's expression softens, but stays unreadable.

Mari's shoulders lift into a shrug. "They weren't before that." The silence hangs for a few beats too long, feels a little too palpable, and Mari shoves the bowl at the Jackie. "Okay, I answered. Now pick up the pace. Nat's stuck losing a battle to an inanimate object until it circles back to her turn."

At the mention of Natalie's plight, Jackie's attention shifts. "Right, right. Besides, there's no use dwelling on things past."

Right. Things passed. Mari laughs, ignoring the ache in her chest as Jackie shoves her shoulder. So totally passed.

[nuggeett875]

Unbroken Promises-Derek Hale (p2)

4 years ago…

“Derek, I’m serious let go.” Delilah let out through laughter. “I don’t know Del, cause you don’t sound too serious.” The young teen responded as he continued to tickler her sides. “Don’t make me call Laura.” 

Derek gasped and playfully pushed her, “Wow, dirty move Miss. Davids.” The two fell back on his bed looking at eachother, huge smiles on both their faces. “What?” Delilah asked as she rolled on her side and started playing with Derek’s hair.

“Nothing, I’m just…happy.” His smile widened before they heard a knock at the door. “Little miss why are you still up?” Derek asked sitting up. In the doorway stood a 7 year-old Cora with a blanket in hand. 

“Der-bear I can’t sleep.” She said, melting Delilah’s heart. Delilah looked at Derek smiling to which he rolled his eyes and walked over to Cora scooping her up and walking her back to his bed. 

He sat down on the bed placing her in the middle and wrapping her in the blankets. “Sleep tight kiddo.” He kissed her forehead and layed next to her waiting until she fell asleep. Which happened to be not long after.

Delilah smiled at this and got up walking across the room to grab her bag. Reaching inside she pulled out her phone and took a quick photo of this moment before Derek’s mother, and at sometimes a mother figure to Delilah, Taliah walked in.

“Derek have you seen-” She looked to see her youngest sleeping on her son’s shoulder. “I see she found her way in here? When are you going to stop letting her sleep in here Derek? She has her own room for a reason.” Taliah asked with a smile walking over to pick up Cora.

“When i’m off to college, until then my little sister can crash in here.” He smiled up at his mom. “Alright then. Delilah honey are you staying over? You’re more than welcome to.” She asked the young girl.

“I actually have to head home, my mom is closing up the Diner late and needs me to finish some things around the house. Thank you though.” Taliah smiled and kissed Derek on the head before walking out with a sleeping Cora.

Derek sighed and stood up walking over to his girlfriend, “You want me to take you home?” He asked wrapping his arms around her. “Der I have my car here you’d have to walk back alone and I don’t want that. I’ll see you tomorrow, I love you.” 

She placed a kiss on his lips before pulling him into a hug, “I love you too.” He whispered in her ear before she left, making her way downstairs. 

…………………………………………….

Once at home Delilah rushed upstairs to her room and threw open her dresser feeling around. After a few seconds of searching she pulled out the object that had her mind in a fog. Sitting on her bed she started at the positive test in her hands.

“What are we going to do?” She asked herself placing a hand on her stomach. When she first found out her heart stopped. She sobbed till her mother found her upstairs and instantly knew what had happened. Delilah started repeatedly apologizing to her mother but was cut off by Jane wrapping her arms around her daughter and shushing her cries. 

“It’s alright, I’m here for you and the baby. It’s okay Lilah we’ll figure it out.” The rest of the night was spent that way, Delilah crying into her mother’s shoulder while she whispered words of relief. 

Now after thinking and having time to herself she was happy, and even excited about what was to come. She was having a baby, a mix of her and Derek, and this was the part that made her most happy.

She now had to figure out a way to tell Derek but she knew she had to tell him soon, and had planned on doing it tomorrow after school. 

So the next day as she drove to school she rested her hand on her stomach and repeated what she would say to Derek over and over again. Finally parking she took a deep breath and looked up seeing said boyfriend waiting for her at the bench.

