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duskholland · 4 years

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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.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

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

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom gulps nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You startle and push off him as you shoot him an apologetic grin.

“Sorry,” you say. You’re shaking a little, but you hope he puts it down to shock. You manage to clamber up and offer him your hands.

Tom accepts your help, and he groans as you help him up.

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he says, pausing to shake out his legs and slide forward. He swings your palms through the air, squeezing at your fingers as he very gently twirls you beneath his arm, then moves in nearer. “Accidents happen. I’m not surprised you wanted to be on top of me.”

All you can do is laugh and hope Tom can’t tell how he makes the base thrumming of your heart pick up.

“As if,” you return. You glance down at your intertwined fingers and feel your heart pang. “A hockey player? I could never.”

Tom just smiles, then squeezes your hands before letting them slip from his grasp. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs. He nudges your shoulder then shifts away, off in the direction of the net. “You know there’s no one that could give you as good a time as me.” He’s joking—it’s obvious in the cadence of his voice, the smile on his face. But why does it feel so layered?

“Ha ha,” you respond, skating over to him. When you notice him struggling, you dart forward and grab the net, slinging it over a shoulder. You glance back, arching an eyebrow as you decide to test the water. “I have had fun, though,” you add. “With you.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, ruffling up his hair with a hand. His smile lights up his entire face.

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Almost a week passes, and though you don’t see Tom again, he’s certainly on your mind. You find yourself thinking about him all too much, considering he’s a hockey player, and it goes against the team ethos you’ve been surrounded by.

One day, after practice, you end up sitting on a bench outside the rink, waiting on Yelena as she finishes talking with one of your coaches. Bored and curious, you pull out your phone and decide to open Instagram. All around the arena are banners advertising the hockey team’s social media, and you find yourself drawn to the official account with a few easy taps. You start to scroll through the feed, eager eyes skimming over every face until you find the one you’re looking for.

It’s Tom, from last season, clutching the victory trophy in his hands as he’s held on his team’s shoulders. His face is animated, pulled wide in a large grin as he stares at the camera, the skin by his eyes pulled into smile lines. He’s tagged in it, so, curious, you click through and look at his profile. Unsurprisingly, it’s set to public, and you’re careful as you scroll down.

His photos are exactly what you’d expect—a collection of team photos, action shots, and gym selfies. Typical hockey player, but the longer you spend staring at one of his selfies, the cuter he seems to get. Trying to shake yourself out of the daze, you scroll back up, thumb absently wandering over to his Following list. Your eyes widen as you see your profile, at the very top of the accounts.

Tom follows you…?

Brows furrowing, you flip onto your own account, double-checking this new fact by typing out his username in your followers tab. He pops up, at the top, and you sit back, blinking.

Interesting.

After taking a brief moment to compose yourself, you go back to his profile and follow him. You start to flick through his story from the day. You get about halfway through when a shadow casts over your figure. You glance up, expecting to see Yelena, only to startle when it’s Tom.

“Hi,” he offers, raising a hand in greeting. You blink a few times in quick succession, glancing between your phone which shows a mirror selfie from him shirtless in the gym to where he’s now standing in front of you, burgundy hoodie on, flask in hand. You immediately turn your phone off.

“Oh, u-uh, hi,” you say, voice suddenly thick. He tilts his head to the side, an amused smile finding his lips as he sees you flustered. “What… What are you doing here?”

“I was in the gym,” he says, telling you information you already know. “Saw you down here on my way out, thought I’d say hi.” He rocks back on his feet, looking a little nervous. “I, uh… Keep thinking about last week. On the ice.”

“Oh?” Tom nods. He hesitates, and you realise he’s just awkwardly standing in front of you. “Wait,” you say, shuffling up the bench. “Sit.”

He perches on the wooden slats beside you, offering you his flask. “It’s hot chocolate,” he says, cheeks blushing slightly.

“After the gym?” you return, arching a brow.

Tom smiles. “Fuck yeah,” he says, pressing the flask into your hand. “It’s good, trust me. And, uh, I don’t have any germs or anything. I think.”

You snort, clicking the top open as you look at him over the brim. “Well, I wouldn’t mind catching anything from you,” you say, speaking before you have time to process the words.

Tom’s eyebrows soar up his forehead, a short chuckle leaving his lips as you hide your embarrassment behind the metal flask. The burn of revealing such a humiliating thought is quickly soothed away as you taste the deliciously sweet liquid.

“Well?” Tom coaxes, stretching an arm up as he scratches the back of his neck. His hoodie smells of fresh fabric conditioner. “Good, eh?”

Begrudgingly, you nod. “Yeah,” you say, shooting him a soft smile. Trying to move on the conversation, you return to what he’d said before sitting down. “Uh, what was that you said? About last week?”

Tom nods, seeming a little less apprehensive now to speak to you after your enthusiastic praise. “I was just thinking about how fun it was to skate around with you. It sort of made me regret not getting your number, darling.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “You can have my number if you want, Tom,” you say, speaking softly. His eyes are so pretty up close. “And I’d be down doing it again. I’m free every Wednesday afternoon.”

He nods his head, curls bouncing from the enthusiasm. You pass him back the flask, carefully angling your phone away from him as you unlock it, quickly exit from Instagram, then open up contacts. You watch him input his number, tongue between his lips as his brows furrow. He curses softly as he messes up the numbers and has to backspace a few times, and you have to focus hard on not letting your face betray how cute you find the whole interaction.

He’s cute.

“There you go,” Tom says, passing your phone back. He stands from the bench, tilting the flask towards you. “I’ve gotta go,” he adds. “Carpool. But, uh… See you tomorrow?”

You nod, biting back your smile. “Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds good.”

Before he leaves, Tom darts down to gently kiss your cheek, his lips lingering there for a moment before he springs back and walks away, waving as he goes. As his broad smile fades from sight, you find your hand drifting up, going to your cheek and touching the spot which tingles with the remnants of his kiss.

Swallowing back your nerves, you return your attention to your phone. You open your contact, clicking on Tom and opening up a text message. After a brief moment of contemplation, you decide to play it safe.

Y/N: hey x

A moment later, the notification changes from delivered to read, and the typing bubbles pop up. You shift on the bench, holding your breath.

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

Despite already spending most of your days on the ice, you carve out another hour every Wednesday afternoon and dedicate it to Tom. Over time, he teaches you hockey, and you continue to give him pointers on his skating. After a while, you even manage to coach him through a jump. It’s easy with him. There are no expectations, no routines you need to nail. All you have to focus on when you’re with Tom is having fun—and also trying not to fall too deeply into the reserves of his deep brown eyes. Tom feels like a breath of fresh air—if the air also happens to be loaded full of charm, cheek, and wear an irresistible smile.

Halfway through the hockey league, you end up at the arena on a Saturday night, staying late with the rest of the figure skating team. Your competitive season begins in two weeks, so the team is in for outfit fittings, everyone split across the changing rooms at the arena. You’re competing solo this year, which grants you the rare position of having the freedom to design your dress—a privilege you’ve had a lot of fun with.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp. “I can’t believe how nice it looks.”

You’re staring at a clothes mannequin, wearing the costume you’d spent hours conceptualising with the team’s designers. It’s a shade of red that perfectly compliments your skin, accented with silver and gold detailing in a beautiful pattern over the front. Gems glimmer and sparkle, and you can’t stop your eyes from tearing up as you look at an object of such beauty.

“Do you like it?” Standing beside the masterpiece, eyes nervous, is Jazzy, the lead costume designer. When you clasp your hands together and nod, she releases a deep sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you in it and start marking out the alterations.”

You feel a little bit like a doll, standing on a raised platform as you pull on your costume, but it’s worth the reward of seeing yourself in the dress. After slipping into it, you pull your hair back and pin it sloppily, so you’re able to admire the ensemble fully. You’re in tights, matched to your skin tone, and the tops of your thighs are covered by the red material. It floats down, and you run your fingertips over the hem of the velvety skirt as a smile finds your lips.

“Stunning,” Jazzy compliments. She passes you a tube of lipstick. “Try that one.”

You carefully smooth the shade over your lips, noting with enjoyment how the hue matches the bodice of the dress. As you stare at your reflection in the mirror, you release a breath. When you have your face painted and your hair done properly, you’ll look the part, and clinging to the image of what you’ll look like on competition days is enough to steady some of the nerves. Even if you mess up your routine, you’ll do it looking like you deserve to be there.

“I love it,” you say, releasing a breath. You reach up and pull your hair free, running a hand through it and ruffling it, so it sits normally. You do a small spin, smiling as the material drifts around the top of your legs. “You did an incredible job. Thank you so much.”

“Thank you for wearing it so well,” she returns, winking. “Let’s get a few more opinions.”

It isn’t long before the changing room is swarmed with the rest of your team, each one of them wearing garments in various stages of completion. The men are here too—four of them, combining with the five other women and yourself, bringing your team up to an even ten. Each season, your team puts forward various combinations of skaters for the duet, team, and solo events. You’re one of the only skaters competing solo this year—a decision your coach had made as she decided she wants no distractions for you as you try to reach Olympic level. The only other member of your team in a similar position is Tai, your lean, incredibly friendly male counterpart.

Tai saunters across the room, running a hand through his thick black hair. His outfit is deep purple and shimmery, and you wiggle your eyebrows as he does a little spin.

“Pretty sick, right?” he says, shaking a sleeve at you. “I look like Dionysus.”

“So cool,” you compliment. You do a small spin too, smiling widely. “What do you think?”

“Stunning,” Tai returns. He nods to affirm his point. “You’re going to kill it, Y/N. This is your year.”

You smile nervously. “I hope so,” you reply. You take a tight breath. “I really hope so.”

Before the conversation can continue, there’s the slamming of a door opening, followed by an approaching wall of noise—men, talking loudly, a few of them hollering. You raise an eyebrow towards Tai, who scowls.

“Saturday night,” he says. “The team are in the playoffs.”

“Wait, is it a home game?”

Tai nods. “Starts in twenty,” he says. His frown intensifies. “They’re so loud. Idiots.”

You watch from your position on the dressing podium as flashes of white, green and orange pass by the open door. It’s the hockey team, alongside their coaches and their managers. They walk determinedly in the direction of the hockey changing room where you presume they’re going for a pre-game pep talk. You can’t stop yourself from scanning the crowds, looking for Tom. When you fail to seek him out, you feel your heart pang sadly in your chest.

“Y/N?” Tai’s looking at you, amused. “Are you okay?”

You swallow, then nod. “Yeah,” you mutter. “Just tired.”

He hums, eyes wide and sympathetic. “Me too. It’s been a busy week, hasn’t it?”

It’s easy to agree. At this point in the season, with so few weeks to go before the competition begins, you’re at the rink every day.

“Absolutely.”

You stifle a yawn. Your eyes flutter back across the changing room, and you see your tired sentiments seem to be shared by the rest of the team. As they slowly start to leave the room, it grows quieter. Tai drifts away, lingering in the corner and talking with Jazzy and Yelena. It isn’t long until you’re the only four people remaining. You spend a few moments taking photos of your fit in the mirror, trying to get in all the angles so you can send them to your family and fuel their excitement about the season. Your actions are interrupted only when there’s a tender knock on the door, and you glance up towards the entrance to see a bulky, padded figure. Tom.

“Uh, hello? The hockey room is across the corridor,” Yelena says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tom isn’t in his helmet, but he is perched tall on his skates. You’re able to watch as his face twitches with annoyance. He offers a tight smile to Yelena before glancing straight at you, raising a teasing brow.

Chest feeling tight, you step forward, padding quietly towards the door. Your friends are all looking at you, but you’re more preoccupied with Tom and the way his eyes seem to glint as they take you in your form. There’s a small swagger to your step as you watch him shift from leg to leg, his cheeks warm and red, eyes full of appreciation as they stick on the curves of your hips, chest, and then your lips. Your suit is tight, and it brings you enjoyment to watch him admire you. He clears his throat as you fall to a stop in front of him.

“Hey,” you say, voice quiet, perplexed. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a game?”

Tom nods. “Yeah,” he says. His tone is darker, and it catches slightly. “I, uh… I wanted to see you.”

You bite your lip, standing a little straighter. “Oh.” You can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Well… Do you like it?” You toy with the hem of your skirt. “It’s my outfit for the competition circuit.”

“Give me a spin, darling.”

You oblige him, feeling slightly giddy as you do yet another rotation. You hear him hum, and when you fall to a stop in front of him again, you’re closer.

“Beautiful.” Tom rubs together his hands, slender fingers gloveless and unaffected by the imminent game. He rocks back on his skates, clicking his tongue as he looks a little apprehensive. “I, uh… I was thinking about what you said last week about never going to a hockey game before.” He pauses to dig through one of his deep pockets, pulling out a few pieces of paper. He offers them to you tentatively. “If you want, I have some spare tickets for tonight’s game. Pretty good seats. My family normally use them, but they’re busy tonight, so…?”

It’s with a mix of shock and gratitude that you nod your head immediately, reaching out to take the tickets. “I’d love to, Tom,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

He grins, face lighting up. “Perfect,” he returns. “Maybe you’ll be my lucky charm.”

Your teeth graze your lower lip, and you smile. “I hope so.”

Tom opens his mouth as if to say more, but then there’s a holler from further down the corridor.

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

He grimaces, rolling his eyes. “Well, that’s me.”

“Dutchy?” you question.

Tom shrugs, then turns around and extends his thumb over his back to gesture at his jersey. “Holland,” he says. He turns back to look at you, grinning. “Just a nickname.”

You coo. “That’s cute.”

Tom licks his lip. “‘S not the only thing that’s cute.” You barely have time to respond before he’s leaning forward to quickly kiss your cheek. “Have fun!” he says, already on his way down the corridor.

“Good luck!” you return. You can almost feel the ghost of his touch, resting on your face so perfectly.

Tom turns, right at the end of the corridor, and he winks. You don’t realise how tightly you’re holding yourself until he disappears, and your lovestruck muscles unravel.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s hard to explain to Tai and Yelena the relationship you have with Tom, so you just give up after a while. They accompany you to the arena. You manage to change your dress for something more casual, deciding to keep the red lipstick on. Tom’s seats are at the end of the rink, positioned mid-way up the stands. They give you a clear view across the ice.

The atmosphere is electric. You’re surrounded by the home crowd, decked out in replica jerseys, printed scarves, and hats that have Kingston Kites printed all over them. It’s a sea of white, green, and orange, and you can’t stop yourself from slipping out during the first break to buy yourself a scarf—just to support the team, and Tom. The teasing you receive from your friends when you reappear is hard to ignore but mellows out when you procure a bag of Maltesers you’d also bought from the stand.

And Tom… Tom.

Tom’s incredible. You can’t keep your eyes off him. The silhouette of his padded figure feels like it’s burnt to your memory. When he’s on the ice, he’s magnificent, commanding the space well, grunting and spinning as he plays. When he’s waiting for his turn on the bench with his team, he’s focused and calm. His eyes are sharp and intense, glinting almost black beneath the harsh rink lighting as they follow the puck across the ice. You find yourself admiring everything about him—watching the way his cheeks are flushed a rosy red, his jawline sharp and fierce. He’s on fire, passion rolling off every part of him, and, quite honestly, it’s incredibly attractive.

Tom’s explained the basic rules of hockey to you a few times, but there’s a stark difference between him telling you, quietly, how line rotations work and actually seeing them in action on a scale like this. The players swap out every minute, only staying on the ice for a short burst of energy as they chase the puck around. Tom, holding the loose position of centre forward, goes wherever needed, carving up the ice like it’s his one task in life. You’re high in the stands, but even from so far, you’re able to see the determination and the passion burning in his eyes.

The game is brutal. By the time it reaches the third and final twenty-minute segment, the score is tied 2-2. You watch, on tenterhooks, as Tom jumps the barrier on the side of the rink, swapping in for one of the players and taking his spot on the ice.

He’s antsy, as are the rest of the team. You know it’s an important match, and if they want a chance at continuing to the next stage of the competition, they need the result to swing in their favour. Your eyes are wide, fingers curled into fists as you watch Tom cut up the ice. The helmet on his head protects his skull, but you can make out a few strands of dark brown hair sticking out, and you find yourself struck with the very prominent and aching thought that you’d quite like to play with it.

The puck ends up at your end of the rink, and the Kingston Kites take on a defensive strategy as their opponents try to put pressure on the goalie and get in another shot. You find your eyes trained directly on Tom and startle as you catch him looking up at you. Through panting breaths, his lips quirk into a brief, tight smile of recognition, but then it sours as his eyes slip beside you and look at Tai. Your friend is sitting to your right, his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders, and you’re casually leaning into his side. It’s entirely platonic, but you don’t miss the way Tom’s eyebrows shoot up as his gaze hardens and his jaw sets with determination.

The whole interaction lasts less than a second, but as Tom refocuses on the game and hurtles after the puck, he seems more aggravated. You sit forward, gaining a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you shrug off Tai and stare at Tom. Your eyes follow him as he goes in hard, trying to wrestle the puck out from beneath his opponent’s stick. It looks to be a bit of a mess, and you hear everyone in your section gasp as Tom roughly elbows the other guy. He goes spinning with a yelp, and the referee blows on the whistle, pausing the game. There are a few yells of ‘Dutchy’, coupled with disgruntled hollering from the people around you as they question the referee’s decision to pause.

“Fucking hell,” Yelena murmurs, leaning forward on her elbows and staring across the ice. “Your guy is crazy.”

You suck in a breath, watching as the referee points at the penalty box and Tom stomps towards it. You can almost see the frustrated steam pouring from his ears.

“He’s… passionate.” You bite your lip. Somehow, you feel responsible for his outburst.

“Shit,” Tai mutters. He too leans forward, until all three of you are sitting there, elbows on your knees, staring at the penalty box. “That’s kind of hot.”

Your throat feels dry as you watch Tom throw his stick on the ground of the penalty box. Given all the walls are made of plastic, you have an unobstructed view as he pulls off his helmet and tosses it on a seat too. He marches a few paces up and down, speaking angrily to himself, his expression one of pure irritation. When he finally sits down, he runs a gloved hand through his hair, pushing away the sweaty strands that stick so deliciously to the top of his flushed forehead. You watch, your breath light and shallow, as Tom jerks off the glove and shoves his fingers into his mouth, pulling out his mouthguard before picking up a bottle and squirting a long stream of water into his open mouth.

“Fuck,” you murmur, eyes transfixed. There’s a heat in the pit of your stomach, building as you take in the way Tom’s glowing with a mix of exertion and anger. The match is continuing back on the ice, but you can’t stop looking at the hot flush of his cheeks and the angry lines of his flexed brows and curved jaw. “It is.”

A minute passes, and Tom slowly seems to chill out. It’s only as the seconds fall down into the 30s that he finally seems to release his tension, fixing his mouthguard, and his glove before glancing up at the stands. You’re surprised when, again, he looks directly at you, his entire demeanour shifting when he sees the concern in your eyes. His features soften, lips losing their angry frown and mellowing into a warmer smile, and you watch as his gaze grows fonder.

Yelena hits at your knee immediately. “He’s in love with you,” she announces, certainty in her voice.

You can’t stop looking at Tom, not even when he breaks contact with a wink and shoves his helmet back on.

“Shut up,” you murmur. “He’s not. We’re just friends.”

Tai cackles. “Fuck off,” he says. “Yelena’s right. Friends don’t look at each other like that.”

You sit up, glaring at him. “Like what?”

He smirks. “Like you want to jump each other.”

It’s hard to dispute that one, so instead, you just cross your arms over your chest and stare back at the ice. “You’re wrong, but okay.”

Yelena nudges your side. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

You swallow nervously, briefly looking at her. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” she promises. “But… If I am, I’ll let you style my hair for the rest of the season.”

Your eyes light up, and the way that Yelena smirks, you can tell she knows the offer is too good to refuse.

“Fine,” you agree. Your eyes shift back to Tom, watching as he vaults back over the barrier and joins his team. Apparently they’ve forgiven him for the penalty, as he’s welcomed back with firm pats on the back, and you can see his blinding smile from across the rink. “I’ll do it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

The Kingston Kites win the match, and the arena is quick to empty. You part ways with your friends as they head home and you end up wandering the changing rooms as you try to hype yourself up. There’s a text from Tom waiting on your phone, simply asking how you’d liked the game, so you respond and tell him that you’d much rather go over it in person. After agreeing to meet him outside his locker room, it’s just a waiting game.

You reapply your lipstick and mess around with your hair to kill the time. It’s a little eerie being alone in the skating changing rooms, and as time passes, you hear fewer people hovering around the arena as the players slowly leave the building. It’s hard not to get stuck in your head as you think about your plan to confess your feelings, so you end up pacing in the long corridor that winds between the skating changing rooms and the hockey locker room.

The corridor is bright white and decorated with various sporting memorabilia. Autographed jerseys, shining medals, and printed photographs hang framed on the walls. On your side of the corridor, you catch glimpses of yourself, wearing a tracksuit and hugging your friends, showing off your medals, mid-action on the ice… It makes you proud to see that your team has placed you so frequently in the collage, and you feel a swell of bittersweet gratitude in your chest as you look at snapshots of competitions gone by.

On the other side of the corridor is a similar spread for the hockey team. You stroke at your chin as you examine this season’s photos, skimming your eyes over the group shot and trying to spot the people that you know. When you see Tom, dead centre, grinning widely, it makes you smile.

“—I’m just saying, Dutch, something was going on with you tonight. It can’t happen again. We can’t have you losing focus at this stage in the competition.”

The sound of a gruff voice drifting up the corridor makes you startle, and you glance down to see two figures emerging from the locker room—Tom, and one of his coaches. Tom has traded his gear for a pair of blue jeans and a loose black hoodie, and you watch as he nods and looks at his coach with wide-eyed respect.

“Of course, Spike,” he responds, voice clear, open. “It won’t.”

You watch as Spike sighs, then gives Tom a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Good lad.” He walks back, then makes the okay sign with his fingers. “Your final goal was phenomenal, though. More of that next game, and less time in the penalty box. Got it?”

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

Tom grunts and the two separate. You watch as he tugs on the front strings of his backpack before turning, his face lighting up as he spots you, leaning against the wall. He quickly strides towards you, footsteps echoing against the cold passage.

“Hey,” Tom calls out, voice bouncing down the hall.

There’s an uncontrollable smile on your face as you stand up and walk to meet him halfway. Tom instinctively wraps you in a hug, lips catching on your cheek when he pulls away.

“Hi,” you reply, voice shy. Tom smells of shower gel and mint, his curls a little damp and darker than usual. “Congrats on the win.”

Tom smirks, nodding as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Thanks, love. Did you enjoy it?”

You release a short laugh. If enjoyment equates to found it incredibly erotic, then, of course, the answer is,

“Yes. Loved it.” You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing. “Did you get in trouble for the penalty box?”

