#everything’s great i just need to leave my fingers alone lmfao

[amhrosina]

I Wanna Love Me The Way That You Love Me

(Frank Castle x f!Reader) - Hurt/Comfort

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Summary: Frank uses a mirror to remind insecure!reader how beautiful she is. (In a fluffy and a smutty way!)

Warnings: reader is not very kind to herself, fluffy frank, like FLUFFY frank!!!!, super soft!boy frank, the softest of franks ive ever written, some body descriptions but I tried to keep it super vague, (later on) whew chile smuttttt, fingering, frank makes you watch yourself come in a mirror (lmfao), frank is sort of a dom but in the loosest sense, frank just loves reader so much!!!!!)

A/N - Thank you to @wheredidiputmyfish for being an absolute doll of a beta reader!!! I have a couple more Frank fics otw (i cant help it, i love that stupid man) and a poly!fratt x reader one hopefully soon after that!

You huffed as you pulled the green blouse over your head, annoyed that yet another online purchase didn’t fit right on your body. Just this week alone, you’d already made two trips to the post office, and Frank was bound to ask questions if you went for a third time so soon.  

You couldn’t even remember why you’d started buying nicer clothes to begin with, except that Karen always looked nice and Frank had been in love with her at one point, so why wouldn’t the same concept apply to you? The only problem was that you couldn’t seem to find anything that fit you correctly, and the idea that Frank might grow bored with your everyday attire kept you up at night. And of course, Frank had never actually said anything about your clothing choice – this was just the overthinking part of your brain going into overdrive. 

You flopped onto the mattress, shoving your face into your palms and groaning. You couldn’t figure out exactly what Frank saw in you, and it was hard not to compare yourself to his late wife or Karen. They were both beautiful women – definitely Frank’s type – and that was not exactly how you’d describe yourself. The thought of it brought tears to your eyes again. You quickly blinked them away when you heard the front door shut. 

You joined Frank in the living room, where he was removing his boots. You threw the package you needed to return on the table by the door, and though you tried to do this casually, Frank noticed it and your expression immediately. 

“You sendin’ care packages to some other boyfriend or somethin’?” He teased, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

You giggled. “No. It’s just another return.” 

“Not that I’m not supporting this new wardrobe thing,” he started, eyeing the package by the door, “but why are you returnin’ everything you buy?” 

You shrugged. “It just doesn’t fit right.”  

“I bet you look great.” 

“I don’t think so.” You shrugged again, avoiding his eyes as you stepped into the kitchen. 

“Sweetheart.” He followed you into the kitchen, though it was clear he was struggling to figure out how to broach the topic. “Is everything okay? You’re talkin’ down about yourself again.” 

Your smile faltered slightly. “I’m fine.”  

“Baby,” Frank wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling your chest into his, “You’re not fine. You wanna know how I know that?” 

You remained silent, avoiding eye contact, but nodded. 

“Because you won’t look at me.” You lifted your chin and stared into his warm gaze out of spite. “And because I know you and I love you, I know that you start avoiding me when you feel bad because you think I’m going to miraculously start to hate you and leave.” 

You didn’t respond, instead gnawing on your cheek and curling into yourself. Frank’s hold around your waist remained steady, and as you tried to look away from his meaningful gaze, his hand gripped your chin and held it steady, too.  

“You’re beautiful, baby.” He pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “I love you no matter what you do or wear or say. You’re beautiful.”  

You tried to push away from Frank, suddenly aware that you hadn’t fixed your makeup or hair that morning. He was lying. He had to be lying, right? No one thought that about you, least of all Fra- 

“Don’t.” Frank was gentle in his coaxing, running his knuckle over your cheekbone in a soothing pattern while pressing his fingers into the small of your back. “Don’t do that to yourself. I love you. I’m not goin’ anywhere. You have to trust me.” 

You fiddled with your fingers, wringing them together in an uneasy gesture, unsure of what to say. He gently grasped them and pulled them into his chest, cradling them as he held your gaze.  

“Come with me. I wanna show you somethin’.” He murmured, tilting his head toward the bedroom.  

You followed close behind him, curiosity outshining your desire to crawl into bed and never get out. He led you to a stop in front of the full-length mirror, resting his hands on your shoulders behind you. A clear and decisive frown formed on your face. The last thing you wanted to do was look at yourself. 

“What do you see?” he asked, holding your gaze through the mirror. 

“What?” You furrowed your brow. 

“What do you see, sweetheart? Be honest.” he asked again, patting your shoulders encouragingly. 

“Well, um,” you breathed, starting at the top of your head and making your way down with your observations, “I see dull hair, bags under my eyes, and a nose that’s too big. My shoulders are broad, my hips are too wide, my skin looks lifeless, and I’m wondering why you ever gave me the time of day and why you stay with me when there are so many people out there that would look better standing next to you.” 

Frank stayed quiet throughout your assessment, expression turning grave as you brought up your deepest insecurities about yourself. He let you finish your observations before pressing a long kiss to your head. 

“Now ask me what I see.” he prompted. Confusion overcame your features again, but he silenced your doubts with an encouraging nod.  

“What do you see, Frankie?” You quietly asked, unsure if you really wanted to hear what he had to say. 

He brought his finger to your face, tracing each element as he pointed them out in the mirror. 

“I see a pair of beautiful eyes and a perfect nose. I see the most sensual lips I’ve ever felt pressed against my mouth. I see a beautiful, strong body that can handle anything thrown its way. Remember when you had to carry me from the living room to the bedroom after I passed out? That shit was impressive, sweetheart.” A soft smile rested on his face as he continued. He folded his arms around your middle and pulled your body against his. “I see hands that hold my entire heart in them, and a body that has all my love. You’re beautiful, baby, and I love you so much. Every piece of you.” 

You tried to blink away the tears that clouded your vision, but Frank’s speech combined with his gentle touch and open expression sent a wave of tears down your face. You curled into his hold, turning so you could bury your face in his chest. He cradled you against him while you cried, pressing soft kisses to your hair every few minutes until you were calm enough to look up at him through your eyelashes. 

He swiped his thumbs through the tears that had gathered under your eyes. “Are you okay?”  

You nodded, blinking up at him. “Thank you. I love you,” you murmured. 

He pressed his forehead against yours, which had always been his way of showing love. “Anytime, sweetheart. You hear me? Anytime.” 

- 

Bonus Scene: In which Frank comforts you in the bedroom later. 

“Frank, what are you doing?”  

Your tone was a mixture of confusion and curiosity, combined with the lazy haze that had taken over your body for the time being. Frank had jumped up from his relaxed position between your legs, where he’d licked up every bit of your desire after making you see stars, and had begun fiddling with the floor length mirror across the bedroom. 

“Hang on.” He called over his shoulder, tugging the heavy glass across the carpet. 

“Why are you moving the mirror?”  

“Wanna try somethin’.” 

He stepped back, looking between your slick, bare skin and the mirror with a smug expression. You were now face to face with your reflection, and as soon as you realized Frank's plan, a string of fire worked its way directly to your core.  

“Wanna show you how perfect you are.” He crawled on the bed behind you, settling himself before tugging your body back against his. Both sets of eyes, yours and Franks, were focused on you, and boy were you a sight to behold.  

Your limbs, still shaky from your first orgasm were splayed out, giving both you and Frank the perfect view of your glistening cunt, which was busy clenching around air as Frank worked his needy fingers down your skin. 

“Shit, baby. You look fuckin’ perfect like this.” He breathed. The proximity of his warmth to your ear sent a wave of goosebumps down your body, and you had to fight the urge to clench your legs together. “Look at how beautiful you are, sweet thing.” He murmured, holding his gaze on the treasure between your legs. 

You looked, fully looked, and felt heat crawling up your neck as his sensuous fingers swiped through your arousal. A low groan emanated from his throat, and he couldn’t stop himself from circling your clit. You watched as a moan left your mouth, your back slightly arching against Frank’s chest.  

“You see how perfect you are, sweet girl?” He cooed, circling your clit again. “Your pretty pussy drives me crazy.” 

His other hand began to rub your nipple in light circles, and if that weren’t enough to have you gasping for air, the touch of his lips to the spot below your ear was. You squeezed your eyes shut, throwing your head back against Frank’s shoulder. His fingers halted – no, everything halted – and the whine that came from his sudden stoppage wasn’t entirely a conscious decision of yours. 

“You stop looking, I stop moving, sweetheart. You got that? Keep your eyes open.” he asked, locking eyes with you in the mirror. His gaze held no room for negotiation, so you shyly nodded before returning your gaze to your body. His focus remained on your flushed face, panting as he worked you closer to another orgasm.  

You could see what he was talking about. For the first time in a long time, the girl that looked back in the mirror wasn’t someone you shied away from. She was beautiful, and confident, and sensual, and she looked good next to Frank.  

“You look stunning, baby.” He murmured. 

“I know.” You responded, briefly lifting your eyes to his before returning them to his fingers. His winning smile was priceless – wide and open and beautiful, and you loved him, you loved him, you loved him. 

Light twinkled in your eyes as he inched you closer and closer to your release, and as soon as you locked eyes with Frank again, you were a goner. 

Frank worked his fingers around your clit, coaxing out one of the most intense orgasms you’d ever experienced. It washed over you in waves of fire, and it was a struggle to keep your eyes open for it, but you were glad he had asked you to, because you looked glorious coming around his fingers. 

You panted, body gleaming with sweat. Your heartbeat finally slowed as you leaned against Frank for support. He ran soothing hands over your limbs, massaging feeling back into them and kissing every inch of skin that he could reach in the process. The silence as you returned to your body was long, but comfortable, and when you finally had full use of your limbs again, you pulled Frank’s arms around you.  

He kissed your hair, resting his cheek on your head. 

“Do you see what I see now?” he asked, glancing at you through the mirror. You nodded, carefully lifting your chin so you could look at him – the real him – to respond.  

“I love you.”  

He grinned, leaning down and planting a sloppy kiss to your lips. 

“I love you, sweet girl.”

-

Tag List:

@alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @deliciousfestsalad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @kpopgirlbtssvt @aynsleywalker @queenofthenoobs @xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @callsign-mama @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @deliciousfestsalad @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @theesexystallion @scoliobean @myguiltypleasures21 @dnxgma @evyiione @gpenguin666 @desert-fern @day-dreaming-goddess @rayray787 @ginnysculture @megmastersgf

[wonuwrites]

"Sorry" Song Reaction

hey y'all, do you remember this depressing ass song? LMFAO. Well it came on shuffle the other day and I thought, "this would be a GREAT angsty ot13 one shot. I hope yall enjoy it.

Warning: sad, angsty, cussing, self confidence issues, you might need tissues, Seokmin's part talks about hospitals btw

Remember: Similar to my previous song reactions- the drabbles will be in order of the song lyrics. Hope yall enjoy :D

☾ S. Coups: "I've missed your calls for months it seems."

[6:42 Missed Call: Choi Seungcheol <3] You sighed as you saw another missed call from Seungcheol. You loved him so much but for some reason, life was getting in the way. You had been sent overseas for a work trip and it ended up lasting way longer than you both thought it would. You both had survived distance multiple times when one of you went on trips without each other but this time it was different and neither of you knew why. You both wanted to call and talk but when one of you was available the other was not. It was just a shitty situation. You sighed as you pressed his name and waited to see if he would pick up. Almost directly it was sent to voicemail and for some reason that broke your heart more. "please leave a message after the beep" *beep* You took a shaky breath before starting your voicemail, "hey baby, it's me. (Y/N), I'm sorry I missed your call. I wish I answered. I miss you. I miss your voice. I miss your hands, I miss everything." The tears started to fall down your face as you babbled on and on which made you sniffle and try your best to boss up. "The shooting is almost done, they are predicting I can come home in two to three weeks. I know that's still a long time but I hope you wait for me... I really do love you, Cheol, I'm so sorry this is hard right now."

☾ Joshua: "Don't realize how mean I can be, 'Cause I can sometime treat the people that I love like jewelry."

Hong Jisoo did not deserve someone as flakey as you. His family, his members, his friends, and his fans had a distaste in their mouth. However, he still stayed by your side. Even though it was basically a martyrdom. Any red flags you had, he avoided because he loved you and promised you that he would love you til his dying breath. It was your anniversary and he waited with baited breath for you to show up. He had your favorite roses and wore the cologne you bought for him last Christmas. It was a sad sight really, seeing him sit there waiting. Waiters kept coming up and asking if he was still waiting and if there was anything they could get for him but he just shook his head no. He waited about a hour and it wasn't until he got a call from Jeonghan asking if he had any plans tonight. The answer now was no. He texted Jeonghan the address of the restaurant before standing up and throwing away the bouquet of flowers with a sigh. Maybe one day, he could be a priority for you. Whether it was for an anniversary or just a random Friday. All he knew is that he would wait for you no matter how foolish he was.

☾ Minghao: "'Cause I can change my mind each day, I didn't mean to try you on."

Unfortunately, Minghao knew you both were doomed once your ex entered the picture again. Kim Yugyeom. While Yugyeom and him were friends before you entered either of their lives, when Yugyeom came out and saw you at the club, he saw the look you gave him. At that moment, he knew he lost you and if Yugyeom were to snap his fingers, you would run back to him. Which he did. So now, here you both are. You stood in front of Minghao with tears streaming down your face apologizing for leading him on because you loved him as well but Yugyeom was simply the love of your life. Minghao died that day because he felt used. He truly loved you as well and he lost two important people that day. Once you walked away from him, he called Wonwoo and asked him if he could come over to Mingyu and his apartment because he couldn't be alone.

Yugyeom is green bc Got7 is green lmao. The thought of having to choose between my two bias wreckers hurt me so bad btw.

☾ Hoshi: "But I still know your birthday and your mother's favorite song."

"Did nothing even matter? Did none of what we had matter to you?" Soonyoung whispered. You both agreed to have a closure talk after a year of being broken up. You were technically fine but Soonyoung, oh poor Soonyoung. His heart shattered the day you left. He was warned that you were a "bolter" type when things were just a little shaky and that's exactly what happened. You felt a little bad about leaving but you knew it would be the best if he found someone who could love him no matter what. "It did matter but, Soonie, breaking up was the best." He shook his head before standing up. "If you remembered how good we were, you would know that breaking up was NOT for the best. It's as if you don't remember anything. As if you are refusing to remember and it hurts to see, (Y/N)" He grabbed his jacket before sighing again. "This was a mistake, I'm sorry I wasted your time." He then started to walk away before you whispered, "June 15th... 1996." He paused at the date. His birthday. "Your mom loved Kim Gunmo, I remember dancing to 'Wrongful Meeting' with her in your parents house." You then stood up with a shaky breath. "I do remember how good it was, however I also know you deserve someone who won't give up as easily as me. I will always love you and cherish the time we had together, but I can't love you the way you need me to love you."

☾ Dino: "Sorry that I can't believe that anybody ever really starts to fall in love with me."

"Don't lie to me," you whispered as you glared at Chan who was standing in front of you with both of his hands in his pocket. He was a little confused at your actions after confessing that he was falling in love with you. It took everything in him to finally confess after all this time. Yet, he did because he thought it was mutual. The way you kissed him, the way you held his hand, the way you laughed at his jokes, was it just an act? "What do you mean 'don't lie to me'? (Y/N), I love-" "stop." He was now even more confused. What did he do to deserve to be treated like this? "Nobody falls in love with me, Lee Chan," you whispered. "Don't lie to me." It was then he realized what was going on. "I am not lying," he would whisper while putting both hands on your face, "let me prove it to you. If I fail to do so, you can kill me."

☾ Mingyu: "I run away when things are good."

You know when things were too good? The feeling that everything was perfect and dandy? Does it ever scare you that bad things are coming? Of course it does. You were not used to good things staying forever. That's why you ran as fast as you could from Mingyu. He was everything you could have wanted, he was smart, attractive, kind, fantastic in bed, could cook, could clean, just the whole package. That freaked you out because what was he hiding? The day you left, Mingyu lost himself. You didn't even bother to tell him why you walked out and that was his biggest question. He loved you more than anything and knowing you were out in the world without him completely fine ruined him.

☾ Wonwoo: "And never really understood the way you laid your eyes on me in ways that no one ever could."

You never really found yourself to be stunning even though you were. You never were perceived that way growing up and so when Wonwoo first looked at you as if you were the most delicate thing in the world you were confused. Your confusion confused him. How could nobody have told you how beautiful and precious you were? He wanted to tell you but he didn't want to scare you away either. So he just would be casual about it. However, you still would catch him staring and every time you would get butterflies.

☾ Jun: "And so it seems I broke your heart, my ignorance has struck again."

"I love you, how do you not realize this?" Jun asked with a shaky voice. You were standing in front of him defeated. You didn't realize he felt this way which is why you agreed to be someone else's partner. Jun saw you both kissing at a party and his heart broke. He always thought you both had something special and when he saw that you were making out with someone else, his heart broke. Were you dating? No. Did he tell you his feelings? Also no. However, you both have shared multiple kisses and held hands casually often. When you had movie nights your head always found his shoulder so he took it as a mutual liking. However, now that he knew it wasn't mutual he knew it was time to move on from you.

☾ Woozi: "I failed to see it from the start and tore you open 'til the end."

Jihoon was hoping one day you would notice that he was an option for you. Every heartbreak, every bad date, everything he was there. He was there from the start and wanted to be there so bad for you until whenever. However, even if it was a hope seeing you show off your engagement ring to all your friends just shattered him. Soonyoung noticed what was going on first and shot his younger friend a sympathetic look as Jihoon walked away. Jihoon couldn't believe you were so blind. He felt like a fool for waiting for you to acknowledge him. You didn't realize how he felt until months after you told everyone of your engagement and saw Jihoon on a date at a coffee shop with a girl he met through a friend of a friend. You watched him smile at the girl and your heart yearned for what could've been. However, at this point it was too late to even beg for a second of his time when he already wasted so much precious time on you.

☾ Dokyeom: "And I'm sorry to my unknown lover, sorry that I can't believe."

"Who are you?" (Y/N) asked looking up to Seokmin confused. It had been months after a car crash had put you in a coma and when you first saw Seokmin that was all you could ask. It killed him. The doctors warned him memory loss was possible due to how long you were out cold but part of him was delusional in thinking that maybe... just maybe you would remember. Especially since he was by your side basically every day telling you stories of how you met, some dates, and everything like that. He smiled at you softly before whispering, "baby it's me. Seokmin... your boyfriend." You would shake your head before saying, "I'm sorry I think you have me mistaken. Your way out of my league." This broke his heart even though it was basically already shattered. "I don't know how... but I'll make you believe it because it's true."