“Hey you.” She said walking over and sitting next to him. “Hello gorgeous.” He placed a kiss on her cheek and reached out for her hand. “So big game tonight, school rivals, how do you feel?” She asked rubbing her thumb over his hand. 

“Honestly, really good. The team has been practicing hard and I think we’re gonna blow them out of the water tonight.” Derek smiled already excited for the game. “Well win or loose, i’m with you. Besides I have some news that will hopefully make your night even better. But you can’t know until after the game.” 

Derek groaned and threw his head back. “Well that’s all I’m going to think about from now until then. Thanks babe.” Delilah laughed and kissed his cheek before standing up and pulling him with her. “Come one we have class, don’t want Finstock giving us a hard time.”

…………………………………………….

Throughout the whole day Derek had been practically beggind Delilah to tell him the big news, but each time she would just smiles and say he had to wait for tonight. So here they were, Delilah cheering for Derek and his team mates in their game. 

76-74. Devonford was up and there was 50 seconds left in the game. The ball was Beacon’s posesion and was quickly moving down the court towards Derek, time seemed to stop as he took a dribble to collect himself then shot the ball up from the 3.

As the ball sunk in the basket Beacon’s crowd went crazy jumping and screaming, all while Delilah ran onto the court jumping into Derek’s arms who spun her around. “Congratulations Der, how’s it feel.” Laura asked as she walked up to the couple, “Feel’s amazing. Won the game, have my girlfriend with me, and now I get to hear some pretty big new-”

Yes there was big news, but not the one Derek or Delilah was expecting.

An officer walked up to Derek, Laura, and Delilah pulling them outside the gym to be alone, he had explained to them that there had been a fire at their house and that the only person to make it out was Peter, though he was severly injured. 

Derek and Laura fell to the ground, the older one screaming as her brother wrapped his arms around her pulling her to him tight, tears streaming down his face. Delilah quickly kneeled besideds him and wrapped her arms around his neck allowing him to cry into her shouler. 

It seemed as if they were there forever but eventually the police officer had taken them to the station. Delilah gave Derek one last hug before her mother came and picked her up, tears streaming down her face at the news of one of her best friends Taliah passing away in the fire. 

When they got home Delilah and her mother sat on the couch holding each other quietly wishing this was all a bad dream.

Delilah’s hand rested on her stomach at the thought of her baby never meeting their father’s family. Their father, Derek! She never got to tell Derek, of course now the thought of telling him would no longer be an incredible event, but he still needed to know. 

She would go visit him tomorrow and tell him the news, tell him and Laura they still had family. 

But that never happened, Delilah went to see Derek but was told that Laura had taken him from Beacon Hills to see some family friends. Delilah started crying, she grabbed her phone and called Derek.

After leaving the 17th message and 40th text she new that he was gone. She prayed that she would see him soon and that he would be there with her and with their baby, but for the next 4 years…she kept the same wish. 

…………………………………………….

sorry this is long I know, ngl cried when I wrote about them finding out but it’s late so what can I say. hope you enjoy this story as this is only the begining, more chapters coming soon and will get into Season 2 of Teen Wolf. 

for now thank you for reading this book here’s a sneak peak of what’s to come. 

-nugg

…………………………………………….

“Eli, Lia breakfast!” Delilah called to wherever her kids were. She was about to call again but felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist, “I think they were with Isaac last I checked, so we have some time.” Derek told her pressing a kiss to her shoulder then cheek. 

Delilah smiled and turned around kissing him deeply before pulling away at the sounder of laugher and slight screams. They looked and saw Eli and Taliah chasing Isaac around who would scoop up one of them and tickle them before doing the same with the other twin. He had truly taken a liking to being a big brother. “Alright you three time to eat.” Isaac picked up both the twins, Eli hanging upside down and laughing. 

He placed Taliah on a stool as Derek came over and grabbed Eli setting him right side up and doing the same. “Mama, can we have cake for lunch?” Eli asked to which she gave him the ‘mom’ look and shook her head, “No, my silly boy you can’t have cake for lunch.” 