He winces, grimacing at you with his teeth glinting. “A bit,” he admits. “Doesn’t matter though, ‘cos I scored a goal after. I just need to, um… Not do it again.”

The air between you is thicker, and you find yourself swallowing as you note the way Tom’s looking at you, eyes hungry.

“What happened?” You say, testing the waters tentatively. “You seemed fine, and then you got… Fired up.”

Tom swallows. “I… Just got tetchy.” He clears his throat. “Who, uh… Who were you at the match with?”

You smirk, realising that your hypothesis was right. “My friends. Yelena and Tai. They’re on the team with me.”

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

He steps closer. “Did they like the game?” he asks.

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

Tom chuckles, briefly glancing at the floor before drawing his eyes back to you. They linger on your lips, and your breath hitches as he tentatively, testingly reaches out and places his hands on your hips. When you sink into it, he grows bolder, pulling you closer until your faces are near. You love the way his hands feel as they rest on your waist.

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

It’s hard to concentrate when Tom’s standing so close to you, looking at you with his eyes so intense, but somehow you manage to wrap your arms around his neck and nod. “Yeah,” you admit. You toy with his curls, giving them a short tug when he groans enjoyably. “I always think you’re hot.”

Tom wears his smirk so well that it’s almost infuriating.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he asks, fingers softly caressing your sides. When you squeak out a noise of affirmation, Tom lets his nose brush up against yours. He swallows deeply, nervousness mixing with his teasing. “I think you’re stunning, too. All the time, but especially tonight, when you were sitting up there, wearing a team scarf and watching me play.”

“Oh,” you murmur. It’s hard to maintain eye contact with him when there’s so much going on in the depths of his gaze that it dizzies you. “Thank you.” Growing a little bolder, you let your fingers glide up, tangling in the ends of his hair. “It was fun watching you play. You’re really talented, Tom.”

His nose is still cold against yours, and you let your eyes fall shut as he slowly traces patterns over your sides.

“Thanks, darling.”

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, you feel a shiver roll down your spine as the pet name falls from his lips. Usually, you’d be able to play it off from the cold, or like you’re stretching a muscle, but he’s holding you so close that you’re sure he felt it.

“Tom,” you say, voice hushed. You feel safe in his arms, you feel loved in his arms, but your skin is still crawling with built-up desire. There’s an ache in your chest that burns brighter with each second he lingers so close, but yet remains so far. “Do you want to…”

“What, sweetheart?”

Again, your breath catches. You hear Tom release a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, his lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as his lips, warm and slightly chapped, explore your own.

It’s a little fumbly, and it takes a few moments for you to learn the slopes of his face so intimately, but once you’ve both readjusted and altered your positions, it’s quick to heat up. Tom’s fingers grip your waist tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into his hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, you feel him slip his tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

You end up against the cool brick wall, making out like you’re both teenagers again. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too. You moan softly as Tom pulls away from your mouth, his attention shifting to your neck. As you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to him, you whimper as you feel his lips drag over your exposed skin. He nibbles and suckles until he finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You tug on his air-dried curls, coaxing him back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of his mouth on yours. Tom sighs, and you can feel him smiling into it.

There are noises, coming from further down the hall, and when they increase in volume, Tom reluctantly pulls back from your mouth. He links your hands together and swings them through the air, looking up to meet your eyes. His face is cute, lips puffy and red, eyes dancing with hope.

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

You jump as a holler comes from down the hall, echoing off the vast brick walls. Tom’s expression shifts, his lips pursing as he glances down the corridor. He turns away from you to yell back.

“What?”

You think it’s Osterfield, one of Tom’s friends. He too is dressed casually, standing tall with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“We’re going out! Don’s got us the VIP section down at the Grove. C’mon!”

Tom looks torn, a ripe line carved out between his brows. He glances back at you, biting his lower lip.

“Go,” you urge, smiling softly. “Celebrate with your team.”

He frowns slightly. “Come with us?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, it should just be you guys.” As much as you like Tom, you can’t think of anything worse than going on a night out with the entire loud, boisterous hockey team. You smile encouragingly when you see the turmoil in his eyes. “You deserve it.”

“Are you sure? Because I can stay here, and we can—”

You lean up, moving your hands back down to his shoulders as you kiss him very softly. “Go,” you urge, whispering against his thin lips.

Tom leans into you, keeping your lips pressed until you can feel him smiling into it. He begrudgingly steps back. “Thank you,” he says, “for coming to the game. And being so lovely.” His lips quirk a little taller. “And for letting me kiss you.”

“Well, it didn’t take much convincing.” You cross your arms over your chest and lean back against the wall, your figure feeling colder without Tom’s touch. His eyes run the lines of your face, gaze warm and comforting.

“Have a nice night,” he says. There’s still hesitation on his face, so you step forward and kiss his cheek before gently pushing his shoulder.

“You too” you respond. Tom finally walks away, but only after shooting you a wink.

You lean back against the wall, pulling out your phone and staring at the blank screen as you discreetly keep your focus on Tom. When he reaches the end of the corridor, Osterfield thumps him on the back and murmurs something unintelligible which earns him a shove into the doorway as the two friends leave together. Tom glances back just before disappearing, and you smile at him as he waves his hand playfully.

Once alone, you release a tight sigh of contentment. You deflate, sagging against the wall as you feel your heart beating faster in your chest. Absently, one of your hands drifts up, fingertips resting on the outline of your lips. Your mouth is still warm from Tom’s kisses, and your heart feels a little softer, too.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

You don’t see him for a while, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t constantly on your mind. At some point, Tom adds you to his private Instagram story, and it feels like a gentle confirmation that he feels the same way as you. You stay in constant contact, and he starts to send you more memes and silly texts each evening. The smile on your lips barely fades, and every time your phone lights up with a new text from him, you get excited.

Unfortunately, the high doesn’t last forever. All too soon, it’s a week before your first competition, and the good feeling finally goes away. As extended practices cut into your life, you’re left frazzled and stressed, trying to balance your team’s expectations against your own personal competitiveness. It doesn’t help that your ankle is giving you grief again.

“No, no, no. You’re better than this, Y/N! Stop cutting the spin too early. You have to extend it into the end of the beat!”

It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re exhausted. The bags beneath your eyes hang heavy, and every manoeuvre you try to execute just seems to leave you worse than before. You’re cold on the ice, and your bones are chilled from fatigue and stress. Everything aches, and try as you might, you can’t land the final ten seconds of your routine. Your coach has forced you to go over it again and again, minutes blurring to hours as your frustration festers.

“It’s not working,” you call back, reaching up to tug on your hair. Your coach is leaning against the rink barrier, resting on her elbows as she watches you, pursed lips.

“Do it again,” she encourages. “Faster!”

You grit your teeth, skating back into the centre of the ice. The music starts again, and you run through the entire final section, nailing the parts that you know. Yet, as you reach the big finish, you falter. You end up flat on the ice, frustrated tears burning your eyes as your ankle throbs. As the track cuts out again, you hear your coach’s loud sigh, carrying across the ice.

“Pack it in. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

You grimace as you climb back to your feet, wincing slightly.

“I can do it again,” you call back, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You want to. You have to.

Your coach shakes her head, lips set in a firm line. “You can’t,” she responds. “You’re worn out and making mistakes. Your injury won’t sustain you.” She pauses to shake her head. “This isn’t what any of us want, Y/N, but you need to rest.”

Your fingernails dig into your palms as you grit your teeth. “But—”

“No. Go home.” Your coach pushes off from the barrier, shaking her head. When you fail to move, she turns back, arching a brow. “Go.”

A string of irritated cuss words falls quietly from your lips as you reluctantly skate from the centre of the rink. Your fingers go to your cheeks, wiping away the cool tears that fall from frustration. It’s a private session, but a few of your team are hanging around. Their sympathetic smiles and gentle arm pats make you bristle, and you’re silently seething as you stomp over to one of the benches and throw yourself onto it, groaning.

You lie down and stare at the ceiling for a while, trying to focus on your breathing. It’s just one bad training session. You’ve landed the end section of your routine plenty of times before. It’s just a bad day.

…But it’s also a bad day, one week before the first rounds of competitions, where a performance like the one you just gave would have you finishing in last place, your Olympic dreams crumbling to pieces.

You close your eyes, clenching your hands into fists as you stretch out over the bench. Your teammates know to give you space, so you aren’t sure why you feel a shadow falling across your face. You ignore it for a few moments, putting it down to someone unknown peering at you fleetingly, but when it persists, you pry an angry eye open.

“What— Tom?”

For the second time, you find yourself surprised by his presence. Tom is standing beside your bench, swallowed by a deep green hoodie with a blue denim jacket pulled over the top of it. In his hands are a stack of papers and his eyes are full of concern.

“Hi,” Tom says quietly, looking a little embarrassed. His cheeks are dusted light pink. You wonder how long he’s been staring at you for. “Are you okay? I, uh… I saw the end of your training.”

You feel rigid and breakable as his eyes pool with warmth, his gaze like tender sunbeams. When he steps closer and presses a gentle hand to your shoulder, your stress bubbles over. As you bring your knees to your chest, you press the side of your face into them, blinking up at him as a few tears skate down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, cooing softly. “Don’t cry, darling.”

Tom gently coaxes you up the bench and sits behind you, throwing a leg either side of the wood to straddle it. You let him pull you back into him, his arms feeling warm and strong as he hugs you tightly from behind. He burrows his face into your neck, warm hands going up to cup your cheeks as his fingertips carefully flick your tears away.

“I’m not sad,” you murmur, swallowing back another wave of tears. “I’m just annoyed.”

“I know.” Tom pauses, and you take a moment to breathe in the scent of fresh laundry. “It’s the most frustrating thing in the world when you can’t get something right. But if you work yourself into the ground, you won’t ever be able to do it.”

“But- but what if I want to work myself into the ground,” you mutter, causing him to chuckle.

“Then you’d be silly.” Tom kisses your cheek, his lips warm and light. “And you’re not silly. You’re the strongest athlete that I know, Y/N. You just need to let other people look after you. Let… Let me look after you.”

Your breath hitches and slowly, you pull your face away from your knees. You stretch your legs out in front of you and turn to look at Tom, curiosity in your gaze as you think about how close he’s holding you, and how passionately he’s speaking to you.

“Thank you,” you say, voice quiet. A shy smile curls across your lips.

Tom hums. His hands fall down to your shoulders, and he gently squeezes your arms. “Go have a shower,” he says. “You’ll feel better, and then I’ll look after you some more.”

You reach out, fingers twirling around the strings of his hoodie. “You’re too nice to me,” you murmur, shyly ducking away from his gaze. “How are you so perfect?”

He laughs, the sound so ripe and joyful that it brings warmth back to your chest.

“I’m not,” Tom disputes. “I just care about you.”

You hum, and before you can lose your cool, you lean in and softly kiss him. Tom’s still for a moment, but then he pushes closer, gently and delicately kissing you back. His hands swoop down to hold your waist, lightly stroking over your sides. When you pull away a few moments later, you feel steadier.

“Hmm,” you say, mind running slow, ensnared by the glimmers of warmth in his eyes. “I like kissing you.”

Tom chuckles, nose brushing yours. “I like kissing you too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It turns out that Tom’s right—you do feel better after having a shower. As you find yourself in the deserted skating changing rooms, the sight of your troubles being swirled away down the plughole releases a large part of your stress. The hot water coaxes your good mood back, and it continues, even when you have to wrap up your ankle again.

By the time Tom reappears, knocking gently on the changing room door before entering, you feel better. You’ve changed clothes, washed your hair, cleansed yourself of all the bad energy that had clogged you up. You feel like you again.

“I got this for you,” Tom announces. He holds a disposable cup in his hand and presents it to you with a grin. “Hot chocolate, for m’lady.”

You roll your eyes as you accept it, looking up at him with gratitude warming your chest. “Thanks, Tom.”

He glances down, eyes taking in your form. You’re again stretched out on a bench, one of your legs bent at the knee, the other laying out in front of you. A few bandages hang around, and Tom looks at them curiously.

“How’s your ankle?” he asks, chewing on his lower lip as he stares at your fluffy sock.

“It’s okay,” you reply. “I braced it. Should be alright as long as I take it easy.”

Tom nods, then very slowly walks to the end of the bench. He runs his index finger down the bottom of your leg, his touch light but warm. You’re in a skirt, your legs bare and exposed, and as you take in the mischievous glint in his eye, you wonder what he has in mind.

“Y/N,” Tom starts, voice gentle. His fingertips play around with the top of your sock as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes. “Can I kiss it better?”

You’re breathing a little lighter as you look at him. “Yeah,” you agree. “Go ahead.”

Tom kneels on the floor, settling beside the bench with ease. With gentle fingers, he rolls down the top of your sock, just far enough so he’s able to leave a very soft kiss to your tender skin. He doesn’t linger there too long, his eyes fixed to your face, but his lips don’t leave you, either. Very carefully, taking his time, Tom starts to drop kisses to your skin. He gradually works his way further up your leg, dusting warm, open-mouthed kisses from your ankle to your shin, then your knee.

You shift on the bench as Tom starts to come higher, one of your hands drifting down to rest in his curls. You put the disposable cup on the floor as you watch him. There’s a heat slowly building in the pit of your stomach, and with each meeting of your flesh and Tom’s mouth, it grows more pronounced. It isn’t long before you’re parting your legs, his lips pausing at the bottom of your thigh as he changes from light kisses to deeper, needier sucks. A short whimper travels from your mouth, wobbling into the air as his lips draw the blood to the surface of your skin.

“You’re so pretty,” Tom murmurs, looking up at you from the ground. His eyes are wide, darkened with lust. He splays his hand along your neglected thigh, rubbing gentle circles to the skin. You whimper when he drops his tongue to lap over one of the marks he’s pulled to the surface of your skin. “Do you want me to go any higher?” His voice is raspy.

The space between your legs is throbbing, and immediately you nod. “The, uh, the door,” you murmur, voice shaking. Tom presses a final kiss to your inner thigh before standing up. He winks at you before jogging to the changing room door, easily flicking the lock, then coming back towards you. “Are you, um… Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Tom grins. He sinks down to his knees beside your head, his hands tugging the bottom of your legs. You sit up on the edge of the bench and turn as your thighs open over his shoulders. Tom kneels between them, his bed of brown curls complementing your skin tone nicely. He presses a kiss to your neglected leg before his hands carefully skim up to play with the hem of your skirt.

“I wouldn’t mind one bit,” he replies, his voice a little darker. He tilts his head as he meets your gaze, smirking softly. “I’d really like to. Do you want to know a secret, darling?” Tom’s fingers slide up, his index and his middle making contact with the front of your panties. As he traces delicately over the front of your core, small arcs of pleasure roll out from your centre. The way his lips twitch taller makes you wonder if he can feel the way your cunt seems to throb.

“Yeah,” you respond, voice light. A whimper passes through your lips as Tom applies a little more pressure to your covered clit, your hips gyrating down to meet his fingertips in response.

He pulls back, only to push your skirt out of the way, tutting quietly when you mewl.

“Been wondering what you’d taste like for ages, love,” he coos. He uses his grip on your thighs to pull you closer, and you moan when he buries his head between your legs. Your panties are still on, but that doesn't stop Tom from nosing up against your slit, hot breath fanning out across your warmth. When he draws his tongue over the front of your panties, you release a breathless whine. “Bet it tastes as pretty as you are.”

You reach down and bury your hand back into his curls, pulling Tom closer as he ghosts his tongue over the front of your panties. He’s lapping lightly up your slit, the pleasure muted but still there, and your eyes fall shut as the muscles in your thighs tense.

“Fuck, Tom,” you whine, feeling your cunt pulse. “Take them off. I need more.”

His nimble fingers are quick to follow your instructions, and as soon as your hips are falling back to the bench, his mouth is on you. You cry out as you finally feel him, the pleasure direct and far greater than you’d expected. Tom devours you, using both of his thumbs to press your lips apart as his tongue travels all over your heat. He spends a while focusing on your clit, the tip of his tongue firm and unrelenting, but when you start to whine a little louder, he teases you by drawing away. He flattens his tongue and licks a few broad strokes up your centre, moaning against you until you’re fisting at his hair and shaking.

“Fuck,” you whine, voice barely there. “Feels so good.”

Tom’s complete attention is on you and your eyes roll back when he teases your entrance with his mouth. One of his thumbs rolls up to toy with your clit as he pushes his tongue into you, your walls throbbing as he explores you. You push him deeper, obscenities mixing with slurred acclamations of his name, and it’s as though you can feel your pulse hammering in your head.

“Knew it. Tastes like fucking heaven,” Tom murmurs, pulling away from your entrance to shoot you a smirking smile. He brings two fingers to your pussy and teases you there, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead when you moan and rut down against them, taking agency and fulfilling your desires. “Shit, baby. You’re so wet.” He fucks your heat, eyes moving off your face and fixing on the mess between your legs as he coos. “I can feel you clenching around my fingers. Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” you whine. When Tom drops his head and wraps his lips back around your clit, you cry out. “Getting so close,” you say, words tangling together as your chest heaves. You feel so hot, your body trembling as your edge hangs in sight. “Keep going, f-fuck, Tom. You’re so good.”

He adds a third finger to your heat, and your jaw slackens. Tom changes the angle of his digits a few times before curling them just right, and he continues to stroke up against your g-spot as you cry out. You stammer out a few words of warning, and he moans in response. The vibrations of the sound coupled with the way his tongue is applying the perfect amount of warm, sloppy pressure to your clit push you over the edge. As you peak, you fall back onto your elbows, tightening your grip on his hair as your pussy throbs, taking wave after wave of pleasure as it rocks across you and smothers you.

Tom doesn’t stop until you’ve ridden it out completely and you’re sensitive. With a push at his hair, you coax him away, still trying to gather yourself as your throat feels dry. The expression of cocky fulfilment hanging from his lips makes you shiver, and you almost moan again as you take in the sight of his chin, glistening with your arousal.

“How was that?” he asks, cleaning his chin with the back of his hand. Tom carefully stands up, still looking at you as he leans back and picks up a box of tissues from one of the benches. He passes a few to you then leans back against one of the lockers, looking at you admiringly with his arms crossed.

“Really good,” you manage, voice still a little hoarse. You clear your throat and ignore his chuckle as you take care of the mess between your legs with a tissue. Your eyes soften when you look back to him. “Thank you.”

Tom just nods, taking the used tissues and binning them before making a quick stop by a sink to wash his hands. When he strolls back over, he stands in front of you and cups your cheeks in his palms. You stare up at him, smiling as he meets your eyes.

“Glad I could make you feel nice,” he says, voice soft. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now… If you have time, I want to take you home. Run you a nice bath, make you some lunch. Make sure you’re looking after yourself.”

You feel your face warm as you listen to his musings, and find yourself biting the inside of your cheek. “You’d want to do all that for me?”

Tom nods. His hands run over your face, fingertips gently caressing your cheekbones. It’s as if he’s examining you, trying to ensure that you’re okay, that you’re safe, that you’re happy. It makes your heart soar.

“‘Course, darling. I care about you a lot.”

You tilt your head to the side so you can kiss the inside of his palm. “Okay,” you agree. You stand up, wincing slightly as your ankle disagrees with taking your weight. Tom’s hands move down to hold your waist, steadying you. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You start to walk, only to look back at him and glare jokingly. “Can’t believe you ruined my underwear,” you say. “Feels fucking freezing without them on.”

Tom arches a brow, picking up his bag and slinging it over his back before catching up to you. “Um, I think technically it was you who ruined your underwear.”

You scrunch up the tip of your nose, only for your scowl to melt when he kisses it. When you reach the door, you undo the lock and open it, letting Tom through before following him out into the corridor.

“Whatever,” you reply, sinking into his side. His hand is warm in yours, your fingers tangled together nicely. “Worth it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

With the final match of the season underway and the league title up for grabs, the atmosphere is electric. The stands are packed, frenzied by the presence of the large broadcasting cameras that stream the match live to thousands online. Sitting in the home section, the noise seems louder than it would be elsewhere in the arena. Everyone around you is as invested in the result as you are, and as the energy rises and falls, you feel connected to the mass of strangers around you. You know that they share the ache in your fingers built from the tight clenching of your knuckles into fists, and the strain of your eyes as you spend too long staring at the bright white ice.

The score is 4-4. The players from both teams have been giving some of the most convincing performances of their careers. It’s been close all match.

You hadn’t been sure that you’d be able to make the game, your own days filled with the later stages of your competition, but you’re glad you managed to swing it. Tom needs you.

He’s skating well. He’d assisted one of the team’s goals, and managed to subvert several other shots on goal attempted by his rivals. Tom looks as handsome as ever, face flushed, eyes focused, figure bulked wide with protective padding, but you know he’s nervous. He’s looking up at you more than usual, his teeth gritted together, and his jaw tensed. It’s clear just how much the title means to him.

It’s been a few weeks since Tom came and picked you up after your meltdown at practice, and since then, your feelings for him have escalated. You think it must be a form of torture to watch someone you care about so much getting pushed around, and injured, and hurt on the ice, knowing you can’t do anything but sit and watch it play out in front of you. Every time he gets slammed up against one of the plastic wall barriers, you wince, almost feeling the pain yourself, and despite him always brushing it off and getting on with the game, you worry for him.

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

Beside you is Harry, one of Tom’s brothers. You’d met him before the match when Tom had thrust a ticket at you and told you that he’d wrestled it off one of his other brothers. Your guilt had been assuaged when you’d been told that Paddy finds the finals too stressful to sit through. Harry’s been entertaining you all evening, acting as a buffer between you and his parents, who make you feel nervous being so close to.

“Shit,” you agree. You wince as Tom gets barged into and goes spiralling across the ice, only stopping when one of his teammates catches him. “This is actually brutal.”

Harry makes a low humming noise. He turns to glance at you, then he hesitantly reaches down to pat your knee.

“He’ll be fine, though, Y/N,” he says, speaking a little awkwardly. “It’s uh… just part of the job. He’s used to it. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s broken his nose.”

You hum as you think about the wonky lines of Tom’s face. “True,” you agree. You pull your team scarf further around your figure, snuggling into it in search of relief. “Just isn’t nice to see him hurt.”

Harry makes a humming sound of agreement and releases your leg with a final pat. The game continues, and before you know it, they’re into the last third. As the clock ticks down from 20 minutes, things are tense. Tom blurs with the rest of the team, and your eyes skim around all the figures, moving and spinning across the ice like it’s choreographed. There’s something quite beautiful about how they’re able to execute formations and manoeuvres amidst such chaos.

Your eyes stick to the back of Tom’s jersey, screaming Holland in bright orange. He’s closing in on an opponent, trying to steal the puck with gritted teeth. The air leaves your lungs as the scene plays out in slow motion, your eyes widening to the size of gold coins as you watch the larger man smack the puck with ferocity, attempting a shot on goal before Tom manages to steal it. Instead of the puck flying near the goal, the angle flicks it to the side, and the entire section around you gasps as it soars through the air and collides with Tom’s face. His eyes are fine, given the visor on his helmet, but his nose is exposed, and it bears the brunt.

