#like why is he certified in clapping back

[hawkeyeslaughter]

if there was one thing henry blake could do it was eat people UP with those one liners if he was annoyed enough

[kissitbttr]

a very tiny fic of frat!miguel pining on cheerleader!y/n in college. might expand, we’ll see ;)

-

fucking. frat parties, man,

you hate it. despise it even. what’s so good about them anyway other than the fact watching dumb boys in snapbacks making a fool of themselves with drinking games?

definitely not your scene, but unluckily for you—it has always been your friends favorite thing to look forward to,

“you need to cut yourself some slack babe. this party will do you good! i promise!”

rolling your eyes, you slip on one of your favorite heels before glaring at her. “doubt it but thanks for the positivity”

“maybe todd will be there and you guys will catch up?”

“like hell we will” you scoff, walking towards the dressing table to pamper yourself,

“that shit is history, he’s a fucking dead man”

a certified douche bag, that’s what todd is. dated him in sophomore year and the relationship went for about six months before calling it quits because he had his tongue down some other girl’s throat and he had the nerve to blame it on you,

you were pretty much done with men at that point,

“she’s right” one of your friends, gloria points out. “you guys forgot what that asshole did to her, hm?”

“but” one girl steps in. “people change, right?”

you and gloria exchange looks, biting back a mocking smile at how innocent and naive the girl sounds. however, you shake your head at gloria, telling her to hold it in.

“yeah, sure” you shrug at her question, busying yourself with makeups as the other girls from behind you continue with their chatting,

“what about miguel? that tall sexy one”

your hand freezes at the name, as a collective of ooh’s and dreamy sighs fall upon your ears. yet you dismiss it anyway,

“and what about him?”

lyla, the pixie haired cut girl chimes in. “wasn’t he the one who blew you a kiss during the football game? you know, when you were cheering”

it was the championship game, one after finals had ended. you and your cheerleading team were on the sidelines doing the stunts. one of the duties of being one was to cheer for your home team. being extra perky and all smiley,

he scored another touchdown within the last ten seconds, in which the crowd had erupted into loud cheers. this man sure got some speed on his feet,

you clapped your poms poms together, jumping in excitement while yelling out his jersey number. the rest of the girls are doing the same thing, some even louder than others. leading the crowd to loudly chant his last name,

miguel took his helmet off, smiling proudly at the full audience while bumping his chest with his fist. then his eyes landed on you, smile going wider as he watched you cheer for his team,

then he did it. blew you a kiss as he waved. mouthing a ‘that one’s for you’ before winking, in which you only rolled your eyes at the respond. you truly had no time entertaining another heartbreaker on campus.

that man maybe devilishly handsome and charming, but he also shared some highly disturbing amounts of girls in his dorm,

or so you have heard.

his friend jogged towards him, clasping his hand around miguel’s shoulder,

“new girlfriend, o’hara? or looking for a quick fuck?”

if it was any other circumstances, he’d punch him for saying that about you. but he was far too entranced by your beauty to actually give a shit. instead he smiled, eyes refused sto leave yours as he watched your body move.

“girlfriend. working on it, compá”

his voice is confident. almost like he’s sure that you’ll be his. and you will

miguel finds you to be far more intriguing than the rest. beautiful, top of the class, fucking funny too. ever since he had exchanged a couple words with you during one the class you both shared, you pretty much occupy his mind from there.

and he had watched you punch one of the guys at his party one time so safe to say you’re the reason why his dick is hard for the rest of the night

“not only that. he touched down and said it was for you, didn’t he?! ugh! i am so freaking jealous!”

it’s almost funny how hopeless romantic most of your friends are. i mean sure, you are too, who isn’t? but you would argue that if it wasn’t coming from miguel, those girls probably won’t be swooning like right now,

“you both are overreacting. he was just in the heat of the moment.”

“nuh uh” gloria shakes her head in disagreement, scoffing with a small smirk. “she’s right, that boy wants you. he wants you bad. like ‘24/7 deep dick inside your pussy and won’t let you walk straight after fucking’ wants you”

“a very… vivid detail, gloria…” you widen your eyes with a laugh while the other girls agree. “but okay”

“how do you even know that?”

“beck said so” she shrugs, making you look at her with a deadpan expression. “what? me and him went back to fucking, don’t judge me!”

a snort escapes your lips, tugging the lipgloss back out of your makeup pouch before unscrewing the tube,

“he’s like a total player, no? i don’t think i could get together with a man who sticks his dick into any hole”

“that’s not true. they’re just rumors”

“yeah, wasn’t dana the only girl he had ever dated?”

“no that was xina. dana fucked his brother”

“what?!”

“isn’t it the other way around?”

“i’ve never seen him with girls that often. your opinion could be wrong y/n”

you brush it off and let the girls gossip in the back. whether it’s true or not, staying away would probably better. after todd, you don’t think you can afford another heartbreak.

fucking. men

-

the party had started a few hours ago, and it’s packed. a lot of students come and start filling up the house, the sound of asap rocky’s ‘frat rules’ booming through the speakers.

it’s not even close to midnight but miguel already spot a few kids getting drunk and throwing up in the backyard making him winces in disgust. he has told a few of his friends to keep an eye for broken furnitures but he doubts any of them listen,

they’re far too busy exchanging saliva with some of the girls from the sorority,

“yo o’hara! beer pong later! you’re on my team!”

peter, one of his frat brothers yells. miguel looks over his shoulder to see him standing by the pong table with the others, he has his arm around a red haired girl’s shoulder.

miguel flashes a smile, head shaking as he fixes himself a beer from the keg. “count me out, parker. go find other team player”

“oh boo! you’re no fun these days, o’hara! don’t tell me you’re standing by to see if she’s coming?”

“wait, miguel’s crushing on someone?” the red haired asks

“i told you babe, it’s the girl from cheerleading team”

miguel doesn’t respond, because peter is right. he has been scanning over the room, pacing back to back to see if you’re here yet. a disappointment sigh leaves his mouth each time he fails to find you,

his frat brothers think he’s gone crazy. because why would he get himself so worked up over one girl when there’s dozens of others lining up to get dicked down by him? pretty ones even,

but that’s the thing, miguel doesn’t find hooking up to be something that needs to be praised for. why would he pat himself on the back for screwing half of the sorority sisters? or bet on who gets to be the lucky bastard to get into the quiet girl’s panties?

gross. that’s for sure. but it seems that his brothers think otherwise. he has no say in that, obviously. to each their own.

“she’s coming, dude. chill. you’ve been eyeing the goddamn door non-stop” beck chuckles, sipping on his beer can

he ignores him, clicking the tongue against his teeth. “you told gloria, right? to bring her here?”

“i did. so stop worrying. enjoy for a bit”

beck leaves him with that, not before bumping miguel’s shoulder lightly with his fist, leaving miguel with his brows furrowed and lip in a small pout,

‘where are you?’ he thinks,

“hey miguel”

a feminine voice pulls him out of the trance, in which he quirks an eyebrow and notices a short haired girl appears by his side, dragging her long manicured nails down his bicep,

“not interested” he shoots her a quick glare before averting his gaze back towards the door,

the girl pouts, taking the bold move by resting her temple against his shoulder in which he shakes her off causing her to gasp,

“the fuck o’hara?!”

“i told you. not interested. beat it” he downs his red solo cup before scrunching it, licking his lips. “go find another guy to bang”

she huffs at that, stomping her feet like a child like her parents refuses to give her candy,

“i mean it. move, i am not—“

“y/n! gloria! you two made it!”

that does it for him. soon as he hears your name falls from beck’s mouth, his gaze never moves quicker. seeing his frat brother by the entrance, greeting gloria with a kiss and you’re standing by gloria’s side with a small smile,

oh god, you.

who looks absolutely breathtaking tonight. adorned in a pretty pink dress that hugs your curves in the right way, your makeup is light and he’s thankful for that. long thick hair fall against your back, leaving your shoulders exposed,

simple yet look so expensive,

miguel pays no mind to the girl besides him, simply just walking away. he doesn’t even bother to acknowledge the people who congratulates him on the win as he strides closer to you,

“y/n y/l/n… what a sight for sore eyes it is to see you, muñeca”

a familiar voice saying your name makes your head turn, seeing who it is. the head of fraternity. miguel o’hara,

he has his arms crossed, causing his biceps to bulge a bit, making him look bigger than he already is. you eye the outfit he has on. a black muscle tank and grey sweatpants. chocolate hair tucked into a bright red snapback that he props on backwards,

he shoots you a flirty smirk, walking a little bit closer just enough to create a small gap between the two of you,

“miguel o’hara” you speak his name, faking a smile. “surprised to see you still sticking around here. i thought you’d be by your room already, pleasuring another girl”

he winces playfully, hand over his heart pretending to be hurt. “ouch, muñeca” a small chuckles leaves his mouth as he watches you roll your eyes, “always with the horrible assumptions. care to play nice this time?”

you glance at him with a scoff. “we both know that’s a fact. you always leave with a girl, don’t you?” you question, eyebrows furrowing as you tilt your head to the side,

he hums, scanning the room before looking back at you. “false. but i’ll let you believe what you want to believe, muñeca.”

you try to guess if he’s being sarcastic with it or actually telling the truth, and you swear it’s the latter. however, you refuse to fall for it,

“what do you want, o’hara?” you sigh, sipping on the beer gloria had offered earlier,

with a chuckle, he leans against the nearest wall, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants. “is it a crime for me to talk to a pretty girl i have a crush on? is there any written policies about that?”

your heart flutters when he calls you pretty. not to mention, a crush?

yeah okay, you do find him extremely attractive and sexy. like, really really sexy. guilty as charged. but who doesn’t think so? his dashing smile and seemingly soft hair do make you a little bit crazy. he’s a total heartthrob on campus.

not only is he the vice captain of the football team but he’s one smart student. passes every class, rarely get a score below B’s. no wonder why teachers are chasing his ass for him to tutor some of the students.

and if that’s not enough, you know how much he loves to spend his time volunteering at local organizations, doing food kits for donations even providing a cost-free child care around the community,

he’s almost—too good to be true.