Eli looked at Taliah and whispered something in her ear before sitting back in his seat. Taliah turned to Derek and climbed over having him pick her up, “Daddy, can we have cake for lunch, please?” She asked drawing out the please. 

Delilah looked at Derek as if to say ‘don’t give in’ but he looked at his daughter who had a complete hold over him since the moment he saw her. “How about, after dinner you two can share a slice of cake? Does that work.” 

The twins looked at each other and nodded before Taliah placed a kiss on Derek’s cheek and moved back to sit in her seat. Delilah looked at Derek and handed him a plate before whispering in his ear, “Weak.” She smirked at him and he laughed playfully pushing her away. 

“Does that mean I get cake too?” Isaac asked raising his hand before stealing Eli’s strawberry. Delilah laughed, “Yes Izzy you get cake too. And stop stealing your brother’s food, there’s a plate right infront of you.” Isaac laughed and sarcastically said back, “Yes mom.” 

Derek nodded his head, “Exactly, Isaac, where do you get this from?” He asked before walking behind Delilah and stealing a grape. 

…………………………………………….

[whyiseverynametakenpls]

Can i ask an Enna with s/o whos absolutely head over heels for her and just a huge simp and ennas very aware and pokes fun and her for it?

I'm not really sure how to do this, but I tried my best 👊😔

(I'm so sorry for taking so long I had a lot of things to do 🥹)

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

Tease

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

Genre : fluff

Tw : none

Pairing : Enna Alouette x reader

Characters : you and enna

Story : Stop teasing me!

Info : your girlfriend is Enna

"Enna?" you enter the room to the sound of your girlfriend typing away. "Enna?" you call her once more, but she remains immersed, not hearing you. You sigh and shake your head, a hand covering your face. Suddenly, a loud bang echoes in the room, and your eyes widen in shock. "Enna, are you alright?" you ask aloud, feeling worried.

"Huh? (Name)?" she responds, looking towards the entrance of the room. You approach her quickly. "I heard a loud bang," you say, more as a question than a statement. Enna smiles sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. "I... I got mad at a game, haha," she laughs nervously.

You sighed once more and looked at her. “Enna, you can't be doing things like that, it scares me everytime…” You mumble, your hand combing through your hair, an unsatisfied expression on your face.

Enna chuckles, leaving you puzzled. "What?" you ask, a hint of apprehension in your tone. "You love me so much, don't you?" Enna smiles innocently, hands still hidden behind her back. Your eyes widen at her words, taken aback by her confidence. "Wha—" you begin, cutting yourself off, hand covering your face to hide your blushing cheeks.

"You do! Of course, you do!" she persists, amusement evident in her expression as she enjoys your reaction. "You—I—stop!" your voice emerges muffled, both hands now covering your face in embarrassment. "Come on! You know you love me!" she continues, smiling even wider, the smugness practically radiating from her.

"Ennaaa," you whine, feeling thoroughly embarrassed by all the teasing. Enna, who was standing in front of you, suddenly moves behind you and wraps you in a hug from behind. "Yes, darling?" she says teasingly, her voice laced with amusement. "Darling?! You—" you start to protest but cut yourself off, feeling even more embarrassed by the affectionate nickname she's bestowed upon you.

Laughter erupted from behind you, and your ears felt as hot as a tomato as you listened to her amusement. Despite the embarrassment, her laughter had a calming effect on you. "I... I love—" you begin to say, but embarrassment quickly floods in, causing you to stop short. "You what?" Enna teases further, noticing the redness of your ears.

"Your neck's all red, darling," she remarks, her cold hand gliding over your warm neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You turn towards her and muster up the courage to speak. "I love you!" you manage to say, your face burning even brighter as you feel the blood rush to your cheeks. You close your eyes, trying to shield yourself from any further embarrassment.

Both of you stood there in silence, tension in the air, before Enna finally broke it. "Say that again," she insisted, needing confirmation of what you had said. "I—No!" you protest, still keeping your eyes closed tightly shut. "Say it again! I couldn't hear you!" she whines, eager to hear the words from you once more.

You turn your back towards her, grateful for the momentary relief from your embarrassment. "I love you too..." you mumble, barely audible. You could sense Enna beaming from behind you, her smile radiating so brightly you could almost see it.