Your heart stills for a moment, the volume of the arena fading out completely as you see Tom go down, clutching at his nose as a trail of blood drips over the ice. There’s the sound of a whistle, and you only start to breathe again when you see one of Tom’s teammates haul him from the rink. His blood freezes to the ice, leaving a trail of dark marks staining the ground behind him.

“Fuck, fuck,” you find yourself saying, finally tearing your eyes away from Tom to stare at Harry. Tom’s brother is wincing. “What do we do?”

Harry shrugs, grimacing. You look back to the ice to where Tom’s being dragged on his skates back to the team bench. You can see him smiling, but it's indisputable that he’s in pain. You can see it in his eyes, and the way his blood mixes with the salty blend of aching tears. “Can’t really do anything,” he says. “Told you his nose gets it.” Harry pauses for a moment, then gently elbows your side. “You could go down, though. They’ll probably do a quick fix in the tunnel. I doubt he’ll want to be benched for the rest of the match.”

You nod stiffly, but find yourself hesitating. “Are you, uh, sure that he’d want that? It wouldn’t be annoying?” When Harry turns to raise an eyebrow, you chuckle nervously. “I don’t want to knock him out of the zone, y’know?”

Harry’s eyes fill with understanding, but you think you can still detect a layer of teasing to it. “My brother is actually obsessed with you,” he says. “He watches compilation videos from your competitions every single bloody night. Even if you broke his heart, I doubt he’d ever be able to find you annoying. So…” Harry pokes your shoulder. “Get down there, alright?”

You shoot him a smile, unable to pretend that his words don’t warm your heart.

The game is still paused, yet you hurry down the aisle, stepping over trays of discarded nachos and half-filled plastic pints of beer as you utter words of apology to the disgruntled fans. Moving quickly, you dodge up and enter one of the back stairwells, flashing your team ID at security. The arena is a complex system of back corridors and passages, but you know them inside out.

You reach the long corridor that connects the changing rooms to the ice, and you see Tom standing in the middle of it. He’s surrounded by people—doctors, his coach, a few reserve players. Out in the arena, you hear the game pick up, but back here, time is standing still.

“Stay still,” one of the medics says. Tom grumbles something before yelling out a light curse word. The closer you walk, the more you see. Tom’s holding a bunch of stained tissues to the bottom of his nose as the medic quickly bandages his bridge. It’s not advised for him to go back on the ice with a broken nose—but you also know that with ten minutes left on the clock, the patchy fix-it job probably won’t cause permanent damage. You quite like Tom’s wonky nose, anyway.

“He’s such a twat,” Tom grumbles, wincing again. “Did he get benched?”

“Yeah. Penalty.”

“Good.” Tom folds his arms over his chest. When the medic pulls away to dig through his bag of bandages, Tom glances up the corridor. His eyes widen as he sees you, and you watch him do a double-take. When you raise a hand in greeting, his face softens. “Y/N?”

“Hi,” you call out, stepping closer. “Is it okay I’m here? I, um… I was worried.”

He nods, only to receive a scolding from the medic. Smiling sheepishly, Tom beckons you closer. He offers you a hand, gloveless and cold, and you hurry forward to take it.

“‘Course,” he murmurs. Now close, you’re able to see the flecks of dried blood on his face. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, speaking softly as if he knows how frazzled you feel. “Happens all the fucking time.”

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How is he? Looking after you?”

You chuckle. “He’s funny,” you say. You roll your thumb over the back of Tom’s knuckles as he winces again, the medic pushing his ice pack out of the way so he can dab a wet tissue at Tom’s nostrils. You realise that his nose has stopped bleeding.

“Funnier than me?”

“Never.” You squeeze Tom’s hand. “You’re doing well out there.”

“Thanks, darling.” Tom glances away from you, looking back at the medic as he finally steps away to gather his stuff. “Can I-?”

“Yes,” the medic confirms. “Just don’t touch anyone. The second you’re done, come find me and I’ll fix you properly.”

Tom nods, then bites back a noise of pain. “Thanks, Doc,” he murmurs. Tom looks back to you, dropping his voice as you’re left alone with him. “I, uh, I gotta go,” he says, tilting his shoulder back in the direction of the ice.

“Okay.” You shoot him a soft smile and squeeze his hand before stepping back. “Good luck, Tom. Smash it.”

He pouts slightly, a wedge forming between his brows. “Kiss?”

“Kiss?” you repeat, snorting softly. When Tom nods sadly, you step nearer and press your hands to his shoulders. You lean up and capture his lips in a warm kiss, smiling into it as his palms paw at your waist. For a very brief moment, you get lost in it, overcome by the round lines of his chapped mouth and the heat of his hands, but you force yourself to step back. You can feel how badly he wants to be out on the ice. “Good luck, handsome,” you say, whispering against his lips. You step back and cross your arms, smiling widely as he blushes. “You’ve got this.”

Tom gives you a final nod, eyes alight. “See ya in ten!” he says, before turning on his skates. You stay watching him until he reaches the end of the corridor, and the smile is still on his face as he turns back to grin at you. The arena goes wild as he reappears, and you find yourself biting your lips as you try to control the butterflies in your stomach.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom lives about twenty minutes from the arena, and you find yourself waiting on his front step. With your knees pulled to your chin, the chill of a March evening cools your face. You don’t feel the cold much—instead, you’re distracted by the images of the team winning, playing on loop in your mind.

It’s a blur. A snapshot collection of Tom scoring the tie-breaking goal, the sight of the crowd going wild as the final buzzer sounded, the spray of champagne foam sticking to the ice. You’d hung around afterwards, receiving a very messy kiss from Tom who was vibrating from excitement. After a round of celebratory photos, Tom had been hunted down by the medics, and he’d pulled you aside briefly to ask you to meet him here.

You sigh as you stretch your legs out in front of you, looking down at the laces of your shoes and how they contrast the dark cement paving stones. Tom shares his house with Harrison and Harry. You’ve been here a few times, and it feels odd to be here without him.

“Y/N!”

You startle as you look up, so distracted by the loops of your laces that you’d failed to see Tom. He finishes clambering out of a large car, and you think you catch a glimpse of Harry in the front before it goes speeding away from the pavement. Tom approaches, his nose bruised but free of bandages, a wide smirk on his face as he picks up into a light jog. When he reaches you, he sweeps you to your feet, taking your hands firmly and kissing you before you have a chance to say a word. You shiver as he reaches up to cup your cheeks, craving the body heat, sinking into him and the scent of his fresh shampoo.

“You’re shivering,” Tom murmurs, pulling back to stare at you. His eyes widen as guilt shadows his features. “Fuck, how long have you been waiting for me?” He steps back to dig through his pocket, tongue settling between his lips as he hums.

“Ten minutes,” you estimate. When his eyes widen, you shrug bashfully. “Hasn’t been that bad. Next door’s cat came and said hi.”

Tom scowls as he steps past you, driving his key into the front door with ease. “Little ratty thing, isn’t it?” he mutters. He opens the door with a flourish, then steps aside to invite you in. When you walk across the threshold, Tom winds his arms around you from behind, pressing his chin to your shoulder before tilting his lips so he can kiss your cheek. His warm breath fans out across your face. “I’ll warm you up, darling. I’ll make you feel better.”

Ten minutes later, you’re in his bed. Despite his promise of warming you up, you seem to be losing more and more clothes. What had started out as a celebratory kiss has ended in you straddling him, grinding over Tom’s crotch as he gasps into your mouth and grabs at your waist.

You like being on top. It gives you better access to Tom—to the sight of his face constricting with pleasure every time you grind a little harder, and to the sound of his small moans. There’s a shadow along his nose and lining the swell of his cheeks from the break in his nose, and if he wasn’t so tender, you’d try to kiss it better. Instead, you decide to make him feel better in a different way. He’s calmer now than he’d been at the arena when he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you or his lips away from your neck, but the longer you spend making out with him, the more eager he gets. There’s a dark spark in his eyes that matches the fervour in his grip.

“God,” he murmurs to your lips. “You’re such a beautiful girl.”

A hot flush travels through your body, and you shy your face into his neck. You distract him with kisses, dragging your lips over the firm flesh of his warm skin.

“Can I mark you?” you whisper, dragging your lips up to his ear. Tom moans loudly as you move your teeth over his earlobe and bite lightly.

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, rolling his hips up against you. You’ve ditched your jeans, and so has he, but where you’re still draped in a shirt, Tom’s chest is bare and exposed. You run your hand over his arm and feel his muscles there as you kiss up the side of his neck. Deep marks follow in the wake of your lips, but they aren’t nearly as pretty as the sound of Tom’s moans. “Fuck, darling. Shit. Feels so good.”

Tom lasts about a minute more before growling and pushing you from his neck. His eyes glint and a shrill squeal leaves your lips as he picks you up and presses you down onto the mattress. As your back sinks into the bed, the slats creak. Tom cages you in with a forearm either side of your head, one of his hands drifting into the ends of your hair as he very lightly rests his nose against yours.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” Your smile twists a little darker as Tom rolls his hips against yours and you feel his cock straining against his boxers. You reach up to play with his hair, tugging on the strands when Tom moans. His curls are fresh and fluffy, air-dried after the shower and silky smooth to touch. You’ve been together a few times since he ate you out in the changing rooms, and though you’re yet to go all the way, you’ve picked up on a few of his preferences. “Are you okay?”

He isn’t doing much, just staring at you, lips parted. His eyes skitter across the shapes of your face before linking up with your own, and you feel your heart clench in your chest as Tom shifts his hand to cup your cheek.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs. He’s speaking quietly, voice gentle as if he’s being fragile with you. “I, um… I want to ask you something?”

You tilt your head to the side. “Right now?” you ask. To prove your point, you snake a hand down between your bodies and apply pressure to his member with the flat of your palm. Tom groans, eyelashes fluttering out across the top of his cheeks. It seems to take him a lot of self-control to nod, and you feel his hips quiver as he holds himself back from grinding into your hand.

“Yeah.” Tom takes a moment to pause. “We’ve been hanging out for a while, Y/N, and I really like you. I think that you’re so talented. And beautiful. Shit, you’re really beautiful.” He chuckles, his nerves showing on his face. “I can’t imagine being with anyone else. I wouldn’t ever want to be with anyone else. So, darling… Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He pulls back to peer at you, teeth clenched, eyes wide.

A smile breaks out across your face.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Tom,” you whisper. You lean up to kiss him just as he leans down, and you gasp as you accidentally hit Tom’s nose with yours. He groans, pulling up and dramatically falling onto his back as his limbs splay out. “Shit,” you giggle, sitting up and crawling closer. Tom’s pouting, tenderly poking at the edge of his nostril as he grimaces. “Sorry, baby.”

Tom melts, pulling you back on top of him. “Call me baby again and you can do anything you want to me,” he mutters. A small blush finds his face as he comprehends his words, and you end up smiling softly as you settle over his thighs. One of his large hands curls between your legs and you whimper as he teases you over your panties for a few moments. When he finally dips his fingers beneath the silky material, you find yourself whimpering.

“Feels good,” you moan, pressing your hands to Tom’s chest as he rolls two fingers around your slit. You get antsy and grind down against his touch, wriggling up his legs until his fingertips nudge against your hole.

His hair is spread out against the white sheets of the bed, face screwed into an expression of concentration as he curves his digits into your heat. You whimper, tossing your head back as he works you open with ease, brushing up against your g-spot and stimulating it until you’re gasping. As heat slowly begins to take over your body, you reach down to the hem of your shirt and pull it off. Next to go is your bra, and you guide Tom’s other hand to the curve of your breasts as you ride down on his hand.

“Look so pretty up there,” he murmurs, biting at his lip. “Like an angel, or a princess.” Tom skims his thumb over your nipple, smirking as you whine. “My princess.”

You gnaw on your lip for a moment before sitting up, letting Tom’s fingers slip out from you. You reach down and hook your thumbs beneath the material of his boxers, and Tom seems to get the hint.

“I need you,” you say, speaking quickly. You have to roll away to kick off your pants, and by the time you’re ready, Tom’s sitting up again. He slides up to sit against the headboard, fiddling with a condom and sheathing himself before you can spend too long admiring his length.

“C’mere then, lovie,” Tom coaxes. He pumps his cock in his fist a few times before hitting at his thighs, beckoning you forward. His lips kiss your forehead as you straddle him. Blindly, you reach down to cover his hand in yours, and together, you guide his tip to your entrance. Your slit is hot and pulsing, your body worked up from the teasing and the anticipation. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks, voice softer.

You shoot him a teasing look. “Yes,” you emphasise. You bite your lip as you slowly lower yourself onto him, gasping softly. “Been thinking about this for so long, Tom.”

Tom grasps your lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it harshly before flicking it up and stealing your mouth in a deep kiss. You moan as you settle there, in his lap, your walls stretched around him completely. You can feel everything—the curves of his cock, the press of his tip against your velvety walls, the feeling of his skin on yours. You love it.

It’s quick to become hot and intense. Tom’s hands on your waist, your fingers tangled in his hair. The stretch burns to enjoyment before long, and then you’re just lost in it. You feel so bare to him, beyond the fact that your naked bodies are intertwined so closely, like he’s able to see straight through you. For someone who spends so much of his life fighting aggressively, Tom is remarkably soft. His hips are firm, and his thrusts unrelenting, but his lips on your face are warm, and the words of heated affirmation he whispers into your ear make you melt.

“So tight, princess,” Tom moans, grasping at your waist. He kisses you, groaning into your mouth as you continue to ride him. You alternate your movements, swapping between deep bounces and swirling your hips in broad circles so that you get to feel every delicious line, bump and curve of him. “God. Feels like fucking heaven.”

“I know,” you manage, voice hoarse. You’re not embarrassed by the way there are wet sounds of arousal filling the air—it only seems to spur Tom on as he squeezes at your waist.

Things blur quickly. You can tell that he’s wound up from the stress of the game, and his hand is shaking when he reaches up to cup the top of your heat. You’re quick to match his arousal, feeling your own climax jerking closer as Tom brings his thumb down to your clit. You’re aroused, and your slit is wet, so it’s seamless as he toys with the bud.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, the syllables blurring as your eyelids drop closed. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and his begins, but you like it. Tom wraps his other arm around your hip and holds you close, touching his lips to yours as he finally spills.

“You’re so perfect,” he moans, his eyes screwing shut. “Shit, Y/N—”

The action of him throbbing against your walls pushes you over the edge too, and you’re panting into him as warm shivers spread over your entire figure. You’re full of a golden buzz as you stop moving, stilling with his cock still pressed inside you. Tom’s lips come down over the top of your head, following in a line from your forehead down your nose before going to your lips. When he finds your mouth, both of you are smiling.

“Wish we could do that forever,” he murmurs. “Felt amazing, darling. You’re amazing.” There’s a rosy flush to his cheeks, and he looks at you like he’s won the greatest prize of the night. “Stay?”

“Overnight?”

“Yeah. Right here.” Tom reaches out to hit the mattress. “I’ll cuddle you,” he promises. “Make you tea. Bring you breakfast.” He smirks. “Make love to you all night.”

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

Tom raises a brow as if he likes the sound of that, then seals the deal with a softer kiss.

“Perfect.” His hands skim up to cup your breasts, and he pecks your lips a final time. “Girlfriend.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

There’s an hour to go before you skate in the biggest competition of your life. You’re at the largest arena in London, killing time on one of the practice rinks as you try to forget that you’re so close to delivering your final routine of the season. This routine will decide if you come out on top or not and reveal whether you’ve managed to impress the Olympic talent scouts.

You feel a blend of two very fine emotions—confidence and nervousness. You’re prepared, you’re in control, and you’re ready, but that doesn’t make the prospect of going out there any less daunting. Adrenaline soothes the nerves, and distraction is your best friend.

Tom’s sitting on one of the benches, flitting between watching you and messing around on his phone. You’ve learnt that he’s the only person you like to be around before a competition, and in the month you’ve been officially together, he’s become your rock. He seems to get you—understands the way your brain spins when you’re stressed like this, knows when to step near and when to leave you alone. As if sensing your thoughts lie with him, he glances up from his phone.

The month off from competitions has been kind to Tom. He’d had a cracking set of bruises following his broken nose, but they’re healed now, and his skin carries the golden glow of a champion. After mouthing a few words to him from across the ice, you watch him sit up straighter and put his shoes to the bench. Tom had brought his skates to the arena, despite not being the one competing, because he knows, just as you, that sometimes the best way to relax before a competition is to mess around and distract yourself. Sitting beside him is a very large banner, hand-painted, that wears the words, Go Y/N!. He’d made it with the rest of his team, and you’d almost cried when he’d unrolled it and given it to you, grinning with pride like a small child showing off his art project.

You do a few spins as you wait for him, the small practice arena blurring. A few other people are hanging around—mainly your friends, and a few coaches, but none of them pay attention to you. You go so fast that you miss whatever it is Tom scoops up from the bench and then proceeds to hold behind his back, keeping it out of your sight as he skates towards you. A frown finds your lips as you drift nearer, squinting your eyes.

“What’s that?” you ask, trying to make out the object.

Tom juts out his lower lip, eyes dancing teasingly. “Not gonna say hello, darling? That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

You shoot him a poisonous look but sigh when he just smirks in response.

“Hello,” you say. You skate forward, planting your hands on both of his cheeks and drawing him in close. Tom’s lips are warmer than yours, and you savour their firm press. When you pull back, you cross your arms over your chest. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Begrudgingly, you shut your eyes. You hear the rustling of plastic, and then smell the scent of fresh flowers. Tom presses a bouquet into your hands, and your lips twist up at the corners.

“You can open them now.”

It’s a bunch of roses, dark red and delicate. You trail a thumb over their petals, breath caught in the back of your throat. Your boyfriend continues to speak as he watches you.

“You said that no one had ever bought you flowers before,” he explains, voice steady. “I was going to save them for afterwards when you win, but I know you’ll end up being given about a thousand when they all see how talented they are, so I wanted to get in first.”

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

“They’re beautiful, Tom,” you whisper. His confidence in you, and the support he shows you, every single day, means everything to you. He means everything to you. “I love them. I…” You look up, meeting his eyes as you finally speak the words that you’ve felt so strongly but kept tucked away in your heart for fear of rejection. You aren’t scared anymore. “I love you.”

Tom’s eyes widen, his lips briefly parting. There’s a heart-stopping moment when he betrays nothing, but then life twitches across his face. He relaxes, sinking forward to touch your waist as he pulls you closer and brings his lips to yours.

“I love you too, darling,” he says. He’s able to press his nose against yours now, and you feel his cold tip press to your face as you shift the bouquet into one hand and curl the other around his back. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

You smile against him. “It was lucky, wasn’t it? That out of all the people on the rink that day, it was me you managed to crash into.”

Tom chuckles. “Felt less like luck at the time,” he admits. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

You smirk. “I was pretty mad. Can you blame me, though?”

“Nope.” Tom kisses the tip of your nose. “Worth it, anyway.” He surprises you by skating back, plucking the bouquet from your hand with ease before spinning you beneath his arm, cooing as the hem of your dress flutters in the air. “Did I ever tell you how much I love your outfit?” he adds. “You look like a princess.”

Your cheeks hurt, and when you stop spinning, you turn to face him.

“I feel like a princess,” you admit, accepting the flowers for the second time. “Does that make you my prince charming?”

Tom nods, smiling. “It’d be an honour.”

The air between you stills, and all that’s left is love.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, glancing down. “What if I fuck this up? What if I fall over? Or- or what if I don’t land a jump? What if my ankle can’t take it?” You gnaw on your lip. “Then it’ll all be over.”

Tom soothes you with a hand on your cheek. “You won’t fuck it up,” he says, voice confident. “You’re incredible, Y/N. You know the routine, and you know yourself. You’re ready for this.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting warmly. “You’re going to go out there, smash it, then you’ll come back, and we’ll celebrate. Alright?”

You look down at the roses, then back to your boyfriend’s face, and you know that you believe him.

“Okay,” you agree. You bite your lip before darting up to kiss his cheek. “Love you, Tom.”

His eyes are full of adoration. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”

Tom presses his forehead to yours, and you relax there. With your fingers grasping the flowers and his hands caressing your waist, you let him support you. You let him kiss you, and hold you, and love you.

(And, later on, you let him hold your shiny gold medal, too.)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

i hope you guys liked dutchy as much i liked writing him :’)) this has taken almost a month! if there’s any interest, maybe we could do a hockey!tom blurb night soon...? idk ! i’d be down. let me know if you’d be too <3 thanks so much for reading!!!! please let me know what ya think!

mlist and taglist can be found through the link in my bio!

#tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland fluff #hockey!tomfic #tblr....please let me in the tags...? please?

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jmdbjk · 2 years

Text

ICYMI streaming battle...

Twitter Army will be having a streaming battle tomorrow and the teams are #TeamHYYH, #TeamLY and #TeamMOTS.

[Boy With Luv, Map of the Soul: 7]

I claim to be #TeamMOTS Army but honestly, I was not ready to let BTS into my soul when that album was released. Actually, I can’t even remember which BTS song was the first one I ever played. I’ve recounted my BTS story before but here it is again. According to my vague memories it went something like this:

End of 2019...trying Kpop...listen to other groups that are not BTS...they’re ok, one or two songs make it into my playlists... I knew of BTS because they were everywhere but I guess I was not listening to the right songs that would ultimately touch my soul. Here comes 2020...I was aware of the MOTS7 album dropping because it was at the top of the chart. I knew it was a big deal. I tried watching the Boy With Luv MV but my soul was not ready for all that pink on that first try. I saw them perform Black Swan on Corden’s show. I WAS STILL NOT FALLING FOR IT. I did not understand it. My soul just WASN’T READY.

[Black Swan live performance, The Late Late Show with James Corden, Jan. 2020]

And then came Carpool Karaoke Jimin. That blonde hottie in the red jacket just grabbed me by the throat and has never let me go. He was so different from what I was expecting.

When I finally took Boy With Luv MV out for another spin, that was all she wrote. The pink finally felt good and right. It was fresh and gave me joy.

Ironically, this performance made me start paying attention to their choreography:

[Boy With Luv, March 30, 2020, James Corden’s Homefest]

And then 2020 progressed into the shitshow it turned out to be on a global scale. Along comes Dynamite etc, and the rest is history for me.

By the time THIS Black Swan aired on Jimmy Fallon, I was well on my way:

[Black Swan, Sept. 2020, The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon] [It took me too long to catch on to the insanity of that back hug]

But here is my honest confession: I wish I was a #TeamLY Army. I absolutely adore Kitty Gang Jimin. I feel like I cheated myself because I didn’t come around sooner to finding BTS so I could have experienced that black leather fit with the sparkly shoulder jacket in real time. I WAS SOOO CLOSE! I missed it by mere months. My first BTS phone wallpaper was Kitty Gang Jimin in mid body roll.