“i’m flattered, truly. but flirting won’t get you anywhere, mr.” you wag your finger side to side,

“seriously?”

“seriously”

“wow” he breathes out a sigh, faking a disappointment. “i got to try harder than that then”

a giggle leaves your mouth, head shaking. “my advice? stop trying, o’hara”

“i can’t do that, muñeca”

you tilt your head to the side,. “and why’s that?”

“i just told you”

“hm. surely there are other girls out there, o’hara”

“i don’t want them”

“persistent aren’t you?”

“kind of” he casually shrugs. “why, you don’t like it?”

“quite the opposite”

“and why is that entertaining to you?” he asks with a smirk,

“i like seeing men desperate. i like seeing them beg for something they know they can’t have” you bite down onto your lower lip. your respond is not meant to be flirty, but more of like a playful statement.

yet somehow, it triggers something in him. something good.

his eyes flicker down to your mouth, puffing out a deep breath. “shit, you’re making it harder for me now” he mumbles, tongue sticking out to wet down his lip,

“harder to what exactly?”

“to not want you” he replies bluntly, tone changes into a serious one. but it doesn’t come off as a lust or desperation,

your smile falters a little when you realize how serious he becomes. swallowing a lump on your throat, fingers digging into the skin of your arms. eyes are now onto his, and you don’t quite get why it feels so difficult to just look away,

“miguel i—“

“shit, i ruined it, didn’t i? eres un idiota” he curses himself with a grunt shaking his head. hands on his hips “sorry, i’m just— fuck you look so good right now muñeca and there’s like a million things going through my mind when i look at you—“

“miguel—“

“obviously i’m not going to tell you because it’s pg-13 all up in here” he points at his head. “and i don’t want to scare you—“

“miguel—“

“but i went past puberty so i’m not some kind of horny teenager that—“

“miguel! jesus, shut up!” you finally exclaim, and that does it for him. his movements stop when he hears you yell out his name,

clearing your throat, you regain your posture before setting the beer down on the nearest table,

“listen i—i just don’t know what to say after that” you begin with a nervous laugh, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. “you have a crush on me?”

his bushy brows dip into a frown. “didn’t i make it clear these past few weeks?”

“huh?”

“i brought you lunch, let you borrowed my favorite pen during class, i even asked your number through gloria but she didn’t want to give it to me” his shoulders slouch in disappointment. “i’ve had a crush on you since— I don’t know, too long. you’re a tough woman to please, muñeca. i give you that”

“that’s only one time! how am i supposed to know that you weren’t just looking to hook up?”

“ay dios mio! if i wanted to just have sex with you, i would try to get closer with you during a party! which is… technically what i’m doing right now but— that’s not the point!” he groans, rubbing his hands all over his face in frustrations,

“you seriously didn’t notice the signs?!”

“those weren’t fucking signs, dumbass. try to do more than being subtle, why don’t you?!”

“well it’s hard when you keep dodging me and rolling your eyes everytime i talk to you!”

“how can i?! when you slept with like half of the sorority girls on campus?!”

“how many times do i have to tell you that what you hear is not true? i don’t know where you got that from but i can assure you that i haven’t fucked anyone in months! and the idea of hooking up with random girls doesn’t sound appealing to me! want some prove? ask my brothers about that, go on! or ask beck, he’ll tell you the truth. that man is prone to never lying”

you go quiet. face softening a little,

“wait… then what about the girls i saw you walking with after a party?”

“to walk them safely to their cars or their dorm room. that’s it” he explains, watching the surprised look on your face.

“now.. how do you see me?”

you feel terrible for believing all those rumors first before actually knowing it’s confirmed or not. you are taught to never ever judge a book by its cover and you just did,

fuck you’re a terrible person,

“oh..” you mutter softly. “shit—i’m so sorry miguel, I didn’t know”

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it”

“what? no! i was acting like a complete bitch! ugh fuuuuck” you whine, stomping your heel on the ground as miguel watches in amusement,

‘you’re adorable’ he wanted to say,

“i feel terrible—no, i am actually” you grumble, “how can i make it up to you?”

a bright smile spreads across his face. “allow me to get to know you throughout the night? no funny business i promise”

his eyes are glinting with hope when he looks at you, feeling nervous that you might reject him but he’s not letting you see that,

you mirror his expression, feeling your cheeks warm by his question. “miguel—i’d love to but… no offense, i kinda didn’t want to go to your party in the first place, i only went because gloria asked me to and uhm.. i don’t know if i wanted to stay, actually—it’s not because of you but mainly because my social battery had died even before i got here”

“we don’t have to stay—we can go out. we’ll pick a place and go or you can pick, i’m down with whatever”

with wide eyes, you reply “what?”

“yeah. there’s a good diner i always go to when i’m craving for a good burger or a shawarma truck down the street. they don’t have tables and everything but we can order and eat in my car.”

“unless you have better options, it’s cool” he adds

you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach but it’s hard not to when he’s being extremely… attentive?

my god, is this actually miguel o’hara? the man who’s painted to be heartless and a player?

“mig- this is your party. you can’t just leave” you softly laugh. “we can catch up another time, i hate to be—“

“it’s fine, muñeca. this party is good as it can be without me. besides” he reaches into his pocket to grab his keys,

“i’d like to spend time with you.. is that… okay?”

he’s being careful with his words, because he doesn’t want to scare you off or come off desperate. the last thing he needed was to have you feel repulsed by him,

you give him with a soft smile, looking up at his ruby eyes with your pretty doe ones and from then on, miguel is absolutely sure that he’s in. so fucking in that he knows there is no way out,

it’s not like he wants it any other way

“that’s okay”

-

i was going to make her super mean and bitchy but i figured i’d use that for some other time,

also please tell me this doesn’t sucked. i hate for this one to flop because i might start to fall in love with these pairings

feel free to send your ideas and thoughts about these two

(i might actually write one where they both meet the first time)

[rikiislvr]

thanks for the req love <3 @chaevibes

pairing: nishimura riki x afab!reader

“baby?” you say as you were laying on the bed, your boyfriend laying on your stomach, he looked up at you as you were scrolling on your phone,

“hm?” he hummed, “can we do this trend? it’s really cute!” you smiled at your phone, he raised an eyebrow, “basically. i’ll record myself doing makeup and you just do a voiceover of what i’m doing!” you giggled as if it was so easy,

but for niki? he knows nothing about makeup..

“okay.. sounds easy..?” he shrugged, you giggled and got off the bed, running to your vanity, you set up your phone and recorded a video of yourself doing your makeup.

niki watched from the bed as you did your makeup, already trying to think of what you’re using, but he gave up eventually falling back to the bed and waited for you,

you finished your makeup, and stoped the video, walking over to your boyfriend, “okay, hold down the mic and just voice over what you think i’m doing.” you say, niki nods and grabbed your phone,

the video began and he held down the microphone.

“um.. so.. you’re putting on some.. weird clear liquid, not sure what it is.” he rubbed his neck, you giggled,

it was primer.

“now you’re.. oh! i know this, it’s foundation. you’re blending that in.” he says with a proud smile, you clapped lightly, “look at you go!” you giggled,

his proud smile suddenly fades away once he saw the next product you were applying,

“wha-? is that flour? why are you putting flour on your face?” he tilts his head, “isn’t that for baking? you’re baking your makeup?”

you couldn’t help but laugh.

i mean.. it was baking powder..

he shakes his head and continues to voice over, “okay now.. this is blush, right? yeah. blush.” he nods, you just listened in, the next thing you did had him so lost,

he furrowed his eyebrows. “uh..” he shrugged, “voice it niki!” you hit his arm,

“okay okay! i think this is.. im not sure.. you’re just putting dark lines on your cheeks..” he groaned, “its contour!” you pointed to your face, he looked like he was completely lost,

“what does it even do?” he looks at your cheeks, “it’s like.. makes it look slim..” you roll your eyes.

niki shook his head again, “you don’t even need makeup, you’re beautiful without it.” he looks back at the phone.