"Darling!" she exclaims joyfully, her arms enveloping you in a tight hug before you could even attempt to escape.

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

<- MASTERLIST

-> sorry this isn't short I'm not used to writing long fluff fics 👊😔

-> edit : I CANT FIND GOOD ENNA GIFS 😔👎

[wclfwiife]

Rehab sucks - pt 1

“Up and at ‘em, girl.” the voice, much too loud for this ungodly hour, rang out through the dark hospital like room. It cut through the white noise from the walls like a knife slicing through her skull as she slowly tripped back into consciousness. 

“Ugh,” she groaned, her hands shooting up to cover her eyes as the staff member pulled her curtains open. “Leave it.” Ash hissed, the photosensitivity part of her detox kicked in hard and already having not been a huge fan of immediately being sucker punched by the sun anyway, the head-achey woman was irked by this to say the least. “I prefer the dark.” 

The staff member denied her request for darkness, walking towards her with a tray holding the familiar little plastic cup of pills sat beside a plate of plain toast, dry scrambled eggs, and 2 bigger plastic cups, one half filled with apple juice and one with water. She’d have rolled her eyes if her head didn’t hurt so much. It seemed counterintuitive really, giving the drug addict more drugs to detox off the original drugs. Only in America, probably. Seemed like a very America thing to instill. They claim its for comfort during the detoxification process but to her, it seemed like just another insurance scam because they sure as fuck weren’t helping her feel better the past few days. The nausea wasn’t better, the headaches weren’t duller, her fluctuating temperature and chills did not get less painful so in her humble opinion, the doctors here long with their oh-so-caring staff could take these pills and suppository them right up their--- 

“Morning medicine time, c’mon. I cant leave till you shove these down your throat or I do.” His voice once again sliced into he skull right through her last thought, resulting in an extremely pointed glare from the young woman. “Be my guest. Your throat seems to need them more than mine does.” She shot back, well aware that his threat was aimed at her but it wasn’t in her to let anyone who thought hair gel was meant to be seen as a top layer boss her around. 

He shoved the pills closer to her rather violently, as if to strengthen the threat. “You wanna go to jail? We all know you’re in here to keep outta the big house, girl, so do yourself the favor and just take the damn meds.” 

“If I want to detox dry, I can.” She pushed the cup back in his direction before crossing her arms. “They said I gotta detox, they didn’t say I have to take any of your bullshit. Or your pills.” 

The man she came to know as Ted, although endearingly preferred to call him dick head (it did rhyme after all, just a moniker to help remember his name, really), was clearly getting impatient at this point. He pulled a syringe from his pocket and grabbed her arm roughly. “Hey!” she yelled, yanking her arm as hard as she could to release his grasp but he only tightened it. “Let go of me! What the fuck!? Let me go, you big fucking oaf, get the fuck off o’ me!” She kept writhing and tugging her limb in hopes to get free but the more she struggled the harder he gripped around her upper arm. He said something about making him strap her down and something else about it hurting more if she struggled but he didn’t say what was inside the syringe in his opposite hand. She kept making a scene hoping to catch the attention of someone outside the door and to her relief, the doorknob lowered and another staff member, Pete, rushed in. “Oh my God, please, help me, he’s fuckin’ crazy, please, get this asshole off me, he’s n---” The relief however, was short lived when Pete asked what was happening and instead of helping Ash, he too came to hold her down. “What the fuck are you doing?” She screamed at Pete, now strapping her other arm down at her bedside and moving to strap her legs down. Ash wasn’t a weak girl by any means, but these two grown men tag teaming her while she was in a weakened state was clearly an unfair fight. 

“What are you waiting for?” Pete spat to Ted in a hushed, urgent sounding tone.  Ted grimaced as he strapped her left arm down, tighter than the other restraints were drawn, and pointed to her pill cup with the needle. “She wouldn’t take her damn meds. She’s supposed to take the meds first.” “Well make her take them then. What, ya got a crush on this one? Going soft on us?” Ted snorted, pulling the strap harder, tightening the already too tight restraint on her left wrist and she winced as her skin pinched as it twisted and her bones felt like they were in a vice.