And many of my favorite songs are from the Love Yourself era: Mic Drop, Airplane Pt. 2, Magic Shop, Serendipity, Euphoria, Love Maze.

I can confidently say, if it wasn’t for MOTS, I would have never known Kitty Gang Jimin. Heh heh.

Back to #TeamMOTS7... the fact I realized how important and big that album was when it dropped, even though I had not bought into the entire BTS thing yet, speaks volumes about the impact BTS was making then and continues to make. I was paying attention. I knew this was something even before I knew the impact it would make on my life.

Now it’s easy to go back and see things for what they were. It was me having such a skewed perspective because I’d never exposed myself to much (if any) other music/artists outside the U.S./western music market. I had never seen such pristinely performed (DIFFICULT) choreography. I unlearned a lot of deeply ingrained perceptions...about language barriers, lyrics and music; about what I thought masculinity meant. I learned to understand more overall about sexual identity and gender identity. And personally, I came to realize what a big impact to my self-esteem they had on me, them being so successful, and also of Asian heritage just like myself. I could finally relate to a globally successful music artist. It has been a revelation for sure.

I am a MOTS Army. And Filter is my flag/anthem.

So while we wait patiently and gird our loins for Jimin to drop his photo folio concept... if you are on Twitter, join the team of your choice, stream your teams songs on YouTube tomorrow, and help us add more views to BTS music videos.

If Jimin’s photo folio drops, I will report back after the flames die down. Or maybe in the midst of mid-burn...I know, TMI, sorry...peace out.

#just killing time until jimin photo folio drops and kills us all #but i am still salty #because we did not get live-in-person-FILTER-in-front-of-60000-Army #grr #teamMOTS #blonde jimin will forever be my favorite #but i love every single jimin that jimin wants to show us #kitty gang jimin was excellent #black swan jikook #serendipity jimin

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cutekittenlady · 2 years

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yknow emmets letter to the pearl clan would already be in trouble assuming the people of hisui and the future people of unova have two completely different writing systems. Akari and laventon would have to translate it, and if the translation process is already imperfect then it could make the whole thing seem even more like a random note lol

It would too! XD

Course I'm too lazy and dont feel like I know enough about languages to fully enforce this concept in full. Especially since it would raise questions as to the language they speak being different too. And while that idea is ALSO interesting and might add a lot to the idea, I fear it would limit some of the interactions I would want to be able to do with the various character at some point.

Like, I'd love to have Emmet and Irida stuck together where Irida gets to chew Emmet out and explain to his face exactly how much he screwed up and how he's hurt her people. And Emmet gets to show Irida that he's not a monster, he was sincerely unaware of the harm of his actions, and is actively working to fix things.

That kinda scene wouldn't be able to be done if I included a language barrier. And while I could just have the written language be different and the spoken language be the same and just handwave it with timey-wimey areceus magic, I'd prefer not to.

Still, this WOULD be a fun concept to explore with this idea, and if anyone looking to write anything based on this au would wanna give it a spin I aint gonna stop em.

#pokemon #e&e #e&e au #e&e in hisui #pokemon legends arceus #legends arceus

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lokisasylum · 3 years

Text

Saw this tag last night and thought it was pretty cool, but was passing out from exhaustion from the vaccine so I couldn’t do it.

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). see if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag some of your favorite authors!

1. No Ordinary Love [BTS, yoonmin - Still in the works, but I wanted to add it because I really like the Prologue]

When I entered the club that night… I wasn't expecting anything to happen beyond a casual conversation and perhaps sharing a few drinks.

I knew very well how delicate the situation stood between us after a disastrous breakup years ago, followed by a bittersweet reunion that ended anything but friendly.

No, I wasn't there to beg nor did I want him to take me back. Jiminie had his life and I had mine.

All I wanted was someone to talk to… and he was there for me.

Can you blame me for that?

2. Forever, You Said. [BTS, jikook, vampire au]

All my life I wanted nothing more than to get away and live my life the way I want. So why… does it suddenly not feel enough? Why do I feel like I'm missing something? - Jungkook

3. Lunatic High [BTS, fantasy au]

The sound of his own harsh breathing echoed loudly in his ears, only matched by the sound of his erratic heartbeat as he ran half blindly through the field.

4. Heal My Heart [BTS, jikook; historical au]

"Did you come here to yell at me too?"

Jimin rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop the smile that was already forming on his lips at the sight of the young knight sulking in the corner of the room like a child.

"Of course not. I’m your physician not your squad leader or Seokjin-hyung for that matter." The elder reassured him while placing the bowl of water, rags, ointment and bandages on the nearest table. "So obviously I’m here to treat your wounds… just like I always do." He added in a smaller voice, more to himself than to Jeongguk.

5. A Promised Scenery [BTS, vmin; canon]

It was 4:00 AM, but they hadn't gone inside when they said they would half an hour ago.

Or rather they had meant to.

But the minute that their hands were clasped so tight, like they never wanted to let go, and their eyes met in a whirlwind of emotions, shy smiles and embarrassed laughter. That moment was the first time where the world stopped spinning for them.

6. You're my Tear/You're my Fear [BTS, jikook; songfic]

A broken home.

A sad song.

The curtain rises, but its the same old story from before. Different scenarios, but always the same ending.

7. Yoongi's Confession [BTS, yoonmin; canon]

Our entire relationship, our love, our life can only be compared to a violent car crash on an empty road at night under the pouring rain.

Lots of dark moments, heartaches, blood, sweat and tears.

It’s how it started... and ended.

8. Love Cravings [BTS, vminkook; a/b/o]

Jungkook groaned as his phone rang for the 20th time that night when he had finally gotten into his car.

All he wanted was to get back home, to his warm bed and SLEEP like he deserved. Was that too much to ask?

9. Dirty Habits [BTS, jikook; labeled as “late valentines smut” LOL]

Jungkook stumbled through the front door of his apartment, nearly tripping on the ‘Welcome Home’ mat that never quite made you feel as welcome as it was intended to.

10. So Trust Me [BTS, vminkook]

--Words of love, encouragement, good health, best wishes, and strength continued to flow in waves every minute into his cell phone. Lifting his spirit and filling his heart with joy little by little though not as fast or as overwhelming as it normally should.

It’s been a hard year, not just for him, but for everyone.

Even with all the happiness and beautiful memories being created around him, there was still sadness lingering in his heart. But he wouldn’t let it show, not yet, not here.

11. The Reason [BTS, vminkook]

“Jimin-ssi, keep your defense up!!” Jungkook barked out without breaking his stance as he watched the other male stumble backwards on to the snowy ground with a loud thud.

Taehyung watched from the side, leaning against the wall next to the glass sliding doors to their apartment. Worry etched on to his features behind the large scarf half covering his face to protect him from the cold weather. It’s not the first time he’s come to watch his two lovers spar, but as to why the two insist on doing it at such an early hour in the morning where it’s the coldest its beyond him.

12. Peppermint Kisses [BTS, vminkook]

Something was up in the dorm and Jungkook didn’t like it one bit.

And that something was related to two particular members of Bangtan.

The 95z.

13. UNSTEADY (Prequel to All or Nothing) [BTS, jikook; canon]

I watched him lie through his teeth again today during practice. But it wasn’t just today, there had been many other times where I had watched Jimin do the same; skipping meals, sleepless nights, and when nothing else worked he’d wear himself out with excessive practice hours in the studio by himself.

But I’m not blind, I know it’s on me… yet he still insists on taking the fall by himself for what happened that day.

14. The Sleepover [BTS, vminkook]

Taehyung was the first to stir awake that morning with a long groan. His lashes fluttered weakly against his cheek as he tried to fight off both sleep and nausea from his system.

The hangover making its presence known with a vengeance.

15. All or Nothing [BTS, jikook; canon]

The door to his and Hoseok’s shared room slammed so hard that he could have sworn the thing would come off its hinges any moment.

How dare he?

How fucking dare he?

16. Beautiful Tragedy [BTS, jikook; soulmate au]

When I was four my mother used to tell me stories about Soulmates and how they were always bound to find each other no matter what. Because they were destined to be.

Born and made for each other.

No distance was too far, no language became a barrier, no obstacle too high or low to overcome. No hardship was too much to bare. Because soulmates were two halves of the same soul who's primary purpose was to find their way back to one another and therefore spoke their own language in their hearts.

17. Private Show [BTS, jikook; canon]

“You’re late.” A voice scolded from somewhere in the still dark room.

His hand immediately left the doorknob to reach for the light switch, revealing a figure leaning on the farthest wall, against the mirrors. His pink hair hidden by a cap worn low which also hid his face, a jean jacket over a black buttoned up shirt, dark ripped jeans and boots.

It was Jimin.

18. Sin For You [BTS, vmin; AU]

He was singing our song again at our favorite karaoke bar.

Our secret song… the one nobody knows about. That keeps us connected even at times when we had been involved with someone else.

19. It's all in your mind [BTS, canon with some subtle jikook]

It felt strange to be back home after being away for so long while filming the second season of Bon Voyage, and with a new comeback sometime in September, the schedules were sure to be tight for the rest of the year. So everyone at the dorm tried to make the most of it by getting organized and rest.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I mean... it said favorite opening LINES, in PLURAL.

WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED TODAY, KIDS?

That I need to work on my entries better =_=

Repeated patterns I may have noticed? Hmm... that I usually start the opening scenes with someone walking into a room (usually angry and throwing shit LOL), or describing sounds/smells/feelings.

And that in most cases its JK walking into said rooms and literally walking into some unknown chaos 😌😅 (said chaos being Jimin).

Tag... I don’t know if any of my favorite authors are here on tumblr, much less if I’m following any of them because lately I’ve been checking out authors who announce their work via twitter.

But if any of my moots are authors, go for it.

#tag #tag game #tag meme #bts #bts fics #jikook #vmin #vminkook #AO3 #ao3fic #bts fanfics #bts fanfiction #fanfiction tag

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superman86to99 · 4 years

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Adventures of Superman #506 (November 1993)

Superman vs. Superboy! I mean, vs. Superman, since the Kid still insists that Superboy is definitely NOT his name and never will be. The two Supermen meet while the younger, radder one is dealing with some sort of deformed flying babies that are trying to kill him, which is the sort of thing that happens to you when you wear an “S” emblem on your chest.

These turn out to be deformed flying babies THAT EXPLODE, but the Kid is able to push them away with his (very non-Superman-esque) telekinesis powers. He then deduces that these things must have come out of Project Cadmus, the top secret genetic experimentation facility that created him, and brushes off the elder Superman to get back at those geeks by doing what he does best: being a brat on live TV.

So I guess the “top secret” part of Cadmus’ description is no longer accurate, thanks to the Kid. On the other hand, I kinda feel like the people of Metropolis deserved to know that there's a nearby government facility churning out genetic atrocities into their sewers.

The Cadmus gang sends Guardian to bring their wayward creation home so they can talk to him. Obviously the Kid isn't very interested, and for a while it looks like we might get the fight scene teased in the cover, but then Superman the First convinces Superman the Second that he should at least hear them out. And, while at it, ask Cadmus to tell him exactly what the hell he is. If he’s Superman’s clone, why does he have those weird TK powers? The Kid agrees, but... he doesn't like the answers he gets.

The Kid finds out that he's NOT a clone of Superman since, as established a while back, Kryptonians are damn hard to clone. So, since Cadmus was determined to create a new Superman after the original appeared to be dead, they instead took a clone of a regular, non-super man and genetically modified it to approximate Superman's powers (for instance, translating Superman’s “aura” into a telekinetic field). But who was that human DNA donor? Surely it was someone good and cool!

Just after the Kid wonders that, the quite evil and deeply uncool Director Westfield bursts into the lab and demands that this "super-punk" be taken into custody, probably so they can flush him down the toilet like Cadmus' other failed experiments. Superman makes Westfield see that making Cadmus' whistleblower disappear wouldn't look very good right now, but they can't just let him run around unsupervised. So, at Guardian's recommendation, the esteemed telepath Dubbilex is assigned to follow the Kid wherever he goes. I smell a sitcom! (Or a spin-off comic.)

As a last order of business, the Kid decides to give Superman his trademark to the Superman name, which his manager Rex Leech doesn't take too well. So what are they gonna call this teenage “S” emblem-wearing hero now? Superman has an interesting suggestion: SUPERBOY. Our young friend still isn't a fan.

But after storming out and thinking about it for a couple of pages (and trying out the name on some guys robbing a jewelry shop), the Kid realizes he's "earned" the title of Superboy and accepts it. Character development! And just in time for his solo series. ("That Non-Superman Clone Who Also Calls Himself Superman" wouldn't look good on a cover.)

Plotline-Watch:

The final page shows a shadowy figure shaped like the recently introduced Bloodthirst outfitting someone with a weapon-teleporting gizmo, then calling him "Bloodsport"... except that this dude is quite paler than the Bloodsport we met way back in Superman #4 (in an issue inked by current writer Karl Kesel, so you'd think he'd remember the character). This looks nothing like Idris Elba! What gives?!

Superboy is still bummed out because his friend Tana Moon left Metropolis without telling him where she was going, which is now known as "ghosting". In the end, Rex talks about sending Superboy on a promotional tour to establish his new brand, and the first destination of that tour will be... exactly where Tana went to hide from Superboy. This is now known as "time to get a restraining order."

Clark Kent is slowly morphing into a hipster the longer he rooms with Jimmy Olsen. For a long time I assumed all the bands listed in the panel below were made up, but turns out the only non-existing ones are “James Rock” and "Axel Rose". Luckily, Superboy was happy to give Clark's old apartment back to him (apparently only Pulitzer-winning journalists can afford it), so Jimmy won't hipsterize him for much longer.

Westfield gladly assigns Dubbilex to Superboy because it means there won't be a telepath at Cadmus to read his thoughts and find out about his evil plans (like sending the ugly flying babies after Superboy). Very clever, Westfield! Except for the fact that he thought that right in front of Dubbilex, who clearly "heard" the whole thing.

Incidentally, there's an apparent error in this issue when Superboy thinks "They won't take me without a fight!" and Guardian shows up and says "That's too bad, son. Because I don't want to fight you." How did Guardian know what Superboy was thinking? Obviously, Dubbilex patched Guardian through to Superboy's mind to assist in finding him. Now where's my damn Baldy Award?!

Is it me or is this page reminiscent of the cover to Superboy Prime's first appearance during Crisis on Infinite Earths?

Patreon-Watch:

Special thanks to your Patreon pals Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, and Samuel Doran, and welcome aboard to Bheki Latha (our first $6.50 patron ever!), Mark Syp, and Ryan Bush! You are all excellent. This month they got to read a long-ass post entitled 45 Things I Learned by Reading the “Death of Superman” Novel (Part 1), in which I talked about the stuff Roger Stern added to the canon in the first part of the Death and Life of Superman book. This includes Superman’s private thoughts on the JLI (and Guy Gardner in particular), what Lex Jr. calls Supergirl in bed, and Professor Hamilton getting romantic. Find out more at https://www.patreon.com/superman86to99

But now: the Don Sparrow show! Take it away, Don.

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

The end of an era, at least temporarily, as Tom Grummett draws his last Adventures of Superman issue, moving onto Superboy (and I think still doing Robin at this time?) with Karl Kesel. He’ll return for the quarterly Superman: Man of Tomorrow and other things, but it’s a long gap until he does.

A pretty good cover, with Superman and Superboy about to tussle. Though it can be seen as cheaping out on the backgrounds, I always love radial rays as an effect.

Inside the issue, we have a great splash page of Superboy getting attacked by botched clones, and I love the gesture here—having his head snapping away from the camera adds to the motion and action. Great stuff.

Though he won’t be drawing her again for a while, Grummett excels at the new, shorter-haired Lois in these pages. Superman soaring to the skies is a great panel as well, and I especially like the way his cape and fist slightly break the panel barrier, giving it a sense of motion, again.

The sequence of Guardian acrobatically flipping from one ledge to another is very well drawn. Ditto the splash on page 13, where Superboy loses his temper. The body language in this whole sequence tells the story very well, as Superman is calm and patient, confident in his ability not only to reach Superboy with his words, but also withstand him physically.

The way Superboy snaps the carpet, but controls it mentally with his Tactile Telekinesis is a great example of his unique powers in use. It reminds me of a technique they tried on the CW Supergirl show (but almost immediately abandoned) where they made like the Kryptonian fabric of their capes was like “smart fabric” and could be used as a weapon.

Lastly, the dreamy, child-like expression on Superboy’s face during the Peter Pan exchange is wonderful, and a fitting end for Tom’s run on the book. [Max: You mean the William Shatner exchange, Don.]

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I almost never like it when they reference pop culture stuff in Superman comics, particularly music. Karl Kesel isn’t the worst offender in that department (that would be JM DeMatties a few years down the line, who had Clark Kent bizarrely asserting he loved the Beastie Boys) but Clark’s discussion with Jimmy about an apparently fictional musician working with a rolodex of early nineties names makes me cringe (as does trying to imagine how awful a “Hip Hop Lyle Lovett” or “Grunge Frank Sinatra” would sound).

The car poster on the wall of Jimmy’s bachelor pad looks for all the world like Robin’s Redbird, also a Tom Grummett creation. (Fun fact: Tom once told me he still gets {very small} royalty cheques from the Batman & Robin movie, because Robin’s motorcycle was called the Redbird, though that might no longer be true with Paul Levitz no longer in charge of such matters.)

Superboy (in no less than his third time calling those pink creatures “spuds”) references John Candy and Joe Flaherty’s “Farm Film Celebrity Blow Up” where the guests would frequently “blow up real good” and it does my SCTV loving Canadian heart good.

It’s interesting (and a little sad) that they again note that Superboy knows things (pop culture, etc) without ever having experienced it. I feel like there’s a lot they could do with this concept.

This issue reads very much like the end of the Superboy “Reign” issues, as Superman is more of a secondary character to the kid. All of it begs the question of why Superman, or Guardian put up with Cadmus. Superman has said in previous issues that he has moral problems with how Cadmus treats life with their cloning experiments, and they’ve attacked him in the past (and also stole his corpse!) so other than the fact that it’s a launchpad for Superboy’s series, there’s really no reason any of these heroes should associate with Cadmus. Especially Guardian, who comes off as little more than an errand boy here. He wants to bring Superboy in, but won’t promise Superboy won’t be harmed or imprisoned?

Nice to see Superboy return to his “Slammin’” catch phrase!

An interesting bit of foreshadowing when Superboy asks Big Words whose clone he is, and who immediately enters but Westfield. [Max: That’s right, Westfield! Not Luthor! Sorry, sorry.]

#superman #karl kesel #tom grummett #doug hazlewood #superboy #project cadmus #paul westfield #dubbilex #guardian #carl packard #rex leech #roxy leech #bloodthirst #bloodsport #hip-hop lyle lovett #grunge sinatra

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blueiscoool · 4 years

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Casu marzu: The world's 'most dangerous' cheese

The Italian island of Sardinia sits in the middle of the Tyrrhenian Sea, gazing at Italy from a distance. Surrounded by a 1,849-kilometer coastline of white sandy beaches and emerald waters, the island's inland landscape rapidly rises to form hills and impervious mountains.

And it is within these edgy curves that shepherds produce casu marzu, a maggot-infested cheese that, in 2009, the Guinness World Record proclaimed the world's most dangerous cheese.

Cheese skipper flies, Piophila casei, lay their eggs in cracks that form in cheese, usually fiore sardo, the island's salty pecorino.

Maggots hatch, making their way through the paste, digesting proteins in the process, and transforming the product into a soft creamy cheese.

Then the cheesemonger cracks open the top -- which is almost untouched by maggots -- to scoop out a spoonful of the creamy delicacy.

It's not a moment for the faint-hearted. At this point, the grubs inside begin to writhe frantically.

Some locals spin the cheese through a centrifuge to merge the maggots with the cheese. Others like it au naturel. They open their mouths and eat everything.

If you are able to overcome the understandable disgust, marzu has a flavor that is intense with reminders of the Mediterranean pastures and spicy with an aftertaste that stays for hours.

Some say it's an aphrodisiac. Others say that it could be dangerous for human health as maggots could survive the bite and and create myiasis, micro-perforations in the intestine, but so far, no such case has been linked to casu marzu.

The cheese is banned from commercial sale, but Sardinians have been eating it, jumping grubs included, for centuries.

"The maggot infestation is the spell and delight of this cheese," says Paolo Solinas, a 29-year-old Sardinian gastronome.

He says some Sardinians cringe at the thought of casu marzu, but others raised on a lifetime of salty pecorino unabashedly love its strong flavors.

"Some shepherds see the cheese as a unique personal pleasure, something that just a few elects can try," Solinas adds.

When tourists visit Sardinia, they usually wind up in a restaurant that serves porceddu sardo, a slowly roasted suckling piglet, visit bakers who sell pane carasau, a traditional paper-thin flatbread, and meet shepherds who produce fiore sardo, the island pecorino cheese.

Yet, if you are adventurous enough, it's possible to find the casu marzu. It shouldn't be seen as a weird attraction, but a product that keeps alive an ancient tradition and hints at what the future of food might look like.

Giovanni Fancello, a 77-year-old Sardinian journalist and gastronome, spent his life researching local food history. He's traced it back to a time when Sardinia was a province of the Roman empire.

"Latin was our language, and it's in our dialect that we find traces of our archaic cuisine," Fancello says.

There is no written record of Sardinian recipes until 1909, according to Fancello. That's when Vittorio Agnetti, a doctor from mainland Modena, traveled to Sardinia and compiled six recipes in a book called "La nuova cucina delle specialità regionali."

"But we have always eaten worms," says Fancello. "Pliny the Elder and Aristotle talked about it."

Ten other Italian regions have their variant of maggot-infested cheese, but while the products elsewhere are regarded as one-offs, casu marzu is intrinsically part of Sardinian food culture.

The cheese has several different names, such as casu becciu, casu fattittu, hasu muhidu, formaggio marcio. Each sub-region of the island has its own way of producing it using different kinds of milk.

Foodies inspired by the exploits of chefs such as Gordon Ramsay often come in search of the cheese, says Fancello. "They ask us: 'How do you make casu marzu?' It's part of our history. We are the sons of this food. It's the result of chance, of magic and supernatural events."

Fancello grew up in the town of Thiesi with his father Sebastiano, who was a shepherd who made casu marzu. Facello shepherded his family's sheep to grazing grounds around rural Monte Ruju, lost in the clouds, where magic was believed to happen.

He recalls that, for his father, casu marzu was a divine gift. If his cheeses didn't become infested with maggots, he would be desperate. Some of the cheese he produced stayed for the family, others went to friends or people who asked for it.

Casu Marzu is typically produced at the end of June when local sheep milk begins to change as the animals enter their reproductive time and the grass dries from the summer heat.