“okay.. now you’re putting on this bright stuff.. a bright shimmery line down your nose..” he was so focused on the screen, you couldn’t even stop laughing,

“it’s highlighter.” you shake your head, niki chuckled,

“what is highlighter? like the marker?” he looks at you, you just stared at him,

damn. he really was clueless..

“goodness me. just finish..” you turn his head back to the phone by his chin, making him laugh,

“okay. oh! i know this. it’s um.. eyeliner?” he looks at you,

you covered your mouth not to laugh, he furrowed his eyebrows, “am i wrong?”

you nod slowly, “mascara niki..” you chuckled, he face palmed himself, “ah.. i was close! i keep getting those two confused i mean what’s the difference anyways!?” he groaned and looked back at the screen,

“okay this is easy.. it’s lipstick.” he nods and smiled, the video ended.

you clapped, “yay! you did it! well.. most of it” you giggled and kissed his cheek, niki just put the phone down in defeat, “i thought i knew a lot about makeup..” he shakes his head,

“you taught me about it so much, you’d send me to go buy you makeup and i still messed up.” he chuckled,

“well this is definitely telling me you don’t.” you raised your eyebrows. niki gasped and grabbed the pillow to hit you, but you quickly ran away before he could protest,

“ey! i was close enough!”

a/n: bye this is so short but I WAS KINDA LOST ON HOW TO WRITE THIS ONE but i hope you enjoyed anyways <3

tl: @certified-ni-ki-lover @noblub-4ulolz @yourmyst4r @vixialuvs @ni-ki-ismyluv @judeduartewannabe @soobs-things @en-chantedtomeetyou @definitelynotherr @heyniki @wntersm @geniejunn @pkjay @baevsxii @k1ttylvr @geniejunn @pkjay @chaevibes @jiyeons-closet

[mediqal]

Toji x reader hcs because why not and this is my first fanfic ever omg clap it up😊

Im trying to see if I would actually like doing this or not, but anyways enough chit-chat, Enjoy!🤪

Mostly Fluff, first headcannon, is slightly suggestive. Feedback is appreciated!

•Toji is IN FACT the type of guy who stares at your chest the whole time you're talking. You always have to remind yourself to look at your eyes and that it's rude to do that. And just when he starts to look up, 0.2 seconds, his eyes drop back down. You lost count of how many times you had to smack him across the face.

•Certified Crop duster. Will do it public, so when you make a comment about a smell, he'll say some shit like "whoever smelt it, delt". He'll also sometimes flat-out blame you for it.

•He will take pictures of you sleeping, sometimes, he'll take a selfie with himself posing, and you in the background. Sometimes takes videos you sleeping, just so he can make fun of your snoring and drooling later.

•He ADORES picking you up, whether bridal style, piggy back ride, or he'll just throw you over his shoulder.

•Tickling. He has a thrill tickling you. Especially when you try to ignore him, it's his go to, he just picks up and tosses you on the bed, using one arm to pin yours above your head, and uses his other to tickle your sides. You try to hard to keep a straight face, but when he goes slower, you can't hold yourself.He only stops when you laugh, squeal, or speak, finally satisfied.

•Loves mocking/mimicking you. If you're on the phone, he always mouth the words you're say, or if you make a snide comment, he pictches up his voice to copy you.

He's our little crop duster <3

[hyuge]

Oddities and Curiosities

“What, pray tell, do you think you’re doing in here?” Kuya clicked his tongue at the uninvited guest in his home.

Blade spun on his heel with one of Kuya’s knickknacks in hand. A bright smile flashed across his face, exposing his pointed teeth, and he held the palm-sized orb up into the light. “Ku-Ku! This is very pretty. I like how it sparkles in the light.”

Kuya snapped his fingers and the glass ball disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke, reappearing in Kuya’s hand. “What are you doing in my home? Touching my things?”

“Ah.” Blade glanced out the window. “I was helping Darling in the forest, and we got separated. I thought maybe he wandered over here since we weren’t too far away.”

Kuya followed his gaze to the window. The flowers were in bloom around his small home and their fragrant aroma wafted in through the opening. “As you can see, he didn’t come here. You should probably go find the young master before he inevitably hurts himself again. He always seems to get into trouble when unsupervised.”

“Ku-Ku cares about Darling~ a lot!” Blade clapped his hands together. “You probably already know where he is too!”

Kuya huffed and folded his arms across his chest. “He’s in the village. No one steps into my territory without my knowledge.”

“I knew it!” Blade’s smile grew impossibly wider, and he crossed the room in two strides. He slipped his arm around Kuya’s, linking them together and gave a gentle tug. “Let’s go find Darlingtogether!”

“Why would I want to do that?” Kuya cocked a brow and moved to pull his arm free, but Blade’s grip was firm.

“Because Ku-Ku always wants to bully Darling, and Darling is cute when he gets embarrassed.”

Kuya tossed the orb onto his bed. The insides shimmered with a glittering cloud of turquoise smoke. Blade eyed it before dragging Kuya out of the cabin.

“Ku-Ku really does have such interesting odds and ends. There was a strange essence coming from that ball.”

“If you care about it that much, maybe I’ll show you what it does next time. Though, you’ll have to earn it.”

“Oh?” Blade’s curiosity was piqued. “Does it hurt?”

“It does indeed.”

“Exciting!”

Kuya shook his head. The android was an anomaly he would never begin to understand. Blade was always eager to please, just like some of the rest of them, but in a more innocent manner. How Eiden managed to turn a certified killing machine into such a gentle creature was beyond him.

Young Master’s sex skills are average at best. That couldn’t have been what did the trick, Kuya thought to himself as they walked. He could have made it to the village faster on his own with his magic, but Blade insisted on hanging on him.

“Ku-Ku’s thinking dirty thoughts~.”

Blade’s sing-song voice pulled him back and Kuya rolled his eyes. “I want to test something later.”

“Sure thing!”

A gift for Lee and @tellmewhatyouc.

You can also read it on AO3.

[eddiernunson]

Trapped | Eddie Munson | Part 9

Prev part | Master Post | Next Part

All parts are listed on all other parts. I'm tired.

Pairing: Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 17.9k

Warning: Cringey writing in which you are now written into the canon of the show. I gotta admit, it was a weird balance to wonder where the character would take a line from someone else, and when to give the character their own. Sorry, no smut. I tried to write one scene but it felt so out of place.

Authors Note: I desperately tried to capture the essence of the scenes. If you're wondering why you would read something you have already watched, that's fair. But if you want to see how she would fit in to the season 4's storyline then stay tuned!

I added one or two of my own scenes but it was only for it fill in those plot holes.

(There's not much Eddie in this part, it only goes up to the end of Dear Billy. Get fuckin ready next part.)

Chapter 9

Chapter One: Hellfire Club

In the middle of the cheerleaders dancing and the crowd’s loud cheering and show of school spirit, somehow Dustin and Mike had managed to get into another argument based on who’s girlfriend is better. Eddie would interject and decidedly win their argument each time, but he wasn’t there to claim you for the title.

“Look, I’m not saying that my girlfriend is better than yours. It’s just that Suzie’s like, a certified genius.” Dustin continues, yelling loudly over the band music.

“You do realize El saved the world twice, right?” Mike retorts, referring to his most used argument, attempting to somewhat pay attention to the cheerleaders.

“And yet you still have a C in Spanish.” Dustin answers, and Mike glares at him annoyed.

“Shut up.” You tell the two of them, done with the argument for the millionth time. “Both your girlfriends are cool. Just watch the pretty cheerleaders like normal people.”

Just in time, the music ends and one of the male cheerleaders ends with a final flip. The announcer comes on the speaker, yelling, “And let’s hear it for your Tigers!”

A group of teenage boys run through the giant banner lead by the ever-resented Jason Carver. You roll your eyes as he charismatically looks around the gym, putting on a show.

Mike and Dustin politely clap, attempting to show some inkling of support for their best friend. Anyone who was watching would be able to tell their hearts weren’t in it. They weren’t; they still didn’t understand why Lucas was on the team in the first place.

“Good morning, Hawkins High!” Jason yells into the microphone placed in front of him. He saunters from the stand, successfully putting all the attention onto him. “First off… hey. First off, I’d like to thank each and every one of you. Without your support, we wouldn’t be here. Give yourselves a big hand.”  He starts. And the crowd is eating it up already. As always, you’re left wondering how no one can see right through him.

You see Lucas waving awkwardly, and watch his eyesight to Max, who decidedly ignores him. Ouch.

“And of course, of course, I have to give a special shout-out to the best and the prettiest fans of all time, the Tiger Cheer Squad.” Jason continues and creepily makes eye contact with who you supposed was Chrissy. The two have been dating longer than you and Eddie were, but somehow the idea of Jason with someone as sweet as her made you feel nauseous. “Chrissy…” he pats his chest twice, ugh, “Chrissy, I love you, babe.”