“I’m not gettin’ into shit from Doctor Douchebag because the ratios are wrong and the whole thing gets fucked. The meds are supposed to be first.” He stressed again, pointing to the untaken pills on the tray once more. “Jesus Christ,” Pete shook his head, frustrated and moved back up towards her face and picked up the small cup with almost too much of that frustration as they almost flew out of it and onto the bed and floor.  “Nice job, dumbass.”  “Shut the fuck up!” Pete, who usually had a calmer demeanor than Ted, which she now realized was obviously an act or he truly had the shortest fuse known to man, repositioned himself so he could grab her jaw and keep it in place as she turned her head violently away from him until he grabbed a fistful of her hair at the base of her neck and wrenched backwards. She hissed at the pain, trying to keep her mouth shut as the plastic cup was being shoved at her lips. Pete kept pushing the cup at her mouth, muttering angry words until Ted grabbed her face, pushing his thumb and index fingers into opposite cheeks, prying her teeth open from the outside like trying to give an animal a pill who wouldn’t unclench its jaw. He finally got her mouth open just enough for Pete to throw the pills in. 

Three differently shaped pills of varying sizes spilled across her tongue, playing a disgusting tasting game of tag as she tried to spit them out or at least hide them in her cheeks or under her tongue until Pete, the stupid jerk, also poured the water into her mouth, giving her no choice but to swallow or essentially choke to death on both as her head was still pulled backwards leaving the pills and liquid nowhere to go but down. She coughed violently as it all made its way roughly down her throat, it felt like all three pills rolled oddly down her trachea threatening to get stuck at the odd angle she was being held in. When Pete finally let go, she threw herself forward, still strapped to her bed, gasping for breath and choking on the awkward liquid, air, and pills. She wanted so badly to throw up or rub her throat at least, or even just her scalp where his fingers clutched her hair so tightly she was sure he took a few strands with him. 

“You’re both sick bastards,” she muttered through heavy breaths, still fighting against the restraints as best she could but her headache had easily turned into a full blown migraine at this point and the movement was agonizing. Ted took this moment to stab her bicep with the mystery needle and almost immediately the room was no longer still and the two men, who she could realistically presume were not swaying at the foot of her bed, were definitely swaying as he head and eyelids became heavier and heavier until the moving wavy room just turned black. The two staff members waited until they were sure she was out, although didn’t bother undoing her restraints as Ted shoved the used syringe back into his pocket and the men took their leave, quietly bickering on their way out.

@staysaliive​

[asgardianangel]

Just my lawyer one-shot

Saul Goodman/Jimmy Mcgill x Mother! Reader

Summary: After defending herself violent domestic dispute and an attempted murder charge pinned against her. The reader seeks help from the one and only Saul Goodman.

Warnings: 18+ smut, oral (fem receiving) body worship, violence, stabbing, domestic abuse, an ex named Todd, abused mother reader, protective! Saul/Jimmy, age gap, bad language, kinda obsessive! Saul/Jimmy, low key manipulation, my lack of knowledge of the justice system :/

Saul Goodman fic- Just my lawyer 

Distorted  

Everything around you became a huge blur looking down at your hand noticing the bloody knife. It was like the world had stopped briefly as you stared at your ex-Todd withering in pain on the floor of your kitchen. 

 “You fucking bitch!” He screeched applying pressure on the wound. The trembling of your hands caused the knife to fall next to you with a loud clink. 

As you tried to figure out what was going on the cries of your son Leo alarmed you. Motherly instincts kicked in you rushed into the hallway seeing him sitting on the floor flapping his little hands you picked him up holding against your chest. 

Reflections of red and blue hit the glass of the front door you shushed Leo before looking at Todd lying unconscious or you hoped he was in kitchen. 

“I didn’t mean to do it” You repeated to yourself in a whimper 

- 

Police surrounded you at the station as shudders of the most uncomfortable feeling hit your body. Eyes were everywhere. You missed Leo child services quickly got hold of him after the incident. 