If a warm sirocco wind blows on the cheesemaking day, the cheese-transforming magic works even harder. Fancello says it's because the cheese has a weaker structure, making the fly's job easier.

After three months, the delicacy is ready.

Mario Murrocu, 66, keeps casu marzu traditions alive at his farm, Agriturismo Sa Mandra, near Alghero in the north of Sardinia. He also keeps 300 sheep and hosts guests in his trattoria, and keeps casu marzu traditions alive.

"You know when a form will become casu marzu," he says. "You see it from the unusual spongy texture of the paste," Murrocu says.

Nowadays, this isn't so much down to luck as the ideal conditions that cheesemongers now use to ensure as many casu marzu as possible. They've also figured out a way to use glass jars to conserve the cheese, which traditionally never lasted beyond September, for years.

Though revered, the cheese's legal status is a gray area.

Casu marzu is registered as a traditional product of Sardinia and therefore is locally protected. Still, it has been deemed illegal by the Italian government since 1962 due to laws that prohibit the consumption of food infected by parasites.

Those who sell the cheese can face high fines up to €50,000 (about $60,000) but Sardinians laugh when asked about the prohibition of their beloved cheese.

In the past few years, the European Union has begun to study and revive the notion of eating grubs thanks to the concept of novel food, where insects are raised to be consumed.

Research shows that their consumption could help reduce carbon dioxide emissions associated with animal farming and help alleviate the climate crisis.

Roberto Flore, the Sardinian head of Skylab FoodLab, the food system change laboratory of the Technical University of Denmark's innovation hub, has long studied the concept of insect consumption.

For a few years, he led the Nordic Food Lab research and development team -- part of the three-Michelin-starred NOMA restaurant -- trying to figure out ways to insert insects into our diet.

"Lots of cultures associate the insect with an ingredient," Flore says. That said, Sardinians prefer the cheese to the maggot and are often horrified by the idea that people eat scorpions or crickets in Thailand.

Flore says he's traveled around the world to study how different cultures approach insects as food and believes that while psychological barriers make it difficult to radically alter eating habits, such consumption is widespread.

"How do you define edible food?" he says ."Every region of the world has a different way to eat insects."

He's convinced that Sardinia's delicacy is safe to eat.

"I believe that nobody has ever died eating casu marzu. If they did, maybe they were drunk. You know, when you eat it, you also drink lots of wine."

Flore hopes casu marzu will soon shed its clandestine status and become a symbol of Sardinia -- not because of its unusual production, but because it's emblematic of other foods now vanishing because they don't fit in with modern mainstream tastes.

In 2005, researchers from Sardinia's Sassari University made the first step in this direction: they raised flies in the lab and made them infect pecorino cheese to show that the process can happen in a controlled way.

Islanders and researchers hope that the European Union will soon rule in their favor. Until then, anyone who wants to sample it will need to ask around when they get to Sardinia.

For those willing to suspend concerns about what they're eating, it offers an authentic experience recalling a time when nothing was thrown away and when boundaries of what was edible or not were less well defined.

Cheesemonger Murrocu says that, fittingly, locals keep an open mind about the best way to eat casu marzu, but a few other regional treats have been known to help it slip down easier.

"We spread the cheese on wet pane carasau, and we eat it," he says. "But you can eat it as you want, as long as there is some formaggio marcio and a good cannonau wine."

By Agostino Petroni.

#Casu marzu: The world's 'most dangerous' cheese #food #food porn #strange foods #maggot cheese #sardinia

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rvdispatch · 3 years

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EPISODE TWO SUMMARY

Episode Two aired on May 7th, 2021, on MNet.

Episode Two gave us our first big challenge, dividing the trainees into teams and getting them to learn nine songs-- which songs they would be performing, however, wasn’t up to them. The goal of episode two was to see the trainees bonding, tensions rising, and to show how the trainees acting under significant pressure, seeing as this turned out to be the biggest challenge in the history of all three seasons. But little did they know, so much more was about to happen.

The episode started with the trainees waking up in the dorm. Shots were shown of various trainees getting ready, be it alone or in groups. Then producers lead them to the main stage, so they can be given their next challenge. Before that happens, however, each grade group votes for their team leader, with the results being Hwa as A grade leader, Ilhoon as B grade leader, Hope as C grade leader, and Minah as D grade leader.

When the challenge is announced, most trainees meet the description with a look of confusion– to help the viewers understand, MNet provides step-by-step graphics on how the episode play out. And then the teams are made. They are all are assigned a laptop with the songs, lyrics and choreography loaded and a room to practice in for the week, with many trainees noting in their confessionals that they had been given these songs to practice before the show started-- some of them revealing that they perfected the songs, and others revealing that they hadn’t practiced at all.

All the groups watch the nine performances together in their respective rooms, with competitors ranging from excited to focused to scared. The trainees from Liberty, in particular, seem especially stressed about learning so much choreography so quickly.

In Team One, Hyunjoo takes the reins as the natural leader of the group. Not only did he compete on the previous season, where they had a challenge much like this one, but he and Eunyeol are the only trainees in this group that aren’t foreigners, and Eunyeol is a Liberty trainee. Despite how Hyunjoo typically comes off, he is a very helpful and patient leader to his teammates, going the extra mile to re-coordinate choreography formations so everyone gets a part that they know somewhat well.

Team Two is definitely a little more split-- While Ilhoon, Minsuk and Inho all are familiar with working with each other, it leaves the other two trainees feeling a little left out. Ilhoon does his best to keep everyone included, but when the choreography is being put together, it’s clear that there’s a disconnect between the Higher trainees, and the other two.

Team Three skews particularly young, with Haebi, Kahoru and Shiyin all being underage and fairly new to being a trainee. With Hwa being primarily a vocal trainee, a lot of the pressure falls on Hope to lead, which adds added difficulty with the language barrier. All five members of this team seem very eager to do well, and after some big bumps in the road, they manage to figure out how to communicate efficiently.

Team Four is very split from the beginning. It’s clear that Mirae wants to take control, and in confessionals, Minah and Yoora both agree that Mirae is the most qualified, as she is the highest rank, however Taeri seems to fight her for control, causing Mirae to snap and tell her off. Tension are very high for the entire time they are rehearsing.

And then the show comes screeching to a halt. Many confessionals are shown of the trainees explaining what happened and why production shut down, as well as how they coped with it. And, whether or not they thought the show would return at all. The trainees get back to work, though, and it’s easy to see which trainees kept practicing during the break, and which ones gave up and are rusty. Finally, however, shots are shown of the audience filling into the building for performance day, and Adonis (as host) taking the stage.

The teams are all brought onstage. The host spins a wheel, and it picks Team One to go first. It is spun again, and Team Six is set to go against them. All teams are sent back to the dressing room to get ready for their respective first stages, and the host reveals that Juliette’s Lion Heart is first on the docket.

Team One performs first, and their hard work is apparent. Hyunjoo did a great job making sure any wobbly parts are hidden. This team has the vocals to pull this song off, too-- despite Hyunjoo’s voice being a little too deep and standing out a lot, this team does very well. Some of them fall into the trap of making feminine choreography a bit of a joke, but most of them try their best. Team Six does a fairly good job as well, however their vocals aren’t strong enough to do the song justice.

Teams Two and Three are picked to go next, with Team Two out to perform first-- their song being Merci’s Lady. Inho in particular really stands out; despite being the youngest competitor, he has a lot of confidence and charisma, and does Jiae’s part well. Team Two has the right attitude for the song, however they don’t have the vocal power-- the whistle note in particular being hard for their vocalists.

Team Three had the opposite issue-- with none of them being rappers, and most of them having language barriers, the rap parts left a lot to be desired. However Hope did a very good job carrying the chorus, with Yihwa proving once again that she is one of the strongest vocalists in the competition.

Team Four and Five are the last to perform, with their first song being Pirate King. Team Four has some trouble with choreography, with many of them noticeably lagging behind Mirae, who for her part, did the song very well. Team Four’s inexperience and lack of synergy overall brought the song down. Team Five wasn’t memorable, but they put in a solid effort.

None of the winners of the matchups are shown– MNet keeps that footage until the end of the episode, to build suspense. While in real time, the trainees got to watch their stages after the first day, it is edited so that all nine matchups are first, trainee reactions are second, and the rank and matchup winners are last.

The editors continue as if it were the same day, and Team Four and Team One await onstage as their song is picked– Love Me Right. The production team has a fun time squaring up trainees against each other, with Mirae and Hyunjoo competing, as well as Eli and Mint. Team Four performs first, and while the choreography still seems a little out of some of their leagues, they have an easier time with this one than on day one. Thet has some trouble carrying the song, however Mirae nails the vibe of Love Me Right and gives an engaging performance. Team One does equally well, with the hosts calling this one one of the most even matchups yet. Hyunjoo, like Mirae, seems to fit the song very well, and his extra work with the formations shines through once more-- while the choreo is clunky, it’s disguised.

Team Two and Team Six both perform Venus’ Breakthrough. Adonis comments that this is one of the least well-known songs on the docket for this week, which could prove to be difficult, seeing as the other songs might be ones trainees practiced at their companies for evals.

Team Two goes first. While they do a very good job and their choreography in particular is top notch, Eda critiques Inho specifically, telling him that while he is a very good rapper, he went too hard for this song, and that beign a good rapper also includes tone and knowing when to go hard and when to be softer to suit the music. In a closed-door meeting between the judges, She comments on how she personally thinks a bit of unintentional misogyny is at play, with Inho not wanting to sound too feminine, or thinking this style of rap isn’t good (though she clarifies that she’s just speculating). Team Six is full of Venus fans, and while they do a good job, they get a little to excited, and their stage is a little sloppy

Team Three and Team Five compete with Empire’s Bang Bang Bang. In a confessional, Hope says that this was the song she wanted to do the least, since Kyuyeol and DK were both judges, and would be nitpicking people doing their own song. Team Three notably shifts the line distribution around, splitting both Prince and DK’s parts so that Yihwa gets the power notes and Hope gets the lower difficulty ones, and it works to their favor, with this team performing a near perfect stage. Team Five does well, but they had a particularly hard act they had to follow.

As for day three, the performances start with Team Two and Team Four performing I Am The Best by Reign. This is Team Four’s best stage, with Yuan commenting that it’s likely because of the less difficult choreography. Kyuyeol states that they had the right sort of confidence for this stage, and for this song in particular, that was what was most important. As for Team Two, the boys from Higher do well, but the other two lag behind. Adonis comments that since they are from Higher, they’ve likely had to perform this song before, and that it showed-- their performance came out a little hollow.

Team Five and Six go head to head with Inferno’s Devil next. Both performances are mediocre at best.

Finally, to finish off the performances, Team One and Team Three perform Haze’s Electric Shock. This is Team One’s best performance-- it’s the easiest choreography they’ve had to do yet, and while Hyunjoo’s voice is a touch too deep for the song, they all seem to be having a lot of fun. It’s a tight race, though-- Team Three has the same amount of fire and bubbliness to their performance, with DK mentioning that this one is going to be a photo finish.

MNet plays the shots of the trainees watching their own performances back, and then more random clips are thrown in too. The trainees are gathered in the Main Stage area with the coaches and the host, to see who won each match up. The votes for each trainee are to appear on the screen one by one, and then at the end, the overall tallies, to indicate who won.

For Lion Heart, Eli got the most votes, with Team One winning the match. For Lady, Hwa gets the most votes, however Team Two brings home the win. For Pirate King, Mirae gets the most votes as well as the win for Team Four. For Love Me Right, Mirae gets the most votes once more, but Team One wins. For Breakthrough, Minsuk gets the most votes and Team Two bags another win. For Bang Bang Bang, Hope gets the most votes and the win for Team Three For I Am the Best, Mirae once again is voted the highest, and Team Four wins. For Devil, Xueying gets the most votes, and Team Five gets their first W For Electric Shock, Hyunjoo gets the most votes, however Team Three wins.

The ranking is then revealed to the trainees and the audience, and the episode ends.

#rivalzip #ip3 episode 002

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argylemnwrites · 5 years

Text

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment - Chapter 20

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Canon Divergent from Book 2, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~6100

Rating: R (language, explicit 30 diamond content)

Summary: Reunited

Author’s Note: Just one more chapter and the epilogue after this, folks.

This series diverges from TRR canon, where instead of waiting to discuss his relationship with Riley until their last night in NYC, leaving her a note while Liam is proposing to her, Drake tackles this topic as soon as possible after Tariq makes his statement and Riley’s name is cleared. To catch up on this series, you can find the previous chapters in my masterlist (link is located in my bio).

Drake didn’t know what to do, what to say. The greeting had been obvious, but now he stood there, just staring at her as she did the same. It was so uncomfortable, and Drake had no idea how to make it better. Maxwell and Liam had both said it was in his power to make things right. But they had way too much faith in him here. He was absolute shit when it came to talking about things. Feelings. Emotions. All that crap. Yet, that was what he had to do here. Man, he just knew he was gonna screw everything up.

Taking a deep breath, Drake tried to find some words. “Do you think… I mean… we should probably… why don’t we… I guess-”

“Come on,” said Riley, spinning on her feet, “I have a place we can go.”

Drake felt his eyebrows scrunching together at that. He hoped they would head back to her place, but maybe she didn’t want him there. Regardless, she was striding with purpose towards the escalators, so he grabbed his bag and hurried after her. He couldn’t get left behind.

He followed her, not to the train, as he’d expected, but to the taxi bay. He loaded his luggage into the trunk before joining her in the backseat. She sat behind the driver, fingers drumming on her knees. The middle seat between them felt like some sort of clear barrier. Drake kept glancing over at Riley, but felt like it would be wrong to reach out and touch her.

Every time she turned to look at him, he found himself quickly jerking his head over to look out the window. It was like they were back in the social season, back when he wouldn’t realize he was staring at her at some ball or bullshit event until she locked eyes with him. It had been an annoying realization back then - how much his eyes drifted to her.

The ride to wherever Riley had told the cab to go was shockingly short, so soon Drake was grabbing his suitcase out of the trunk, taking in their surroundings. He had no idea where they were. It didn’t feel like New York City. There was a giant parking lot off to one side, and a swath of brush to the other. Drake didn’t see any other people around. He would have been sure they’d left the city if the ride had been any longer.

“It’s just a bit of a walk,” said Riley, gesturing through the brush.

“Should I bring this with me?” asked Drake, holding up his suitcase.

“Shit, I didn’t think about your luggage,” she said, “But yeah, bring it with unless you want it stolen.”

So Drake hefted up his suitcase and followed Riley across the stretch of land until they reached a small beach. It was quiet and isolated, not at all the type of place Drake would imagine finding in this city. The wind whipped off the water carrying a cool moisture and adding a deeper chill to the late fall evening. He instinctively glanced over at Riley, noting that she was just wearing a sweater. Clearly, either she hadn’t planned on taking him here initially, or she just didn’t think things through at all. She was gonna freeze.

“Here,” said Drake, dropping his suitcase into the sand, “take a seat. I’ll get a bonfire started.”

After he gathered some scattered driftwood and dry brush for kindling, Drake pulled out his lighter, nursing the flames to life before making his way back over to Riley, sitting down on the relatively flat rock next to his suitcase. The fire wasn’t large, but the warmth from the flames helped somewhat.

He looked over at Riley. She didn’t look too cold, but she did have her sweater wrapped around her tightly. She was staring straight ahead, almost through the flames. She was silent for a long time. Drake wasn’t sure if he was supposed to talk first, but since she was the one who wanted to come out here, he figured he would follow her lead, so he just sat there, staring out at the water with her.

“I used to come out here all the time when I was a teenager.”

Her words were quiet and small, but clear. Drake didn’t look at her. When she got like this, it was always because she was sharing something she’d rather forget, and he knew eye contact might scare her off at this point. So he just sat there, still and silent, waiting for her to continue.

“It was my mom’s fourth stint in prison, and I was with a family that lived not too far from JFK. The Grissoms. They were probably the worst foster family I was with. Nasty people, absolutely hated kids, just wanted the tax break. There were three other teenagers in the house and everyone was just mean and cruel. This one boy, Jason, was 16, and he stole all my clothes a couple of times and tried to get me to… well, let’s just say, I hated it there.

“So, I tried to run away. I figured I could keep getting food at school and just live on the streets, but little Chinese girls tend to get a lot of unwanted attention if they’re out at night, so I just kept moving until I found this place. I just wanted somewhere remote, somewhere where no one would find me. It was peaceful. No one was harassing me. I would watch the planes take off from JFK and feel like maybe someday I’d really be able to get away from it all. I don’t know, I guess it gave me hope. I managed four nights out here when I was fourteen before a couple found me and called the cops.

“I got moved to a different home, at least. The Grissoms didn’t want to deal with an ‘ungrateful runaway bitch’ so they told my case worker that I was causing problems, hitting the other kids in their home, stealing from them, that sort of shit. I don’t know if the case worker believed them, or if it was easier just to get me out of there to not have to deal with their complaints, but she placed me with a different family for the last couple of months of my mom’s sentence.

“But no matter where I went for the next few years, no matter what neighborhood I got placed in or if I was back in Chinatown with my mom, I would come out here when I wanted to be alone and just think. It’s quiet, you know, and there’s rarely anyone else here.

“I haven’t been back here in a few years. The last time was after my mother’s funeral, when I realized I was gonna have to drop out of college because I didn’t have a dime left to my name after her bare-bones funeral. But since then, I don’t know. I guess I just avoided thinking about things too deeply. It was easier just to drift along, never dealing with anything serious. Never letting things get serious.

“I probably should have come out here more, ya know? I should have maybe actually dealt with some of my shit. But Drake, you have to understand that my experience in Cordonia, getting to know you guys… well it was nothing like anything I’d ever had before. I’d never had friends who actually gave a damn about me. And sometimes it still feels like it’s all going to come crashing down and leave me all alone. I’ve always ended up alone before.

“I panicked when you told me you were going to stay in Cordonia, and I assumed that I would never see you again. But I shouldn’t have ignored all your texts. That was… well, a mad shitty thing to do. So I’m sorry.”

“Riley, come on. I should be the one apologizing,” Drake began, turning his head to face her, watching her shake her head lightly.

“For what? Spending a week and a half with your best friend after his father died while he was under threat of attack? Come on, Drake. You know that was a reasonable thing to do.” Her head dropped slightly at that, staring down at the sand beneath her feet.

“Maybe not for that,” Drake acquiesced, turning back to face the fire, “But for acting like I didn’t want to be here with you? For letting you think that I wanted out? Well, I could probably stand to apologize for that.”

He noticed Riley shift in his peripheral vision. He felt her eyes on him, her gaze practically burning a hole into the side of his head. She didn’t say a damn thing, though. Well, that must mean it was his turn to talk.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about… well, my life, I guess,” Drake started, dropping his head down to stare at his shoes. “I dunno, I think that I’ve been pretty… aimless, I guess is the right word, for about eight years. All I’ve really done is just kinda vaguely be there for Liam.

“Liam… well he kind of pointed out that I often tried to keep things that were bothering me from him. He just had so much stressful shit on his plate already, I didn’t ever want to add to that, you know? But he said it didn’t do us any favors in the long run that I kept everything hidden away. He was right, of course. It turned our friendship into some sort of duty in my mind. And that’s not fucking healthy. Since I left university, I’ve basically made myself his emotional guardian at the expense of every fucking other thing in my life.

“And I was really damn good at it. It turns out that I’m a fucking champ at repressing all the shit I’m feeling. At least I was until I dumped years of crap on Liam the day you left Cordonia.”

“Drake, are you guys…?” she asked, reaching over and grabbing his wrist. It was the first time she’d touched him since she’d gotten on that plane, and even though she was trying to be reassuring and gentle, he still almost felt as if her fingers carried an electric jolt. He swallowed roughly, trying to gain a better grasp on his emotions. Talking about all this shit was hard enough without him freaking out like a thirteen year old whose crush waved at him.

“We’re okay now. He uhhh… well, he had a bunch of shit to unload on me, too.”

“About… us?”

Drake glanced over at Riley. She looked so nervous, her brow furrowed and her lips scrunched together. She obviously felt guilty that she might have in any way played a role in the shit that went down between him and Liam. Drake’s instinct was to reassure her, tell her what she needed to hear to get that look off her face. But hiding the truth because it wouldn’t be pleasant for her was the type of shit he knew he needed to stop doing. So he took a deep breath and started talking again.

“I mean, that was part of it. More so that I didn’t tell him something was going on between us earlier than us actually being together, but yeah. We were… a topic of conversation. But Liu, it went a lot deeper than us. I mean, we both had stuff from years and years ago we threw at each other. Shit from long before we even met you.

“I told you about the assassination attempt, how I left university to be there for him and all that? Well, I don’t think I ever really let myself move on from that decision. I just fucked around for almost a decade. I didn’t make life plans, I didn’t move forward. I just was there for Liam. And somewhere along the way, I don’t know, I stopped even thinking about what I might want out of life. It’s like I didn’t let myself have a future.

“I guess I kind of fell into this pattern where I just hung around in case Liam needed me for something. I didn’t give it much thought. I don’t know. I just kind of… existed. I was really stuck. But then you came along, and I got to know you. It actually felt like someone got me. I could talk to you. I could drink with you. I didn’t hate myself when I was around you, and for the first time in a long time, I wanted something for myself.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when he realized how bad they sounded. He scrambled, quickly saying, “Shit. Liu, I didn’t mean that I saw you as some sort of object to own or keep or-” but Riley squeezed the wrist she was still holding, sliding her hand down into his, effectively cutting off his rambling apology.

“I know what you meant, Drake.”

He nodded and took another deep breath, “Right. Well, you know all this anyway. As much as I wanted to be with you, I just didn’t feel like there was any way you would ever want to be with me. Not when Liam was right there, and certainly not when no woman had ever wanted to stick around before. So I shoved you away. I pushed you towards Liam. But even with all that shit, you still somehow saw me. You stuck around. And I’m not used to anyone sticking around.”

Drake let his words hang there, the wind whipping across the beach and the crackle of the bonfire the only sounds. He was tempted to light up a cigarette, something to distract himself from the weird mix of emotions he was experiencing from talking about all of this, but Riley kept holding onto his hand. And if she wasn’t letting go, he certainly wasn’t going to either, particularly for something as trivial as a cigarette. So they just sat there together. It was a few minutes before Riley spoke again.

“I feel the same way, Drake. Before this past year, I didn’t have anyone I was even remotely close to. I never talked about my past with any of my friends, if you can even call them that. And sometimes the way you look at me, the way you listen to me, well… it scares the shit out of me. Because I finally know what it feels like to have someone understand me and still care about me, and all my mind does is worry how I am going to go back to not having someone like that in my life when I end up all alone. Because that’s what’s always happened before - I end up all alone.”

Drake wanted to wrap his arm around her, assure her that he was never going anywhere, but just like he hadn’t believed her during the social season or on the engagement tour when she said she wanted him, not Liam, he knew that ultimately, his words would do little to eliminate years of pain, worry, and insecurity. That healing from that and moving forward was not going to magically happen because he loved her. If it did, he probably wouldn’t have wasted so much time shoving her away from him and towards Liam.