Your eyes meet the back of your head and you didn’t realize going to support Lucas would be this painful. Maybe you should’ve gone to Eddie’s house for the morning.

Jason starts backing off away from the Squad and a serious aura radiates off him. Not because he seems sympathetic or genuinely serious, but because he made such a big show of it. “You know…” he starts, looking down, as if seriously considering how to approach whatever bullshit he was about to say. “I think I can speak for all of us when I say it’s been a tough year for Hawkins. So much loss.” The air of the gym becomes heavy with the unspoken in Hawkins. “And sometimes I wonder, ‘How much loss can one community take?’ In dark takes like this, we need something to believe in. So, last night, when we were down by ten points at half to Christian Academy, I looked at my team, and I said, ‘Think of Jack. Think of Melissa. Think of Heather. Think of Billy.’”

Oh, this asshole. You look at Max, and it seems the crowd around you and her had decided the same. You bump into her, letting her know you were right there, and she offers you a fraction of a smile.

“’Think about our heroic police chief, Jim Hopper. Think about every one of our friends who perished in that fire. What did they die for?’” You, Dustin, and Mike were all shooting daggers at him for making light of a fucking tragedy the four of you had to face. “’For us to lose to some crap school? No!’”

Several people around you shout No back to him, all eating this right up. “’For us to return home with our heads hung low in defeat? No!’”

“NO!” More people in the crowd shout back to him.

“’No. Let’s win this game. Let’s win this game for them.’ And that’s exactly what we did!” The crowd goes wild, as if he didn’t just name and use the tragedy of the mall fire to get them going. You sit in stunned silence next to Mike and Dustin, neither of whom had anything to say about it, either. “We embarrassed those candy-asses in their own house, and now tonight, tonight, we’re gonna bring home the championship trophy!”

The crowd roars, and it’s a very successful prep rally, all thanks to Jason’s ability to make a compelling speech.

“Tonight?” Mike asks, leaning into Dustin.

“How is that possible?” Dustin adds, also in dismay.

“They call it a tournament. You win one game, you go on until there’s only one team left.” Max speaks over you, knowing what Dustin was asking but still answering it, nevertheless.

“You really don’t pay attention, do you boys?” You ask, seeing this coming a mile away. “I warned you Lucas would need to find a replacement, but no one listens to the girlfriend.”

Mike watches as Lucas excitedly high-fives his teammates, getting pumped for the nights game. You stretch your neck out next to him, excited to leave the evil clutches of Jason Carver.

-

You made your way from the gym to your classes, being lightly annoyed as the day seemed to crawl on by. Eddie picks you up from your third period, arms crossed and bent at a slight curve against his new favourite locker to wait for you at. You smile at him as the hustle of the crowd engulfs you, the Friday seeming more busier than normal. You wondered if you were imagining the excitement on his face and the energy running through him.

You made your way to the cafeteria, being some of the first students to sit down. As Eddie sits, he pulls out a magazine with “D and D: The Devil’s Game” on the opened page of it. “Doing another dramatic reading?” You ask, hiking your arms bent around his neck from behind him.  

“Oh you know it, sweetheart.” He smiles up at you maniacally, and puckers up for a kiss. You lean down to kiss him, and he pulls away suddenly. “Oh shit, you’ll never guess who asked for a deal after school today. Like, never. In a million years.”

You narrow your eyes at him, wondering how far fetched his new customer could’ve been. “I give up.”

“Chrissy Cunningham.” He states, and your eyes go wide. “I know. I fucking know.”

“Holy shit. Please tell me how it goes. Like I want to know everything.” You ask, knowing Chrissy usually tends to stay away from anything remotely unwholesome.

“Don’t even need to ask, sweetheart.” He comments, starting to dig in the raisins sitting in his tin.

You give him a kiss on the forehead as some band members start to arrive at the table. “I gotta go, baby. I asked for extra help because chemistry is biting my ass this semester.”

“Speaking of biting your ass,” Eddie starts as you pull away, pinching your butt as you walk passed his table, saying hi to the Hellfire members sporting their matching shirts on the way. You roll your eyes at him, mouthing the words I love you, and start to make your way to the chemistry classroom.

As you make your way down the hallway, Dustin and Mike corner you and you blink at them awkwardly. “Make Eddie move Hellfire club.” Dustin starts, his tone not asking but demanding.

“I, hi to you too?” You ask, switching your eyes between the two of them.

“Yeah, whatever. Make him switch the days. We tried to reason with Lucas, but he wouldn’t budge.” Mike complains, attempting to persuade you.

You laugh, purely out of pity. “Oh, you poor things. You really think he’s gonna move the finale he’s been rambling on about to me for months for a basketball game? You know how he loathes literally anything Jason is involved with and that now includes basketball. He won’t budge.”

“Which is why we thought you could do it” Dustin explains unhelpfully.

“Yeah, I got that part.” You whisper, squinting your eyes at them. “I’m not cleaning up your mess. You do it.” You move passed where they’re blocking you off, smirking at their stunned faces. “Besides, I’m going to the game.”

-

After you walk to an empty classroom with your teacher gone to lunch you make your way back to the cafeteria, where you’re greeted by your boyfriend tossing yet even more fruits to the poor soul that had suggested he postponed the Cult of Vecna. Not that you saw it coming from a mile away, but again, no one listens to the girlfriend.

Rather than interrupt them, you watched as he seemingly couldn’t sit still, waddling around the cafeteria and claimed he was gonna flip Principal Higgins off. You rolled your eyes in adoration, knowing the bullshit that Gareth and Josh had called had some truth behind it.

“Yeah, yeah, and I was full of shit. This year’s different. This year is my year. I can feel it. ’86, baby.” He claims, and your breath hitches out of excitement to get the hell out of there with him. Eddie then crouches down next to them, letting them know they were the future of Hellfire. Hell, you knew he was planning on giving the head role to Dustin since October. As he effortlessly manhandles them by their shirts and pushes them to go find a replacement for Lucas, you gulp at the demonstration of his strength.

You finally walk up to him as he watches them stutter their way through a table, the group all denying the invitation off the bat. “You really needed to be that rough with them?” You ask him, watching the two with him.

“No. It certainly got the depth of the situation in their hands, and this way we’ll actually have a replacement for him.” Eddie says quietly, placing his arm around you.

“Always have an answer, don’t you?” You ask, leaning up for a kiss, much to the negative jarring of the members behind you.

“Always.”

-

As the day passes, Dustin and Mike run around like headless chickens asking people from every club if they would join. You meet your boyfriend after school right by your locker to give him a final kiss as you wouldn’t see him until tomorrow. “Hey, call me tomorrow morning, won’t you?” You ask, grabbing his hand as he starts to leave.

He gets tugged back to you, albeit a bit more dramatically than necessary.  “Of course. I’ll come pick you up and spill all the dirt, don’t you worry, love. Now, I am a bit late to meet her and I don’t need her thinking I ditched.” He gives you a kiss, and there’s some finality to it.

“Love you!” You call to him, and he turns around and shouts it back before running out the door to catch Chrissy.

You make your way home to get ready for the big game and you wonder who Dustin and Mike had managed to get, or if they were truly fucked.

Your phone rings as you finish getting ready for the game, starting to get everything you needed together to leave the house. “L/N Residence.” You answer half-heartedly, barely paying attention to your phone call.  

“Hey, sweetheart.” Eddie replies, presumably using the payphone at the school. “She wanted something stronger, and I don’t usually carry Special K at school, ya know? She’ll be stopping by my place after the game tonight.” Great, there goes any hope you had of spending the night over at his place tonight.

“Oh, okay.” You try to hide your jealousy of Chrissy going to your boyfriend’s house, despite knowing there’s a zero percent chance of anything happening. “Wait, why does she want special K?” You ask, wondering for what reasons she could have other than partying after the big game.

“She asked me if I ever felt like I was going crazy. I don’t know what’s going on with this girl, but I think she’s going through something.” Eddie admits, and you can hear the seriousness of his voice.

“Has to be, to date Jason Carver,” you mutter under your breath.

“Be nice.” He tells you, and it feels weird to be on the other side of this statement, something you usually have to tell Eddie.

“I just wanted to be the girl over at your house tonight, is all.” You joke, and he laughs before letting you go with an I love you.

You and a good portion of Hawkins make your way back to the school to cheer on the basketball team in their attempt at the Championship.

You sit by yourself but at a position where you can clearly see both Robin and Steve, something they have chosen to do to give each other side eyes at the games, and you only just joined their escapades, complaining you felt left out as they joked about it at work.

The band’s final song comes to the end, and Mr. Higgins comes to the front of the microphone, saying “Everyone now please rise for our national anthem. Singing us tonight, we have a very special guest. All the way from Nashville, our very own Tammy Thompson!”