 Guiltiness itched at you for stabbing him even though in the back of your mind he deserved it. The years of abuse both physically and mentally he dragged you through made your action seem justiciable at least you thought so. You weren’t going to let Todd take your baby away. You didn’t want him to grow up with a woman beater. A jealous raging man. But to the officers staring into your soul Todd wasn’t the monster. He was one of them after all. An honoured man on the force. You show them countless bruises that marked your body but they never believed. Todd made you out as a delusional wife 

 A man that can get away with anything. 

You kept your silence as they tried dig into you deep it was no use answering their questions and sharing the trauma of the man seen as a ‘hero’ to them. After some time, they allowed to have one phone call.  

You thought hard on who to call you didn’t necessarily have any family not in Alburquerque that is. Todd broke many friendships you have made in the past leaving you lonely.  

Then you thought back to late night television. That you consumed while trying get a restless Leo asleep remembering that overplayed advert. His voice echoed in your head 

Better call Saul! 

- 

Hours passed in the station you reminded quiet as they tried their best to interrogate you. Your mind kept drifting off to your precious baby boy who probably wondering where his mother was.  

“When can I see my son?” You piped up ignoring their stupid questions. 

The two detectives just laughed “You think you deserve to see him y/n? 

“Yes, I’m his mother and I deserve to see him” Your voice raised a bit expressing your annoyance and stress. They laughed to each other once more thinking a mother's distress over her baby funny.  

Stupid fucks you thought 

Running your hand through your hair you were about to scream at them. But were cut off by the door opening. 

“You better not be questioning my client without the presence of her lawyer detectives” Hearing a familiar voice. 

Saul Goodman entered the room suitcase in hand and a yellow travel mug in the other. He clicked off his ear piece and eyed the detectives “Now you better leave this poor woman and let me talk to her” They laughed at him too but Saul pointed his finger to the door 

 “Go on skedaddle". He was definitely what you expected.  

The atmosphere toned down when they left the room making you sigh in relief looking at Saul as he sat down. He grabbed a file from his suitcase clicking his pen.  

“Now where do we begin?” 

You told Mr Goodman or Saul he asked to be called everything. Details sliced open the scars old and new of the trauma that was buried within you. From the constant degradation from Todd to the injuries he inflicted on you. 

 It brought you to tears. 

- 

Days passed by the trial of the attempted murder charge that was placed against you drew closer. Saul visited you every day cracking jokes just to make you smile and forget for a bit. Like ‘Orange is definitely not your colour sweetheart’ After that you were thinking about your baby it kept you up at night in the grey cell walls. 

It was the day of the trial and you were shaking like a leaf you never been to court before as Saul held your hand for comfort you now considered him a friend. Looking presentable receiving some nice compliments from him and feeling the faint blush upon your cheeks. You were ready to fight for Leo. 

Saul straightens his orange tie before taking a seat in front of the jury. He notices the distraught look on your face and faces your eyeline to see your ex-Todd stumble in with a cane hissing at his at his injury. Saul turns back to you “I thought he wasn’t going to attend” you whisper “Look at me” he cups your face making you stare into his blue eyes “You're going to be fine sweetheart trust me he’s only here to scare you so take no notice and let me do the talking” He smiles. 

For the rest of trial, you listened to Saul give his heart out to you he told the court everything showing photography evidences of the bruises and scars of self-defence imprinted on your delicate body. He represented your entire being as he gradually took down Todd’s Defence team and humoured the court with their stupidity, he reminded you of a cartoon character in some instances and he expressed your story with all sorts of movements. 

After countless hours the jury came back with the verdict your eyes gleamed with hope as she took off her reading glasses and look at you before looking at Todd himself. She read out your full name and charges.  

“Not guilty” The mallet banged as you gasped in relief you couldn’t believe it. You never thought they believe you over a ‘honoured hero’ 

You hugged Saul who was quick to wrap his arms around you stroking your hair “Thank you” you whispered taking in his weird smelling cologne. 