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” she asked, leaning against his side, placing her head on his shoulder.

“Heh. Well, at least we understand where the other one’s coming from.”

He could feel her cheek raising as she smiled, and it brought a smile to his own face. “Hana told me I should stop acting out of fear just to avoid the possibility of anything negative. And I’m trying, Drake. I really am. But it’s hard for me, and I can’t promise that it won’t take a long time for me to get there.”

She pulled away slightly, so Drake turned his head. Her dark eyes were staring at him, staring straight through him almost.

“That’s fine with me,” he said, “I don’t have anywhere else I need to be.”

“Drake…”

“Seriously, Liu. I think it’s clear after tonight that we both are trying to make some changes for the better in our lives. I could have just as easily told you that it was going to take me a long time to figure out what I want to do with my life going forward. So, what do you say? Are you okay with me being a nearly 30 year old unemployed man without a degree who’s trying to figure his shit out?”

She nodded gently, reaching out to cup his cheek with her free hand. Drake closed his eyes at her touch, feeling like weight after weight had been shed with their conversation. When he opened his eyes, she was there, looking at him expectantly.

He leaned forward at the same time she did, and when they finally kissed, it wasn’t desperate or intense. It was calm, like they were testing the waters, rediscovering each other in light of everything. And for now, it felt like more than enough. They might be stumbling forward in their lives, but it was clear they both wanted to do so with each other.

When they broke apart, Drake pressed his forehead against hers, trying to soak her in. “Riley…”

“We face our struggles together from now on, right?”

“Yeah, Liu. Together sounds good.”

She pulled away from him and pushed herself off his suitcase, extending her hand to him and helping him to his feet as well, “Why don’t you put out the fire, and I’ll call us a ride. I don’t know about you, but I’m about ready to go home.”

The cab ride into Manhattan, back to her apartment, was a much different sort of silent from the one an hour earlier. Riley sat right next to him, clutching the hand he’d flung over her shoulder, leaning up to kiss him every so often. They got stuck in traffic several times, but the tension and stress of earlier was gone. For all the work that lay ahead of both of them, it just felt nice to know that they wanted to go through it as a couple.

When they finally arrived at her building, Riley told him she was going to go check the mail while he grabbed his suitcase. After paying the driver, Drake made his way to the building entrance. He moved to pull his keys out of his pocket, but Riley noticed him and pushed the door open for him, a small frown on her face and a little slip of paper in her other hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s a delivery attempt notification. It was taped to the mailbox. It says they tried to deliver a package that was too big for the parcel box, but I didn’t order anything.”

“Oh, well… that’s probably for me.”

She turned and stared at him, her forehead deeply wrinkled as she gave her head a little shake, but she said nothing, so Drake quickly scrambled to explain himself.

“Yeah, so I couldn’t fit some of the things I’d packed up in my luggage. I just put your address, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you ahead. Bastien must have rush shipped them-”

Her lips were on his, his back hitting the metal of the mailboxes on the opposite wall and his suitcase falling to the ground before he could fully process Riley lunging at him. Unlike the kisses at the beach or in the cab, this was raw. Aggressive. Possessive. He felt himself responding before he could even fully mentally process what was going on, his hands sliding across her waist and down to her ass, holding her tight against him. She clung to his jacket, tugging him off the wall just slightly.

It was all fire and heat, intense enough to burn away the last traces of stilted awkwardness that had settled over their dynamic. Drake felt like his hands were moving of their own accord, tracing over her body, grabbing, pulling, cementing her as close to him as possible. At some point, he slid his hands down her back, over her ass and to her thighs, at which point she jumped just enough to wrap her legs around his hips as he held her tight.

After a few more moments of desperate kissing, Drake took a step forward, ready to move things upstairs. But he’d barely started to walk when he felt his balance completely falter as his foot collided with something. He didn’t have time to give Riley much of a warning, just tearing his lips away from hers as he yelled out “What the fuck?” His grip on her slipped and she tumbled off his hips and onto the floor with a surprised little yelp as Drake stumbled into the wall next to him.

“Riley, are you okay?” he asked, cringing as he moved aside his suitcase, the source of their current predicament. He crouched down next to her, scanning over her quickly, looking for any injuries, but Riley just threw her head back and laughed. After a few seconds, when he was sure the most damaged thing was his ego, Drake joined her, chuckling deeply.

“Moves like that are always a bit sexier in the movies, huh?” she choked out between her bouts of laughter. “It’s probably for the best. I don’t think we would have made it up three flights of stairs like that.”

“Are you doubting my strength, Liu?”

“No, but after that demonstration, I am doubting your coordination.”

Drake just shook his head. He ran a hand over his face before extending it to her, helping her to her feet as he stood up. She kept holding onto his hand, even when he took a small step away from her to pick up the suitcase that had interrupted them.

“You think you’re up to try walking again?” she asked, her eyes wide in mock-innocence.

“Oh ha ha.”

“Come on,” she said, tugging him along behind her up the narrow staircases and down the hallway to her apartment. She didn’t let go of his hand until she had to get her keys out. But she unlocked the door swiftly, then grabbed his hand again, pulling him in and closing the door.

Her lips were back on his in an instant, her hands grabbing the suitcase from him and setting it on the floor right by the door before she started pushing against his shoulders, navigating him backwards towards the bed. In two steps he felt the mattress against the back of his legs, so he sat down, his hands settling on her waist as she straddled him a moment later.

She rolled her hips down against him as she tugged her sweater over her head, leaving her in a simple black tank top, before she kissed him again, dropping her hands to his shoulders. He ran his hands through her hair, moving his lips across her jaw to her neck, desperate to retaste every square centimeter of her body. The little groan she let out only drove him on further, bucking his hips up against her.

It didn’t take long for the heat building between them to escalate, both of them grabbing, biting, pulling. As she slid her hands under his shirt and dragged her nails across his stomach, he tugged her tank top off. In an instant, her lips were back on his, rough and demanding as he dragged his hands across her torso, cupping her breasts.

From that point, it was a scramble to get all their remaining clothing off. As Riley hopped off his lap to shimmy out of her jeans, Drake threw his shirt onto the floor and started to undo his belt, but he was distracted when Riley scampered over to the closet. She opened the door and crouched down in just her bra and panties, clearly digging through something.

“Uhh, Liu? What the fuck are you doing?”

After a few seconds, she spun around, holding up a foil packet in triumph. “Looking for this,” she said as she walked back over to the end of the bed, “unless you don’t want to have sex tonight?”

“You don’t have to take so much pleasure in teasing me, you know.”

“Well, unless you give me another pleasure, it’s all I’ve got,” she said, grabbing his belt buckle and pulling him up to standing.

“God, your dirty talk is terrible,” he laughed, but it quickly turned into a groan as she undid his jeans and slid her hand over the front of his boxers.

“Yeah, thought that might stop your complaints,” she said, throwing him a wink as she yanked down his pants and pushed on his chest, nudging him back toward the bed. He pulled her panties off as he sat down, tugging her onto his lap as he slid fully onto the bed.

His fingers fell between her legs and he started stroking her as she groaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him sloppily. He moved his hand slightly to slide a finger inside her, but she pulled away and shook her head.

“I just want to be closer to you right now, okay?” she said as she handed him the condom and reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. Drake had wanted to take his time with her, but her request was so sweet, so much more vulnerable than he was used to seeing her, that he just nodded, kicking off his boxers and rolling on the condom, and then she wrapped her legs around his waist and lowered herself onto him.

They both groaned at the sensation, Riley dropping her face to the crook of his neck and clawing her hands into his back. She clung to him tightly as she started to ride him, Drake raising his hips to match her rhythm and wrapping his arms around her. It was like they both were desperate to somehow be closer to each other, even though they were touching everywhere already. Riley eventually pulled her head back, sliding one hand up into his hair and staring right into his eyes before she tipped her head slightly and kissed him roughly.

It was overwhelming, feeling her wrapped around literally every part of him. He wasn’t sure if anything in his life had ever felt this damn good. It wasn’t the best sex he’d ever had, but somehow it just felt like more. A stray thought drifted through his mind that it felt like being home, but a slight tug on his hair from Riley as she ground against him drove everything but his physical pleasure from his mind.

“Riley,” he breathed out, “I’m not… gonna last. Are you… are you close?”

She nodded, biting her lower lip as she slid one hand off of his shoulder and down to just above where they were joined. He felt her fingers moving between their bodies, in time with their thrusts, and he closed his eyes, trying to stave off his inevitable release until she got there. He didn’t have to wait long, because a few moments later, she was clenching around him as she moaned out one of the most erotic noises he’d ever heard. He clutched at her hip and thrust up into her wildly, joining her as he fell over the edge, muttering her name into her neck over and over and slumping back against the wall behind him.

They stayed tightly wrapped around each other for several long moments, neither seeming to want to end their connection, but eventually, Drake felt Riley shift off him, moving her legs slightly, causing Drake to realize he kind of had her trapped. He leaned forward and she unwrapped her legs, sliding back further and straddling his knees as she stretched a bit. Drake grabbed the condom and leaned over to toss it into the trash. With his movements, he noticed Riley rising up as if to move away from him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked as he clutched her wrist, finishing disposing of his mess and leaning forward to kiss her gently.

She smiled at him lightly once he pulled back, “It felt like you were trying to move.”

“Hell no. I’m not going anywhere,” he sighed out, sliding down and sinking into her crappy ass mattress, pulling her down to lay on top of him, her arms sprawling around his head and her legs tangling with his, “I’ve never been more comfortable.”

They laid like that, calm and relaxed for several minutes, Drake tracing his hand along her spine and Riley playing with his hair. It was so peaceful, Drake nearly felt himself drifting off to sleep when Riley spoke.

“Not to kill the mood, but I don’t think we can stay here.”

Drake shook his head, trying to follow her train of thought. He still felt stupid, like he was drunk, on her, on them, on being together, so it wasn’t surprising that his response was far from eloquent. “Huh?”

Riley smiled and batted her eyelashes before she answered, “I don’t mean we have to go anywhere right now. But I don’t think this apartment is going to work well for us going forward.”

“This is what you were thinking about during sex?”

“No, it’s what I’m thinking about after sex. What I didn’t let myself think about while you were gone.” She trailed off at the end, burying her face in his chest. Drake understood these admissions weren’t easy for her, to talk about the uncomfortable realities instead of just marching forward and pretending everything was just fine, so he tried to soothe her, running his hand between her shoulder blades and dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

“Okay, so why can’t we stay here?”

“Drake, do I really have to tell you that?” she asked, pushing up slightly to look him in his eyes. “There’s barely enough space for one person here, much less two plus a dog.”

At the mention of Anderson, Drake lifted his head up, glancing around the studio, “Hey, where is your dog?”

Riley laughed at that, “You’re just noticing he isn’t here now?”

“I had a few other things on my mind when we got up here.”

She laughed harder, “No, I think you had one thing on your mind. To answer your question, Daniel had been asking me to take Anderson for a weekend. He and his boyfriend have been talking about getting a dog, and they wanted to do a trial run. This weekend seemed like a good choice.”

“So, you’re telling me it’s just the two of us for the next two days?” His hand trailed down her back and across her hip with his question, ready to continue reacquainting himself with her body, but she playfully swatted at his chest.

“Yes, so there will be time for more of that later, after we finish talking about this.”

“What’s to talk about? You just said we don’t have to go anywhere tonight. I agree. Let’s not leave this bed.”

“Drake! I’m serious, what do you think about us finding a different apartment when the lease is up?”

Drake shrugged slightly, “I can’t say I’ve thought about it at all. Why do you want to move, anyway?”

“Well, there’s the whole size thing like I said. Also, you know, you hate it here.”

“I don’t hate it-”

“Yeah, you do. I love being this close to bars and restaurants, but you hate the noise and the crowds. Plus, they keep you up at night, and I hate to break it to you, but when you’re sleep deprived, you cross the line from lovable grump to straight up asshole.”

Drake just shook his head, “But like you said, you love this location. I’m not gonna ask you to leave it.”

“You aren’t asking, Drake. I’m bringing it up. And as the person here who actually has some experience living in different parts of the city, I think we should move somewhere that’s a fit for the two of us.”

“Liu we can barely afford this place. How the hell are we supposed to afford a bigger apartment?”

“I don't know if you realize this, but New York City does have more neighborhoods than the Lower East Side.”

“Haha,” he replied dryly. “I seem to remember the rental costs all over the island were obscene.”

“Well I know you're practically a native New Yorker at this point, what with your one month of living here, but there are other boroughs besides Manhattan.”

Drake widened his eyes, thinking back on everything she had said about Brooklyn, Queens, basically any place that wasn't Manhattan. Riley, upon seeing his reaction, just rolled her eyes.

“I may have been a touch dramatic in the past in regards to the surrounding metro area.”

“Well, that’s the motherfucking understatement of the year. You said that living in New Jersey was the same as choosing to live in a fucking armpit.”

“I stand by that statement. But I am willing to move out of Manhattan to get us a little more space and you a little more quiet.”

“But you’ve always said you're a Manhattan native.”

“So maybe it’s time to try something new.”

“Liu, you work four blocks from here.”

“Well, good thing that there’s this little thing called the subway that I could take to get to and from work.”

“But this is a convenient, practical location that you obviously chose for a reason. I won’t have you giving that up just because you think I’m uncomfortable here or whatever.”

Riley shrugged, “You gave up Cordonia for me. This is nothing.”

“But, Liu-”

“And,” she continued, ignoring his attempts to cut her off, “I don’t just think you’re uncomfortable here. I know you are. Drake, to this day you keep referring to it as my apartment. I don’t think you’ve called it ‘ours’ even once. You’re right, this location works for me. But it doesn’t work for you, and that means it won’t work for us. Someone very wise once told me that relationships require compromise and that there would be a time going forward where I would be in the better position to make that compromise. So I’m making it.”

Drake blinked a few times, trying to wrap his head around this turn of events. She was putting them first, something she’d done time and time over, but it still humbled him, to think that someone like her would see enough value in him to make sacrifices to accommodate him. But she had always seen him as better, more deserving, than he saw himself. And maybe it wouldn’t do well to question whatever good luck had put him in this place, to meet someone like her.

“Someone wise, huh?”

“He can be. When he’s not being a stubborn idiot.”

Drake let out a few chuckles at that. “I’ll take it. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to move to accommodate my grumpy ass.”

“Drake, don’t you want a place that feels like it’s ours? Why are you fighting me on this?”

“Because I’m an insecure mess who doubts anything good in his life,” ran through his mind, but he knew she was right. “As long as you’re sure, Riley.”

“I am. You aren’t going to talk me out of this, Drake Walker. You should know, you aren’t very good at talking me out of anything.”

“Really.”

‘Absolutely. I’m almost as stubborn as you, so you’re at a disadvantage from the start. And really, look at your track record. You repeatedly tried to talk me out of falling for you, and we know how that turned out.”

“I am rather glad you ignored me on that one.”

With that, she leaned down, tossing her hair to the side and kissing him again. He clutched her neck, moaning as she deepened the kiss. Eventually she pulled back, bracing herself on her elbows above him.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

He swallowed roughly, her long black hair forming a surreal sort of curtain off to the side, her face the only thing he really saw. “Yeah, I do. I love you, too.”

Permatag: @speedyoperarascalparty @mfackenthal @lilyofchoices @thequeenofcronuts @jamesashtonisbae

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie @octobereighth

Drake x MC only: @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley--walker @notoriouscs @butindeed @addictedtodrakefanfic

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment: @wickedgypsymoon @thesumofmychoices @cosigottahavefaith @thequeenchoices @katedrakeohd @feartheendlesssummer @ao719 @ooo-barff-ooo @sunnyxdazed

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr fanfic #trr #the royal romance #choices fanfiction #choices #choices stories you play #playchoices #n*fw #30 diamonds

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mangled-dreams · 4 years

Text

Making Memories: 7

Making Memories: 7. Dangerous Dreaming

They didn’t notice it at first. You’d been hiding it fairly well. Sitting on the couch you stare out the windows. The season seems to be passing by without a second glance. Everything seemed to happen so fast and there had been no chance of hitting the pause button.

Anti has taken you to the hidden realm a few times, trying to acclimate your changing body. It’s not that there is much difference in ways of atmosphere or looks, but the lack of warmth was something that took you by surprise. He assured you that your body would get used to the change in temperature and you would be able to control your body temperature to match the temperature around you.

Sighing, your eyes watch droplets of rain run down the glass window. You don’t want to leave this little haven of yours. It’s been your dream to stay in the woods, surrounded by the fairy folk and mystic creatures living there.

Closing your eyes you rest your forehead against the window. You haven’t been open with Anti or Dark, for that matter, over the past three weeks. The pair seemed to be under a lot of stress dealing with things they don’t want to go into detail over, and you didn’t want to worry them.

Even now Anti and Dark sit at the far end of the cabin talking in hushed tones. You know you could make out their conversation if you really wanted to, but as of lately you’ve just been tired. Sleep has become a thing of discomfort.

“We should take her back and test out her abilities. It’s clear they are getting stronger. Her abilities are going to be quite amazing, Anti. She will be sought after.” You hear Dark say as if he’s right next to you.

“I understand that, Dark.” Anti responds tight lipped. He hates the idea of forcing you to test out your powers before you’re ready mentally. “I won’t force her to explore her abilities before she is ready. As it is I have forced her into a corner just by staying around her.” Anti adds, his tone breaking your heart. You hate how much self loathing Anti holds over this predicament.

Attempting to lift yourself from the couch to comfort him, you find yourself held motionless on the couch. No part of your body responds to your commands. Even your eyes refuse to lift. Feeling your heart pound in your chest you realize this feeling. Sleep paralysis.

Worse than feeling helpless is what happens next. The darkness gives way to light, a field of beautiful flowers of all colors greets you. Everything looks so cheerful and peaceful. It always does when you first arrive.

Off to your left you see Ra bouncing from flower to flower in sprite bliss. Your lips curve into a small at his obvious joy. Ra is bigger than before, almost the size of an adolescent child. His hair is pulled back in a high ponytail as he wanders through the field.

Calling out to him, you can’t hear your own voice, and yet he turns. His smile is warm and welcoming. Lifting from the ground his wings carry him to you, their colors shimmering brilliantly in the sun. His body shrinks the closer he comes until he’s back to his normal size, a little bigger if you’re thinking correctly. Holding your hands out he lands there, sitting down in your palms positively glowing with happiness.

He talks to you, his voice seeming to be muted by some mystical power. You respond, and again you can’t hear your own voice. He lifts from your palm his body language changing, and you know it’s happening.

Both your heads look up to the sky as a black cloud rolls across the soft blue, blocking out the sun and casting the field into darkness. You shiver at the feeling of dread run up your spine. In front of you Ra grows to that of Anti’s height, his body paced protectively in front of you.

From the black cloud a man with dark tribal like marking across his face and torso descends from the sky. Dream you recognize him, but to you he’s nothing more than a stranger. Your eyes meet and he smiles.

You shiver again. His smile is hollow and filled with malice. Ra turns to you, shouting something you disagree to. His face is contorted in fear and in need to protect you. He pleads, his eyes trying to convince you to flee, to let him protect you. Again you stay still.

The man across from you does something you don’t catch, but Ra is bleeding. Your hands wrap around him, pulling him with you, trying to protect him. Blood coats your hands as you try to stop the bleeding. Tears blur your vision as the ground next to you explodes, pelting you both with debris.

Looking at the man you shout something, probably pleading him to leave Ra along, that you’ll do anything to save the sprite you love so dearly. The man does not agree. His cold smile widens to show sharp teeth. Before you can say anything more he rushes you, his intent to kill.

Raising your arms instinctually you create a barrier that knocks him back. Tears burn against your cheek as you stand to your feet to protect Ra.

Roaring with anger the man rams your barrier, cracks appearing with each attack he sends your way. Two more hits to the barrier and it breaks. Feeling the blow against your chest you’re knocked backwards, spinning in the air before tumbling head over heels. Everything hurts, you feel dizzy and weak, yet you get to your feet. You can’t leave Ra alone, you won’t let the man hurt Ra without giving him one hell of a fight.

Closing your eyes, you feel a surge of power engulf your body. Opening your eyes you run forward, your left arm wipping out unleashing a huge wave of black and purple energy at the man. He tries to block, but the wave knocks him back, blood oozing from the area your wave hit. Over and over you send wave after wave against him, forcing him back from Ra’s weakened form.

Sprinting forward you get in close to him. Barely missing a strong punch, you counter with a right hook of your own. The power behind your blow sends him flying back. Knowing that you can’t let up, you chase after him, jumping high into the sky. Angling yourself to land on top of him, you bring down your left fist into his stomach.

You can’t follow up with another blow. The man’s hand grabs you by the neck, squeezing your throat tightly as he slowly gets to his feet. You can see he’s straining to maintain his stance, putting all his power into holding you off the ground.

His teeth are bared as he says something you believe is filled with hate and malice. Using the last of his strength he throws you into the ground, your breath leaving your body and for a moment everything turns black.

The moment you draw a breath back into your body you’re greeted with a large spear aim directly at your heart. Fear runs through your body as it inches closer to you in slow motion. You can’t move, your body still trying to recover from the slam.

Before it reaches you a familiar body appears above you. At first you can’t comprehend what happened, but as the warm sticky red liquid soaks through your clothing the full picture comes together.

Your mouth opens in horror at the sight of Ra standing over you with a spear pierced through his gut. Above him the man’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Ra’s hand buried in his chest. Heart racing you scramble to your feet. Shoving your attacker away from Ra before wrapping your arms around Ra you easing him to the ground.

Fat droplets of your tears fall against his face. Your heart breaking at the knowledge he is dying in your arms. Looking at the spear, you grab the staff and burn it down to the tip. Pulling Ra towards your stomach you pull the remainder of the spear free. Blood rushes out, pooling around his back, soaking the ground a deep black red.

Laying him down again you brush his hair from his face before pressing your hand against his abdomen. You can’t heal him perfectly, but you can try to repair some of his body to slow the bleeding. Looking to the sky you scream, calling for someone to help you save Ra.

Tears block your vision as his hand cups your cheek, guiding your face back to his. He’s smiling at you, and it hurts even more. Holding his hand against your cheek you feel his warmth slowly fade from his hand.

Shaking him you call his name. Doubling over you wrap your arms around Ra’s body holding him tightly to your chest. Tears fall without abandon as your heart wails in pain. Rocking back and forth you sob holding Ra’s head to your chest until his body slowly shrinks back to his sprite form.

Gingerly you hold his tiny body to your heart again, If only you could have protected him. If only he had never met you. If only he’d stayed in the woods, safe and far away from you.