As the crowd goes crazy the three of you catch each other’s eyes, incredulous at the random appearance of Robin’s old crush. The crowd goes to silent, and Tammy starts singing into the microphone off-key.

“Told you. Muppet.” You watch Steve mouth to Robin.

Robin switches her glance down to you, and you barely hold your laughter in, your mouth just holding back a smile. You nod in agreement, finally hearing the similarities.

“Okay she does sound like a Muppet.” Robin finally admits.

Little did you know in the drama club Eddie refuses to take Erica as a suitable sub, only accepting her for days they have all their team members. It only takes moments of Erica ripping him to shreds to formally welcome to her into the club as a member, immediately seeing her potential.

The game kicks off and the Tigers are really having a rough time staying on top of the opposing team, Jason yelling at his team to stay on top of them. Finally when one of their members end up falling to the floor injured Lucas is called to play off the bench for the first time since he joined the team and things get exciting from there.

Life imitates art and both Hellfire and the game were in their homestretch, being a matter of every decision counting.

Every one was on edge in the gym watching as the two teams remain neck in neck, neither one of them able to gain a strong enough lead to take a breather. Tigers need a time out.

Lord Vecna in Eddie’s carefully constructed finale is taking out members of Hellfire one by one to where only Erica and Dustin are left over, and they need their own time out.

Eddie offers an out, knowing damn well when given the offer it just puts fuel onto Dustin’s fire of spite. “There’s no shame in running. Don’t try to be heroes. Not today, ‘kay?” His challenge hits the right spot, and they land perfectly into his trap.

As the team takes a time out, you look up at Steve, curious to how his date is going. He solemnly shakes his head, letting you know it was not going well.

The team shoots, and the balls misses, creating the crowd to call for rebound. Lucas grabs the ball, making a three pointer at the last second, and everyone watches in baited breath as the ball hits the rim, the backboard, and finally into the net. The crowd goes wild, and you’re reminded why it’s cool to attend a game every now and again.

Across the school, the members of Hellfire are celebrating their unforeseen success against Eddie’s long awaited finale to a semester long campaign, a natural 20 landing when they needed it the most. You run up to the group, asking all of them how it went. “Dude, Erica slayed him!” Josh exclaims, high fiving her with much more ferocity than he intended.

As the night ends, your mom asking how the game went and asked why you weren’t at Eddie’s like you thought you might’ve been. You tell her you were both too tired to really hang out, and it’s a lame enough excuse but she doesn’t press on.

You go to sleep after a shower, refreshed and ready to see him in the morning before work, wearing one of his t-shirts that still had his strong scent on it.

Across town, Eddie was snapping his fingers at a girl who’s eyes had whitened over, seemingly unaware of her surroundings. Like she was already on something.

As she was lifted into the air, Eddie stared up at her, mind empty in fear of something he couldn’t see.

Her bones snap. Her eyes get pulled, and Eddie can’t get the sound of his head as he runs to his van.

His life would never be the same, and neither will yours.

Chapter 2: Vecna’s Curse

Your alarm snaps you out of a deep sleep, and once you gain your bearings and finally wake up, your mind is clouded in confusion as to why you weren’t woken by your boyfriend calling as he promised. He barely forgets to call, and when he did it was for a good reason. You rub your eyes, stretching from head to toe and you figure you’re just overthinking it and he probably fell asleep, and you prepare yourself to get ready for work.

As you make your way into work, already decently busy due to the Saturday before break, Robin and Steve are in the middle of a squabble which you can feel yourself getting dragged into. You put your hands as if to surrender yourself from the conversation, and it works only momentarily, leaving you to work on the big ass return pile in peace.

Your peace lasted about all of ten minutes. Robin practically skips to where you’re stationed at the counter doing rewinds, asking if you had wanted to hear how Vicki and her finally said more than a simple hello to one another on the bleachers after an agonizing semester of hearing her pluck up the courage.

Steve often called you a hypocrite for making fun of Robin for it, but you had to admit it was so much fun on the other side of it.

“Then Vicki laughed. And it wasn’t like a cheap, fake laugh either. It was like…It was a real, genuine laugh.” She emphasized, barely leaving Steve alone for two minutes as she explained it to the two of you.

“Of course. It’s my Muppet joke. It’s hilarious.” Steve mutters, claiming all the responsibility for their first genuine interaction, as per the norm.

You laugh out loud, causing Robin to shoot a glare back to you and it dies in your mouth as soon as she makes eye contact. She turns back to face Steve, and you suddenly don’t feel like she’s telling you anymore. “My point is that Vicki laughed, and everything was just like…it was just perfect.”

“But?” Steve asks, egging her on.

“But I’m having this problem, where it’s like I should stop talking. I have said everything that I need to say. But then I guess I get nervous, and the words keep spilling out, and it’s like my…my brain is moving faster than my mouth, or…or rather my… my mouth is moving faster than my brain.” Steve positions himself against one of the shelves, witching a look back at you as the two of you watch her unravel. “And I’m digging this hole for myself, and I want to stop digging, I’m trying to stop, but I can’t. And I’m doing it right now, aren’t I?”  

Steve and you share another look, fond and non-judgemental. “Yeah, you are.” He says, gentle.

“Oh, I’m hopeless.” Robin stares, backing up into the light up poster.

“Eh.” Steve shrugs, backing up next to her. “We both are.”

You watch them, leaning on the counter right in front of them, both pitying and emphasizing with them. How was it possible that the two that give you the most advice are the two that are the most lost?

Robin looks over, and you can tell she has a crazy idea. “If only we could just, like, combine.”

“Combine?” You ask for Steve, and they didn’t even realize you had still been listening.

“Yeah!” She and Steve make their way back to the counter. “Think about it. I know exactly what I want. I have found the girl of my dreams but I can’t get the courage to ask her out.” She places a hand on Steve’s shoulder both speaking about him and to him. “Meanwhile, he goes out on a million dates, and he has no idea what he wants.”

“Am I not still right here?” Steve asks to you, shaking his head.

“So if we just combined,” Robin continues, ignoring him, “all our problems would be solved. Because, I mean, alone, let’s face it…”

“We totally suck.” Steve finishes for her, blunt and in acceptance.

“Totally and utterly.” Robin agrees, the same sentiment.

“I mean I wasn’t gonna say it but as long as you two are aware I think that’s a good first step.” You smirk, moving back to your tasks.

“Ooh, I think I know our morning movie.” Robin perks up, going to grab it. “Doctor Zhivago.”

“Ugh. You know I don’t do double VHS.” Steve dismisses it off the bat.

“But it’s about doomed love.” Robin says, holding the tape like a teddy bear.

“Oh well, that’s relatable.” Steve sighs, starting to push the return cart more.

“Precisely.” Robin concludes. “Put ‘er in, there, sweetheart.” She hands the tape to you, and you roll your eyes as they have insisted on using Eddie’s nicknames for you lately. You start to look for the remote and can’t seem to find it. “Also, Julie Christie is b-b-bonkers hot in this. Like, seriously, the most beautiful creature I have seen in my life. Hey. Movie?” Robin asks you, pointing to the screen.

“Remote?” You ask her in the same tone.

“Oh right.” She yanks it out of her pocket, forgetting she had placed it there after misplacing the damn thing all morning.

The tv is turned on and you’re immediately greeted by the morning news broadcast. “We’re in the Forest Hills trailer park in east Roane County.” You were listening to the tv report, reading the back of a  movie you hadn’t heard of yet. You just miss as Eddie’s trailer leaves the background of the news reporter, but your ears perk up at his trailer park.

“Shit, that’s the park where Eddie and Max live.” You comment, moving up next to Robin and Steve.

 “We don’t have a lot of details now, but we can confirm that the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning. Police have not released the name-”

“Holy shit.” Steve comments, and the reporter continues.

“although we are told they’re currently in the process of notifying the family.”

Your breathing grows shallower, as you take in the crowds at the trailer park and you swear up and down you hope it was one of his neighbours, but it looked. It looked like Eddie’s trailer.

“Fuck.”

-

As you’re internally freaking out, you fall dead silent at work with Robin and Steve barely able to yank out about what’s got your jeans all jangled up, Max is ringing on Dustin’s doorbell, out of breath, and panicked.

“Chrissy Cunningham?” He asks, in disbelief. Eddie was barely seen dealing to the cheerleaders, they seemed to steer away from him. “You sure it was Chrissy?”

“She was in her cheerleader outfit. Same thing she was in when I saw her with Eddie.” Max responds, backing her evidence.

Dustin continues to pace, “Did you tell any of this to the cops?”

“No. No, but I…I can’t be the only one who saw them together. Eddie and Y/N were weird at first, but now they’re just together. These two stood out.”

“Eddie the freak, with Chrissy the cheerleader?” Dustin clarified, still wrapping his head around it.

“Exactly. You know, his name’s not in the news, yet or anything, but I guarantee you Eddie is suspect one now.”  She informs him, trying to make Dustin understand the gravity of the situation.