☾ Vernon: "Sorry to my unknown lover, sorry I could be so blind."

Hansol wasn't one to be vocal about his emotions. Especially when it came to you. He had been pining for you for months now and he was realizing it wasn't working well and he would start to back off. You just thought he was friendly and nothing more. You never thought someone like Hansol would like someone like you. So when he started to pull back, you started to realize how 'cold' it was. When you asked him if you were both okay he was pretty standoffish. It confused you. When he finally opened up, it shocked you. You felt like you fucked everything up, all you could do was apologize. Thankfully, he was still head over heels and it ended on a good note.

☾ Jeonghan: "Didn't mean to leave you and all the things that we had behind."

Jeonghan knew what chaotic schedules were like, being in Seventeen for the past decade was proof of that. He warned you about it but you were also someone with a chaotic schedule. That chaotic schedule is what ended up tearing you apart. You both had been trying to find time to just have a cup of coffee and catch up. When you finally found time, you forgot about it and double booked yourself with work. Jeonghan waited for what seemed like forever. He texted and everything but you never responded. He then went to your job with a take out coffee and saw you busy and his heart broke. You forgot about him. He told one of your coworkers the coffee was for you and walked out. He loved you but he didn't want to wait around anymore for you to try to remember he existed.

☾ Seungkwan: "Someone will love you, but someone isn't me."

"But I love you and only you," Seungkwan whispered as he looked down at you. You were leaving him and he had no idea why. You both were so good. At least that is what he thought. Did nothing that mattered to him matter to you? You sniffed as you realized that this would be harder than you thought. It wasn't that you didn't love Seungkwan, you just knew he deserved the world and that was not you. "I'm sorry Kwannie, but someone will love you better than I can. I am just not right for you and I hope you see that too." You squeezed his hand one last time before walking away.

The way this has been a wip for almost 2 months is disgusting. Pls like it.

[duskholland]

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. What happened?”

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

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

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

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

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom gulps nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

Tom follows you…?

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute.

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

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

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

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

Y/N: hey x

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

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, is it a home game?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me a spin, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

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

“Dutchy?” you question.

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

You coo. “That’s cute.”

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

And Tom… Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

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

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

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

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, darling.”

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

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

“What, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What— Tom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Penalty.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

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

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

“Funnier than me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

A smile breaks out across your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Overnight?”

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

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

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

“You can open them now.”

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

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

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

[quinntheebrain]

Hi there! I was wondering if you could do a jealous bokuto x f!reader (preferably if not then gn! is fine). Like he gets jealous of his bby and kuroo getting along really well... a little too well lmao. Anyways, I hope your day/night is going great ya wonderful person <3

Pairing: Jealous!Bokuto Kōtarō x fem!reader

Warnings: implied alcohol use, a temporarily sad Bokuto, Ummm I curse????

A/N: *deep heavy sigh* I looked over this 1000x lmfao. I’m used to writing fics and not hcs, so they’re probably not the best (I gotta stop doubting myself). I’m always so nervous to share my writings, but this a learning process! Thanks for being my first request. It’s been a while since I wrote anything seriously and shared it. I really hope you enjoy it :) Also, somebody else (who I can’t think of rn) hc that Bokuto doesn’t drink, I just agree wholeheartedly. 

Oh, my precious baby Bokuto. He’s so cute it hurts🥺. 

He gets jealous easily. 

He’s so lively that people naturally gravitate toward him. So, he’s used to being the center of attention. 

Even though the only person’s attention he really cares about is yours.

Bokuto loves the way you look at him when he makes you smile. He loves the feeling of just being in your presence.

So, when he sees you and Kuroo smiling and laughing from across the bar he’s irritated. 

And when the two of you get a little too close for comfort, he’s fuming

...but for some reason, I feel like he wouldn’t say anything

Now, Bokuto would normally shut that shit down instantly.

But it’s Kuroo, his closest friend. He doesn’t want any kind of confrontation. He doesn’t want to cause a scene (I believe Bokuto could beat Kuroo’s ass)

So, he says nothing and instead spends the night alternating between super soft/affectionate and super distant. 

He’ll bring it up in private though. Half-jokingly asking if you’d prefer Kuroo to him. 

And when the conversation turns serious 

Don’t invalidate his feelings, don’t make him feel crazy. (he’ll curl up in a ball and it will be a long time before he opens up to you again)

RE-AS-SUR-ANCE!!!!!!!! He needs it; he will die without it. Please just tell this boy how much you love him. 

And please believe he doesn’t blame you alone. He talks to Kuroo after he talks to you.

Because next time, Bokuto won’t be so nice :)

This is the third time Kuroo has put his arm around you; Bokuto is counting. He watches you from across the room as he holds a conversation with Akaashi; though, at this point, his friend’s words are nothing more than background noise. 

You are supposed to be with them, but once Kuroo challenges you to a drinking contest, Bokuto knows it’s a lost cause. You promise to join him shortly and though he doesn’t believe you, he nods as if he does. Unlike you, and most of his friends, Bokuto doesn’t drink; he just doesn’t like the taste, but he wants you to have a good time. So, he goes to sit with Akaashi by himself but not before leaning down and pulling you into a soft kiss. Bokuto’s large palm caresses your cheek as his mouth moves delicately against your own; It’s quick and gentle, but it’s effective. His lips linger on yours just long enough to leave you wanting more; it’s a reminder that he’ll be waiting for you. 

But, 15 minutes have passed and you’re still glued to Kuroo’s side. 

Now, you’re a giggling mess, teasing one of your boyfriend’s closest friends, who seems to be enjoying the attention a little too much. The rest of their volleyball buddies watch and laugh, most of them far too inebriated to find anything wrong with the way the two of you are interacting. Bokuto, on the other hand, finds everything wrong with it. He watches you with narrow eyes and tightly clenched fists, trying his hardest to keep his composure.

“Your jealousy is showing,” Akaashi smirks at his best friend; Bokuto hasn’t been listening to a word he says. He wants to tease him about it but now doesn’t seem like the time. “Why don’t you just tell them it’s bothering you?” 

“They’re not doing it on purpose,” Bokuto sighs as he unclenches his fists, wiggling his fingers to crack his knuckles. “Besides, there was a time she couldn’t even be in the same room as Kuroo. I’m glad they’re friends now and if I say something I might ruin it.” he looks away from you and instead focuses on the ground. 

“Forget about Kuroo,” Akaashi says, slightly irritated. “What about you? If you don’t talk to her, you might ruin your relationship. You don’t want to harbor resentment toward the one you love,” Akaashi glances at Bokuto, who is unable to reply. They stand in silence for a short time. Akaashi doesn’t want to bombard Bokuto with advice; he knows that sometimes, a few thoughtful words are enough. “Look, it’ll be okay. I have to go.” Akaashi pats Bokuto’s shoulder, leaving him alone to think about the situation. 

Bokuto is truly happy that you and Kuroo have finally learned to get along but deep down, a part of him wishes the two of you never stopped the incessant bickering; part of him wishes that you still disliked Kuroo and he disliked you. Maybe, the petty arguments were nothing but an attempt to mask the attraction you felt toward each other but honestly, that’s what Bokuto would prefer. Because what’s happening now — you and Kuroo openly fawning over each other — is driving him crazy. 

I’m just imagining things, he thinks to himself. Maybe, there is no real meaning to the way the two of you are carrying on; but, watching as Kuroo embraces you in a hug that lingers a little longer than it should doesn’t ease his mind. Your face buried into Kuroo’s chest, his hands pressed firmly against your lower back as he rocks you side to side, it’s a bit more than Bokuto can handle. The thought of you in someone else’s arms so intimately bothers him, and pulling out your phone to take Kuroo’s contact info is the icing on the cake. 

Still, you’d never know how much it affects Bokuto because he approaches you like there’s nothing wrong, and though he tugs you away from Kuroo rather possessively, he does it with the brightest smile. “Alright, ready babe?” He looks down to you with those golden eyes, glimmering with adoration as he places a kiss on your forehead. You nod ‘yes’ quickly. “See you later, bro.” you both wave at his friends once more before the two of you exit the bar. 

A weight lifts from Bokuto’s shoulders as the door shuts behind him; the absence of his best friend shouldn’t put him at ease, but it does. Still, Bokuto has another problem. 

You don’t want to harbor resentment toward the one you love. Akaashi’s words play in his head like a broken record. If he doesn’t settle this now, he never will. His insecurities will continue to fester until he can no longer look at you the same.

“You and Kuroo were pretty cozy tonight,” he fakes a chuckle as he peers at you from the corner of his eye. “I’m glad you two are so close now.”

“Cozy?” you scrunch up your face. You could count the number of times Kuroo touched you on one hand (which was still too many for Bokuto).  You will admit that you spent an unusual amount of time with Kuroo, but he’s more entertaining when he’s drunk; it’s actually your favorite time to be around him. “Hardly. If anything,” you pause, “Wait a minute. Ko, are you jealous?” you manage to suppress your smile, but there's a hint of amusement in your tone. 

He doesn’t answer your question; it’s embarrassing enough to even be feeling this way and for you to call him out so quickly only makes it worse. He takes a deep breath, “Y/N,” Bokuto’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Do you ever think you’d be better off with Kuroo? I mean the two of you actually have a lot in common, and I just think-” the words sound crazy now that he’s finally saying them out loud. 

“No,” you say sternly and confidently, cutting off your boyfriend before he has the chance to ramble on. It’s reassuring how quick you are to shut the notion down. “Besides, we really only have one thing in common,” you pause in your tracks, forcing Bokuto to stop and look at you. 

“What’s that?”

“We both love you so much,” you can’t help but smile as you speak. Bokuto has such amazing people in his life and that warms your heart. “We would never try to hurt you; I would never try to hurt you. I’m so sorry for even making you feel like that.” the apology is sincere. Your glossy eyes are a giveaway. “If I haven’t made this clear, you are the only one for me. It’s you and me, together forever,” he wipes away a single tear; you hadn’t even realized you were crying. You never wanted to make him feel this way; he’s never sounded so defeated. Was he going to just hand you over to his best friend? Did he think you would accept that? “But really, Kuroo?” you pretend to vomit to lighten the mood. It makes you both laugh, something you desperately needed. 

“I love you,” Bokuto sighs in relief.  

“I love you too.” flinging your arms around his neck, you kiss him. 

There’s something almost enchanting about the way he immediately takes the lead. He doesn’t care about the taste of liquor that lingers in your mouth or the fact that you still smell like Kuroo’s cologne; at this moment, Bokuto only cares about you. His lips glide over yours passionately, yet ever so gently; your tongue sporadically teases his bottom lip, his teeth occasionally nibble on yours. It’s a steady rhythm that makes you weak in the knees. His hands find their way to your waist, then to your back, sliding down until they’re secure in your back pockets. 

Bokuto pulls away, pressing his forehead against yours. “Let’s get home, yeah?” he squeezes your ass before he removes his hands from your pocket; intertwining his fingers with yours, Bokuto starts to walk again. 

“Yeah,” you repeat with a smile on your face, nodding eagerly as he pulls you down the sidewalk. 

[idontlooklikeiwanttolive]

You're not alone anymore

Pairing: Dekusquad x Lonely! Reader

Warnings: None

It was very easy for you to make friends, but your flaw is you can't just keep them. So you isolate yourself thinking that this was how you're supposed to live.

It wasn't that difficult having no friends, you were fine just by yourself. You enjoyed playing video games alone, you enjoyed making art alone, you enjoyed writing stories alone, you enjoyed doing everything all alone... Not really. Yes you enjoyed being alone but.. Seeing everyone else enjoy time with their friends makes you wonder.. Would you smile widely like that? Would you really feel happy from the bottom of your heart?

Sometimes when you're playing videogames all by yourself, you feel the need to have a friend to play with you. But you just teared up, knowing that you have no one by your side. You were... fine. Yeah.. you don't need friends.. r-right?

'Game Over' You sighed as you lost another round. "Okay fuck it, no more bullshit about having friends. I'm fine by myself." You mumbled as your bedroom alarm goes off.

"Oh right.. school." you stood up and headed over to your closet to put your uniform on. You didn't bother to get prepared properly as no one would care about how you looked anyways.

You ate a toast for breakfast and looked at the mirror by your front door before leaving "My dark circles are getting bigger.. Shit." you cursed under your breath as your fingers carressed your eyebags

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You finally arrived at UA. "Okay Y/n, you know the drill. Ignore everyone except the teachers like always." you sighed as you walked into your classroom

You looked down, walking to your seat, they were all looking at you. You could feel their gazes. But you didn't care as long as you couldn't see their faces. You reached your chair and sat down, staring at your desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aizawa walked in right when the bell rang "Alright, you kids sit down and there's an activity for you all to do. Except Y/n. Remain standing." Aizawa sternly said making you flinch and slowly stand up, still looking down at your desk.

"Y/n. Are you doing just fine? If yes, you don't look like it." Aizawa asked "Yes sir, i am sure i'm perfectly fine." you replied "Alright, sit down and let's get class started." You sat down quickly congratulating yourself for getting out of the situation before it gets worse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was finally lunch time and everyone headed somewhere else instead of the cafeteria, you didn't care though. You memorized your schedules and you don't remembering having something to do today so you just went to the cafeteria alone.

It has been a few minutes since you started eating your lunch quietly in a corner instead of a table. There was literally no one sitting in every table, why wouldn't you sit there? Well, because corners were your comfort spot. Whenever you feel anxious and everything else, you just go to a corner and you'll feel like you're safe and sound. You finished your lunch and you just sat there, feeling safe.

The safe feeling went away as you see your classmate, Midoriya, walking towards you.

You stood up trying to not run into or make eye contact with him- "Hey Y/n!" Midoriya beamed. You sighed "Hey Midoriya.." you mumbled loud enough for him to hear

"Uh can you wait here please, i'm gonna go fetch the others" he asked ".. Sure sure yeah.." you murmured "Great! Stay there okay?" Midoriya said, running off to who knows where

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm back Y/n!" Midoriya shouted running towards you with Todoroki, Uraraka, Asui and Iida

"Uhm.. hi?" You nervously chuckled as Todoroki walked closer "Y/n, why are you isolating yourself?" he asked calmly making you look at him in surprise "Don't think about denying it, this sounds crazy but we've been watching you the past few days." Todoroki admitted "Todoroki-kun you weren't supposed to say that!" Midoriya whisper shouted as you simply sighed "Yeah.. it's true. I isolate myself." you confessed

"Why? Kero." Asui asked "What else should the reason be? Everyone is the same. People tend to come and go, when they once said they'll never leave you and they'll be by your side forever." "So, i isolated myself. Don't get me wrong i don't hate anybody but.. i just find it hard to keep my friends.. even my family.." your last sentence made your voice small and you sounded like you were whispering it.

You were looking down, you were on the verge of tears as you feel someone hug you. It was Uraraka. She was hugging you and you felt.. safe. "Listen Y/n, i know it's hard to trust but please trust us and don't ever isolate yourself ever again." Uraraka said, still hugging you "Uraraka is right. You don't have to isolate yourself just because you can't keep friends" Iida exclaimed adjusting his glasses as Urakaka finally lets go of you

"Say Y/n, would you like to be our friend?" Midoriya asked "You don't have to be the one who'll keep us, we'll keep you instead, kero." Asui said as you looked at the group of friends infront of you.

The day you were wishing for to come.. This is it. The day you start to have friends, once again.

You couldn't help but let the tears you've been keeping for so long stream down your face as you stared at them. "I'd love that." you smiled, closing your eyes.

(a/n: AYO Y/N, WHEN WILL THAT EVER HAPPEN TO ME😭)

(a/n: and when Todoroki mentioned "we've been watching you these past few days" i couldn't stop thinking about the gif lmfao)

[chibistarlyte]

PROMPTS! “If you don’t dance with me right now I’m going to…. be…. upset.” TodoBaku 👀👀👀👀

thank youuuuu for the prompt ilu so much 💜💜💜💜

this ended up so much longer than i anticipated...almost 2k lmfao enjoyyyyyy

.

Katsuki had spent the majority of the evening by the punch table, using it as a safe haven of sorts to avoid getting dragged into conversations he didn't want to be part of. He hated social gatherings, especially ones where the point was to mingle and make connections and do all this shit that Katsuki really didn't care about. 

He hated that hero work also involved making nice with big bosses in the business. All the schmoozing and ass-kissing to get sponsors and shit was really not his style. Katsuki preferred to have his work in the field speak for itself, thank you very much.

He'd refilled his punch cup umpteen million times at this point, and yet he still ladled in more of the horribly sweet drink. It sloshed about and leaked over the rim of the clear plastic cup, some of the sticky juice getting all over his fingers.

"Shit," he swore, setting his cup down on the table and reaching for a napkin. He wiped as much of the juice off his fingers as he could, though there was some sticky residue left that probably wouldn't come off until he washed his hands.

"Are you making a mess over here?"

Katsuki could feel his lips already pursing in irritation. He knew exactly who that voice belonged to, and one glance over his shoulder confirmed his worst assumption. 

Fucking Todoroki Shouto, looking all prim and proper in his navy-colored suit, came up right next to Katsuki at the punch table. The half-n-half bastard had a knowing smirk that made Katsuki wanna punch his perfect face.

"Fuck off, you shithead," Katsuki grumbled, picking up his cup and turning to face Todoroki. "I'm busy."

"Busy avoiding everyone, I see," Todoroki answered flatly, grabbing a clean cup for himself and scooping some punch out of the bowl.

"Obviously it's not fucking working, since you're here annoying me to death," Katsuki said, even though out of every person present at this stupid gathering, he'd rather interact with Todoroki.

Which was saying a lot, since Katsuki couldn't stand the guy.

At least, that's what he'd been telling himself since they were fucking fifteen years old. 

"I needed a breather," Todoroki admitted, placing the ladle back in the bowl with a clink. He watched Katsuki as he sipped at his punch, the intensity in his mismatched eyes putting Katsuki on edge.

"What, can't breathe with your mouth against all those peoples' asses?" Katsuki asked, earning himself a choked laugh from Todoroki. The sound was enough to draw Katsuki’s own gaze to Todoroki, and his heart stopped when he saw the mirth on the other man's face.

Katsuki wanted to punch and kiss Todoroki in equal parts. Which was a major fucking problem.

"I've never been fond of kissing asses," Todoroki said with a nonchalant shrug, though the grin at Katsuki’s comment still hadn't left his mouth. "I watched too many people do it to my father, and I just find it stupid. I'd rather earn things on my own merit rather than using false flattery to impress people."

"You and me both," Katsuki snorted, taking a sip of his punch.