“No need I would do anything for you y/n” He smiled tucking a loose strand behind your hair. 

“You fucking bitch are you fucking him?!” Todd aggressively accused pointing at Saul who was quick to push you behind himself. Saul got close to his face “you better leave her and her baby the fuck alone Mr Price trust me I know some things about you that have been buried deep” Saul threatened poking him in the chest before security got between them. 

 Everyone saw Todd’s true colours in the court 

  Saul took a hold of your hand and you both walked out of court. 

“Wow. No one has ever stood up for me like that before thank you” Saul smiled sweetly. 

“You never deserved to be treated like that” 

- 

Sitting in Saul’s office as his friendly assistant Francisca poured you a coffee you sighed thankfully that awful situation was over now with Saul helping you set up a restraining order and full custody grant of Leo. As well as bringing countless domestic abuse charges against Todd 

You were finally free 

As you chit chatted with Francisca there was a familiar cooing you look behind to see Saul with your precious Leo giggling at the funny faces he was pulling. “Oh, my baby!” You exclaimed  

Leo’s eyes brightened up showing his gummy little smile as he looked at you. Saul passed him over to you and you pressed a kiss to his chubby little cheeks. Tears fall down. “Mama’s here I'm never letting you go” You promised. Saul looked at the two of you in an unexplained trance “Are you okay?” You asked  

“Oh, yeah” Saul said holding Leo’s hand gently. “He looks just like you” You wiped away your tears before smiling and agreeing “Yeah, he does” 

- 

You started getting used to your new life with Leo in the last month or so but still on edge. Todd himself or his disgruntled friends might come after you. Saul reassured you daily that nothing bad was going happen  

‘Stop looking over your shoulder and enjoy life nobody is going to hurt you’ he would say. Allowing his kind right-hand man Huell accompany you on shopping trips and such to keep you calm 

You noticed something strange about his behaviour towards you he would bring gifts flowers, baby toys anything you could think of and spent time with Leo in the new apartment he helped you rent. You understood that he wanted to take care of the both of you. 

One night you decided to do some self-care while Leo was asleep in his crib Saul helped you assemble. The baby monitor was in the bathroom as you relaxed in the bath surrounded by bubbles and candles reading a romance novel that was suggested by a certain someone.  

Your relaxation period was cut short by Leo’s cries he must be hungry you thought stepping out the tub and wrapping a towel around yourself only to hear familiar shushing emitting from the monitor. 

“It’s okay buddy” The voice was Sauls it made you confuse. You tip toed down the hallway to Leo’s nursery. Looking through the crack of the door you saw him cradling Leo in his arms. Wrapping his blanket around his little body. You opened the door fully and stepped “Oh hey look here’s mama now” Saul turned around looking at you with a smile. 

"How did you get in?” You were quick to question. 

“Oh, I had my own key cut the day you moved here” He grabbed it from the pocket of his work pants showing it you before shushing Leo again. 

You felt slightly creeped out he never told you he could easily enter your home. Saul was a friend and the man that saved you from spending a long prison sentence and leaving your Leo motherless. But you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable  

“There we go he’s asleep” He whispered with a smile gently placing him back in the crib. 

You both walked out the nursery and into the kitchen you shift nervously as Saul stood there with his hands in his pockets “I thought we could watch a movie together there’s a classic on tonight” he said with a sense of excitement  

“Oh, almost forgot I also brought some wine you would enjoy tastes amazing” Showing you the label. He notices the confused expression on your face. 

“What’s the matter y/n?” He asks placing a hand on your towel covered shoulder. 

“You could have just called instead of walking in and scaring me Sa-” 

“Who did you think I was sweetheart? Him?” He asked softly. 

You hold the towel tight and nodded. 

Saul pulled you to his chest in an instance stroking your hair. “You will never see him again trust me” You sniffed relaxing in his embrace 

“Thanks for everything Saul” 

“Jimmy” You were confused gazing up at him  

“My real name is Jimmy” he said with a sigh. 