“That’s crazy. Eddie didn’t do this. No way.” Dustin claims, and he knows for a fact you would’ve fought Max on it. “No. Way.” Dustin repeats when Max gives him a look of disbelief.

“Well, we can’t rule it out.” Max claims, having seen the scene and knowing being the only last witness to see them together doesn’t look good for them.

“Yes, we can.” Dustin interjects.

“Dustin!”

“You don’t know him like I do, Max. Okay? When we got to high school, Lucas made all his sports friends. Mike and me? No one was nice to us. No one except Eddie. Besides, you really think Y/N would willingly date him for months if she thought there was a chance he could murder someone?” Dustin argues, making a case for Eddie.

“Okay. Well, they said the same shit about Ted Bundy. Yeah, he’s a super nice guy, but then he’s murdering women on the weekend. Plus, he had a girlfriend.” Max retaliates, and she’s only pointing out how bad it looks for him.

“So, you’re saying Eddie is like Ted Bundy?”

“No, I’m not saying- I’m saying that we can’t presume anything, okay? But it doesn’t look good for Eddie.”

Dustin sighs, falling onto his bed. He thinks about this for a second, and a thought occurs to him. “Why haven’t you told the cops this?

“I-I don’t know.” Max says, crossing her arms defensively.

“You don’t know?” Dustin asks, egging her on for more answers.

Max sighs, and the final thing she had witnessed that has been haunting her finally has to come out. “After I saw Eddie and Chrissy go into the trailer…something else happened. Nothing that weird or anything. I mean.. Eddie always drives like a maniac and the power goes off at my place all the time. It’s a piece of shit. But..this morning, I started to think back, and… I don’t know. The look on his face. He was scared, Dustin. Really scared. Maybe he was scared because, you know, he had just killed someone, or, maybe he um.. maybe… because… I don’t… I don’t know, maybe…”

“Something else killed her.” Dustin finishes off the sentence she was too afraid to admit out loud.

Max nods to him, confirming what she was hypothesizing. “But that’s impossible. Right?”

“I don’t know.” Dustin admits. “It should be. Only one person knows what actually happened.”

“Eddie.”

“Have you talked to anyone else?” Dustin asks, heading out the door with Max to figure out a plan.

“No. I can’t find Lucas or Nancy and Mike’s in-”

“California, shit, shit, shit.” Dustin’s mom calls for them as they leave, and Dustin shuts the door on her anyway, letting her know they’ll be safe. “Million-dollar question.” Dustin adds as they both grabbed their bikes. “Where is Y/N?”

“Her mom said she was working this morning. I don’t think the police have stopped by her house to ask her questions yet, or even if they have gotten that far. I don’t know if she even knows.” Max answers, holding her bike as they discuss the pros and cons of telling you themselves.

“We need to stop by to see if she might know where he would be hiding, anyways.  If she doesn’t know, we can use their phones to call around and ask.” Dustin figures and they finally figure a plan as they hop on their bikes.

Dustin goes over the scenario in his head. On one hand, if Eddie didn’t do it, it means the Upside Down wasn’t destroyed and they have another war to win. On the other hand, if Eddie did do it, he didn’t think that was any better.

-

As Dustin and Max arrive to Family Video, the news is still running in on the background and you’ve gone dead silent, silently wishing for any sign of Eddie, a phone call, a mid-shift visit, anything that will tell you you’re just losing it.

Robin and Steve have given up on getting you to speak, unsure of what’s got you so unsettled and wondering if they should send you home.

“Hey, guys. Y/N here?”

“You see this?” Steve points to the news, still watching.

“Is she here?”

“Someone was murdered.” Steve interrupts.

“Y/N. Is. She. Here?” Dustin emphasizes, and Robin points down the store to where you’re silently working on restocking the returned movies and fighting an anxiety attack.

“Wait, guys she has been silent since the news broke out you won’t get much out of her, what do you need out of her anyway?” Steve asks, following them to where they have crowded you.

You look up to see Dustin and Max, and you can already tell the gut feeling has been correct. “You saw the trailer the police are at?” Dustin starts tentatively, and you nod your head at him and your stomach plummets into the depths of the earth. “Do you know where he might be?”

Your head shakes no, and Steve feels like he had just heard you speak two languages at once. “Wait, what is going on? Who?”

“How many phones do you have?” Dustin asks, interrupting his questions.

“Two, why?” Steve answers, confused to how this was relevant.

“Technically three, if you count Keith’s.” Robin adds.

“Three works.” Max comments, and Dustin runs back to the front counter, Steve annoyed as he seemingly chases him around the store. Curiously you follow them, still silent but somehow the confirmation making you feel both better and ten times worse.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, watching as Dustin throws his backpack off and over the counter. “Whoa, what are you-”

“My pile!” Robin yells.

“No, no, no! My tapes! Dude.” Steve yells as Dustin’s maneuver to throw himself over the counter meets some casualties. “What are you doing, man?”

“Setting up base of operations here.” Dustin answers, instantly starting on the computer.

“Base of operations?” Robin asks.

“Get off.” Steve attempts to shoo him.

“I need it.” Dustin claims.

You watch from the counter, not quite understanding what it had to do with Eddie or his trailer yet.

“For what?” Steve demands.

“Eddie’s friends’ phone numbers.” Dustin answers, not actually telling a single lick of his plan. You start to understand, walking around to where he’s sitting and watch him work through the computer.

“Ah, what do you have to get it from here, why can’t you get it from him?”

“Seriously, you guys, maybe on a Monday you can play around, but it’s a Saturday. It’s our busiest day.” Robin answers, cleaning up the mess Dustin tore up on his way into the counter.

“Robin, I emphasize, but this cannot wait.” Dustin drones out, starting to write down numbers of the other club members from Hellfire.

“Oh my god.” Steve mutters, rubbing his hands on his face in stress.

“Calling Eddie’s friends is an emergency?” Robin sarcastically announces, annoyed.

“Correct!” Dustin yells, not having explained anything but still annoyed they haven’t understood yet.

“Want me to strangle him or you want to?” Steve asks Robin, sharing the annoyance.

“We could take turns.” She jokes.

Dustin turns to face Max, body tense and erratic. “Can you fill them in while I do this?”

“Fill us in on what?” Robin asks, still mad confused.

“I think I get it.” You mutter, leaning up against the counter.

“She speaks.” Robin peeps out, and suddenly they’re all facing you.

“You’re looking for him, aren’t you?.” You pipe out, pleading with her by staring directly into her eyes.

You look up to Steve’s eyes and finally tell them what had you dead silent. “It was his trailer they were at. Either Chrissy is the dead student and he’s a person of interest, or worse, much worse, he is.” You look to Max for confirmation, and she neither confirms nor denies.

“Well, more or less.” Max starts and goes into what she had told Dustin not half an hour before.

-

At family video, after hearing Max’s recount of what she had seen the night before, it made you feel both miles better and worse. Underneath the hope that Eddie was just sleeping in for the morning you knew it was unlike him to not at least get a hold of you. Somehow this tiny bit of knowledge whisked you back into shape, realizing it does no one, especially Eddie, any good if you freeze up now.

Three of you were manning the phones while two manned the shop to make sure it still ran smoothly.

“Have you seen or heard from Eddie recently?” Was the most common question being asked, and as you made phone calls to his friends, they were all confused to why you were calling them but were sympathetic when they all answered no.

“Reefer Rick? No. Does this Reefer Rick have a last name? I mean, it’s kind of…” Max is on the phone, and as you over hear the conversation while crossing off another name, you wonder why you didn’t think of it yourself.

Rick was in jail; it was the perfect hiding spot.

“Hey guys, I might have a lead.” Max says, seemingly optimistic.

“Seriously?” Dustin asks, almost ready to give up.

“Yeah, apparently Eddie gets drugs from a guy named Reefer Rick, and sometimes Eddie crashes there.” You laugh without humour, hearing the musings of someone who didn’t know Eddie at all.

“That sounds promising where does Reefer Rick live?” Robin asks, and their eyes all turn to you, standing off to the side as you watch almost as a bystander.

“Y/N, you know where Reefer Rick lives?” Dustin asks, carefully approaching you.

You shrug, smiling sadly. “No idea. I just know he had a place on Lover’s Lake. Eddie got his supplies from him until he got arrested last month. It would be the perfect place for him to hide.”

“Cool. Does he have a last name?” Dustin asks, seeking a possible solution.

“No one knows.” You say, and Max nods her head in agreement, the same thing Gareth had told her on the phone.

“Bet the cops know the last name.” Steve comments, working with the discount bins and reorganizing them.

“What?” Max asks.

“Cops.” Steve states, still working. The four of you look at him in disbelief to see if Steve was actually suggesting what you had thought he was. “I mean, listen, if this Reefer Rick is actually a drug dealer, and was arrested last month, then he’s in the system.” Steve states, leaning onto the counter.

“The cops?” You ask in disbelief, and sometimes you remember how dense Steve was at times. “Really, Steve? That’s your suggestion?”