They stood together in a companionable enough silence, drinking their punch and watching people mill about the party. A few minutes later, though, the lights around the room dimmed. A rectangular area in the middle of the room was illuminated with spotlights in a rainbow of colors, and there was an echoing in the speakers as the DJ tapped the microphone. 

"Alright, everyone, now that we've had time for the business end of things, who's ready to actually party?" the DJ said into the microphone. Cheers echoed feebly around the room.

The DJ tapped some buttons on their laptop and an upbeat dance song started up over the speakers. "Get your dance on!" they urged the crowd, and sure enough, a few people stepped out onto the makeshift dance floor and began jamming to the music.

Katsuki groaned and clenched his fingers around his cup, causing it to crack around the rim a little. "Fucking great," he muttered, rolling his eyes. 

"What?" Todoroki asked, raising a snow white brow. "Don't like to dance?"

"What the fuck would ever give you the goddamn idea that I do?" Katsuki said.

Todoroki just shrugged, finishing off his punch and tossing his cup into a nearby recycling bin. "Well...would you like to?"

Katsuki squinted his eyes at Todoroki. "Like to what?"

"Dance with me," Todoroki said easily, far too easily for someone who seemed to have a death wish via explosions. 

"The fuck? No!" Katsuki yelled, swiping his arm in a motion that backed up his words. "Why the hell would I ever willingly go dance in front of all these fucking people, least of all with you?"

Todoroki just shrugged again, the bastard, and said, "I thought it would be fun."

"Go dance by your fucking self, then," Katsuki growled, gesturing to the dance floor.

"That kind of defeats the purpose of dancing, don't you think?" Todoroki asked, placing a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. It took everything Katsuki had not to flinch at the contact—not that it was unwelcome, but more so the idea of Todoroki touching him, even in the most innocent way, did weird things to his insides that he fucking hated. 

"Is there even a fucking purpose to dancing?" Katsuki countered.

"I suppose not…" Todoroki said. "But I still want to dance with you."

Katsuki was going to either faint or combust, neither option being ideal. 

"Fuck off," he growled without much heat, shrugging Todoroki’s hand off his shoulder. 

"Bakugou, if you don't dance with me right now, I'm going to...be...upset," Todoroki said flatly, but his eyes dared to look hopeful.

And that sealed Katsuki’s fate.

"Ugh, fucking fine," Katsuki said, downing the rest of his punch and chucking the cup in the recycling bin. "But only one dance."

"Perfect." Todoroki had a small smile, but that small smile lit up his entire face and Katsuki was really, really going to die right here and now.

He let Todoroki take his hand and pull him to the dance floor, where they found an empty spot near one of the back corners. Todoroki eased right into the beat of the pop song currently playing, nodding his head and popping his shoulders to the tempo. Katsuki, on the other hand, just stood there stupidly, not really knowing what to do. 

He glared at Todoroki, who just chuckled at him in return.

"Bakugou, just move to the beat, it's easy," Todoroki said, taking Katsuki’s hands in his own and swinging his arms from side to side. Katsuki immediately felt his palms sweat and prayed to whatever deity was listening that he wouldn't lose his cool and explode Todoroki’s arms off accidentally.

"This is so fucking stupid," Katsuki complained, if only to cover up his nervousness. 

"It's fun," Todoroki said, as if that statement alone would be enough to get Katsuki to change his opinion.

"Fun for you, maybe," Katsuki mumbled, tensing as Todoroki pulled himself closer to Katsuki.

The song ended and transitioned into something much softer and slower. Katsuki looked around at the other people on the dance floor, watching as they all paired up and stood close to one another. 

It was time for him to dip out. No fucking way he would be able to do a slow dance with Todoroki without making a fool of himself.

"Okay, that was your one dance," Katsuki said, yanking his hands out of Todoroki’s grasp. He immediately felt awful doing so, seeing a shadow of disappointment cross Todoroki’s face. 

"But you barely danced," Todoroki said with a frown. "I did all your dancing for you."

"Not my fault I can't fucking dance," Katsuki said, turning to leave. But he was stopped when Todoroki grabbed his hand.

"Please, Bakugou...one more dance?"

Todoroki’s voice alone was enough to crumble Katsuki’s resolve. Resigned, he sighed and turned back to Todoroki. He purposely did not look at the other man's face, afraid of what he'd see. "Fine. One more dance."

Katsuki practically felt the happiness radiating off of Todoroki when he agreed. A second later, Todoroki adjusted Katsuki’s hand in his grip and settled his other hand tenderly on Katsuki’s waist. Katsuki had to suppress a shiver at the touch.

"Put your hand on my shoulder, Bakugou," Todoroki instructed softly, and Katsuki complied.

Finally looking up at Todoroki, Katsuki felt his heart quicken at the sheer joy in those bi-colored eyes. To think that something as simple as agreeing to dance with Todoroki…

Katsuki let out an involuntary gasp as Todoroki pulled him slightly closer. The taller man swayed them both gently to the soft tune of the music, and just this once, Katsuki didn't mind Todoroki taking the lead. He followed more than willingly. 

The song came to an end faster than Katsuki expected. To his surprise, Todoroki hadn't let go of him, even as the next song started up. It was some sort of guided dance, where everyone gathered in lines and followed the prompts with specific dance moves.

"We should get out of the way," Katsuki said, his voice raspy for some fucking reason.

"Yeah," Todoroki agreed, still not letting go of Katsuki as he pulled them both off the dance floor and back to the punch table.

Katsuki looked at their still joined hands, clearing his throat loudly and praying Todoroki hadn't noticed the flush darkening his face. "Let go of my fucking hand," he grumbled, though he made no move to make Todoroki release him.

"O-Oh, sorry," Todoroki said, looking genuinely remorseful as he let go of Katsuki’s hand. 

"'S'fine," Katsuki said, shoving his sweaty hands into the pockets of his slacks. He gave Todoroki a sidelong glance and muttered, "Can't believe you conned me into two dances."

Todoroki let out a little laugh, much to Katsuki’s relief. "I can't believe it either, honestly. I didn't think you would."

"Then why'd you ask?" Katsuki asked, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline in surprise.

Todoroki gave him a disarming smile that made Kastuki’s go weak in the knees. "Because I wanted to," he said as conversationally as one would talk about the weather.

Katsuki snorted. "You fucking idiot," he said, affection bleeding into his voice against his will.

Todoroki chuckled. "An idiot who just wanted to dance with you," he amended, making Katsuki snort again.

Then, Todoroki leaned forward and gave Katsuki a shy kiss on the cheek. The gesture was over before Katsuki could even compute what had happened. As Todoroki pulled away, all Katsuki could do was blink repeatedly at the taller man in shock.

"Thanks for the dances, Bakugou," Todoroki said, giving Katsuki a small wave before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Katsuki let out the breath that had been sitting in his lungs for the last eternity or so, feeling himself go lightheaded. His hand instinctively reached up, fingers brushing his cheek where Todoroki’s lips had just been.

"Holy shit," Katsuki breathed out.

He needed some more punch.

[i8jisoo]

victon reaction to going to them to cuddle 🥺

𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐍 ⇉ victon & a cuddly s/o

victon x reader | reaction

↬ genre; fluff 

↬ warnings; cursing but we super cute

↬ notes; this was cute but i was so backed up lmfao so we doin’ it

seungwoo

okay starting off he’s a tall one, so since i usually picture everyone my height which is 4′9, your cuddles might start off with you climbing on him like a child and a mother. if you’re as tall as him or just the average, he still doesn’t give a shit, he will carry you and he’ll take you over to either the couch or the bed and he’ll set you down first before settling behind you. he’ll snuggle up to your neck, his arms around your shoulders, he’ll practically be choking you deadass. 

i don’t see him doing this around people though, i think he likes to be secretive and discreet about this. when it’s just you to, the cuddliest most teddy-bear like guy ever. the small cuddle time turns into hours and you two will end up falling asleep wherever y’all are at. snuggle on the couch, your head is on his chest and his feet aren’t even on the sofa.

“alright, up you go.” seungwoo sighed, pulling you up and pulling your legs around his waist while he takes you to the couch to come cuddle you. 

seungsik

i see him always being really tired when he asks for a cuddle, but he wants one instantly and will not take no for an answer. seungsik definitely will go to you more for a cuddle, but when you come to him, he is so happy. seungsik is definitely this leader who is great and strong to everyone, but in his home — he is the one to be babied. seungsik is baby let’s be honest, he will always be the one scooped up in your arms.

he had a bad day? cuddle. you had a bad day? cuddle. feeling cold? cuddle. it’s hot as hell outside? cuddle. anything and everything will have cuddles involved. you two will just sit at first and then by the end of the night will find him in your arms, snoring with his head against your tummy and his arms around your waist. he also scares the fuck out of you when he’ll sleep walk or talk in his sleep, you’re deadass jumping at the movement or sounds.

“come here, baby.” you say softly, your arms wide and seungsik walks over. you’ll take him in, sitting on the couch as you do so and rolling back with him. you two will lay there for hours while you play with his hair or watch a show.

heo-chan

another big baby, chan will come to you or you come to him and you two will wobble until you’re on the bed. he is abnormally soft and loves to just tangle your legs up and lay there. he’ll probably have his arms around you most of the time, his fingers laced with yours and his head against the pillow with you on top of him.

100% you always get up and straddle him, only to tickle him and have a giggly chan begging for you to stop. this boy can talk, he isn’t shy with you and he just talks and talks. he will make you cuddle a lot and need extra ones when he has a bad day. chan is pouty and will let you hold him while he rants and talks to you, he might just cry.

you two had just got back from chan’s check-up at the doctor, the boy devastated at the fact he had to get a vaccine. “i do not like you right now.” he just hmph’ed, crossing his arms. “come here baby, i know you want to.” you open your arms, chan doing a double take before accepting and letting you take him to the comfort of his bed to cuddle him. you gave him a kiss on his band-aid on his arm, rubbing his back.

sejun

he will probably have a bowl of whatever snack on ur back, turning on a movie or show as you sleep soundly and unknowingly have a bowl of food resting atop you. he will sometimes see how much shit he can put on top of you, then to have you wake up and everything tumble down or he’ll scare you when he shouts for you to stay still.

if he isn’t eating — poke, poke, poke — sejun is annoying you as you try to cuddle. he will be going after you when you pull up and off of him, leaving him alone on the couch so you can close your eyes and rest. 9/10 times he will pull your arm back and make you fall so then he’ll feel super shitty but that just means more cuddles so it’s alright. sejun is here to kiss your boo-boo’s.

“y/n! no! don’t go!!!” he shouts, watching you rush down the hallway and into the room. he’ll slide down the hallway in his socks and open the door, practically jumping on top of you and into the bed. “go away..” you murmur tiredly, yawning. he cuddles into you and holds onto you like a sloth hold, giving you the most comfortable sleep of all time. “goodnight y/n.”

hanse

laying in his room is not good, you will probably 7/10 times be laying on a shit-ton of clothes that he doesn’t pick up. i feel like he’s a human heater, you just cuddle up to him and he’s warming you up instantly, no blankets needed. you also have to remind him to take off his glasses or contacts before cuddling, y’all fall asleep often so you don’t want him to break his glasses or accidentally irritate his eyes. 

you guys might lay in bed and paint his nails or do his hair, it doesn’t matter to him. he likes doing these things. you will break his arm to paint his nails, the next week he’ll switch to another color. there is always music playing, blasting and making subin very annoyed!!!! 

“that hurts, ow!!” hanse whines, your hand turning his arm in a direction it obviously does not go in. “shh! stop moving, you’re gonna make me mess them up!” you tell him to suck it up of course, your back to his chest and you lay on top of him with his arm stuck in the air and turned so you could paint them.

byungchan

he’s tall, he’s y’know.. he’s a giant. that doesn’t stop him from being your very small baby though, he loves to feel babied. he’ll want to cuddle into your neck and wrap his arms around your waist, his body on top of yours and his body definitely weighing on you. occasionally he will be humming a girl group song or he’ll be mumbling the lyrics to one, earning him a glare from you to be quiet while you were trying to watch the screen on your phone. 

he loves cuddling. he will come home just to cuddle matter of fact, he’ll drop anything and everything to lay there in your arms and just snuggle into you. he’s sad when you leave for work or aren’t there when he’s back, he guesses the trace of your shampoo on the pillow case will have to work.

“where are you!” byungchan calls out, dropping his bag for practice on the floor and his shoes are kicked off as soon as he walks through the door. “i’m watching a movie, go away!” you yelled, byungchan knowing instantly you were in the bedroom and doing a sprint towards there. he practically jumps on you and into the bed, clinging to you like a baby on a mother’s hip. you groan, “no talking, i’m trying to watch.” you mumble, soon enough hearing his soft breathing and feeling it on your neck as he relaxes.

subin

he is a baby himself but in the dorms you and his small furry babies are his own. toto, mimi, and jaws will lay next to you guys or underneath the covers with y’all. he’ll wiggle around before finding a comfortable spot and sticking with it. if you fuck up his bed for perfect cuddling, he will fuck you up. his bed is clear and perfect for only you, if anybody else fucks it up before he comes back and it’s not in perfect condition, he will hunt them down. 

short baby will drown in large clothes, but you are smaller so you two are both equally drowning in clothes. he will watch a movie while texting the boys or texting somebody, all screens are on but don’t worry, he hasn’t forgotten about his little baby that’s in his arms.

“subin!!! subiiinnn!!!!!” you say loudly, muffled by the large hoodie draped over him. he’s focused on the messages on his screen, his fingers probably burned at his rapid typing. you pull at his phone, “whaaaattt!!!” he mocks, looking at you to see what you wanted. “toto just peed on the floor, dummy!” sure enough, you’re right. there is a puddle and toto will be sitting next to it, proud and unbothered by the accident on the floor. “toto no!!” he whines, pushing you off and having to clean up the mess with a pout.

©️ maysdiors 2020 :: all rights reserved. do not repost my work on tumblr or other platforms.

[bellamyblakru]

this was requested by a friend on tumblr!! they sent me a very detailed prompt and asked if i would be willing to write a full-fledged fic for it (i was willing LOL). the main premise is all credit to them, and i appreciate them being so chill with my little additions and writing style.

it was an honor to write this for you, thank you so much for asking :') i hope you like it!!

here it is on ao3 and under the cut!! :) enjoy!! (hopefully lmfao)

Merlin didn’t want to go hunting—no surprise there. He had a bad feeling about this trip, but when he told Arthur about it, he just got a scoff in return and a “Sure, Merlin. We’re leaving at dawn.”

So, that brings Merlin, who was freezing in the bright winter morning, huddled near their horses, Honey and Llamrei, shivering from head to toe waiting for King Prat to come down. He would use magic to warm himself up a bit, and he would if he was going alone, but it would be too suspicious if Arthur was also going to freeze his arse off.

He was told to pack for a three day trip as Arthur wanted to get away from the castle for as long as was allowed. Merlin understood the need to escape—truly, he did, but he would be more sympathetic if it wasn't in the dead of winter. Merlin sighed at the thought, wanting this to be over with.

Arthur came galloping down the stairs of the castle, already giddy at the prospect of leaving the cage behind. Merlin couldn’t stop the smile forming at Arthur’s excitement. I guess I can suck it up, Merlin thought defeatedly, for Arthur.

Everything is always for Arthur—and Merlin wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Perk up, Merlin! This will be good, I know it,” Arthur beamed at him, taking Llamrei from him.

“Of course, sire, I can’t wait to kill frozen little innocent animals,” Merlin said sweetly under his breath.

Arthur rolled his eyes but didn’t respond, hopping on his horse, looking up at Leon, who was on the top step smiling at them and waving.

“I trust you will take good care of my kingdom, Sir Leon,” Arthur smiled at the man who bowed deeply.

“Of course, Sire,” and then Leon looked at Merlin, “Take care of our King, Merlin. Though, you never disappoint.”

Merlin heard Arthur mutter under his breath, “never disappoint, pff,” but Merlin gave Leon a true smile, “Of course, Sir Leon! I know you’ll do great here.”

Leon nodded at him, a small smile on his face at the praise, and went back into the warm castle.

Merlin heard Arthur go towards the gate, and with one last long suffering look at the warm castle begging him to stay, he went off after his King.

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours in and Arthur was still radiating excitement. Being away from Camelot always scared him a little, but it was necessary. Sometimes it felt too much like a dungeon with no room to breathe. But here, in the brisk, winter air, it felt like he was flying.

He did feel a little bad about dragging Merlin in the cold, but he knew if he told Merlin to stay home, then he would have just followed anyway. Said man was prattling on about what patients he helped Gaius with this week, and Arthur smiled. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but having Merlin with him was always exciting.

Merlin never made anything dull. Arthur didn’t want to bring the roundtable on this trip, wanting to go back to the good old days—adventuring with his best friend at his side.

Arthur wanted to go to a specific clearing a few more hours away, but the journey was also part of the fun. Merlin was currently joking about what Gwaine did at training yesterday, but then they hit the river that Arthur had forgotten about.

They both stopped short, staring at the frozen water.

“Oh, yeah, I might have forgotten about this,” Arthur stated as innocently as he could, I’ll cross first without my horse to see if it’s stable enough.”

But as he got off his horse, Merlin beat him to it. Of course Merlin felt the need to go first, Arthur sighed internally, thinking about how Merlin always shows little to no self-preservation.

He gaped at the man, who just stepped on the ice.

Merlin turned around and smiled at Arthur, “See, everything will be okay. I’ll make sure it’s safe enough for us, just wait there.”

Arthur reluctantly nodded, “Be careful, Merlin.”

Merlin gave a small laugh, facing the other side that looked to be about twenty feet away, “Woah, Arthur. That almost sounded like you care for me, sire.”

Arthur tried to smile at the attempt at humor but it fell short—especially when he could hear the ice cracking a little.

Merlin makes it about halfway when he turns around to face him, “See! I knew it was strong enough, sire, you should trust me more.”

Arthur let out a rough laugh, “Yeah...yeah, you’re right Merlin. Hurry up, I want to get there soon.”

He meant it to sound annoyed, but it definitely came across more nervous, scared that their good luck wouldn’t last.

He was right.

Three more steps forwards, and Merlin fell through the ice—tumbling fast into the cold, unforgiving water without a sound.

He stared numbly where Merlin just plummeted. Time felt like it slowed, everything freezing in its tracks.

No, no, no, no. No.

Violently, time began once more when he saw Merlin’s head bob out of the water.

“MERLIN?!” Arthur took a fast step forwards, shaking with his palpable fear. He saw Merlin flick a terrified glance his way when Merlin’s frozen, wet arms started flailing on the broken ice around him—the panic obvious in his movements. Even from here, Arthur could see how shakey Merlin’s arms were, how little of his strength remained after it was sapped out of him when he fell.