Staring into each other's eyes you felt the towel slip a bit from your body “Oh I should probably get dre-” 

Jimmy’s draws his face close and presses a sweet unexpected kiss to your lips. Lost in the feeling you pulled back with wide eyes “I didn’t expect that”  

A smile curves as he strokes your cheek “I’ve been wanting to do that as soon as I saw you in that dull interrogation room with those asshole detectives” He confesses. 

“You looked so timid and lost. I knew from then on, I needed to protect you and Leo” Jimmy continued  

There was a moment of silence between you since you were unsure what to say. Saul well Jimmy is like a friend to you someone that could crack a joke anytime you were down and guide you through anything for not just your freedom your baby's as well. 

Do you see him as anything more? A lover? A partner? 

He is much older than you almost old enough to be your father but handsome for his age and intelligent. But you felt that there was no room for romance just yet especially healing from the wounds Todd cause and you liked Jimmy as a friend. 

Jimmy’s eyes gleamed with hope that you could reciprocate those feelings for him too “I’m sorry Jimmy I can’t. You are my friend and I want it to stay that way” You explained stepping back out of his embrace. 

“I’m just a lawyer to you” Jimmy said in a slight disgruntled manner looking away from you 

You apologised again stepping out the kitchen to get dressed pulling on a simple oversized t shirt and joggers you found Jimmy who had already poured himself of the wine he brought on couch.  

“You have no idea of anything I have done for you y/n” he says sipping from his glass you sat next to him 

“I appreciate it all I just can't bring myself to commit to another relationship with everything he did to me. You must understand” You explain holding his hand. 

Jimmy placed down his glass and looked at you pleading to him before rolling your sleeve of your t shirt where Todd’s fingerprints pressed into your skin causing bruising “What are you doing?” You asked quiet Jimmy responded with a shush before kissing the marking a gasp left your mouth. 

He then got on his knees in front of you and rolled up the hem of your shirt he looked discomforted observing all sorts of abuse that carved into your soft skin “Jimmy” You were about to stop whatever he was going do. But he shushed you once more and proceeded to kiss each bruise scar imprint of years of cruelty “No man should never do this to woman especially one so caring and beautiful as you” he pressed his lips to the bruise on your collarbone and gazing at you “I would never do this to you sweetheart. Your delicate body will only receive affection and pleasure” 

His words were captivating as he kissed your lips again running both hands gently down the hem of your joggers, “Can I sweetheart?” The sweet taste of the wine from his kiss made you confident. 

 You gave him permission. 

Jimmy peeled down your joggers with gentle kissing of your bare thighs and legs. Leaving you in your laced panties and soon after he peeled them off too leaving your lower half completely bare. 

 “Please” You begged you widened your thighs Jimmy gazed up at you lust clouded his blue eyes he held them in place. You gasp as his tongue came in contact with your most intimate area. Jimmy let out a groan and continue to eat you out swiping his experienced tongue from your trembling hole up to sensitive clit that peaked out. The living room was filled with your desperate moans on top of the older man’s slurping. As he pushed his entire tongue inside you. As well as sliding his long finger in a rhythm with his tongue. At one point you bit your knuckle to lower down the noise not to wake Leo. Being new to the act you became addicted straight away. You grasped his brown hair a groan emitted deep from his throat. 

“Cum for me baby” He urged moving his finger in and out faster hitting a sweet spot on your walls. Gazing at your needy expressions with absolute hunger  

“Jimmy I'm gonna-” Before you could finish your sentence it was like you saw fireworks. The knot in your tummy snapped as your legs trembled in relief. 

Sighing out his name you looked down at him as he was licking his lips clean. All you could do was rest your head against the back of the couch. Jimmy sat next to you again wiping the sweat from his forehead and unbuttoning his top button “No one’s ever done that to me before” You let out a giggle. 

“I’m happy I was your first” Jimmy said with a kiss 

A cry from down the hallway alerted you Leo was awake “He must be hungry” You mused getting up and walking out. “Come right back” Jimmy smiled. 

Jimmy’s phone rang he took a sip of wine and answered. 

“It is done” A voice told him 

Fin

Hope you enjoyed. Feedback and a follow would be much 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 :’) 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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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