“I think they should be filled in on what we know, what’s going on.” Steve admits, and got a fraction of a point. None of you knew it was anything supernatural at this point, but if it were, then going to the cops would be bad news.

“Oh, you think Eddie’s guilty, don’t you?” Dustin asks, and your eyes widen, that doesn’t even occur to you that Steve might be thinking along those lines.

“Whoa. I believe in innocent until proven guilty, all that constitutional shit. I just, you know. Don’t think we can rule it out.” Steve admits as he casually rubs his arms together.

Your jaw locks and you give Steve a hard look. “If you think for a second that he is capable of this then you clearly aren’t as much as I friend to us as I thought you were.” You state, and there’s a guilty flash across Steve’s face. “Ruling it out is precisely what we’re trying to do.”

“And maybe we’d have a little bit more luck if you spent less time trying to find a girlfriend and more time trying to find Eddie.” Dustin adds.

Max looks at you in concern as you continue to grovel in anger at Steve. You shrug half heartedly, but the anger would sit with you for a minute.

“Somebody has to attend to the customers.” Steve obnoxiously states.

“Especially if they’re babes right?” Robin jokes, winking.

“Hey, that’s not fair, alright. I attend to all the customers equally, babes and non-babes alike.” you watch him with raised eyebrows behind him as someone literally walks in the door, unnoticed by him. “We have a very big selection in here.” Steve starts on a rant, and you, Dustin, and Max share a look of disbelief as he bullshits his way through defending himself. “It can be super overwhelming for people.”

This sets off bells in Robin’s head, and you love when she gets the light up in her eyes in a crisis. It’s always a good sing. “Yeah, it can be.”

Robin moves to the computer, taking the lead.

“What are you doing?” Max asks, wanting to know how much of an idea Robin had.

“Maybe we don’t need a last name.” You and Steve both join her at the computer, both aware of how your workplace’s system managed. She types it in and a bell dings as a list of Ricks cross on the computer. “Twelve Ricks have accounts here.”

“Lot of Ricks.” Max deadpans.

“So, let’s narrow it down. Rick Alderman’s latest rentals are Annie and Dumbo. Chances our drug dealer has a family?” She asks, sarcastic.

“Not likely.” Max comments the obvious.

“Alright, Rick Conroy. Sixteen Candles, Teen Wolf, Romancing the Stone.” All of you collectively agree No before she can even finish the list. “Okay, Rick Joiner. Mask, Footloose, and Grease.”

“Nah.” The group groans out, still a definite no.

Robin moves down the list of Ricks. “Rick Kimbrough. The Blue Lagoon and Splash.” You all laugh at it, a hell no.

“Definitely not”

“No way.”

“Okay, Rick Lipton. Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Cheech and Chong’s Next Movie, Cheech and Chong’s Nice Dreams, Cheech and Chong’s Up in Smoke.” The list just got better and better, and you remember Eddie describing Rick’s heroes being Cheech and Chong.

“Bingo” you laugh, and narrowly avoid Steve as he laughs next to you.

“Lipton?” Max confirms.

“Spelled like the tea. 2121 Holland Road.”

“That’s out by Lover’s Lake, right where you said it was.” Dustin comments, making eye contact with you.

“Middle of nowhere.” Max adds.

“It’s a perfect place to hide.” Robin concludes, and you all pack up shop, locking the door behind you, to take off because if you didn’t leave by now, you wouldn’t be there until midnight.

As they all pack into Steve’s car, he catches your arm, and you attempt to angrily get out of his grasp. “Hey. What I said was fucked up.” You blink at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “Of course he didn’t do it. How could I think otherwise.”

“I don’t know.” You answer, still in disbelief. “I already know I’m going to have to defend him from everyone else in town. I didn’t think I would have to defend him from his own friends. Especially you. That’s why it hurt.”

“Are you ok? It’s a lot to process.” Steve replies, seeing the look on your face when Max had told her part of the story.

You sigh, and it’s starting to feel like last summer, or Halloween of 84, or the November of ’83. “When isn’t it? C’mon, we gotta get going. If he’s not there then we’re back at square one.” You get into his car, and hope time goes by much faster.

It was lucky the three of you left out the store when you did, and lucky the phones were busy for the better part of two hours. Police were coming to ask you questions after finding Jason, and they had tried your home address first. Your mom was calling to ask you to come home, as she recognized the trailer and was driven into calling after police came to your door. They had arrived when Steve’s car was long gone, but yours still in the parking lot. It didn’t look good for Eddie or you that his girlfriend had seemingly made herself unavailable to the police.

-

After seemingly hours Steve finally pulls up to the address, and your heart is in your stomach in anxiety. What if he’s not here?

What if he is? How the hell are you supposed to help him?

Dustin rings the bell, and only waits half a second before it escalates into multiple rings in a row followed by loud knocking. “Okay. Well, that’s settled. I guess he’s not here.” Steve opts out, giving up a little too easily.

Dustin continues to loudly knock, shouting. “Eddie! It’s Dustin!”

“Great.” Steve adds when Dustin so loudly calls out the wanted fugitive’s name.

“Look, we just wanna talk, okay? No cops, I swear. We just wanna help.” Dustin knocks again. “Eddie!”

“Shh” Robin shushes him, peering into the house with a flashlight. You peered in with her, and it looked empty, no sign of life.

“Eddie!” Dustin calls, ignoring her. “Rick!” He bangs more, starting to grow increasingly more desperate. “Reefer Rick!”

“Don’t scream that.” Steve chides him, looking around for any curious neighbours.

“He’s not there.” You state, walking back to the front door.

Max starts to wonder around the property, taking a look herself. Dustin is still yelling at the door, Steve attempting to get Dustin to stop yelling out the words “Reefer Rick.”

“Hey guys?” Max yells, catching all your attention. You all peer to where she is looking at, a big metal boat house, a great place to hide.

Your flashlights appear into the windows, first glance to see if any silhouettes pop in. “You go first, Y/N.” Steve whispers, pushing you lightly.

You push back, not wanting to be the first one to walk in a spooky boathouse at night. “What? Why me? Let Robin do it!”

“Oh, you big baby.” Robin chides you, slipping through the big metal door. “Hello?” She calls out, looking around. You follow right after her. “Is anyone home?” No answer, and neither of your flashlights reach anything.

Max, Steve and Dustin make their way into the boathouse, the multiple flashlights eluding creepy shadows on the wall.

“What a dump.” Steve unhelpfully comments, not adding anything to the search.

As the group continues their search for any evidence that Eddie could’ve been there at one point, (you’re hopelessly looking for his jacket), Steve reaches on the wall and grabs an oar, and starts using it against the tarp covering the boat.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Dustin asks, incredulous.

Steve stabs the boat again, not answering.

“What are you doing?” You ask him, repeating Dustin’s sentiments for emphasis.

Steve continues stabbing with the oar. “He might be in here.”

“So take the tarp off.” You tell him, hesitantly reaching out to rip it off yourself.

“If you guys are so brave, you take the tarp off.” Steve snaps back, continually stabbing at the boat.

You’re still looking around aimlessly as Max points out some wrappers on a table. “Hey, look over here. You peer over as Robin goes to investigate, keeping an ear on the two idiots. “Someone was here.”

“Maybe he heard us.” Robin offers, and you want to cry at that idea. “Got spooked and ran.”

“Don’t worry”, Dustin offers sarcastically. “Steve will get him with his oar.”

“I know you think you’re being funny, but considering everyone in this room has nearly died a hundred times, personally, I don’t find it funny in the slight-” Steve doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, the tarp moving up and Eddie popping out of the boat he was prodding, with a broken glass and backing Steve up to the wall armed and afraid.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! Wait! Wait! Wait!” Steve shouts, and Eddie doesn’t even listen, holding the glass up against his jawline in a defense position.

“Whoa, whoa, woah, Eddie! Eddie! Stop!” Dustin calls out, and for some reason you’re frozen in place, stuck watching the man you loved have an expression you’ve never seen before. He places himself in between you, Robin, and Max as they attempt to get the threat disarmed. “Eddie! Eddie! It’s me. It’s Dustin. This is Steve. He’s not gonna hurt you, right Steve?”

“Right, yeah.” Steve whispers, barely given any choice in the matter.  

“Steve, why don’t you drop the oar?” Dustin offers, and Steve complies, but the sound startles Eddie into using the bottle against Steve’s jaw even harder.

Steve groans in pain, the bottle starting to break skin. Somehow the action brings you out of shock, and you’re understanding Eddie is technically a threat to Steve for the moment. You step to Dustin’s side, holding Robin back.

“He’s cool, he’s cool.” Dustin continues attempting to calm him down.

“I’m cool, man. I’m cool.” Steve whispers, using his humour as a coping mechanism to distract from the slight pain at his jawline.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks him, interrogating, rather.

“We’re looking for you.” You answer, and it turns his attention onto you, the slight recognition on his face, hiding behind fear.

“We’re here to help.” Robin offers, also having calmed down a bit.