Slowly now, terrified that Merlin would hurt himself more, Arthur started advancing onto the ice—carefully placing his feet to balance out the cracking. Merlin, still flailing in his panic, was almost blue, his body slowly draining of any color. He tried to heave himself up once more, but failed again when holding himself used too much energy that he didn’t have.

“Merlin, stop, look at me,” Merlin reluctantly listened, holding onto a piece of floating ice to stay stable, “You have to stop doing that. You’re wasting too much energy, I’m coming. Don’t worry, I’m coming.”

As he said that, he didn’t, wouldn’t, break eye contact with Merlin. Arthur steadied himself, trying to emit the strength and stability Merlin needed.

“Ar-Ar-tur, d-don’t,” Merlin stammered out, face draining even more.

Arthur faked a scoff, “You forget I’m the king, right? You can’t order me.”

Stepping slowly, Arthur reached the edge of the broken ice.

“Merlin, swim to me. We’re almost there, we’re going to be fine, and you’ll be cleaning my room in no time.”

Merlin obeyed and swam sluggishly towards his king. Arthur mumbled small praises the whole time, “That’s it, Merlin. You’re almost there.”

Arthur uncliped his cloak and bent down at the edge of the water. When Merlin reached him, Arthur didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Merlin from under his arms and heaved him out onto the unstable ice around them—crackling at the weight.

Arthur breathed a stream of curses, picking Merlin off the ground, covering him with his cloak, and ran to the horses. Once he reached Llamrei, he dropped to his knees, rolling Merlin towards him.

“Merlin?! Merlin. Come on, wake up,” he hit Merlin’s blue face slightly. They were both shaking so hard that Arthur couldn’t tell if Merlin was breathing or not. Raising a shivering hand, he touched Merlin’s throat, looking for a pulse.

He felt nothing.

“No,” Arthur shook his head vehemently, “No, you’re not dead. I don’t allow it. No, no, no, no.”

Arthur didn’t feel his tears through his frozen exterior as he started banging on Merlin’s chest.

“Please, please,” Arthur rambled, “please save him, please.” He repeated it, again and again, his tears blurring his eyes, “I’ll do anything, please, no, no.”

Arthur wouldn’t stop trying, and when he lifted up his fist again, a soft golden gold violently encompassed both of them.

Arthur stopped, and looked at the light in shock. It felt peaceful, safe, and warm. It was so warm.

He looked everywhere around them before landing on Merlin himself—a gasp escaping him.

Merlin was radiating the light. Did someone answer my prayers? Arthur wondered in pure awe, putting his fingers back to Merlin’s pulse when his shaking subsided enough.

He sobbed out in relief—it was there, weak but fast. He gathered Merlin in his arms, not fearing the power surrounding his servant, and put Merlin on Llamrei before he followed behind him. Grabbing Honey’s reins, he searched for a cave. They needed to recover, and Merlin needed time to heal.

And Arthur needed time to figure out what just happened.

It was still snowing, and Arthur growled at the sky because of it. Merlin was still unconscious laying against him, no longing glowing, and Arthur wished he would wake up—at least once. He should’ve stopped Merlin from going to sleep, he knew sleeping was never a good sign...we need Gaius, his brain added unhelpfully. First, they need shelter. Camelot was too far a journey with Merlin in this condition.

That strange light saved his life for now, but Merlin was still shivering and blue. Arthur couldn’t stop replaying that scene in his head: Merlin tumbling into the frozen waters without a sound, time stopping and beginning, and that light that saved their lives—Merlin’s light. He was terrified when he realized that Merlin might not make the night. But that wouldn’t happen...he wouldn’t let it happen. Never—not on his watch.

After what felt like hours, he found a cave large enough for the four of them, and he raced towards it.

Quickly, he built a fire inside—rather difficult when everything is soaked, but he managed to find some dry wood—placing Merlin directly next to it, then he made sure the horses were comfortable enough for the long night before he returned to Merlin.

The man in question was still soaking wet, and Arthur frowned at Merlin’s shaking. Deciding that he would be warm enough quickly by the fire, he took off Merlin’s shirt and the cloak wrapped around him, placing them on the other side of the fire to dry, and gave Merlin his own shirt—the quality much better than the strings holding together Merlin’s shirt.

I’ll buy him better clothes, Arthur thought grimly, he should have warmer clothes. He mentally kicked himself for forgetting how little Merlin spends on himself, and he stared at the shivering man, who was turning less blue every second.

The light replayed in his head, and without the adrenaline and panic flooding his system, he truly thought about it. And it stopped him dead.

Magic. That was obviously magic. He couldn’t help but back away from Merlin, years of lessons at the forefront of his mind. No, Merlin couldn’t have magic. Magic was evil, wasn’t it?

He wasn’t so sure, especially not now. What he felt, it wasn’t cruel, or menacing, or dangerous. It was pure, warm, and light—similar to the light that led him out the cave all those years ago. It felt like a hug from someone you love dearly. This went against everything his father taught him, but then again, don’t I already think magic isn’t wholly evil? He pondered that thought with a small frown.

Before the purge, magic was used to heal—Gaius being the prime example—and used to grow crops and help others. But, it was also used to aid in people’s greed, for fighting, for gaining the upper hand...but didn’t swords do that, too? A tool to be used by those who knew how to wield it, and in the wrong hands, it leads to destruction—no different than someone who masters a sword with expert skill and ability.

That Dragonlord was magic as well, Arthur thought back to that adventure focusing on how distraught Merlin was when the man died. Maybe they had a connection through their magic? But that brought the thoughts back to the man in front of him. How long has he practiced magic right under Arthur’s nose? For what purpose?

Merlin isn’t evil, but why lie to me? And that’s what hurts the most. The lying. Arthur thought they told each other everything. Merlin was his brother in everything except blood—they were stronger together, always. Arthur knew Merlin kept secrets, especially by the way Merlin’s moods would drastically shift one day to the next. Arthur knew that Merlin was hiding something, but why did it feel so bad?

Thinking back on their adventures, Arthur could clearly see now that Merlin had magic. The branch that would accidentally hit the bandit behind Arthur’s back when he wasn’t looking, the creatures that can only be killed by magic dying unexpectedly, the way Arthur sometimes healed faster than he thought was possible. All things that aided Arthur.

His mind suddenly flashed the scene in his head of him almost killing his father after finding out what his father did to his mother, and to magic users, and Arthur paused this time on Merlin. Merlin didn’t deny the vision of his mother during the long journey back...he almost seemed saddened by the whole thing, taking it to heart. But the minute Arthur was going to kill Uther, Merlin was the one to stop him. Merlin, who has magic, stopped Arthur from killing the man who spent his reign committing a genocide of a whole group of people—Merlin’s people.

He did it for Arthur, he had to—just like everything else Merlin did and continues to do. That confused Arthur even more, if he was being honest. Why protect the son of the King who murdered innocent people for a decade? What does Merlin get from that?

As if Merlin could feel Arthur’s inner turmoil, he groaned and tried to open his eyes. Blearily, he managed to open them and he stared at Arthur, a confused look adorning his features. He tried to sit up, but failed miserably, groaning from the exertion.

Arthur rushed to him, placing his hand on Merlin’s, helping him sit up more, “Stop moving, you dollophead.”

Merlin didn’t retort back, making Arthur frown again, and asked, his voice gruff with pain, “Ar-Arthur. What happened?”

Arthur leaned slightly away from Merlin, sitting on his heels facing the fire still burning brightly, “You fell in the water, and I got you out.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” Merlin breathed, eyes filled with nothing but gratitude, but then, at the thick silence, he narrowed his eyes at the king, “That’s not all, is it?”

Arthur, still watching the flames, answered quietly, “No.”

Merlin’s breathing went into short, fast puffs, and he eyed Arthur’s sword at his side, moving back from Arthur as nonchalantly as he could, “No?”

Arthur missed nothing. He saw the panic, the pure, unadulterated fear flooding through Merlin—almost a tangible thing in the air. Arthur sucked in a quick breath when he realized that Merlin thought Arthur would kill him. Arthur threw his sword to the other side of the cave, and put his hands towards Merlin like a wild animal being tamed.

“Merlin. Merlin, look at me,” Merlin, whose tears were already falling, did so slowly, “I would never hurt you. I promise.”

He heard Merlin’s breathing hitch, but he continued, “I don’t know why or how, but you saved us from dying out there. When I brought you back to land, we were both shivering so bad that I couldn’t even check your pulse. We were going to die, but we didn’t. You...you emitted this golden glow, and it felt like you. So you, Merlin. It felt familiar, warm, and safe. I’ve never felt safer.”

Merlin’s eyes never left Arthur’s, and Merlin sobbed once more, and stuttered out, “Arthur, I’m so, so sorry.”

Arthur started shaking his head, but Merlin plowed on, “I was born like this. I was able to do m-magic longer than I knew how to walk. I-I wanted to tell you for so long, but I didn’t know h-how you would react. For a while I thought you would kill me, but then I thought y-you would send me away. But I need to protect you, to save you, to serve you. It was the reason I was put onto the Earth. My magic is yours, Arthur, only yours—as it always has been.”

Arthur was speechless, staring at Merlin like he was a puzzle that was just solved.

“I believe you,” Arthur said softly, moved beyond comprehension. They had a connection, Arthur already knew this, but to this degree? To this loyalty? Arthur smiled at Merlin, “I don’t know why you place such loyalty in me, but, thank you Merlin. For protecting me.”

Merlin gave Arthur a small nod, still crying softly. Arthur saw Merlin look down, with his face going red in embarrassment at what he saw.

“Arthur, you shouldn’t have,” Merlin said gently, pulling on Arthur’s shirt, “I’m supposed to be saving your sorry arse, not the other way around.”

Arthur scoffed, “Right. I should’ve let you, what? Drown and shiver to death...no thank you, I am a King for a reason, Merlin. I am supposed to help the helpless.”

Merlin’s face went beet red again, apparently not used to being saved. Arthur would help fix that, before Merlin ended up killing himself by his self sacrificing ways.

Arthur retrieved some food that was packed in their bags and came back to Merlin, who refused at first at being served, but then he obliged after Arthur didn’t move.

“You know, Merlin,” Arthur started, still feeding them both, “getting help every once and awhile is a good thing. It’s okay to ask for help when you need it. No one should go through life alone—especially when there are people willing to be there for you.”

Merlin, still shaking from the fall, looked up at Arthur, “Yeah?”

Arthur sat back, next to Merlin, again looking at the fire, “Yeah. You scared me pretty badly out there Merlin. I thought I lost you.”

Merlin slouched inwards, upset at himself as well, but didn’t respond. Arthur knew that Merlin knew that he (Merlin) had reckless tendencies, that he threw himself at danger all the time without any self preservation—they’ve talked about it before, actually.

Instead of addressing his continued self-sacrificing actions, he squared his shoulders and looked at Arthur, “Thank you again, Arthur. You saved my life today, and I will never forget it. It was also dangerous for you to go on the ice to get me, but you did it anyways. So, thank you, and,” he added softly, “thank you for not hating me.”

Arthur smiled at him and gave him a small nod, “Well, someone had to save your sorry arse from dying, and Honey wasn’t about to jump in the river to save you...and,” he paused slightly, tilting his head, “I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

Merlin tried to smile but he coughed and moaned a bit in pain, and Arthur rushed back to his side.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Arthur asks, nerves spiking through him.

Merlin just shook his head and gave Arthur a warm smile before quickly falling asleep again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Merlin woke up feeling better than he has in a long time. When his magic reacted to his fall, it healed him almost all the way. And throughout the night, his magic slowly knitted him back together.

He couldn’t believe Arthur knew about his magic and didn’t hate him for it, and he didn’t banish him, or kill him. Arthur even looked at him the same way, not fearing Merlin or thinking him weak in this state.

Merlin hated being helpless, but Arthur was right. It’s okay to get help when you need it, but Merlin needed to work on believing it more—especially since Arthur now knows about his magic, he should probably talk to the king now before secretly stopping someone evil, he mused.

Merlin smiled at the thought and looked down to see the King’s shirt still on him, with Arthur shirtless snuggling by the fire. Merlin quickly took it off, missing the nice tunic immediately, and spelled the shirt to be warm and fresh for Arthur once he woke up. Merlin slowly walked to the firepit, picked up his shirt that was now thankfully dry, and put it back on.

Arthur woke up with a groan, rubbing his eyes tiredly, but shot up when he saw Merlin cleaning up.

“What are you doing? How are you feeling? You should’ve kept my shirt, it would keep you warmer than yours.”

Merlin smiled at the rambling, and answered perkily, “I am cleaning up, I feel good, thanks to you, and it’s okay, sire. My shirt was nice and warm this morning.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes but nodded, and after a quick breakfast, they took care of the horses and rode off towards Camelot.

After a few minutes in comfortable silence, Merlin, with a curious look on his face, asked quietly in the slightly warming morning, “Everything is going to change now, won’t it?”

Arthur gave Merlin a true smile—a smile that had even destiny singing in the distance: “Yes, but I think it’s time for some change, don’t you think?”

[missmonsters2]

A Cat-astrophe, Speak More

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wanda doesn’t seem to understand what she has. You wouldn’t say she’s neglecting you, but you need her to understand that you’ve got choices, okay? So, post-winning and taking down a villain, Wanda gets the aftermath. Now as a feline, she’s beginning to realize maybe the two of you talk too little.

[In which, Wanda gets turned into a cat & realizes she’s got competition]

Warnings: Potentially a crack!fic lmfao

Genre: Fluff/humor/romance

Notes: HAPPY 200 FOLLOWERS! Seriously, I’ve just started this account over from scratch, so I’m amazed we’ve reached this point already. Thank you to everyone who likes, comments, and follows! I’ve been drowning in too much angst lately, and this cute thing popped into my mind. Please enjoy :) 

P.S. ya’ll know Wanda would be the most majestic cat you’ve ever goddamn seen. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

Count: 5614

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“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You know, I’ve seen weirder shit.”

Natasha and Tony bickered a little more while everyone was huddled around Wanda. The new height difference was making Wanda jittery, it was like giants crowding around her. 

“Guys, back up a bit,” Steve said while putting his arms out to give Wanda some space.

Wanda felt her shoulders relax as she sat upright.

“So, this is happening,” Clint said, eyeing the fur.

“Wanda got turned into a cat.”

A small mewl could be heard.

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“You can fix this, right?” Natasha asked, looking at Bruce. He was eyeing Wanda with a squint as he circled around her with his hand on his chin.

“I mean...I can try...” Bruce said, a little unsure. It’s not like he had encountered his problem before. 

Steve sighed as he watched Wanda stretch her legs. “Well, we interrogated the guy. He’s claiming that nothing can fix it, but it would wear off on its own. He kept saying he didn’t know how long it would last.”

Natasha pursed her lips but had to accept the answer. She bent down, stroking Wanda’s head while the witch looked thoroughly unhappy but let Natasha do as she wished.

“This is troubling. Should we tell your girlfriend?” Natasha asked.

Wanda had been dating you for six months now. She had told you she was an Avenger and was basically on the run about two months ago.

You took the news relatively pretty good.

Wanda meowed her objections to tell you, shaking her head as she did. The last thing she wanted to do was make you worried about her. 

Still...

She kept meowing over and over while Natasha scrunched her eyebrows together, trying to discern what it was her teammate wanted.

“Girlfriend?”

Wanda meowed and nodded her head.

“Don’t tell,” Natasha clarified.

Wanda meowed and nodded her again.

“Did you...want to see her?” Natasha guessed, eyes flittering over as Wanda’s tag swayed back and forth on the ground. 

Wanda meowed happily, standing on all four paws.

“What? No way,” Steve said. “That’s too dangerous.”

“Oh, hush, grandpa,” Natasha said as she opened her hands for Wanda to come in so she could carry her. “If anything, Wanda will be fine with her girlfriend. Everyone in this compound is too damn nosy, anyways. It’ll keep her out of sight.”

“Oh? And what do you propose when Wanda turns back into herself while she’s with her girlfriend?”

“That doesn’t sound like a me problem,” Natasha said, looking at Wanda in her arms. 

Wanda opened her mouth again, but then closed it.

She’ll figure it out later. 

“Come on, Wanda. Let’s drop you off,” Natasha says, turning away and walking off with the fluff of fur in her arms.

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You were in the middle of working on your paper when you heard knocking on your door.

You took your glasses off, rubbing your eyes a little bit before heading over to the door. When you opened it, you were surprised since it was so late.

“Natasha,” you greeted as she gave you a half-smile. “What are you doing here? Where’s Wanda?”

“Wanda got assigned a no-contact mission, it’s indefinite at the meantime,” she said easily, and you nodded, still unsure what she was doing here.

Your eyes traveled down to the cat in her arms.

“Anyway,” Natasha says, bringing your attention back to her. “I need you to look after this little she-devil. Your landlord lets you have pets, right?”

You scrunch your eyebrow together looking at the cat again who’s swishing her tail and looking at you. 

“Uh, I mean, yes, but--”

“Great!” Natasha says, passing the cat over into your arms. She meows disgruntedly, and you swear she glares at Natasha. “It’s just temporary. It can’t stay at the compound at the moment. She already ate. I’ll come back for her later, thanks.”

Without saying anything else, Natasha left your front step, and you were alone with the cat. You looked down at her as she was cradled in your arms, purring and swishing her tail back and forth lazily.

“Okay?” You said more to yourself, going back into your place and shutting the door behind you. You set the cat down, and she walked around your house as if she’s already been there.

You go into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and putting water in it before setting it down. The cat comes over, looking in the bowl, but then looks at you, not drinking.

“What?” You ask but internally roll your eyes because it’s not like the cat will answer you. 

The cat just stares at you before meowing.

“Um,” you say, still not sure what she wants. Maybe she’s just not thirsty?

The cat sticks its paw into the water delicately and then presses its paw to you. 

You’re weirded out.

This is what Wanda does every time you give her water without ice, except she sticks her finger in and flicks it at you.

“Ice...?” You ask, almost unsure because you seem crazy. The cat meows again. 

You confusedly open the fridge and get some ice, plopping a couple of it into her bowl. She waits a few moments, and you’re convinced you’re crazy for sure. 

But then, the cat starts drinking from the bowl.

This is so weird.

But it was just a coincidence...right?

“You’re kind of picky,” you mumble, and the cat looks at you, licking her lips.

“I’m going to call you Princess,” you say, and you swear the cat grins at you, but you’re convinced that you’ve just stayed up too long doing this paper.