“RA!!!” You scream finally hearing your voice. Opening your eyes you feel lost for a moment. Weren’t you just in a field of flowers? “Ra? Ra!” You shout looking down at your hands. No blood.

“Emi, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Anti asks wrapping his arms around you, comforting you.

Looking at him you feel…. Empty. Ra died. He was in your hands. It was so real… but how… Turning in Anti’s arm, you cling to him and sob.

It was a dream. Another horrible nightmare of Ra’s death. It’s not always Ra that dies; sometimes it’s Anti or Dark, other times it’s your mother. There is never any pattern, and it’s always the same scenario each time, yet still, when you wake it feels so real you can’t help but cry for sometime afterwards.

“Emi, what did you dream about?” Dark asks once you’ve calmed down.

Your tried eyes look to Dark, then to Anti. “I want to see Ra first, before I tell you.” You respond standing from the couch. Anti follow you to the door.

Once outside you call for Ra. He comes almost instantly, his smile bright and filled with life. Fighting against your tears once more, you let him land in your palm. “Ra, this won’t make sense to you; but I’m glad you are alive.” You tell him.

His head tilts to the side, confused by your words before his smile returns again. “I am glad you are alive too.” He says brightly.

Leaning down, you press your cheek gently against his head. “I love you, Ra.” You whisper meaning it.

#Anti #antisepticeye #reader insert #reader is female #dark #Darkiplier #anti x reader #fanfiction #chapter 7 #more to come #non lasting character death #poor ra

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kimjongdaely · 5 years

Text

Mismatched Destinies [Chapter 3]

Fantasy!AU, Royal!AU, Arranged Marriage!AU

Pairing: Chen x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, maybe future smut

Summary: Your kingdom has been invaded. While trying to run from your pursuers, you accidentally fall down into the “Monster’s Realm.” But they might just be your only hope to fight back.

Prologue│Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5

When you enter the lobby the next day, you see Jongdae leaning against the wall, humming pleasantly to himself. He has quite the pretty voice, you note.

“Good morning.” You greet.

He looks at you, his smile growing. “Morning. You ready to head out?”

You nod, though really you don’t have much to prepare for. You have no personal belongings, just yourself.

Jongdae continues humming as he begins heading for the door, only for it to slam open, revealing a seething, man. He has small antlers growing out of both temples, a deer-like tail swishing behind him vigorously and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. He too, wears a guard uniform (more formal than Jongdae’s with actual armor). “Kim fucking Jongdae, where the fuck are you?”

“Hi, hello.” Jongdae greets, giving the man a friendly wave. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here this lovely morning—”

“You.” The man cuts him off, jutting a finger into his chest, eyes narrowed angrily. “I leave you for one day, and when I come to check up on you, you’re fucking gone from your post and—”

“Hey, hey.” Jongdae raises his hands in mock surrender, trying to calm the man down. “I’m working, Junmyeon.”

“Working?” Junmyeon raises his brows and voice in disbelief. His anger seems to increase. “Working? I don’t see you fucking working—”

“Calm down.” Jongdae says pleasantly, gesturing towards you. “I’m escorting the human princess to meet the king.”

Your heart stops.

What?

You stare at him in both shock and horror, wondering how the actual fuck he knew who you were. He doesn’t look at you though, just smiling like a gentleman.

“I—You—” Junmyeon struggles for words before he chokes out, “Human princess?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Jongdae says, voice smooth like silk. “Princess Ruby.” He adds an emphasis to your ‘name,’ making you believe he knows you lied about that too.

“I, um,” Junmyeon’s anger dissipates immediately, his face paling. “I-I’m so sorry for my rudeness, Your Highness. Please forgive me.”

You struggle to think of what to do. You hear murmurs behind you from the residents of the inn. Bon’s voice breaks your thoughts, “You’re a princess?”

“Yeah.” Jongdae answers for you casually. “Did I not mention it?”

“No you fucking did not.” Bon exclaims, only to cover her mouth immediately. “Am I not allowed to swear in front of a human princess?”

You feel frustration grow within you as you glare at Jongdae with all your might. Way to go! Blurting it out for everyone to hear. Might as well parade around town with a sign around my neck saying ‘I’M A FUCKING HUMAN PRINCESS!’

You didn’t want the attention, which is why you lied. You didn’t want the monsters thinking differently about you just because you’re a human royal. You didn’t want them discriminating or hating you because you’re sure as hell the humans would have discriminated against monster royals. The humans would probably cheat or steal some money out of them, probably sneer at them and call them names. People would give them mock respect and admiration only to slit their throats when they aren’t looking.

It’s the kind of threat you don’t want. And even saying you were a noblewoman was risky, but your dress couldn’t lie.

You sigh. “Please, don’t apologize...er, Junmyeon. And Bon, you can swear. I don’t fucking care.”

Bon gasps as the profanity leaves your lips, as if a princess isn’t capable of such a thing. Her face lights up into a grin immediately afterwards though.

“So, uh, what are you doing down here, Princess Ruby?” Junmyeon asks politely. “And, er, how did you get down here?”

“I—” As you begin to answer, Jongdae quickly jabs you in the ribs with his elbow, effectively shutting you up.

His smile is still dazzling and calm. “She wanted to request an audience with our king. Something about an alliance, I think.”

“Oh,” Junmyeon nods, surprise on his face. “I suppose...an alliance with the humans can be beneficial...” He sounds uncertain though. Even scared.

You frown at Jongdae, wondering why he won’t let you say a word in this.

“Yes,” Jongdae says, pulling you along as he inches towards the door. “And you know how far the castle is from here. I want to get her there as soon as possible, so please excuse us.”

“Alright.” Junmyeon huffs. “I’ll take your post while your away.”

“Thanks, Myeon. You’re the best.” He beams, already shoving you out the door before you can even get a breath in.

Once out, he grabs your wrist, pulling you along, hissing under his breath, “Come with me.”

“What are you doing?” You finally manage, scowling at him. “How do you know who I am?”

Pulling you into an alleyway, hopefully out of earshot, Jongdae sighs. “Listen, there are a lot of things I can’t answer right now—I don’t even have answers, honestly.”

You frown, crossing your arms. “What does that mean. You just...knew? Intuition? Sixth sense?”

He narrows his eyes, his smile sharp like daggers. “You sure ask a lot of questions, princess. So how about I ask you a few?” He leans in, eyes glowing so brightly you can hardly look at him. “How did you get here?”

“I—What?” You stutter, your throat closing with fear.

“How did you get here?” He breathes out, a low growl hidden in his words. “How did you get past the barrier?”

“I-I don’t know.” You answer honestly, a mere whisper under his threatening aura. “I just...fell.”

He hovers over you for a moment, and you wonder if he might hurt you. The way he’s looking at you...light pouring out of his eyes, his smile wide and malicious.

Then he pulls back, expression softening into his usual carefree attitude. He shrugs. “If you say so, princess.”

You try to take a breath, your heart pounding wildly against your ribcage. What the hell was that?

“Listen,” he starts again, rocking on his heels, hands in his pockets. His red cloak is pulled back slightly from his movements. “I’m going to bring you to the king. I’m going to protect you. That’s my job. But hey,” his tone drops, “if you try anything funny, you won’t like what happens next.”

You nod silently, no longer finding words. He smiles. “Good. Let’s go then.”

He moves, his cloak sweeping behind him as he turns. You glance around, wondering what you should do. Sighing, you follow him. It’s not like you have much choice down here, in a foreign place filled with monsters that could probably rip you apart if they wanted to.

The path out of town is quiet. Uncomfortably so, with Jongdae. He hasn’t said a word yet, and you don’t like that. If you’re going to be with him for your journey, the least you could do is get on better terms with him...even if he seems very hostile towards you.

You find that strange. You’ve never done anything to make him feel that way about you, and his attitude has been friendly at first before making a complete 180° turn.

You clear your throat after a while, deciding to start a conversation. “So...you’re a monster, right?”

“What about it?” He glances at you curiously—or perhaps suspiciously.

“What monster are you?” You hope you aren’t rude by phrasing it so bluntly.

He scoffs, though he doesn’t seem offended. “I’m a dog monster.”

A dog monster? You frown, scrutinizing him. “How come you look so human?”

“Excuse me?” He sounds more amused than offended or angry. That’s good. He seems to have gone back to his previous ‘friendly’ persona.

“Well,” you start, “other monsters had ears or tails or other appearances but you look so...human. Shouldn’t you have dog ears or a tail or something?”

“Whoa, not all monsters are like that. Aren’t you being too generic?”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” You mutter. “I was just curious, is all.”

“I get it.” He says casually. “Not every day you fall into a different Realm and find out monsters exist, right?”

You manage a small smile. “Right.”

“Well, I’m pawsitive you’ll get used to it soon.”

You feel your jaw drop. “Did—Did you just say a pun?”

He smirks, a chuckle escaping him. The air feels lighter now, the quiet that follows is gentler and much more comfortable.

Slowly, as you go farther, you begin to grow colder. It feels like the temperature is steadily dropping, to the point you can see your breath fog up. You shiver, hugging yourself as snow drifts down. You look up, barely able to see the high cave ceiling past the tall evergreen trees.

“Cold?” Jongdae asks, noticing. You nod. He takes off his cloak, draping it over your shoulders and helping you clip it in place. “Heh, guess I should’ve thought of getting you a jacket too. It’s pretty cold around this area.”

“How is it snowing here?” You ask, scrunching up your nose at the cold. It feels numb, and you bet it’s tomato red. “We’re underground.”

“Huge underground caves can have its own weather.” He answers, shrugging. “Science.”

“What about you?” You touch the red cloak and eyeing his thin-looking dress shirt. “Aren’t you cold.”

“Nah, I’m ok. I don’t really get cold.” He says, waving you off.

The cloak is warm from his body heat, but it’s not enough. The icy wind is still blowing through it, freezing you down to your bones. How is it possible for it to be this cold? The snow is also heavier the farther you walk, piling more and more until it’s extremely difficult to walk.

Though you’re grateful for your walking shoes, it’s obviously not made for snow and the wet snow is seeping into your shoes and clothes.

You sneeze and sniffle, feeling a headache coming.

“Hey, you okay?” Jongdae asks after a while, seeing how red your cheeks have become and how heavily you’re breathing.

You feel anything but fine. You’re freezing, the cloak already soaked through from the snow, through your dress as well, heavy on your body like a second skin. You also feel alarmingly numb in your limbs, your head spinning. “I—”

Your vision flashes black, Jongdae calling for you in alarm. He catches you as you fall, and your vision returns, though it’s too blurry to see properly.

“You’re freezing.” He mutters, gathering you into his arms to carry you out of the snow. You shiver, feeling the biting wind blow through your very core. “You should have said something sooner if you can’t handle it.”

You try to say something, but your words come out as a gurgle. He shushes you, trudging through the snow twice as quickly as his previous pace. He wraps you protectively against him to shield you somewhat from the roaring wind and snow.

He’s warm, you think, but you’re too numb to really feel it.

You don’t know how long he trudged on, (you might’ve blacked out a few times), before he arrives at a small, cozy-looking cottage. The snow here is much lighter than it was before, only a few snowflakes floating down.

Jongdae sighs softly before shifting you in his arms so he can free one to knock.

You vaguely hear footsteps from behind the door get closer before the door swings open.

The man who greets the two of you has tongues of fire flickering off of his otherwise human-looking body. Even his hair that hangs over his forehead seems to be made of fire. He’s also tall, towering over Jongdae, his skin a warm color.

The man narrows his eyes on Jongdae, a scowl on his face. “You ain’t welcome.”

“Aw, Chanyeol.” Jongdae’s tone is filled with mock surrender, a friendly tone. “I need help this time. Please.”

The man named Chanyeol finally seems to notice the red cloth that Jongdae is carrying contains a person. A very sick-looking person. Alarmed, Chanyeol immediately steps aside to let Jongdae into his house. “She okay?”

“I think she’ll be okay.” Jongdae answers, and you shiver again at the sudden wave of warmth the house offers. “Just need to rest up.”

You hear shuffling, your vision darkening alarmingly.

Chanyeol’s deep voice says, “Take her to the guest room. I’ll get a fire going.”

You feel Jongdae carry you into a room, setting you gently down on the bed in a sitting position. “Yeol! You got any clothes?”

“Yeah!” He calls back. “Gimme a moment!”

A second later and Chanyeol bounds in carrying thick blankets and clothes. “Do you, uh, need help?”

“I got it.” Jongdae answers and Chanyeol leaves, closing the door shut. Jongdae’s tone is urgent but soft as he speaks to you. “Miss Ruby, can you hear me? Do you think you can change yourself?”

You shake your head slowly, and even that is already a huge toll on you. You feel so, so tired. So sleepy. You’ve been dressed by your maids back in the castle, so this shouldn’t be too terrible.

Jongdae nods, whispering a quiet apology before beginning to peel off your wet, cold clothes. He is careful, fingers deft. You are stripped down to your undergarments, and you feel slightly better without your dripping clothes. He helps you into the clothes Chanyeol offered, a large t-shirt is more than enough to cover your body. He makes you lie down, wrapping you tightly in a blanket.

Once he’s sure you’re all set, you hear him open the door.

“You come here after ages and the first thing you do is bring a sick human girl to me. Care to explain?” Chanyeol’s voice is sharp, but quiet as to not disturb you.

“Sorry, Yeol. I meant to visit earlier, but you know I gotta do my job back at Flurin.”

Chanyeol scoffs. “Job? Please, you don’t give a shit about your job.”

“Not true.” Jongdae pipes. “Anyways, I’m taking her to see the king.”

“How’d she even get down here?”

“No clue.”

“You still owe me 30 Reds. You ain’t welcome here until you pay up.”

“I’ll pay you next time.” Jongdae sounds way too relaxed and casual.

“If it wasn’t because you have a sick person with you, I would’ve kicked you right out.”

“You love me too much for that.”

Their voices are drowned out as you fall into a deep sleep you’re scared you might never wake up from.

Previous Chapter│Next Chapter

Mismatched Destinies Mini Masterlist

A/N: Next chap will show a little more about Jongdae! I hope you enjoyed the chap 😊

Tags: @skjdln @meryljill-111192 @bloopbloopkai @solarsa @alwayslietohidethetruth @typicalpeople @weirdsofagirls @pastel-kpop @bluepsycopanda @noonaofjungkook

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dontaskmewhyiwrite · 6 years

Text

Mystery Knight

One Piece, LawLu Word Count: 6313 Rating: T (for language) Genre: Fluff, Modern!Au, Adventure

Summary: Law will remember the first snow of that year. After all, it’s not everyday you meet a stranger who takes you out for a night of adventure.

Law’s feet pound against the pavement, further aggravating his headache as he sprints towards the train station. He bypasses the security guard, flashing his transport card as he speeds by, barreling through the other pedestrians. The sounds of his own footsteps echo against the bare walls. His teeth ache.

As he flies down the staircase, he looks up long enough to notice the subway doors slowly closing. He wills his feet to move faster, but before he can reach them, the train begins to slide out of the station. He watches his last hope rattle away.

“Dammit!” Law rubs at his pounding headache. At this rate, he’ll have a migraine in no time.

“Miss the train?” a high voice asks behind him. Law refrains from spinning around and decking the stranger in frustration.

“If I take a cab to- no, the main road is blocked off for the night because of construction. Fuckin’ great timing, and the detour adds another two hours. If traffic’s nice. No way I’ll make it in time. How about-” He flicks through his phone, looking up traffic and estimated detour times. As he figured, the recent construction has blocked the only road that would get him there fast enough. The next fastest route will be too late. He might as well wait for the morning train. It might be a long shot, but there’s a possibility he could still make it if he takes the first one. A minute possibility.

“Tryin’ to get to Punk Hazard, huh? You’re probably best off waiting ‘till morning,” the intruder comments, peering over Law’s shoulder. Law grinds his teeth.

“Thank you for stating the obvious. Don’t you have something else to do?” he growls, shrugging his shoulder in an attempt to push the kid away.

“Not really. ‘Sides, you look lost. And lonely. I’ll keep you company!”

Law pinches the bridge of his nose, willing this annoyance and his headache to leave. Do people enjoy making his life more difficult?

“I’m not lost. And I’m not lonely. Go away,” he orders, taking a few steps away from the guy and returning to his phone. He halfheartedly searches the bus times, knowing it’s futile.

“Not sure what you’re expecting from the buses that taxis can’t do. Wanna get something to eat? Food makes everything better. Especially meat! Let’s get some meat!” The stranger grabs his arm, forcefully pulling Law towards some restaurant or cafe or other food location. Law staggers behind, momentarily caught up trying to keep his balance before he manages to pull away.

They’ve made it back to the stairs before Law regains his balance and yanks back, wrenching his arm out of this nuisance’s surprisingly strong grip.

Who is this stranger to just drag him along like that?

“What the fuck?” he asks, not particularly expecting a response. The stranger tilts their head, looking confused.

��You don’t want meat?” they wonder, brow furrowed in confusion. Law finds himself pinching the bridge of his nose again and stops.

“No,” he retorts, putting as much venom into that one word that he can. Unfortunately for him, his stomach decides in that moment to give a loud growl. The stranger turns to take his arm once again.

“Shi shi shi, you’re so weird! If you’re hungry, you eat meat! C’mon, I know a good place!” he offers, holding his hand out like Law’s gonna take it and let himself be whisked away.

“Even if I am hungry, I don’t want to eat with a total stranger. I can find my own place, so fuck off.” Law flips the middle finger and pushes past the stranger. This does not deter the vexation. Instead, he follows along, asking exactly where Law will be going.

“I know all the places here, I’ll tell you if it’s any good! Especially the meat, I know all the meat! C’mon, where you headed? Not that there are many places open now. It’s late! Most of them are closing! Except, the place I know! It’s open, and we’ll get in quick!” He follows behind Law with little regard for personal space, chattering at a speed that doesn’t allow for conversation. Not that Law plans on responding.

The crisp night air greets them as they step onto the street. Despite the late hour, there are still people milling about, guided by the frequent street lamps and humming neon lights. Sabaody is truly a city that never sleeps.

Beside him, Law’s new ‘friend’ continues to babble. Exasperated, Law considers his options. He could try violence, but there’s too many people still strolling about. Running from the police would only further delay him. He could also try slipping away and hoping he loses the pest, but it sounds like that might be difficult. Also a delay he doesn't need. He decides on the only course of action he thinks might succeed.

He points towards the first place with a glowing “OPEN” sign.

“I'm going there. Goodbye.” With that he walks off, headed in that direction.

“You sure?”

“Yes, so fuck off.” Law marches resolutely forward, hands pushed deep into his coat pockets. The few people headed in the opposite direction choose to give him some space, unlike the dolt beside him.

“If you’re sure that’s where you wanna eat?” they repeat, and Law grinds his teeth together. He elects to ignore the meddler, in a vain attempt to dissuade them from following.

It doesn’t take him long to reach his intended location, and he quickly sees why he was asked if he really wanted to eat here. The bar is packed, with people even standing outside holding drinks and trays of chips. Throbbing music fills the night air every time the door opens. There’s a handwritten poster pasted on the door that advertises some event.

Next to him, the stranger grins.

“You suuuuure you wanna eat here? Looks crowded, and the food doesn’t even smell good. No meat. Trust me, the place I know is suuuuper good. Best in town. You’ll wanna go there every time you’re nearby. Can’t say much for the staff, but the food is the best ever! Besides Sanji, but it’s where he learned, so that makes them equal. It’s really good!”

Around them, any remaining restaurants are closing. Law stares at the bar, briefly considering if it would make a better alternative to the incessant nagging. Nearby, a drunk vomits. The stranger continues to pester him about choosing an alternative location.

Law pinches the bridge of his nose.

“All right, already! If I get food, will you leave me the truck alone?” He spits without thinking, then immediately regrets it as the stranger’s face lights up.

“Meat!” With Law’s consent now, the straw hat-wearing stranger grabs him once again and starts winding through crowds and past closed restaurants. Law pulls away once again, but it doesn’t seem to upset his guide. At least they stop trying to grab for him. Eventually the stranger stops in front of a mid-sized family restaurant and pulls the door open, practically shoves Law inside. They follow close behind.

The place has a nice atmosphere,with dim lights and a delicious smell wafting through. It’s fairly busy, considering the hour, though perhaps that’s due to it being the only decent place open for a few blocks. A small queue is lined up along the wall. Law is pushed forward a bit, before the stranger decides he’s being too slow and walks around him.

“Table for two, please!” they announce to the host, who immediately looks alarmed. He finds the stranger and scowls.

“You! I thought you were told not to come alone!” The host growls, pointing an accusing finger.

“I’m not alone! I said, TABLE FOR TWO!” The stranger yells obnoxiously. The host rubs his ear with a grimace and looks uncertainty at Law. When Law doesn’t deny being the plus one, he begins leading them into the restaurant. Strawhat wraps a hand around Law’s arm and forcefully pulls him along with their powerful grip.

To Law’s surprise, they are taken to a private room located in the very back of the restaurant and labeled with a “Reserved” sign. The room is secluded from the rest of the guests, just within sight of the kitchen. Its furniture is a tad better maintained, and there’s a bell for signaling when service is needed. The single light above them is dimmed to a pleasant hue, allowing for intimacy without being romantic or suggestive. As the barrier is put up behind them, the bustle and rumble ebbs to a light murmur.

“This is some high-class treatment for having been nearly kicked out,” Law comments, glancing at the stranger. Their pouring over the menu, though they doesn’t look like they’re actually reading it. Rather, aren’t they just drooling over the pictures? They’re softly whispering “meat,” but Law’s fairly certain they aren’t aware of it.

He takes the time they’re distracted to study the stranger. They look young, at least younger than Law, but if Law had to guess, perhaps not as young as their appearance would suggest. Their straw hat is strapped around their neck, giving them a bit of a farming kid’s vibe, but it’s paired oddly with an red hoodie and a pair of mid-calf length blue pants. The flip flops just add to the oddity, and Law finds his headache returning the more he tries to understand, so he turns to the menu instead. Most of the food on the menu is fairly standard for the area, though Law sees a few items that catch his attention. He settles on the swordfish steak just as the waiter appears, already looking annoyed.

“Strawhat,” he greets, though it’s more of a warning. “What’re ya interested in today? Oh, wait, let me guess: ya want every meat item on the menu, as usual?” he glares, daring the stranger - Strawhat - to agree. Strawhat just laughs. “See! You understand! Meat is the best!” Obviously they doesn’t realize the waiter is being sarcastic, or don’t seem to care.

“You know the rules! Pick one - ONE - item, Strawhat. One!”

Strawhat pouts, staring down at the menu for a bit, before pointing to a picture. “That one, then! And lots of it!”

The waiter scowls. “No.”

Ignoring Strawhat’s whines and complaints, the host turns to Law, his expression softening into more of an apathetic stare. “And you?”

Law orders the swordfish steak and a glass of wine, and the waiter quickly escapes the barrage of orders for extra meat.