You stand up, mumbling to yourself and resolving to go to sleep.

Wanda watches you as you retire to your room. She walks around a little, checking out the whole place and satisfied when everything is in order. Going to the table and jumping up onto it, she sees you’ve been working on a paper. 

Wanda internally smiles. You were always so cute when you were working hard.

Then your phone starts to buzz, she looks towards the room, but you’ve already knocked out. 

Wanda stretches her neck over, trying to see who was texting you.

Just out of curiosity is all. 

She sees it’s from Brian, your TA.

You’ve set your phone to show who the text is from, but not the actual contents, always saying that it distracts you when you’re doing other things. You get tempted to read what they’ve said and ended up not doing any work.

Wanda sighs, leaving it as is. She’s not about to snoop into your privacy.

Licking her lips again, she wonders what she can do since she wasn’t tired yet.

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You start to stir when you smell a familiar scent of cinnamon and dry leaves, thinking that maybe Wanda has already returned.

You opened your eyes to see the cat lying next to your head, awake and purring. The cat seems to notice that you’ve woken and licks your brow bone. 

You make an unidentifiable sound, turning fully over and pressing your face against the cat’s soft fur.

Seriously, this is the fluffiest cat you’ve ever seen. She was majestic.

You chuckle softly, albeit a little depressedly at the same time.

“Wow, morning kisses? I never get those. You’re a sweet little thing, aren’t you?”

You had your eyes closed, so you didn’t see Wanda’s face contort in confusion at your comment. 

Did she really never give you good morning kisses?

You sigh a little tiredly. You wished you could go back to sleep, but it didn’t seem like that was going to happen. You slowly got up, your dainty sleeping shirt falling off one shoulder as you did. 

Wanda licked her lips.

“C’mon, princess,” you say, your voice slightly hoarse from just waking up. “Let’s find some breakfast.”

You get up, starting your morning routine while Wanda follows you around the house. You think it’s a little strange, people tell you cats are...particular creatures.

This one seems to be very affectionate.

Or obsessed with you.

You were fine with that. Not like you were exactly getting any attention from the person you wanted.

This cat was extremely fussy. She didn’t want to eat anything you thought a cat would eat. She seemed to want to eat what you did. After researching on Google to make sure what you were giving her wasn’t going to kill her, you gave in.

“This is why you’re called Princess. You’re fussy. Kind of like my girlfriend.”

If cats could look affronted, you would say her face right now looked exactly like that. 

To Wanda, this wasn’t anything new. You’ve teased her about it before, which was where the nickname came from...amongst other things.

Still, she meowed at you, enjoying your chuckle as she did.

You decided to go out for a bike ride this morning. The weather was beautiful, and your friend wasn’t coming over until later, so why not?

Your bike had a basket that you could put her in. 

The only thing was...

You walked off, rummaging through some drawers while Wanda tilted her head. 

You came back with a thick red ribbon and a tag from one of the general art classes you took. Squiggling some words on the tag, you hooked an extra keychain ring around it before looping the ribbon around it.

The cat was surprisingly very cooperative while you put on her makeshift collar.

It had her name on it and then your name and contact number in case she decided to run off.

You’re sure Natasha wouldn’t appreciate you losing the cat.

“There we go,” you mumble, straightening out the bow before gently stroking her face at her whiskers.

Wanda purred, hopping into your arms as you placed her in your basket, setting off.

The day was incredibly beautiful. The two of leisurely biked through the park, enjoying the gentle breeze and crisp air.

Wanda sat upright with her paws on the edge of the basket, the wind blowing through her whiskers and fur.

This was nice, she thought. She rarely got to spend time with you like this.

She supposed it wasn’t completely awful to have been turned into a cat. 

It was going well until someone called your name, bringing you to a slow stop in front of a flower cart. There stood a guy, maybe early 20s, just younger than you.

“Hi, Jacob,” you greeted easily. “How’s your dad?”

“Oh, uh, he’s been doing good. Might be able to make it back to the shop soon,” Jacob stuttered lightly.

Wanda watched as the two of you made small talk, the entire thing making her slightly irritated as she watched Jacob shyly lifted his muscled arm to scratch the back of his head with a boyish smile.

It made it worse when Wanda caught a glimpse of his loud thoughts that his father was actually just fine, and he begged his dad to work here just a little longer to see you in the mornings.

You had to have noticed it, right? This boy clearly had a crush on you.

“So,” Jacob said, grabbing a yellow daffodil from his cart. “This is for you, thought it might suit you.”

You grabbed the flower with a smile, smelling it. “Thanks, that’s really sweet of you.”

Wanda has had enough. 

She starts meowing.

Loudly.

And repeatedly.

It draws the attention of both of you to her, irritating Wanda even more that it seemed like Jacob just noticed there was a creature there with you.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a cat,” Jacob said, lifting his giant hand in an attempt to pet her. Wanda backed her head, immediately hissing at him.

Jacob yanked his hand back quickly, looking at you.

You only smiled sheepishly.

“Uh, yeah,” You say, “I just got her. She doesn’t like to be touched by strangers...I guess.”

Jacob just nods, looking at the cat again and he swears that it’s glaring at him as it meows and hisses. 

“Well,” you say, “I got to go now, but it was nice seeing you.”

Without waiting for Jacob’s reply, you use your foot to push off the ground, setting off again.

The moment you left, the meowing stopped. Wanda rolled her eyes as you placed the flower in the basket next to her, keeping it at a slanted angle as the top leaned out the basket.

She waited until you had picked up enough pace before using her paw to push the flower out of the basket. At the speed you were going, you ended up running over it when it fell under your wheel.

“Princess!” You scolded, but she merely turned around looking at you with her big eyes, and you couldn’t even stay mad.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

It was weird, Wanda thought.

There always seemed to be someone who stopped her girlfriend along the way, wanting to say hi to you.

Or give you a free bagel. A free coffee. A free animal balloon.

She was so close to clawing out the barista who so openly flirted with you, scribbling her number on your coffee sleeve.

It made her even more annoyed when you didn’t throw the sleeve out...even if holding the coffee would burn your hand. 

You had to have noticed, right? 

Was it always like this?

Wanda tried to think back to all the times she’s been with you. The only thing was that even though you’ve been dating for six months, being an Avenger kept her busy most of the time. 

When she did have time, she wanted to keep your company all to herself, locked in the bedroom, feeling your skin against hers.

There were a couple times you went out together, but it was never like this. Was it because she was a human, holding your hand?

Maybe being a cat wasn’t all great. 

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By the time the two of you got home, Wanda clung to you. You settled on the couch, opting to watch movies and TV shows for the rest of the afternoon while Wanda rested against your stomach, purring. 

“You are a strange cat,” you murmured to yourself as you stroked her fur. She nuzzled her head against your stomach, finding herself falling asleep. 

It wasn’t until dinner time that you got up, forcing Wanda to get off of you disgruntedly as you walked into the kitchen to start dinner.

Halfway through, the doorbell rang. 

Wanda tilted her head, wondering who could be at the door. She hadn’t met any of your friends, really just soaking up your company alone when she did have time off. 

She kept telling herself that she would get around to it eventually, but eventually just hasn’t come yet.

“Hey, girl,” a tall blonde greets as she comes through the door.

“Hey, Emily,” you greet with a smile, pulling her into a brief hug before helping her with the bags she brought.”

You head back to the kitchen, resuming your cooking as Emily walks through, tussling her hair lightly.

Her eye catches Wanda, who is sitting on the kitchen island, not too far from you.

“Oh?” She drawls curiously. “When did you get a cat?”

“Not mine, just watching her for a friend. I call her Princess.” You cut up some vegetables before throwing it in the pan. 

Emily hums, debating whether or not to pet the cat, but she opts not to. If she wants to be pet by her, she’ll come.

Dinner is served, and Wanda eats hers lazily, listening to the conversation you were having with your friend.

It wasn’t really anything she was interested in.

Standard catching up, plans over the break they were on currently, idle gossip in their friend group.

After dinner, the girls moved over to the couch, turning on a TV show but not quite paying attention. Wanda trotted over, placing herself next to you with her head resting in your lap, greedily soaking up the soft scratches you were giving on her head between her ears.

It wasn’t until Emily brought up a particular subject that Wanda’s head whizzed up.

“So,” Emily says, sipping on her wine as she finished her dinner. “Guess who is single again?”

“Who?” You ask, not really caring but indulging for Emily’s sake.

“Dylan,” Emily says with a smirk.

You narrowed your eyes a bit, scrunching your brows. The new did surprise you a bit.

“Really? Shit, he’s like a serial dater. That man hasn’t been single for longer than a week. Every time he dates, he dates them for a long ass time,” you comment, your eyes glued to the TV screen. 

Emily nodded. 

“Mhm,” she hummed. “Well, some of us were hanging out the other day, and he was looking to get your number, actually. He definitely wanted to know your situation.”

You finally turn over to Emily with a brow raised. “And you told him that I’m not single, right?”

“I told him what I thought: I think you’re not single.”

“Why would you tell him that?” You groan.

Emily shrugged, “because that’s what I think, girl.”

“We are so not going through this again, Em,” You groan again. 

Wanda is now sitting upright, alarmed at what she was hearing.

What were you not going through again?

This was a conversation that has come up before?

“Hey, I’m just saying this mysterious girlfriend of yours has yet to show herself. I’m beginning to think you’ve made her up.” Emily raises her hand with the glass of wine in it slightly higher to show she means no harm.

You sigh, lulling your head back onto the couch. 

“She’s very real. She’s just...busy.” The way you said it made Wanda look at you. What did that tone mean?

“Alright,” Emily concedes. “Let’s say she is real--”

“She is.”

Emily gives you a look. “If she’s real, based on what you’ve told me, it doesn’t really sound like she’s investing that much time in you other than in the bedroom.”

Wanda would look so affronted if she could, only able to drop her jaw a little without drawing attention to herself. 

Wanda looks to you even more affronted when you’re not saying in objection to that.

You simply shrug your shoulders. “I don’t mind that she wants to spend all our time in bed.”

Wanda isn’t sure if happy you feel that way or heavy-hearted that you’re essentially confirming to other people that she has no other interests in you outside bedroom activities.

“Does she even know what’s going on in your life outside of work or school?”

Wanda wants to scoff. Of course she does! She’s your girlfriend.

But then moments pass and Wanda is drawing a blank.

Shit, does she know?

You shrug in response to Emily.

“Like,” Emily says, pausing for a moment to think. “Does she know that Annalise from your Psych 4401 is seriously so obsessed with you? Like, I’m pretty sure she’s this close to following you home.”

Emily pinches her index finger and thumb together, leaving the tiniest space in between to emphasis her point.

Wanda immediately panics, eyes wide as she puts her paw on your thigh.

Who?!

“Or how Derek from your general studies class sticks a flower to your locker every day?”

“That one isn’t confirmed it’s him, no one knows,” you defend weakly. 

“I saw him do it the last day before the break actually,” Emily rolls her eyes.

Wanda’s mind is reeling.

Who are all these people? Why are they hitting on her girlfriend?

“You know why they keep doing that?” Emily asks, and you don’t even want to answer her.

“It’s because you mention you have a girlfriend and no one has met or even seen said girlfriend. They totally think you’re lying and playing hard to get.” Emily says even though you hadn’t bothered asking her why.

You simply shrug again, “I don’t really know what else to do. I really do have a girlfriend.”

Emily drops the subject after and the rest of the night is filled with chatter about different things and binge-watching TV shows.

That night after Emily left and you went to bed, Wanda trotted after you, hopping into bed as she rested on the pillow next to your head.

She purred you to sleep, occasionally licking the side of your forehead. Eventually, she nuzzled her own face against yours, trying to cuddle you up as much as she could.

Wanda really hopes that tomorrow morning when she wakes, she’ll be human again.

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Wanda doesn’t turn back the next day.

She is thoroughly disappointed.

You woke up again to the smell of cinnamon and dry leaves. It really disorientates you because you keep thinking you’re going to wake up to your girlfriend with you, but she’s not. 

You get up after lightly falling back asleep for another 20 minutes. 

The day starts off as usual, though you did find your cat wanted more of your attention than usual (usual being the 3 days you’ve had her now).

You get changed into more appropriate clothing, putting your hair up in a messy bun as Wanda watches you with curiosity. 

You had your TA, Brian, coming over today to help you with your paper. It was assigned to you over the break, and there were just a couple things that you needed help with.

As your TA, Brian was more than happy to help.

Just after lunch, Brian showed up at your door. He was tall, had a toned body that showed through his well-fitted long-sleeved shirt, mussed hair, and a strong jawline. He wore glasses and gave you a boyish grin.

Wanda already didn’t like him.

In fact, she decided that she hated him.

The two of you sat on your couch together while Wanda hovered by you closely. 

He read over your paper, pointing a few things out that you could improve. You asked your questions, and he gave his opinions.

You bit your thumb lightly as you stared at your paper, strands of your hair falling softly out of your bun, framing your face.

You were beautiful, Wanda thought.

And clearly, Brian thought so too with the way he gazed at you without you even realizing.

She didn’t even mean to, really. 

But then she heard his thoughts about how perfect you are. He was wheedling on whether or not to ask you out. 

Wanda has had enough after hearing that. She’s maybe a goddamn cat, but there’s no way she can just sit there while someone is trying to put their moves on you right in front of her.

She immediate crawls into your lap, forcing her way between your arms as she stands up on her hind legs, putting her front paws on your shoulder. Wanda leans her furry little face in and begins to lick at your face.

“Princess!” You shout, caught off guard by your cat’s sudden affection.

Brian is looking at the exchange, heart warmed at first by scene, but then the cat looks at him, and he gets that feeling like he’s being warned to stay away. 

So, Wanda is using her powers to project her thoughts onto the guy, but how else was she going to send him a message. It wasn’t like she could tell him in words to back off.

You try to pet her to calm her down, but she doesn’t seem like she’s going to be stopping any time soon. It was definitely weird for you, but you didn’t really think of anything of it.

Until she lightly bit your nose affectionately before licking the corner of your mouth. You end up having to pick her up in your arms, holding her away from your face as you cradle her. 

“Sorry,” you apologize to Brian. “Strangely, I think she’s obsessed with me.”

Brian just laughs, “Don’t worry, I totally get her feelings.”

Wanda wants to roll her eyes and gag. 

You just laugh off the comment, not really sure what to say to that. 

You’ve got all the help you needed for your paper, and Brian seems to take notice of that.

He stands up, thinking about how maybe he could ask if you wanted to go have coffee right now or go for dinner later.

But every time he opens his mouth, Wanda yowls. 

When she stops, he opens his mouth again, but then she yowls before he can say anything. 

He stares at the cat, she stares right back at him.

He opens his mouth as a test, but she slightly opens her jaw too, and he snaps his mouth closed.

You are nearly dying of embarrassment at your cat’s strange behavior.

“Sorry,” you say to Brian to grab his attention. “She was fine yesterday with Emily. I’m starting to think she might not like men.”

You recall this happened when you were speaking with Jacob. Wanda internally scoffs. 

Not just men, she thinks. She’ll have plenty of problems if this Annalise ever shows up.

Brian just awkwardly chuckles and tells you it’s okay. 

“I’ll see you back in class,” he says, glancing one more time at the glaring cat and leaves.

Once he’s gone, you adjust your hold to under her front legs, while the rest of her body dangles.

“Oh my god, Princess!” You groan. “You’re such a troublemaker!”

Wanda meows at you, trying to tell you how dissatisfied she is with all these people hovering over like they’re about to snatch you. 

You put her down, thinking back to when she bit your nose.

When you and Wanda were in bed, she would bite your nose lightly before kissing the corner of your mouth if you were being particularly naughty for whatever reason, and she was giving you a warning that you were in trouble.

The ice in her water bowl, the scent of cinnamon and dry leaves, and now this?

The coincidences were starting to pile up too high.

“You know,” you say at you stare at your cat suspiciously. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re actually Wanda trapped in a cat’s body.”

You notice your cat actually tense.

“Shit? Really? What the fuck!” You exclaim, wondering if you have actually gone batshit insane. 

“Is it actually you, Wanda?” You ask, feeling incredibly stupid for asking a cat.

But then your cat actually looks nervous, batting her eyes to the side, ears flattened to her head.

“Oh my fuc--Where’s my phone?” You turn around to look for your phone, finding it on the counter as you grab it aggressively and dial.

“Hey. Is the cat giving you trouble?” Natasha picks up on the other line, knowing it’s you.

“Natasha...I’m just going to ask this once, and if I find out later you’re lying, I’ll tell Clint about that one time I caug--”

“Whoa, hold it right there! Jesus, I regret training you on blackmail,” Natasha says over the phone, mumbling the end part.

“The cat you dropped off--is that my girlfriend?” You ask straight off.

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a moment.

“There may have been a mishap after we defeated our last threat,” Natasha says finally.

You curse loudly.

“On the bright side, it’ll wear off on its own. Supposedly. The downside, we just don’t know when. Bruce is working on it if it takes too long, though. Wanda just didn’t want to worry you,” Natasha says the end so softly in the tone you just hate when she’s trying to reason with you.

“Oh, we’re past worried now,” you say, hanging up the phone. You turn around, and it’s like Wanda visibly gulped at seeing your expression.

“What the hell!” You immediately say to your girlfriend who still has her ears flattened, and tail close to her body. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were a cat! Do you know how incredibly invasive you’ve been in the past couple of days? Especially with the conversation with Emily yesterday. Not cool.”

Wanda looks scolded and goddamn, you have to hold your ground because it’s that much harder when she has such a cute face right now.

She gets up, shuffling over to you as she stops at your feet, nuzzling her head against your legs, and meows like she’s apologizing.

You roll your eyes because fuck, that’s so cute and totally not fair.

Resolving to not say any more about it, not because you’re not mad, but because there’s no point in arguing with your girlfriend who can’t even speak doesn’t seem productive.

“Don’t think this is over,” you warn her. 

Wanda is relieved she’s escaped fighting for now. 

The rest of the day, you try to carry on as usual. It’s super weird, you’re not even sure how to handle it.

It’s not like you can continue to treat her as you were.

You try to make conversation with her, asking only yes or no questions so she can nod or shake her head.

By the time bedtime comes, Wanda isn’t sure if she should follow you like she has been the last couple of nights. 

She sits pitifully on the ground, a couple feet away from your room as you walk past the door.

Wanda thinks maybe she’ll try to sleep on the couch tonight, but then she sees you pop your head out your door.

“Are you coming?” You ask. 

Wanda grins happily, getting up, and trotting into your room.

The two of you settle in your comfortable positions. Wanda decides she’ll behave tonight and keep her paws to herself.

It’s quiet.

The night was settling in.

But it felt like neither of you could sleep.

“I feel like...maybe we should talk about what Emily said the other night,” you say, breaking the silence as you turn over, and face your girlfriend.

“I guess,” you say at first, “it doesn’t really bother me at first that all we do is spend time physically connecting, not so much emotionally connecting.”

Wanda is silent, letting you say your piece.

Not like she could say anything herself.

“But now, I guess I want to hear your voice more, and not when you’re just panting my name or making your incredibly attractive sex sounds. I would like to hear you talk about your day, or how work was, or if something was bothering you.”

You stared into Wanda’s big blue eyes as you spoke.

“It would be incredibly nice to have you in other parts of my life. There’s quite a lot of other people who are looking to do that,” you mumbled.

Wanda scrunches her nose up. Oh, she was quite aware now about how many people wanted to steal her position.

“I really miss you.”

Wanda internally sighed as she moved her head over to nuzzle the top of your head. She moved her face lower and began to lick your cheek.

You closed your eyes, but when Wanda started licking closer to your mouth, you drew the line.

“Stop it, I’m not a furry.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wanda had waited until you fell asleep, watching you as your breathing slowed.

She was both happy and sad when you told her those things.

Wanda wanted those things too.

Maybe she does talk too little with you. 

That’s her own fault, though.

Perhaps she was too scared to try to get intimate with you in a different way. 

So, maybe she did try to keep it physical mostly. Kept putting off meeting your friends. Giving you only the intimacy that required no words.

Skin on skin is easy.

Soul to soul is scary.

But she ready to be scared now. 

She doesn’t want to not be able to talk to you. She is realizing how important words can be. There’s only so much she could do with everything else. 

Wanda stays awake the entire night.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You wake up to the smell of cinnamon and dry leaves.

A soft, warm hand is pressed to your cheek as you wake, lips dragging over your own.

Wanda is completely naked, the red ribbon still tied around her neck with her name tag hanging. 

“I love you,” Wanda says, grinning as she did.

“I wanted to say that more than anything. I want to meet your friends, visit you at school, talk about our days, talk about anything. I just want to be in all the parts of your life you let me be in, and for everyone to know that.”

Your eyes immediately water as you smile widely, burrowing yourself in her arms as Wanda kisses your shoulder.

The two of you talk endlessly about mundane things as you make breakfast together.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wanda is very dedicated to making sure everyone in your life knows she exists, and you are hers.

Your friends are incredibly happy for you that you didn’t have an imaginary girlfriend, except Dylan, maybe.

She bikes with you when you stop by Jacob’s flower cart, buying you gardenias, and telling you she’ll plant them in the garden of the house you’ll one day buy together.

She gives her name to the daring barista for her drink as, ‘Her Girlfriend,’ with a deadpan look.

Wanda comes to visit you at school, walking you to class hand in hand, obnoxiously kissing you in front of Brian. 

She briefly met Annalise, eyes glowing red for a brief second as a warning.

Wanda still spends a dedicated amount of time to worship your body, make no mistake.

But she makes sure she talks to you about her day, her dreams, her fears, and all the mundane things in between.

It’s her absolute favorite.

[taehyungsgrowl]

Perdón y Lo Siento - Jim Mason x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hey y’all! While I have a hundred WIPs (including sugar babies stuff and FDK) I’ve decided to uhh further procrastinate and start a different fic. 

Basically, I’m sitting in the dark listening to “Rosie” by John Mayer and got in my feelings. It’s a great song! Title comes from the lyrics.

Plot: Jim decides to visit his ex. Even if it’s just for one more night.

Warnings: angst. smut. cheating. not being over an ex lmfao. alcohol use. mostly soft smut. there’s some dirty talk. spanking. 

The bright moon illuminated his room as Jim laid in the dark comfort of his empty bed. 

Another dream of her. 

Her soft skin, her airy laughter, her touch. 

Her.

He scrolled through the pictures he had saved on his phone from his time with her. Time and time again he told himself he’d delete them, but he could never quite erase the memory of her. 

Of them.

12:22 a.m. 

“Fuck it,” he groaned out as he got out of bed. He let his feet drag him to the bottle of her favorite wine he still kept in the back of his fridge. Just in case. 

Just in case she ever wandered through his door again. 

It wasn’t like Jim hadn’t tried to move on from Y/N. Y/N had moved on from him; that alone was enough to make the pit of his stomach burn. He should be over her, but he wasn’t. 

He let the sweet cherry wine stain his lips and blur his thoughts. Drinking straight from the bottle he thought about the way her favorite lipstick matched the wine he drank. 

1:46 a.m.

Jim found himself buzzed off of yearning feelings and tinted wine. He sat in the back of an Uber outside her house. The driver cleared his throat for Jim to get out of the car as he stared longingly at her home. The cold rain pattered on the window heavily. The heavy rain mimicked the way his heart was pounding in this chest.

A home she was building with someone else.

Jim took a deep breath as he tapped his knuckles on the door. He knew she was home alone since his car wasn’t in her drive way. 

Y/N heard her phone buzzing from her nightstand. She saw Jim’s name flash on her screen. Her heart sank seeing the contact photo she still had for him; Jim in their favorite diner with the morning light making his blue eyes look as blue as the ocean. 

She knew he’d only call at this time if it were important. 

“Hello? Jim?” Jim’s heart skipped a beat as he heard her sleep coated voice over the phone. “Is everything alright?”

“Y/N, come get the door for me.” he tipped forward, resting his forehead on her door.

“What?” she sat up reaching for the switch on her bedside table. 

“Please, Y/N. I - I need you,” he tried not sound so desperate, but truth is, he was. It was the desperation that drove him there. 

Y/N grabbed a cardigan and threw it over her tank top and shorts she slept in. She looked like what she would describe as a mess, but it was Jim she was seeing - and she’s never really felt as comfortable around anyone like she did with Jim. 

Even if they weren’t together, it didn’t just erase all of their history. 

“Jim.”she let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. 

“Y/N.” Her name felt familiar on his lips. 

“I miss you,” his hand grabbed hers. He didn’t dare break away his eyes from her. He felt lost in them. 

She began to shake her head ‘no.’ As much as she felt the emotions tugging at her heart she knew it was wrong. She was with someone new. 

Jim and Y/N could both recognize the fire that had drawn them together - neither one was sure if it ever ended. 

For them, it was the right person at the wrong time. 

Y/N felt like Jim needed more than she could offer. It’s not that she didn’t love Jim. Because she did. She just needed to take care of herself before she could take care of him in the way he needed. 

A cold shiver ran down Jim’s spine. Despite the cold rain hitting his back, he felt warm to be in her presence again. 

“Jim you should go home,” she spoke softly, dropping her hand from his. 

“I had a dream about you.” Jim blurted out, feeling like he was losing her all over again, “It’s why I’m here,” he took a step forward. 

“I’m sorry, Jim.” Y/N started to step back, but Jim put his hand on the doorframe to keep her from shutting the door on him. 

“Please, baby.”

Baby. 

She paused for a moment blinking back tears she didn’t realize she had. 

“Shit. Sorry, Y/N. Y/N.” He corrected himself, “Just let me in.”

“Yeah. Okay. Yeah.” She could convinced herself to let him in. At least until he’s completely sober, she told herself. 

Jim followed her inside. Not much had changed since that last time he was there. Her home still smelled like cinnamon and vanilla and her plants were still withering away. 

He sat at her table as she wandered through the kitchen starting a pot of coffee. Watching her move around her home reminded him of how things used to be; reminded him of early morning dances in the kitchen and late night conversations of what the future would hold. 

Y/N handed Jim his mug before she took a sip of her own drink. 

Why was he here? 

Why did she not feel as bad as she knew she should for having her ex over at two in the morning? 

She knew the answer to both those questions, but it was easier to pretend she didn’t. Even if just for a little. 

Y/N looked down at her cup, avoiding Jim’s heavy gaze. 

“Where is he?” Jim tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, but it rang clearly in her ears. 

She paused. Weighing out her response. “Why does it matter?” 

“I guess it doesn’t, huh?” 

Another pause. 

“Are you happy?” his voice was quiet like he almost didn’t want to be heard. He noticed Y/N look up from her drink; finally meeting his eyes. 

Her heart was racing in her chest. She let out a long sigh, steadying herself. “Why are you here, Jim?” her head shook in slight disapproval. 

“I wanted to see you.” his held his mug tightly, letting the hot ceramic warm his cold hands. 

“At 2:00 a.m.” it wasn’t a question. 

Jim licked his lips, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a slight smile. “I had a dream about you.” Images of her body pressed against his flashed in his mind again. The silky tune of her moans lingered in his head. He got up from his seat and stood behind her. One hand on her hip, the other reaching for her hand. His lips were dangerously close to her ear, she could feel his warm breath on her neck. 

“You were in my bed.” he pushed her cardigan off her shoulder, placing a kiss on it. “We were like we used to be.”

“Do you miss me?” his nose nuzzled her arm, inhaling her sweet fragrance. Even if Y/N didn’t want to have a reaction to Jim - she did. 

Every fiber in her body her burning - yearning, for his touch. She couldn’t stop herself from relaxing back against his chest, letting his hand roam up and down her side. 

“We can’t.” she said, but leaned her head back allowing Jim access to her neck. 

Jim’s hand traveled up her neck and to her chin, turning her head to make her look up at him. “Do you miss me?” he repeated the question with so much more intensity.

He felt her head nodding against his hand. She turned around, her back pressed to the counter as Jim cornered her in. He cupped her face and smashed his lips to hers. All the longing was melting between their mouths as he tasted her lips again. 

Y/N kissed him back lost in his touch. The back of her mind compared the way their kiss differed from the ones her boyfriend gave her. The sudden thought of him entering her mind made her shove against Jim’s chest reluctantly. 

“Just tonight. Give me one more night.” Jim pleaded. He felt hallow without her, but that had always been his problem. Y/N couldn’t fill all his voids, but the spot she filled made him happy. 

The lump in his throat throbbed but he didn’t go all the way there to cry. 

She knew him well enough to feel an ache of her own. Despite all his flaws - all their flaws, she loved him. That wouldn’t change. 

“Just tonight.” she whispered so quietly, she almost didn’t hear herself. 

Y/N got out from between Jim and her counter and walked to her room, looking over her shoulder to make sure Jim followed her. And of course he did. 

He always did.

Again, Jim was content with seeing how little her room had changed in the period they were apart. Y/N bent down to pick up a mens shirt that was discarded on the floor. A sheepish look on her face crossed when Jim saw her begin to hide it in a pile of her clothes. He took her hand, shaking his head, letting her leave the shirt where it was. 

A silent reminder that this was just for one night. 

The room buzzed with anticipation as they both lingered around the bed. “No need to be nervous. It’s just me, remember?” Y/N wanted to freeze this moment - this night, for forever. 

“I know,” she stayed still. 

“Just me.” Jim leaned in to kiss her, hands on her waist. “And you,” he squeezed down on her sides making a giggle erupt out of her. 

“It’s more complicated than that,” she rolled her eyes, a hint of a lingering on her lips. 

Jim placed his finger at the center of her lips, “Shh,” he pushed her down on the bed, starting to climb over her, “Enough of that. Just you and me.”

He started to kiss her neck. Plush lips traveled to her chest that rose up and down. The temperature in the room began to rise despite the cold January rain outside.

“I missed you,” she admitted aloud for the first time that evening. She grabbed his face and pulled him away from her chest to kiss his lips. He smiled into the kiss. Jim relived his dream. 

Y/N (with some support from Jim) flipped them around so she could sit on his thighs. He hastily peeled off her top, throwing it across the room. Him couldn’t tear his eyes away from her body. If this were the last night, the last opportunity he got, he wanted to use it to memorize every curve and every dip of her body. 

She began to grind herself down on his lap. Her thin little shorts were close to no barrier from his growing bulge. Jim let his head fall back on the pillow as Y/N continued to feel his hardening cock tease her pussy.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he dragged his fingers down the side of her torso, watching as the goosebumps raised on her skin.

Y/N raised her hips and Jim helped her tug her shorts off along with her panties. Jim’s pants quickly followed. She sat back down on his lap, his hard length nestled between her glistening folds. She slowly moved up and down his length, teasing herself and Jim before he even entered her. 

He dug his fingers into her hips, stopping her mid-track. “I can’t take anymore teasing.” he rasped. “I need to be inside you.”

Y/N leaned down to kiss him, pulling away with a bite to his lower lip. 

She grabbed his cock at the base and began to jerk him in her palm a few times before aligning her entrance with it. His head opened her up and she slowly sank down on him. She hissed quietly at how the stretching ached. 

“Fuck,” she cursed. He was not even all the way inside her pussy when she began to rock her hips, helping him ease into her. 

“God, baby.” he choked out.

She missed this. More than she thought. She missed Jim.

His blissed out expression beneath her. The way he knew exactly where to place his hands. How he made her feel complete in more than one way. 

“Feels so good.” her nails dug into his chest when his tip finally brushed against her cervix; she sat snugly on the entire stretch of his cock.

“Move for me, baby.” he began to guide her hips. He got her started, but he really wanted this to be her show. 

The wet sounds that filled the room as she bounced down on his cock were enough to almost intoxicate Jim. Skin slapped together found a pace that worked for her. 

Y/N could feel every inch, every vein, being hugged tightly by the walls of her dripping cunt. 

“You’re so tight.” he growled, “Does he even fuck you right?” Jim’s hand smacked down on her ass when she began to pick up the pace.

She was way passed the point of forming coherent sentences; Y/N was rapidly chasing her orgasm to the tune of her moaning and whimpering. 

“Keep going. C’mon, cum for me.” he bucked his hips up me meet the roll of her own. 

His guiding words help send her over the edge. Her body convulsed and pulsed around his cock, edging him closer. 

Y/N crumbled around him, cumming all over him. Watching the way her eyes rolled back and her chest bounced along with her was enough to make him’s throbbing member explode inside her.

He groaned out her name as he spilled himself into her pussy. Her grinding and bouncing became sloppier and sloppier until she came to an exhaustion, making her collapse on his chest when he slipped out of her. 

Jim held her there. On his chest, he held his whole world. 

For just one night.

He gently laid her on her side of the bed and pulled the covers up over them. “I love you,” she mumbled around her yawn, letting her heavy eyelids close. 

“I love you too,” he whispered back. 

Jim laid her bed, in another man’s spot, watching her sleep as he dreaded the morning sun that would wash away their night. 

But he held no regrets. Jim replayed that last few hours from his lonely night in his apartment to being back in bed with her. 

6:23 a.m.

Jim wasn’t able to recall when he lost his battle with sleep and passed out. The warm sun of a new day broke through the window of Y/N’s room woke him up. The familiarity of waking up in her room panged his heart. 

Y/N was still sleeping peacefully. Her lips were pursed in a perfect pout as she dreamed of Jim.

Jim stood up and quietly redressed himself. He leaned down to kiss her forehead; leaving before she woke up. He left her with the memory of one more night and dreams of him.

--yeehaw--

is this trash? probably. but this has been one of my most played songs since 2017 so it was bound to inspire something. 

tagging: @langdonswhoreprobably @langdonsdemon @hecohansen31 @1-800-bitchcraft @moonanonwriting @xavierplympton @getdevils @lvngdvns @divinelangdon @fckinsupreme @angel-langdon @plsfuckmelangdon @leatherduncan @michael-langdon-appreciation @lathraios @coollangdon @rocketgirl2410 @desertsunflower00 @satcnas @duncvns @maso-xchrist  @ritualmichael @daydreamingofcody @kiwi-0497 @sammythankyou @lovelylangdonx @itsaticklekink @wickedlangdon @emmyrosee @blakewaterxx @asiafern @blackredrose27​ @psychowriter2702​ @angxlbaby666​ @discocalico​ @miss-diamonds​ @langdonsblood​ @antichristsxbox​ @letnaturebefree​ 

[nishithunder]

Fall (Kuroo x Reader)

He never meant to fall, and she never intended to catch him.

-

TW: Mental health struggles, Cursing, Drug use

-

Part 4: I’m sorry that I don’t feel the same way...

-

Masterlist

-

 The training camp almost went by in a blur, and when it came to the last night there, Y/N wasn’t ready to go. One more night before her friends that she had missed so much had to go back home. Yeah, they at least got to spend a little bit of time together during the training camp, but it just didn’t feel like enough to her. Tora had noticed that she seemed different, like she wasn’t as happy today as she had been for the past couple days, and all he knew is that he wanted to help her. After the final practice game for this camp, Tora went out of his way to find her, wanting nothing more than to talk to Y/N, and figure out what he could do to make her better. 

 Y/N stood near the door, her back against the wall as she watched the boys pick up the balls and put away the net. Her heart felt heavy, like it was being weighed down, threatening to plummet into her stomach at any moment. Tora caught her off guard as he stood in front of her, looking down with a soft smile.

 “The stars are out pretty bright tonight,” Tora began, mentally kicking himself for sounding so lame as he spoke to her, “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go on a walk with me?” He finally mumbled out. Tora was never like this, so nervous and shy. He was always so loud, rambunctious even. That might have been the reason that Y/N had taken a liking to Tora, because he reminded her a bit of Tanaka.

 “Yeah, we can go for a walk. If you’re done here,” Y/N quickly added, looking over to the door quickly. She had been waiting for a reason to leave the gym, no longer wanting to stand in the humid space. Tora nodded his head, waiting for her to take the lead towards the door, which she did gratefully. The night air outside hit her face, making her feel like she could breathe once again. She waited a moment for Tora to be at her side before she began walking, not sure where she was taking them, but nonetheless leading the way. Tora watched her quietly out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to miss a second of the moment that they had together, because he was sure it wouldn’t be like this when they began attending classes again. Kuroo was the one to walk with Y/N at night, their bond was much different that Tora’s was with Y/N. Though he wanted to be close to her, he was afraid that she would take it the wrong way. 

 “Hey, Tora?” Y/N asked, catching Tora out of his daze. He looked over at her as they walked, noticing that her face was calm and serious. This was not about to be a joking question that she was going to ask him, this was going to be something that she genuinely wanted the answer to.

 “Yeah?” Tora asked, trying to sound as calm as she was, though his heart was starting to beat a little harder in his chest.