“Would you even be able to eat all of that?” Law asks, setting his menu aside. Strawhat immediately confirms that they would be able to eat it all, and more, and starts to rant about meat and it’s deliciousness. Law lets them talk, not particularly paying attention as his thoughts start to wonder back to his current dilemma. He’s not sure he’ll be able to get to Punk Hazard in time for the surgery, and if he misses this one… He rubs his temple.

“You all right?” Strawhat asks, stopping their monologue to lean over the table until their in Law’s space.

“Yes, I’m fine. Back the fuck off.” Law pushes Strawhat’s face away without much success, as they push back against Law’s hand.

“You sure? You look upset, like you’re worried, or somethin’.”

Law sighs. It’s futile. “I’m fine, and even if I wasn’t, that isn’t your fucking business, is it?”

“Sure it is. You’re my friend!”

That… isn’t what Law is expecting. “You don’t even know me! I’m not your friend!” But Strawhat doesn’t seem to care.

“Do you need some meat? I’ll tell them to hurry up. Meat solves everything.” Before Law can protest, Strawhat is ringing the bell obnoxiously and poking their head out, yelling for the waiter, who immediately scowls upon seeing them.

“What do you want, brat?” He yells as soon as he’s in earshot.

“Meat! Bring it faster!”

The waiter rolls his eyes and leaves, ignoring Strawhat’s cries for their food to arrive more quickly. Strawhat sits back down, to Law’s relief, and pouts.

“How rude, he didn’ even listen.” Law shouldn’t be surprised at them sticking their tongue out in the general direction of the waiter, and yet he still is.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. How did he end up in this mess?

A warm hand suddenly presses against his forehead, and Law looks up to see Strawhat a few inches away, seemingly trying to check his temperature with their hand. They don’t appear to know what their doing, but rather mimicking something they’ve seen done.

“Hm…. You’re warm,” they conclude and pull away. “You should drink something cold.”

Law doesn’t respond for a moment. This random kid whom he’s never met before is suddenly giving him medical advice? He’s so incredulous, Law actually starts to laugh. They must see this as a good sign, because Strawhat sits back looking pleased.

“You finally smiled!”

Law leans his head back, staring up at the wooden ceiling. Yeah, he supposes that he did smile, for a moment. When was the last time he laughed?

When was the last time someone tried to take his temperature with their hand?

Before he can start to become nostalgic and think of the way things were, the waiter arrives with his wine, bringing him back to the present. Strawhat eagerly takes their own drink - a fruit juice, from the looks of it - and begins noisily slurping it down.

“So? What’s gottcha worried?” Strawhat asks again around a plastic straw. In a moment of impetuousness, Law tells him.

“There’s a surgery that’s gonna happen at 7 AM tomorrow, and the kid that’s going into the surgery is a patient of mine. He’s a good kid, and I promised him I’d be there.” Law sighs as he thinks about missing the surgery. His brow furrows as he recalls exactly why he was running late.

There’s a moment of silence, and Law looks up, finally meeting Strawhat’s eyes. Only, they aren’t looking at Law, but towards the kitchen. Probably thinking about the food that hasn’t arrived yet. Law almost laughs again, wondering what he was expecting from this food-obsessed stranger. Sure enough, Strawhat perks up.

“Food’s here!” they announce before the waiter has even arrived. A moment later, the barrier is pulled back and their dishes are placed on the table. Strawhat begins eating before the waiter has even left. Law follows, deciding to enjoy the swordfish steak instead of worrying or getting annoyed.

Unsurprisingly, Strawhat finished their meal in a matter of minutes, and clamor for more food every time the waiter passes by. Law’s fairly certain that whatever mechanism their bell is hooked up to has been disabled, judging by the lack of response to Strawhat’s ceaseless ringing. The chaos is a welcome distraction, and the food is excellent. By the time the bill arrives, Law’s feeling that perhaps letting a complete stranger drag him to an unknown restaurant late at night wasn’t as much of a mistake as he’d been expecting. He’s almost sad to see the odd eccentric go, though not enough to actually stick around.

The waiter hands him the check directly, and partially out of pity for the poor employee, Law decides to cover the whole meal.

“Thank ya for eating at the Baratie. Have a nice day, and please, don’t return," the waiter says as he returns Law’s card. Strawhat ignores the slight and grabs Law's arm, pulling him out of their little room.

"C'mon, we gotta get you to your place before that kid leaves!" It's lacking details, but Law is surprised at the fact that Strawhat was paying attention enough to remember even that.

"Right..." he agrees, trying to pull away as Strawhat tugs him further into the restaurant. Wait, further?

"Why are we doing deeper in?" Law furrows his brow, trying to think of a reason they would be headed towards the back kitchen instead of leaving out the front, like normal customers.

Strawhat isn't going to steal food, is he?

Law stops suddenly, nearly crashing into a waiter who's trying to slip around them. None of them seem to be concerned about Strawhat in the middle of their kitchen, despite the waiter and host's earlier behaviors, so Law reluctantly follows behind. He considers turning around and leaving, but Strawhat notices him lagging and wraps a vice like grip around his wrist.

"C'mon! We gotta hurry!" They urge, pulling Law a bit more insistently. "He’s gonna leave!"

"Leave?" Law wonders, stumbling behind. They head through the kitchen, the cooks greeting them as they pass and occasionally keeping Strawhat's wandering hands from taking more food. The cooks seem quite used to the stranger’s sticky fingers, and laugh as one of the head cooks yells at them for trying to steal food.

Before he realizes it, they've headed out the back of the kitchen towards where the cooks take their smoking break. Strawhat makes a beeline for what looks like the head chef, judging solely by the extremely large chef’s hat, who's crushing a cigarette underfoot..

"Hey! HEY! OLD MAN! WAIT!" He yells, sprinting forward to catch the departing waiter. Law nearly crashes into another employee, then barely keeps himself from face planting into the asphalt, before managing to pull himself out of Strawhat's grip again. By then it's a moot point anyway because they’ve successfully gotten the head chef’s attention.

"We need a ride! You're going towards Punk Hazard, right? C'mon, it's not difficult, you're headed that way anyway, give us a ride! C'mon, c'mon, give us a ride! Please? You'll give us a ride, right? Thanks, old man!" Without waiting for any sort of confirmation, Strawhat grabs Law's arm again and heads towards the muddy truck several feet away. They throw open the passenger side door and shove Law in, then clamber in after him. Much to Law's horror, it's only a two seat truck, and Strawhat plants themselves firmly in Law's lap, already chattering away about car rides. Law's first instinct is to try pushing the stranger off of him, but there's nowhere for them to go. In the end, he manages to squish himself against the door and the annoyance, sharing the seat between the two of them. It's a tight fit, but it's better than having someone sitting in his lap.

The driver climbs in, already ignoring Strawhat's incessant prattling, and starts up the truck. "Whatcha going to Punk Hazard for?" he asks, glancing at Law.

"Work," Law offers, then turns to stare out the window. The chef doesn't seem to take offense to his cold behavior, instead focusing on the road.

After a minute or so, the driver turns on the radio and pumps the volume up high enough to drown out Strawhat's rattling, though it’s effectiveness is debatable. Strawhat stops talking, instead singing along with the songs and humming along with the ones they don’t know the words to. At least they’re keeping themselves entertained, for now.

Law isn't sure when it happens, but at some point while he's staring out at the dark landscape passing by, Strawhat falls asleep. Perhaps it was sudden, Law wouldn't be surprised, but he becomes aware of a weight against his shoulder. Pressed against each other as they are, Law isn't surprised to find Strawhat's head resting there, the kid completely passed out. The driver turns the radio down to a low background noise, and Law drinks in the quiet. He realizes that it's the first time since arriving in Sabody that he's had an actual, quiet moment mostly to himself.

Unfortunately, it also means that he has room to think. His thoughts start to wander towards the morning that lays ahead of him. At this rate, even if he makes it on time, he's going to be exhausted. He hasn't slept in nearly 28 hours now, due to traveling all night and conferences and meetings and conventions all day. As he thinks about it, he finds his eyelids starting to become heavy, and the soft breathing of the body against his lulls him to sleep.

He doesn't sleep long. It can't be more than two hours later when the truck jolts, waking Law, and judging by the sleepy babble, Strawhat as well. The streetlamps burn his eyes, seeming too bright in the confusion of being startled awake.

"Are we there?" he mumbles, trying to stretch in the cramped space. Next to him, Strawhat rubs his eyes and yawns.

"As far as I can take ya. Wish I could get ya the rest of the way, but I gotta get home, ya know?" The driver turns off the truck and gets out, stretching as he stands in the crisp night air.

Law grumbles as he opens the door, pulling Strawhat out with him and nearly causing them both to fall.

"Wake up, will ya? C'mon, walk on your own," Law protests as Strawhat leans against him.

"Mmmnnnn... five mor' min'ues..." he replies, latching onto Law's arm. Law pinches the bridge of his nose. What a heavy sleeper.

"There's meat," he says calmly, and watches in slight disbelief as Strawhat immediately perks up, searching around intently.

"Meat! Where?" After a moment, he seems to realize that he's been duped, and he frowns.

"There's no meat!" he complains, glaring at Law. Law shrugs, unconcerned.

"Yeah," he agrees, then turns to the driver. "Thanks for the ride." The driver waves, indicating it wasn't a problem. He crushes his cigarette.

"Don’t mention it. As much flak as we give that one, we owe him a lot. Any friend of his is a friend of ours."

That wasn't what Law was expecting. He thought Strawhat was a nuisance? The driver must recognize his confusion, because he gives a low chuckle.

"He's a brat, for sure, and an annoying bastard, but as much trouble as he causes, he did us one hell of a favor. ‘Sides, you can’t truly hate the kid. Don't worry, you'll see what I mean soon enough," he snorts, patting Law roughly on the back.

"Well, see ya. Brat, take care!" With a final wave goodbye, the driver takes off, leaving the two of them at the rest stop. Only after the taillights can no longer be seen does Law realize that he is effectively stuck in the middle of nowhere with a highly annoying stranger.

"So, what now?" he asks, looking at Strawhat, who's still waving excitedly goodbye.

"Now we wait!" he chirps, heading into the gas station. The single employee sitting behind the counter glances up at them before resuming whatever he's doing on his phone. The two of them pay him about as much attention.

"For?" Law prompts, a sinking feeling settling into his stomach. Strawhat just laughs off his worries and begins perusing the aisles.

Law rubs his temples. He considers buying some aspirin or something, and after seeing Strawhat pick up as many packages of dried meat that he can hold - including in his mouth - he decides to buy two pill bottles, and a cold coffee.

As he's paying, Strawhat arrives with his hoard of dried meat and dumps them on the counter. Law sighs, but is about to hand over his card once again when several packages of sweet buns are added on top. He grimaces at the offending food.

"Absolutely not!" He instructs, gripping his bargaining chip tightly. Strawhat pouts but obediently removes the offensive foodstuffs, placing them back on the shelves, though perhaps a bit haphazardly.

In their place, several candy bars and sweets are brought over. Law can already feel himself regretting this, but he buys all of the items anyway. He downs three painkillers with some coffee and follows them with some of the offered dried meat. It's tough, but Law powers through it anyway. With their snacks procured, they head back outside.

The outside air nips at their noses, and the two watch as the very first snow of the year begins to fall, each snowflake melting before it can even touch the ground.

"Snow! It’s snowing!” Strawhat exclaims, momentarily abandoning his food to dance in the light flurry. He doesn’t stay away long.

"The weather is so tricky! It sneaks up on you, suddenly changing from warm to freezing!" Law decides not to comment on the fact that the temperature has been slowly dropping since they left the train station.

"Yeah."

He shakes his head and leans back, looking up at the stars littering the sky. The moon shines bright, bathing the scene in a soft white glow, even through the glare of the streetlamp. His breath fogs in front of him, momentarily obscuring his vision each time he breathes out. Strawhat munches on his snacks next to him, occasionally talking about whatever crosses his mind. Currently, he's describing some trouble he got into with his older brothers some time ago, though Law's taking it with a grain of salt. Can three people really get into that much 'accidental' trouble? Somehow, Law isn’t sure he is being told the entire story.

It hits him, as he laughs gently as Strawhat gestures wildly and smacks Law in the face, that he's growing less and less annoyed by the strange guy, and a bit more fond of him. Like finding a lost puppy that won't leave you alone. Strawhat shivers again.

“Cold?” he finds himself asking, despite the fact that it’s obvious. Strawhat just laughs.

They're almost entirely through the purchased snacks when headlights split the darkness and Strawhat jumps up, creating a mess of empty packages. Law stands as well, cleaning up he watches Strawhat jump around, waving wildly and occasionally picking up dropped packets of meat. He's still eating them, too. Law briefly wonders if Strawhat’s going to end up choking.

It's only a moment later when the vehicle arrives, a small beat up car that doesn’t look or sound entirely operational. The driver rolls the window down, looking highly annoyed.

"Well, brat. I'm here," they grunt, sounding the opposite of pleased. Law understands. Strawhat looks undeterred, as usual.

"Dadan! Thanks! We need to get to Pink Hazards by morning!" Strawhat opens the door and climbs in, pulling Law in after him. Nobody bothers to correct the mistake.

"C'mon, hurry! We can't be late! It's super important!" He urges, pulling half his body into the front seat for emphasis. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, brat. Sit the fuck down, wontcha, and we'll get goin'!" Dadan snaps, but Strawhat just laughs as he sits back.

"'Kay, 'kay!" He squishes himself against Law, looking very pleased. Law kicks him to the opposite side of the back seat.

"Don’t you have any sense of personal space?" Law grumbles. His question is ignored by Strawhat, but their new driver, Dadan, gives him a slight look of pity through the rear view mirror.

"Hey, hey, do you like gummy worms? They're the best! They're sour, and sweet, and they're the best! Well, except for meat. Meat's the best. Then sour gummy worms! Oh, right, they have to be sour. Otherwise they're not sour and sweet, they're just sweet, and those aren't as good. You want some?" Strawhat asks, though Law isn't sure why because he doesn't wait for an actual response before shoving sour gummy worms into Law's face.

"Try them! They're yummy!" Law backs as far away from the sweet as he physically can. He does actually like sour gummy worms, but having them force fed to him is not what he would call a pleasant experience.

"Would you-" he starts, but Strawhat is already trying to feed him a different candy. Licorice, from the looks of it.

"No thanks," he tries, shying away from more sugar. Thankfully, that actually seems to work. With a shrug, the stranger shoves the licorice into his own mouth.

For a blissful moment, Strawhat is completely distracted by the candy, the music, and the snow that’s starting to fall a tad heavier. Law takes a breather, his gaze returning to the passing scenery. Away from the bright city and it’s light pollution, the stars shine bright. The moon lights the path before them, illuminating the nearby trees, lulling Law's thoughts away from the present.

He remembers car rides like this from long ago, his sister curled up in the seat next to him, his parents talking softly in the front seat. Law and his sister would pass the time telling stories about the moon and the stars, like making up their own mythology. Her favorite nights were the ones where the moon shined the brightest.

When Law's attention returns to the present, he realizes it’s because he can feel someone watching him. He turns to see Strawhat studying him, his head tilted slightly.

"Why the fuck are you so weird?" Law comments out, squinting across the seat at him. Strawhat shrugs, still munching on sweets.

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?" he asks, mouth still full of candy. That was disgusting. Law suppresses a shudder, turning away from the sight.

"None of your business," he retorts, turning back to the trees. At least the trees don’t care about what’s on his mind.

"Aww, c’mon. Tell me,” Strawhat whines, shifting closer. Law finds himself flinching and mentally curses.

"What’s it gonna take to get you to leave me alone?" he bargains.

Strawhat thinks for a moment, before his eyes light up.

“Tell me a story! A good one!” he demands.

How ironic that just a moment ago, he was thinking of a time his sister said the exact same thing. She’d stared up at him with her dark eyes, pleading for him to tell the same story he always tells whenever they have a long car ride during a full moon.

“I don’t know any,” Law replies, shrugging. Next to him, Strawhat pouts, but he ignores it.

In a shining example of juvenile behavior, Strawhat makes a big deal out of ignoring Law back, while still occasionally looking over to glare at him, then returning to his sulking. It’s almost humorous, it’s so superfluous. They drive in this forced tension for a while, the only sounds coming softly from the radio.

"We're here," Dadan says suddenly as they exit the trees and pull into what looks like an abandoned airport. The snow is cold enough to stick, at least for a moment, giving the giant landing pad a glistening sheen. Strawhat clambers out, shouting his thanks to Dadan and grinning at the insult he receives. Law follows, also giving a light thanks, and receiving a much warmer reply.

Dadan drives off and once again the two are left in the cold. Next to him, Strawhat continues to act petulant as he stubbornly keeps his back to Law.

After nearly ten minutes of relentless moping, during which Law watches Strawhat jump around to keep warm while still adamantly ignoring him, make snow angels while occasionally glaring at him, even play a one-man game of tic-tac-toe while grumbling about promises and hopes, he decides telling one story would be better than dealing with this insufferable annoyance.

“If I tell a story, will you stop?” Law yields, and isn’t surprised when Strawhat immediately runs towards him.

He sighs, regretting this already, and takes a seat on a cold tree stump. Strawhat plops down onto the ground, despite the snow. He’s soaked from snow angels and shivering already.

Perhaps it’s the nostalgia, or perhaps it’s working with so many ill children for so long, but Law finds himself pulling of his coat and dumping it on top of Strawhat’s head.

"Thanks! But won't you get cold?" Strawhat asks as he pulls the jacket on. Law shrugs.

"I'm wearing more layers than you," he points out, referring to the hoodie he wears as a shirt and his longer pants. Strawhat accepts the excuse easily.

"Thanks!" He says again, to which Law just nods. Staring up at the full moon, Law's pulled back to his previous reminiscence.

"A long time ago, when we used to go on road trips with our parents, my sister and I would make up stories about the moon.This one was her favorite.” He pauses, the wind whipping around the few strands of hair not tucked into his hat.

“There once was a knight that prayed every night to the moon, and the moon heard those prayers and fell in love. She transformed into a human to be with her love, but they were torn apart by the customs and laws of the land. So she learned the rules and the laws, and she became a princess, all for love. Yet it still wasn’t enough. Her love needed more, asked for more, demanded more, until the two of them were on top of the world. Seeing what her love had become, she knew that she could not stay. She returned when the moon was at its fullest, and from above she watched her love die.

During the full moon, when the moonlight is at its strongest, she still cries, and her tears will fall to earth as the first snow of the year." Law looks down to see Strawhat staring at him intently. He turns away.

"Never understood why that one was her favorite," Law shrugs, his reminiscing done for the night.

Before the conversation can move forward, a distant roar draws their attention, and a moment later a helicopter flies into view. As the volume becomes deafening, Law covers his ears, taking cover from the strong wind behind the nearby trees. The helicopter lands and a red haired man steps off with a wide grin. In his right hand are two headsets, which he hands to the two of them, then beckons them into the helicopter. He doesn't attempt to say anything, which Law finds reasonable considering he doubts they'd be able to hear it anyway.

They board the helicopter and don their headsets. The pilot greets them with a simple acknowledgement, and the moment they're strapped in he takes off. It's the red haired man that does most of the talking. Law recognized him as soon as he stepped out of the helicopter, but he hadn't believed himself. Hearing the guy talk, however, there's no doubt this is the millionaire and CEO of RedForce, one of the biggest companies in the world.

Strawhat and Shanks chat over the comms while Law tries to figure out who the person sitting next to him is, if he knows RedForce Shanks. At some point they try for introductions, but with Law not paying any attention to their conversation, they decide to skip those for now.

"You're lucky we happened to be free, brat! It's not easy being the CEO of a major corporation, you know?" Shanks is saying when Law finally tunes in. He hears Strawhat laugh, as carefree as always. After a moment, Shanks joins as well, much to the pilot's - whom Law recognizes as Benn Beckman, Shank's right hand guy - annoyance.

"You really should be doing paperwork, Red," Ben chides, but there's no heat behind it. It sounds like an old argument.

Shanks doesn't respond.

"We'll be there shortly. It's a pretty quick ride from that place to the hospital. It's the only place we'll be able to land anyway, so it's convenient that's where you wanna go. Why do you wanna go there? If it's a medical emergency, you shoulda called the police."

"He's a doctor!" Strawhat explains, and then doesn't elaborate. Shanks seems used to his lack of details, or doesn't need the details, because he makes an "aaah" sound and the conversation shifts.

"Your trouble making brothers still kickin'?" Shanks asks, inviting Strawhat to begin more recent tales of the trouble they've gotten into. Law half listens, though his thoughts start to wander away from their conversation again. Just who is this kid that he knows the CEO and founder of RedForce well enough to arrange for a helicopter? As far as Law can remember, Shanks doesn’t have any children, and he certainly hasn’t named an heir.

Also, when exactly did Strawhat call these people? And how? Law hasn't seen him pull out a cell phone or stop by a pay phone or do anything to contact them. Did he use telepathy?

Realizing how ridiculous he sounds, Law forces his thoughts to return back to the realm of possible. Sure, some weird things have happened tonight, but so far it's all been a collection of oddities surrounding one highly odd young man, and nothing that defies logic.

Benn's voice suddenly interrupts Law's thought process.

"We'll be landing shortly. Please be sure that your seat belt is properly fastened and all limbs and extremities are within the helicopter at all times. Please remain seated until I call that it is safe to exit."

After checking his seat belt, Law watches the hospital landing pad grow larger as they approach. He's ridden in many helicopters before, usually with a patient though occasionally on his own, so he's used to the procedure that follows. The moment that they're cleared, Law jumps down, turning to face the helicopter once he’s gotten a safer distance away. Strawhat grins back at him from the seat inside, but doesn’t move. He yells something, but Law can’t hear him.

“WHAT?!”

“WHAT’S YOUR NAME!” Strawhat yells a bit louder, and Law just barely catches the words.

“TRAFALGAR! TRAFALGAR D. LAW!” Law yells back as loudly as he can. The blades of the helicopter begin to pick up speed once again.

“WHAT ABOUT YOU?” he screams.

Strawhat yells something back, but it’s lost to the wind. He’ll never know the name of the mysterious stranger that dragged him along for a wild adventure. The helicopter takes off, Strawhat waving goodbye. Suddenly, Law realizes that his coat is also being carried away, probably never to be seen again.

Well, perhaps the adventure was worth one coat, even if it was his favorite.

@therealblackpearl, Merry Christmas! I’m so sorry this is a bit late, but it’s here! I hope you enjoyed a bit of LawLu fluff, and if I ever write the epilogue, I will tag you as well.

@onepiecesecretsanta2018

#opsecretsanta #onepiecesecretsanta2018 #therealblackpearl #i am so so so sorry this is technically late #i really wanted it to be something quality #but merry christmas!#i hope you enjoy some dumb lawlu #lawlu #op #modern!au #my writes #mystery knight #fluff #adventure

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