 “Why are you so nice to me?” She asked, walking towards a patch of grass off the sidewalk. Tora followed, watching as she sat down, looking up at the sky that hung above them. Tora sat down beside her, holding his knees to his chest, his fingers interlocking in front of him, before Y/N continued, “You don’t have to be nice to me just because if the teams manager, I don’t expect you to like me to be honest, there really isn’t any reason to. I don’t talk to any of you. I’m quiet in class and between classes. I’m like Kenma but worse.” She finished with a sad look on her face, her eyes turned down for a moment before looking back up at the sky, dropping down onto her back. Tora felt almost shocked, not knowing that this was how Y/N was truly looking at herself all the time.

 “I don’t think any of that stuff, you know. There’s so many reasons to like you. I could list off ten reasons that I like you right now, but I don’t need to. The main reason is that you’re unapologetically you, and that’s hard for some people to be. You’re quiet, yeah, but that doesn’t make you a bad person.” Tora ranted, almost not realizing that he was just venting to her at this point. Y/N looked down, trying to think of what to say before looking up at Tora.

 “Have you watched that anime, A lull at Sea? The one where there are people that live on the land and in the sea, and they basically have their own society underwater?” Y/N asked, watching as Tora nodded slowly, having seen it on Netflix once and watching the entire season by himself, though he wouldn’t admit that to most people, “And you know how Monika says that if they find a red bellied sea slug, it was lucky and you could tell it your deepest secrets?” she continued, waiting for him to nod when he understood what she was talking about.

 “Are you asking me to be your red bellied sea slug? You want to tell me your deepest secrets, Y/N-Chan?” He asked, meeting her eyes as he looked down, noticing that they sparkled the stars within them. She nodded, her eyes now seemingly sad as he looked into them. Tora gave her a small nod, indicating that she could begin spilling her secrets to him, something that he appreciated greatly, and he would take to the grave if she asked him to.

 “Tora...as plainly and dramatic as I can put it, I don’t like myself. I look in the mirror most days and I just want to cry because I hate what I see. I don’t like the person that I am. I wish I was stronger, not just for myself but for my dad. I wish that leaving Kurosuno hadn’t broken every fiber of the spirit I once had. I wish I didn’t feel so broken anymore,” Y/N almost didn’t know how to stop talking at this point, this words falling out of her mouth faster than she could stop them, “Most of the time I feel like I’m annoying my friends, Nishinoya and Tanaka, and I’m afraid that they’re going to end up hating me. That’s why I’m so afraid to make new friends right now, I know that I get attached too easily and I’m afraid of being left behind. I don’t want to get hurt, and I’m trying so hard to protect myself but it’s so hard when I don’t want to be alone. It feels like the only way I can’t get hurt is by being alone. So I sit in my room whenever I’m not at school or at practice, by myself and smoking weed. That’s a whole issue of its own but I really don’t want to get into that right now...I’m not ready for that conversation yet.” Y/N finally stopped herself from talking, sitting up once again and holding on to her legs, eyes pointed directly at her feet and not moving from their spot. It was a lot for Tora to process all at once, everything connecting into one piece at the end, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know if there really was anything that he could say to her, to change her feelings or at least let her know that he truly was there for her, no matter what she told him.

 “I don’t know if there's really anything that I could do to make you feel different,” He began, pressing his hand gently into the small of her back, “But nothing you’re saying is going to scare me away from you. I care about you, Y/N.” He admitted smiling a little bit as she looked up at him. He couldn’t focus on anything other than her, it was like he had tunnel vision. She looked down shyly, not knowing how to handle the attention that she was getting at the moment, before he put a finger under her chin, lifting her chin so that their eyes met again.

 “I won’t lie to you, Y/N. I think that I have feelings for you. Like...feelings that are stronger than for anyone else.” Tora said, his voice barely about a whisper. Y/N’s eyes widened at his words, her heart falling into her stomach as he said this, knowing that this was what was going to end their friendship. She was afraid of this moment, that something would be said that would just make it all crumble into nothing. She didn’t expect it to be like this though. 

 “Tora…” She said, her voice shaky as she said his name, too afraid of hurting his feelings in this moment. His expression instantly dropped at her voice, knowing that this was going to all end just as quickly as he had thought it had begun, “I’m so sorry...I really am. If I gave you the wrong idea, I’m sorry...but I don’t feel that way about you...I wish I did. I do. You’re a great person and an amazing friend. If I could have feelings for anyone...I think it would be you. But...I don’t know how to do that. I’m sorry that I don’t feel the same...” She admitted, her heart sinking lower and lower by the second. Tora chuckled, now leaning back onto the palms of his hands, eyes up to the sky as he smiled gently. This was not the reaction she was expecting from him, this was actually the exact opposite.

 “I figured it would be that way...but I still want to be your friend. I’ll always cheer for you, Y/N,” He told her, shrugging his shoulders before looking over at her again, “I knew I couldn’t compete with Kuroo, but that’s okay.” Y/N looked at him in confusion, not understanding why he was bringing up Kuroo out of nowhere.

 “Kuroo?” She asked, causing him to chuckle again before he stood up, offering her his hand so that she could stand as well.

 “I know that you have feelings for Kuroo, it’s obvious. He’s obvious too, maybe moreso than you are.”

-

A/N: I know that this part is shorter than others, and I’ve been kind of afk for a fat minute. A lot has been going on in my life right now, as far as having a job and trying to find a different one. I also know that this is kind of late, but since this part does mention drugs, lets all just pretend that this is aged up and the school just so happen to have the same names because it’s just easier that way lmfao I’m sorry!

-

Tag List~

@yafriendlyfangirl​ @sokka-simp-420​ @neodnyl​ @london-quynh​

[kiss-my-freckle]

3x10 Rewatch: ...And the Woman Clothed in Sun

Francis has me cracking up at the open, trying to deepen his voice to impress Hannibal when he calls him. Fixing the phone lines at the old office. He has no idea what happened there at 7:30 on many a night, and he has no idea what he's about to step between. Hannibal quotes The Tyger. "Did he who made the Lamb make thee?" Multiple conversations about acts of God and creations of. Bedelia and the lie she created to wiggle her way out of the situation she put herself in is paying off. "My journey to damnation began when I was swallowed by the beast." lmfao!! This entire conversation foreshadowing her finale scene. Another ugly face in the crowd. Jack, Alana, Chilton, Bedelia... all of them lying. "Will has not had his breakthrough yet." Breakthrough for Will, coming right up. Like Alana, she's doing what she must to keep herself alive. Will is hilarious too because he knows better than to buy it. "Suffering inside Hannibal Lecter's bowels for what must have felt like an eternity." He's there because he knows he's not strong enough to deny Hannibal. "I've seen enough of him." This ties in what Hannibal said to her earlier in the season. "I've taken off my person suit. I let them see enough." Ties in what Will said of his wife. "She's aware enough." And ties in what Francis said of Reba. "I shared with Reba a little, in a way that she could survive." Will's need to talk to her about Hannibal speaks to his weakness. He's getting personal with him through her. Francis takes Reba to see the tiger at the zoo. Quite sensual. Her fingers in the bottle as she pours their drinks... a close-up view of her wet fingers putting olives on a toothpick. Yeah... that's hot. The best way to play with your food. Someone should've taught Mason. Their sex scene is delicious. Like Will, he has a nightmare. Pearls becoming teeth, probably related to his grandmother. The Dragon with a gun in his hand, standing under the moon. He wakes alone, rushes out of bed and runs upstairs to stand before his Dragon god on display. He hears it growling, fights like hell to push him out of his head. Reba is ready to leave, and Francis certainly wants her to. He's afraid The Dragon will demand he hand her over.

Hannibal triggers the phone to make a call they wouldn't allow him to make otherwise. Speaking as an employee working at the office of Chilton's publisher, he orders a copy of Hannibal the Cannibal for Will. He wants him to read it. A close-up of his tongue licking the envelope for a card he sends to Bedelia. "He always includes a recipe." Will continues to foreshadow her finale scene. "If he does end up eating you, Bedelia, you'd have it coming." He's not kidding. As I said in a previous post, I do believe Hannibal refused to cross those boundaries with Will, having already told him he doesn't want to think about him anymore. "They are acceptable... to murderers and cannibals." The best of understanding. I love the double "And you" response. "You lied, Bedelia. You do that a lot. Why do you do that a lot?" She says she obfuscates to protect Hannibal as a patient, but it's not just about Hannibal, she has to keep herself off his dinner table. She had no problem informing them when she was granted immunity. Once claiming Hannibal was her psychiatrist, now claiming she was his. Everything to protect herself, like blaming Hannibal for the death of her patient. "Not the first time I've lost professional objectivity in a matter where Hannibal is concerned." His death was on her. She tells Will he's there visiting an old flame. I love how he's fooling himself, getting personal with Hannibal through her. Especially when she makes comments like that. "You couldn't save Hannibal. Do you think you can save this new one?" I don't know what makes her think Hannibal needed to be saved. And this is coming from the mouth that said, "Almost anything can be trained to resist its instinct." Almost anything. Harder to train what's been playing out in the wild for as long as he has. Able to influence? Sure, but it's not exact. Bedelia telling Will she wants to crush the vulnerable bird. She wouldn't crush it, but that would be her first thought. Same concept with the shepherd's dog. Doesn't savage the sheep even though it wants to. She thinks Hannibal led Will to believe he’s a killer. "You're capable of righteous violence because you are compassionate." Will asks how she's capable. "Extreme acts of cruelty require a high level of empathy. The next time you have an instinct to help someone, you might consider crushing them instead." No different than telling Will to savage the sheep even though he's trained to resist his instinct. It's whatever suits her, however she can save herself the trouble... wiggle out of situations she gets herself into. That's why it pisses her off when she becomes the vulnerable bird, her meat back on the menu. Compassion gives Will the desire to help. He'd kill Hobbs to protect Abigail. His empathy allows him the ability to understand and relate to anyone, including Hannibal. He admitted this in the pilot episode. Cut to another flashback as Bedelia crushes her vulnerable bird while he's choking on his own tongue. Deep-fisted his throat, then passed out. It looked... sexual.

A lucky sign screen-spin like the one they do with Francis and the moon. Will shows the tree marking to Hannibal. It acts as a double for The Great Red Dragon and the Chinese character. Back to that theme of luck. Will setting aside what Hannibal said, puts his focus on The Great Red Dragon, then searches his face for a response. Hannibal basically tells him to look for those few pieces of art, that's how he catches up with Francis for their first confrontation. Demonic sexuality. Will is fighting to figure out how he chooses his families, still doesn’t want to bother looking at the way he chooses his own. "I like this Dragon, Will. I don't think he's crazy at all. I think he may be quite sane." I love how this hits against Will, the look in his eyes. "Can't pass on those terrible traits you fear the most." Will walks into the museum as Francis is chowing down on the Blake Watercolor. His escort informs him he's the second person wanting to view it, so Will knows he’s there. Not sure why he stares at Francis as he does, perhaps looking for the reason he smashes mirrors - his disfigurement. Francis knows that he knows, so he throws him like a rag doll and takes off. I'm like damn... after three years out, this is the man you throw him up against? Will isn't built like Hannibal or trained like Jack. Still fun to watch.  

[dumpsterd1va]

okay you know this video with the French guys and the kitten in the road? my heads been doing this thing lately where everything i see lately is andreil so uh... have this little fic based on that lmfao im so sorry

curiosity and the cat

Andrew Minyard had grown up learning to appreciate quiet spaces. The bleachers during 3rd period. The back shelves of the library. The park at 1 AM. He was never truly alone but it was enough to pretend that nothing else existed except him, the ground beneath his feet, and the sky above his head.

It wasn’t until he got his first car that he understood true solitude. Four walls, four wheels, two arms, two legs, a tank of gas that would take him anywhere, and endless stretches of road. He’d run the tank dry and then do it all over again. It didn’t matter if it was rush hour or the dead of night. Everyone else existed in their own metal cocoons, at a distance and irrelevant to him, and he existed in a space that was fully his. All his. If threads of promises unkept weren’t holding him back, Andrew sometimes thought he could go and never come back, living in his car and driving circles around the country until the inevitable.

He always came back though, to the makeshift home he and the only two people he permitted to call him family had made for themselves in Columbia, but when sleep refused him, he would drive for miles and miles on empty roads towards an empty head. The hour and destination didn’t matter, only the feeling of the road churning beneath his tires and the smooth leather of the steering wheel gliding against his palms.

For Andrew taking a long drive to nowhere was like getting a haircut or drinking a tall glass of water on a summer day, so it was no surprise that he found himself on a forested highway just after dawn, letting the frigid morning breeze tangle in his hair.

No, the surprise wasn’t the drive nor the time nor the place.

It was the kitten.

There was nothing notable about the beginning, but then again beginnings are never terribly interesting. It began with the neon glow of 4:36 stabbing his eyes through the dark, a low throb in the back of his head, a parched throat, sweat dripping down his back and pooling uncomfortably just above where his hips connected to the mattress. His sweaty clothes, his matted hair, and the damp sheets clung to him like old memories. He was shivering.

So he drove.

He drove and he kept driving, down abandoned freeways and up windy mountain roads. He stopped for a cigarette at the peak of one, leaning back on the hood of his car and watching the muted pinks of the waking sun struggle against the pitch of night.

The storm inside him stilled.

The drive back home wasn’t as lonely as the drive out, but by that time Andrew didn’t need the silence anymore. He zipped past cars, weaving in and out of the lanes, ignoring the belated honks and indignant faces reflected in his rear view mirror.

He was coming up behind a motorcycle now, but he didn’t bother to pass it. Passing a motorcycle always felt like issuing a challenge and it was one Andrew didn’t have the energy to follow up on.

Which was why he was on autopilot, windows rolled down, radio humming low, going at least 20 miles slower than normal when it happened.

The facts didn’t make themselves immediately apparent. A small lump illuminated by the haze of his headlights, a flash of orange, an impossibly tiny face. Andrew only had just enough time to process what he had seen when he pulled over to the shoulder with a jerk of the wheel that probably would’ve earned him another honk if there had been more people on the road.

He was already flinging his door open and jumping out before he could even think when he noticed someone running towards him. The motorcyclist ahead of him had parked too and was sprinting at impossible speeds towards and now past Andrew. He could hear the helmet rattling against their skull as they hurtled towards the tiny orange speck on the road.

Another car was speeding towards them, but the motorcyclist either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Slamming his door shut and running up the road, Andrew held his hand up in front of him, gesturing for the car to slow down before it killed them. Miraculously there was no honking, only a curious gaze at the strange scene unfolding on the highway at just past six in the morning.

The motorcyclist remained ignorant of Andrew saving their lives, crouching on the ground and scooping the kitten up, cooing sweet nothings.

“How’d you get here little one?” The voice that escaped the helmet was a warm tenor and just a bit hoarse. The motorcyclist was walking towards the shoulder now. “Ah, p’tit loulou, you couldn’t have gotten here on your own. Where are you from?”

For a brief moment, Andrew basked in that jittery butterflies in your stomach feeling of standing in the middle of a road before trailing behind the motorcyclist who was still making embarrassing noises at the cat.

As he got closer, Andrew actually heard something that echoed his own train of thought, “Who would fucking leave a kitten in the middle of the road?” The helmet was bowed down now, gloved hands scratching the kitten’s head. “Some asshole abandoned you… when you’re this tiny.” A defeated sigh. “I’d take you but Sir doesn’t take kindly to strange cats and I don’t wanna upset her, but I can’t just leave you here.”

“Stop whining and give me the damn cat.” The motorcyclist seemed to register his presence for the first time and that’s when Andrew realized he’d said that out loud.

“Really? You’ll take it?” The voice had brightened considerably and even through the tinted glass of the helmet, Andrew could see a smile.

Andrew shrugged and rubbed the kitten’s head right between the ears, its large eyes staring up at him as he did so. “Just another stray.”

“Thank you,” the motorcyclist said as the kitten transferred between their hands. “You take in stray cats often?”

“Not cats.”

Hands finally free, the motorcyclist ripped off the helmet and rested it against their side. “Oh, so dogs then?”

Andrew drank in the sweaty red hair that stuck up from the motorcyclist’s head like an explosion, the frigid blue eyes that were so clear they looked like glass, the elegant nose, the strong eyebrows, the thin lips, the freckled cheeks. All things that would have made a classic beauty, had it not been for a trail of thin scars and burn marks criss crossing through those striking features that revealed a life not easily lived. They took that face from classic to once in a lifetime.

“People.”

A quirked eyebrow. A relaxed smirk. “Is that so? I’m glad you have experience then.”

Andrew didn’t miss the sarcasm dripping from their voice like molasses. “Whatever I’m taking the cat.”

Hands raised in surrender. Eyes amused. “Hey, it—” A cursory glance. “Sorry, she’s all yours. You’re gonna want to get her checked out at the vet first though. Ringworm in kittens can be deadly. And super contagious.”

Andrew’s grip on the kitten must’ve tightened because she mewled with some discomfort. He loosened his hands and stroked her behind her ears.

“Hey,” the voice was softer now, velvet smooth. Blue eyes peered down at him through thick lashes. “I can help you make a drop in appointment. I just can’t risk possibly exposing my own cat to diseases. I’m probably already going to have to burn this whole outfit.” Taking in the worn jeans and the flaking leather jacket, Andrew didn’t think that’d be such a bad idea.

He said as much and earned himself an eye roll. “Sure, criticize the guy who’s trying to help you out.” Said guy rubbed a finger against the kitten’s face. “Be glad you’re so cute or I’d never go through all this trouble.”

Andrew had to agree.

Pulling an ancient phone out of his equally ancient pants pocket, Andrew’s second unexpected companion for the day pressed a few buttons before putting the phone to his ear. After a few rings he said, “Hi, I’d like to bring in a kitten I just found.” A beat of silence. “Not sure. Yeah.” His fingers idly stroked the kitten’s back. “Yes, I can be there in an hour. Tell the doctor it’s Neil Josten. Yep, thanks so much. Bye.”

Strapping his helmet back on, Neil said to Andrew, “Just follow me, I’ll take you to the clinic I take Sir to.”

They strode along the shoulder until they reached Andrew’s car. “Fine, but don’t pull any trick shit, I’m in a car remember?”

“From the way you were driving, I think you need to remind yourself first.”

Unlocking his car, Andrew sighed. Motorcyclists and their attitudes. “Hold this.” He handed over the kitten to Neil before yanking his sweatshirt off. He wrapped his hands in the hoodie before taking her back and swaddling her in it until only her face was showing.

“Oh, you’ll make a great cat mom.”

“Shut up.”

“Should I get you a baby on board sticker?”

“I will leave you and the disease carrier on the street to rot if you don’t quit it.”

An easy grin was hidden behind the helmet but Andrew managed to see it regardless. He chose to ignore it and instead clambered over the driver’s seat, setting the kitten on the ground on the passenger’s side. He slid the seat all the way up and found a few more discarded jackets for padding to prevent the kitten from sliding around. She was still gazing up at him with those huge eyes, but didn’t seem unhappy with the arrangement.

Giving her one last head scratch, he muttered. “If you even think about peeing or pooping or puking in here, I will toss you out the window.”

When he was satisfied, he turned back to Neil and said, “Lead the way.”

Neil’s expression was unreadable on the account of the helmet but the gentle tone of his voice was unmistakable when he murmured just loud enough for Andrew to hear, “I’m glad it was you.”

He walked off without another word and straddled his motorcycle, leaving Andrew to climb back into his car a little dazed.

Beginnings are boring. Monotone, colorless, unoriginal. But it only takes one change in routine, one chance encounter, to make a beginning move towards a different starting line. A new norm. It’s that shift between the old and the new when things really start to get interesting.

And on that particular morning, Andrew had not one but two surprises.

The kitten.

And Neil.

[sebaekficrec]

I love reading Sebaek long fic (with many chapters) so can you recommend some of them? Thanks in advance!

Hello ! tbh I don’t read chaptered fics often and I don’t even think there are many out there for sebaek. There aren’t many new sebaek fics coming out often to be honest, especially chaptered ones so you might’ve read some of these already. 

if anyone ever sees a new sebaek fic they like feel free to submit to share with everyone! 

pilgrimage by wolfsupremacist

That was how it went for years, Sehun thinks to himself. He had come of age eight summers ago, but Junmyeon always took the pilgrimage himself. And Sehun was fine with that.

Until he wasn’t, of course.

He doesn’t know exactly what changes inside him, but with twenty-four summers under his cap, he thinks himself due for an adventure.

Demon Tamer by daestruct

“Oh, Baekhyun.” Long fingers trail over the markings on Baekhyun’s back, and the streets are filled with a dance of hellfire. “Has no one ever told you that Hell would love you?” The moon begins to bleed.

A Reason to Fight by Sehun_x_Baek 

Oh Sehun was a perfect soldier who knew nothing of life besides the hardships of war. It wasn’t until Byun Baekhyun appeared that Sehun was finally exposed to the more beautiful things in life…but would he ever understand love?

Nine Lives Antiques by Sehun_x_Baek (just check out Sehun_x_Baek’s acc if u haven’t already she has a lot of chaptered fics i’m not going to link all of her stories bc she has quite a few so just check her out, she also has an AFF)

A story of a cat, a wolf, an antique shop, and a bit of magic ☆．。．:*･°

sweet sleep by wolfsupremacist

On a wolf’s two hundred and fiftieth moon, they Sleep.

Baekhyun isn’t sure what to make of his dreams when he finally awakens.

Sky and Sea, All the World is Blue by shinealightrose

Baekhyun’s life is thrown into chaos when he accepts a mysterious job on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Touch, Seperate. by GabbyWritesStuff

At Twenty Four, Baekhyun was sure he had seeen what life had to offer. Sex, smoking, money, existing. Nothing much really mattered except those four things, till coincidence had drawn him to Sehun, or maybe the fate of a rusty car picking him up from a curb.

Or,

Rent boy Baekhyun meets Virgin College boy Sehun who changes his world.

Parachute bysincelight 

Sehun is just another college boy in love with his best friend. But when the truth comes out, and his heart is broken, Baekhyun wants to be there to save the day.

Paper Skin byNightbirdsong 

Baekhyun has a messy life. Typical for a young boy, typical for the perfect sob story. But he isn’t getting himself into trouble all the time like people would think he does. No, he just spends all his free time hiding in the bookstore of Mister Oh, who seems to be constanly reading and who knows everything about everyone. It’s nothing special, this little bookstore. Until Baekhyun gets sucked right into a book and ends up stuck with a broody knight called Sehun and his Cheshire friend Chanyeol. Well, this world is surely out of the biggest cliche Baekhyun has ever seen. Faeries are not to trust and mermaids are pretty. And mages are weird.

The Beginning Of Lust by Sehun8gfat

Sehun’s too desperate to get his hands on those expensive medicines which have been prescribed for his mother that he’s willing to do absolutely anything. he’s sold anything they didn’t really need, to save up some and now that he knows the exact amount of money he should pay, all the thoughts of finding a healthy, normal job leave his mind. So instead of contributing his job as a bartender he agrees to give his virginity to someone he has never met and signs all the contracts given to him without even glancing at the words written on those papers. 

Shake Hands With The Devilby mminnex

Baekhyun needs a great sum of money to pay off his debt and keep his brother safe. Sehun has an abundance of cash and is looking for a sex slave.

Day And Night byfaerylights

Sehun could feel his heart stop beating, caged within his ribs with no function for that brief moment. It’s a different kind of awe when he had first seen the collision of stars, the scorching blaze of the sun, the wavering of the moon. It’s another kind of awe when he finally registered the beauty that the boy carried on his face alone; skin white as snow and hair black as night. If he had no seen the boy appearing along with the daywalkers, anyone could easily mistake him for a nightwalker. He was awfully pale for someone who comes from the day world. But then again, isn’t Sehun something special too?

140506 byfaerylights (this author has more chaptered fics i believe so check them out)

Sehun thinks - Sehun thought - that the happiness that filled his head and his heart and his soul would never end. But then again, a lot of what Sehun thought weren’t true. 

Everything Changes byLotusK

Baekhyun adn Sehun have been friends forever. But their relationship begins to alter when they begin sharing an apartment and Baekhyun becomes attracted to a more grown up, more assertive Sehun.

perfect's for the urgent (baby I want forever) by zyximb/awkward-asshole (aka me lmao)

baekhyun's a self-proclaimed expert matchmaker on his way to change his best friend's life and he just so happens to need sehun's help along the way (even if it kills him).

a prisoner to my addiction by zyximb /awkward-asshole (shameless plug of my own stories lmfao...) 

baekhyun is pure. he’s warm and soft and sweet. he’s everyhing that sehun isn’t and for some reason, sehun just cant seem to stay away.

[fank0ne]

Okay, I'm mad. I was supposed to post this waaay earlier but Tumblr fucked it up and here we are. My anxiety's tryna crawl back to me and I have to deal with it too, so, ugh, bear with me.

Anyways, this whole thing is gonna be messy af, you've been warned.

FIRE:

Cruz and Chloe. What did Joe do in his previous life that the universe wants tries to fuck up any tiny bit of happiness? The poor guy just lost his best friend and now the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with ditches him? Great timing, by the way.

C'mon, give him a break. He's suffered enough and certainly doesn't deserved. Joe is literally a sweetheart.

Severide and Stella. Did Kelly (I hate his first name so much, you have no idea) really say "(...) with our kids and grandkids surrounding me"?! Stellaride are so cute, it's like they live in their own bubble of happiness and, ugh, they've matured so much and to hear Severide say that he wants to grow old with Kids (we already knew that, but to actually hear it gives it another effect)... it just warms my heart.

I hope Stella gets to choose some cool badass names for dem kids.

Jay and Adam partnering up and doing Mouse's work?! Dope.

I've got something to confess: I don't know why or how, but I recently entered the Halzek spiral and so whenever they're around one another I literally freak out. Can you blame me, though?

MED:

Who is this Andrea girl? Is she an angel sent from above who's gonna help us associate the word end to Manstead? Has that moment finally arrived? Sarcasm aside, I'm curious! I wanna know what was/is the nature of her relationship with Will. They definitely fucked at least once -- I'm not saying it, their faces were saying it. Sorry, guys, I don't make the rules.

Dr. Marcel. I can't call him Crockett because in Italian it sounds like nugget. Like, you say chicken nuggets, we say crocchette (Crockett-e) di pollo, and it's just weird lol.

That look on his face he had every time he had to announce the time of death of one of his patients honestly broke my heart. He felt so helpless and, I'm not gonna lie, I wanted to give him a big hug.

I don't really know how I feel about his character, though... sometimes I like him, sometimes I don't. I just feel like he has a big, kind heart underneath that cheesy and cocky surface and I know he'll eventually grow on me.

Also, does he have a crush on April or is he just being, you know, himself..? Because I'm not a huge fan of love triangles and I think Chexton is endgame, but I don't know??? I don't wanna see what could happen with the three of them, but I also wanna see it. It makes no sense, good.

William and Natalie (≠ Manstead, careful there). Did you notice how cool it was without the two of them causing unnecessary drama? They suddenly became almost lovable (I actually would die for Will, who the fuck I'm kidding lol) when they're not near one another. Seriously though, I liked them in these episodes (yup, Natalie too, unbelievable!)

Okay, I'll stop with this shitty type of sarcasm. It's not even funny LMFAO.

I am so into this intelligent, witty and super capable version of William Halstead and, yeah, I know the emergency situation required him to be, but I feel like maybe Andrea's presence spurred him a little bit? I'm just randomly guessing here.

And Natalie too! I loved the interaction between her and Hailey, I think they never ever spoke to each other before, so it was cool to see them together. 

About Hailey... the promo pictures truly misled me (and my fellow Upstead shippers) and now I feel stupid for believing they were gonna feed us with some juicy content. I mean, I wasn't expecting Jay to confess his feeling to Hailey (even thought, in my - not - humble opinion, he already did in 6.22), but damn bro!!! He didn't give two fucks about how she was doing. He literally only went to Med to update her on the investigations and that's all. I feel betrayed. Not only by Jay, but by the whole unit, except for my giant teddy bear Kevin and Voight (he cares in his own way). What I'm saying is, of course the squad was concerned about her (I hope so?), it would've been cool to see it (I'm a chaotic bitch, leave me alone).

Maggie and Sharon. You’re telling me that Maggie needed Sharon to force her into going home, otherwise she would’ve stayed at the hospital? I love Maggie, she’s my favorite character in Med, but that’s just dumb. Periodth. I’m glad Sharon sent her home... the fuck?

PD:

Good Lord, Jay Halstead really seemed to be concerned about his brother well-being. That's a first! I bet they read the post in which I was ranting about him not giving a damn whenever Will gets injured. The definitely read it (yup, sure honey).

The scene in which he was being held hostage by that scien-terrorist (Hailey thing her hair up was super sexy to see, by the way)... Jay, did you really had to make that long ass cut on your arm? I swear to God, he's so extra sometimes (6.07!!!), he could've just cut the tip of one of his fingers. Like, hello?

I know y'all kinda hate him, but can we protect William Halstead forever and ever? Cutie wanted to follow Voight to wherever Jay was.

Will is dumb af (like dumb dumb) but he's a sweetie.

Rojas and Atwater go get drinks together. I see y'all, that's what I want to hear. But how come Trudy Platt, queen of roasting people, didn't tease Vanessa about it? She's must've been really exhausted, that had been a hell of a day!

Adam and Kim. Are they forreal? I mean, their scene lasted, what, 1 minute max, and it was the ultimate hottest thing. And they were only looking at each other and their fingers were touching. That's all. They're driving me insane already, good. I like it. They got some beautiful round asses, both Marina and Paddy. Congrats. I guess Grandpa Hank is gonna have another grandchild (Ruzek is basically Hank's son, we all know that).

Jay Halstead smiling at life for once... it makes me smile too.

I always love me some Halstead brothers scenes, it's always good to see them together.

________________________

The plot idea was cool, very Halloween-esque, and it made me think of Justin Timberlake’s song Supplies (the world can end now, baby, we’ll be living in The  Walking Dead).

I absolutely loved how everything had been so smoothly done: Brett and Foster at Med, Kim at the crime scene, Boden’s phone call, Voight driving the car, and I could go on forever with examples... what I’m tryna say is that the interaction between the characters was portrayed super well. Whoever edited the crossover certainly did their part, but I think all of this is also due to the fact that the cast members are friends in real life too and, yeah, it was super cool to see them all together.

Sounds superfluous to say it, but I loved this crossover. It’s definitely my favorite one, hands down. 

[themusicplayedherlife]

Unrequited (Part 2)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader; crushing!reader x steve rogers; crushing!bucky barnes x natasha romanoff; others

word count: 1,342

summary: college!AU you and bucky aren’t exactly friends. the best you can describe one another is: a friend of a friend–acquaintances, at best. what happens when the two of you decide to team up and help one another get the person of their dreams, who happen to be your respective best-friends?

Prev||All Parts||Next

You know that split second when you’ve realized that you’ve fucked shit up? That split second where your brain finally processes what has slipped from your traitorous tongue and onto shocked ears and your mind just stops working for a moment because it can’t come up with a way to fix any of it?

Well. It’s happening. It’s happening to you right now.

Just a few hours ago you had been fine, completely fine. You were studying with Bucky as he went over the material you needed for class. It had been good, albeit awkward, but good. You were actually learning as you memorized the equations needed to measure certain things and were finally getting the hang of bonds. He had even gone as far as to offer to walk you home when you realized what time it was and how dark it had gotten, something you hadn’t expected from him. The walk home was quiet, undoubtedly so, and you hated it. If the silence was with anyone else, like Natasha, you’d be okay because comfortable silence with your loved ones is the best silence!

But the silence between you and Bucky was deafening and uncomfortable. All it made you want to do was hurry home to your best friend who you could cuddle with as you watched Grace and Frankie.

That’s where the problem started because you knew you were still far from your home and you needed something, anything, to talk about. Unfortunately, before your mind could give you options, your mouth opened and spat out words you had promised to take to your grave. “So, you like Natasha, huh?” were your exact words. It wasn’t even subtle, nothing coy that could keep him guessing; it was just straight to the point and out there.

And it’s not like you could try to cover up your tracks, either, because as soon as you had realized what you said, you obviously froze (still frozen too). So, anything you say at this point wouldn’t help because he wouldn’t believe you. Hell, you wouldn’t even believe yourself!

Bucky just stands there, his mouth agape and his eyes just as wide as yours, maybe, maybe not. But he’s definitely in shock and you feel like total shit, because, come on! Come the fuck on! You can keep a secret! You’ve kept plenty of secrets, most of them are Natasha’s but secrets nonetheless! And you know for a fact Drunk Bucky didn’t want Sober Bucky to know that he had spilled his most intimate secret and vice versa.

“I’m so sorry,” you manage to squeak, finally finding your voice and manners (or what’s left of it, anyway).

“Wha—How did—how do you know that?” It’s not so much of a question as it is a demand. And really, you don’t blame him. Here is you, someone he hardly knows, knowing something he’s probably kept from everyone.

“You told me,” you confessed quickly, not wanting to agitate Bucky more than you already have (which you completely failed at). He doesn’t seem to believe you, his breath coming out in an angsty puff and his hand coming up to rub at his temple, getting ready to tell you off if his lips moving are of any indication. You cut him off, “Well not you, perse. It was you just not sober you. Drunk you did. You were about ready to pass out and I was trying to help you, was about to call Steve when you just blurted it out!”

His stare is unnerving, he’s studying you, reading you to check if you’re remotely lying, obviously, you’re not. With an exasperated sigh, he leans against the wall of the building, his fingers tangling in his hair. “This is great. Just great.”

You fidget with the straps of your bag, unsure if you should console him or not. The irrational side of you says you should, that it’s the least you could do for causing him such distress while the rational side says that’s exactly why you should leave it alone, there’s no need to get involved any more than you already have.

Guess which side won?

“If it makes you feel any better, Natasha isn’t even aware of your feelings.”

You flinch when he snaps his steely gaze in your direction. You really should listen to your rational side more often.

“Thanks.”

You know he doesn’t actually mean it, but you can’t stop yourself from muttering, “You’re welcome.” Closing your eyes, you press your lips together and really wish that a hole would just appear at your feet and swallow you whole. “I should—I should just go. Yeah, um, thanks for the help.”

Bucky doesn’t even try to stop you as you walk away. The whole time you’re just dragging your feet against the pavement. If Bucky hadn’t wanted to talk to you before, he definitely wouldn’t want to talk to you now. Fuck! What if he tells Steve of how much of a fuck up you are and he never talks to you again? Shit! You need to fix this!

Spinning on your heels, you find Bucky still leaning against the wall, looking conflicted. “Bucky!” you blurt out his name without second-thought, gaining his attention. “I like Steve. I really really like Steve.” And with that, you turn your back on Bucky and sprint, ignoring his surprised exclamations behind you.

You’re even now.

Natasha is still up by the time you get to the apartment. She’s lounging on the sofa, a bowl of popcorn on her lap and her favorite face mask covering her face. Her red hair is pulled back by a kitty headband, a matching pair she got from Etsy (one for you and the other for her). She smiles when she sees you, but it's immediately replaced by a worried line.

“Hey! Everything okay? You look tired.”

“I ran here,” you admitted, dropping yourself onto the sofa.

She straightens up in her seat. “What? Why?”

You purse your lips, thinking of an excuse but choosing not to use it, knowing that Natasha would see right through it. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay? How was tutoring with Bucky, then?” she asks, handing you the bowl so you could munch on the cooked kernels.

“Tiring,” you mumble around the popcorn in your mouth, slouching deeper into the couch. Natasha is really the last person you want to talk to about this.

You can feel her intense eyes on you and it reminds you of Bucky’s steely gaze, the way his eyes practically made you feel so small and stupid. Ugh. This is not good. Not good at all.

“I’m gonna go to sleep,” you announce, bouncing to your feet. “Long day.”

“Uh, okay?” You’re glad she leaves it at that because you knew that if she kept pressing you’d definitely tell her what happened and that would not be good for you or Bucky. Mostly you.

As you approach your room, she calls out to you, making you pause right in front of your bedroom.

“Bucky just texted me, asked for your number.”

Your eyes widen and you point at Natasha, taking her by surprise her. “No! No! Do not give it to him!”

“Why? Won’t you need his number to set up your study sessions?”

“No! Today was our last one!”

“Today was your first!”

“And our last! Just tell him no! That you don’t feel comfortable giving my number out to strangers!”

“He’s not a stranger,” she says, exasperated.

“To you maybe! Just no, okay? No!” you quickly close your door behind you and lean against it, taking a deep breath to settle your racing heart.

Are you exaggerating? Maybe? Are you terrified? Yes. You shouldn’t have said what you said. And you definitely shouldn’t have asked him to help you with class. If you had just kept to yourself, you wouldn’t be feeling like such an ass! My god! Why couldn’t you just keep your big mouth shut?

a/n: its here! said it would come after take a chance but apparently not?? lmfao i hope you guys liked it c; no warnings!

Unrequited tag list:

@honey-bee-holly @marvelgoateecollection @buckyismyaesthetic @pleasantlybitchyflower @obsessedwithmisha @lovemarvelousfics @can-a-girlsie-chime-in @amourski @lilypalmer1987

Perm taglist:

@katie27hp