“Eddie, you know us.” Dustin answers, and you’re relieved tension is starting to ease in Eddie’s shoulders.  “Robin, from band.” She plays a pretend instrument to fuse the tension, and you suddenly wonder if Dustin knows they know each other a bit more than that. “This is Max, the one who never wants to play D&D.”

You step a bit further from where Dustin is, unable to help yourself.

“And of course, you know Y/N. Your girlfriend? The only person I have seen roast you and not get dried up grapes thrown at them for it?” Dustin says, and from the look on his face you can tell it’s working. “Eddie. We’re on your side. I swear on my mother. Right, guys?”

“Yes, yes. We swear.” Max agrees.

“On Dustin’s mother.” Robin awkwardly adds.

“Yeah…Dustin’s…Dustin’s mother.” Steve manages out, a last effort to get out of his sticky situation.

Eddie hold his place for about one second longer, before letting Steve go finally, and sinking to the floor. You watch pathetically, the expression on his face distant and afraid. You crouch down next to him, getting him to look you in the eye, and seems to see right passed you, and it scares you to imagine what he saw that affected him this much. You rub his arm comfortingly, not even attempting to take his safety, his weapon away from him.

Dustin lets you have the moment before crouching down in front of him. “Eddie. We just want to talk.” He reaches out to grab the bottle from Eddie so he can’t attempt to use it again, and you shoot daggers at Dustin when Eddie whimpers and grabs it out of reach. “Okay?”

Robin crouches down next to you. “We want to know what happened.”

Eddie sniffs, and it takes everything you can not to instinctively reach out and cradle his face in comfort. “You won’t believe me.” His voice breaks, and he sounds sure of it.

You make eye contact with the friends around you, all afraid of what this sentence implied to the five of you.

“Try us.” Max insists.

Eddie looks at the group in front of him, in disbelief that you were all giving the benefit of the doubt.

-

“Her body just, like, lifted up into the air and uh. And she just, like, hung there. In the air. And her bones. Uh she,” Eddie whimpers, and your grip on his arm tightens, unable to do anything but listen to him struggle through telling his side. “Her bones started to snap. Her eyes, man. It..it was like there was something, like, inside her head, pulling. I..I didn’t know what to do, so I… I ran away. I left her there.” The guilt was plain in his voice, and you’d wish you’d realized something was wrong when you woke up that morning. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt so alone.

His retelling is haunting, and you have to catch his breath after he finally manages to look at his audience. He immediately breaks away, scoffing. “You all think I’m crazy, right?” Eddie leans his forehead into his hand, wondering how he managed to get himself stuck here.

“No. We don’t think you’re crazy.” You answer, still offering affection even when he wasn’t leaning into it.

“Don’t bullshit me, I know how this sounds.” He shouts, and you try not to take his tone too harshly.

“We’re not bullshitting you.” Max says, her voice confident.

“We believe you.” Robin adds.

Eddie exhales, and you weren’t sure if it was in relief or disbelief, but his broken face was enough to keep you on track to try and soothe him as he struggled.

“Look. What I’m about to tell you might be a little… difficult to take.” Eddie makes eye contact with you, and you can almost recognize him.

 He looks up at the rest of them, processing what Dustin had just offered. “Okay…” Eddie says, opting Dustin to continue.

“You know how people say Hawkins is…cursed?” Dustin starts, and one of your nightmares comes to fruition, Eddie finding out about the Upside Down and getting involved. “They’re not, way off. There’s another world. A world hidden beneath Hawkins. Sometimes it bleeds into ours.”

“Like, ghosts and shit?” Eddie asks, wondering if he was being bullshitted.

“There are some things, worse than ghosts.” Max whispers.

“Those monsters, from this other world, we thought they were gone. But they’ve come back before. That’s why we needed to find you.” Dustin explains.

“If they’re back again, we need to know.” Max adds.

“Ahem.” You mention, drawing attention to yourself. “Not to be selfish but that’s not even in my top three reasons to come and find you.”

Eddie lets an inkling of a smile cross his face, connecting his forehead to yours for a second.

Robin interrupts it, but you knew it wasn’t the time nor the place. “That night, did you see anything?”

“Dark particles, maybe?” Max adds, giving an idea to what Eddie might’ve been looking for.

Eddie shakes his head, very confident he didn’t see anything.

“It would almost look like dust, swirling dust.” Dustin describes, giving a pretty good description.

Eddie continues shaking his head, insisting. “No, man, there was nothing you could see, or uh, or touch. You know, I tried to wake her, man. She couldn’t move. It was like she…she was in a trance or something.”

“Or under a spell.” Dustin offers a different word.

Eddie seems more brought down to earth as he understands he is believed and there is now a theory to as what he had seen. “A curse.” He adds, thinking of the creature that uses these same abilities from D&D.

“Vecna’s curse.” Dustin helps, remembering the abilities and how it lined with what Eddie had said.

“Who’s Vecna?” Steve asks speaking for the first time in a long time.

“An undead creature of great power.” Dustin answers, afraid of what the implications could be.

“A spell caster.” Eddie answers, all the hours reading up on lore suddenly useful in real life.

“A dark wizard.” Dustin finishes, and he and Eddie make eye contact as the gravity of the situation hits the entire group.

“Shit.” Steve unhelpfully comments, and the group dissipates, discussing their plans for tomorrow.

As they move into a corner to talk about plans you know you will have to catch up on, you catch his attention, offering a weak smile. “Fuck.”

“Should’ve known something was up when you didn’t call this morning.” You answer, tentatively raising your hand to brush his face. He leans into it, eyes closed and tension seems to leave his body like a deflated balloon.

“I was thinking about it, but I figured the police would be looking for me, and in case you were brought in for questioning I didn’t need you telling them I called you this morning. That looks bad for the both of us. Did they?” He asks, and you can tell his mind is still going at a mile a minute.

“No, but if they went to my house my mom would’ve directed them to the store, and we closed up shop early to come see if you were here.” You answer, and now it hits you that you’re probably being looked for by the police, as well. “Are you okay?” You ask him, knowing the answer but still needing to hear it.

“No, but if they believe me, hell if you believe me I think I’m doing much better than before.” He admits, and squats up to give you a proper hug, tugging you into his arms. “So you knew about this other world?” He asks, making sure you weren’t just along to find him.

“Unfortunately, yes. I tried to keep you from it in hopes I would never have to deal with it again, and you would never have to see it.” You admitted, annoyed and thinking if you had told him maybe he would’ve come to you instead of being alone the entire night.

“Do you have any idea what you are gonna do?” He asks, unsure where you would even go from here.

You laugh, and it feels good to see him break out in a wider smile. “No, but we have Dustin, and I can tell you he already has three or four ideas cooking in that brain of his. He’s a genius.”

“Guess I’m in good hands.” He mutters, watching as the other four make a sizeable plan, and before you know it, you’re tugged away from him and you kiss Eddie for good measure and you’re basically dragged to the car, Robin explaining their plan for tomorrow to you.

The start of something was brewing, and at this point, you were convincing yourself you ready to face the world ending yet again.

Hopefully.  

Chapter 3: The Monster and the Superhero

Neither one of you get a decent night’s sleep. The moment you got home your mom asked if the police got a hold of you, and you shake your head, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. She sighs, informing you that you should go the next morning to keep their benefit of a doubt that you or him were at all innocent.

You peered up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time. “You don’t think he did it?”

“No one is that good at hiding who they are.” She comments, letting you go upstairs, figuring you were just stressed about the whole thing. Who wouldn’t be?

As agreed, the group meets up at the grocery store, grabbing some snacks for Eddie before they give share any updates of news they had. Somehow you and Dustin end up arguing over some ridiculously trivial idea over which cereal he’d prefer, until Steve yells for you to shut up. “Just a pick a damn cereal, time is a-wasting.”

Steve pulls up to Rick’s lake house, and when you burst through the door, Eddie is by the window, prepared again with his broken bottle. “Delivery service.” Dustin announces, and Eddie visibly exhales in relief.

You waste no time running into his arms, inhaling his scent as if to burn it into your memory. He gently kisses the top of your head, and it takes all your self discipline to let go of him. Eddie kisses your temple again, as he walks past you to grab the bags, flinging them haphazardly as he sits down in his makeshift bed to begin eating.

Dustin exchanges a look with the rest of the group, and they all give him the go ahead to start the rundown. “So we got uh, some good news and bad news. How do you prefer it?”

“Bad news first, always.” Eddie replies, mouth full into a swig of pop.

“Alright, bad news. We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they’re definitely looking for you. Also, they’re uh, pretty convinced you killed Chrissy.” You gulp, remembering the helplessness of listening in with them, biting back tears as the police chatter with an unearned amount of conviction about Eddie.

“Like, 100% percent, kind of convinced.” Max adds, and you had to admit now wasn’t the time to sugarcoat it.

Eddie glances to you, and you nod solemnly. “And the good news?” Eddie asks, needing the pick me up.

“Your name hasn’t gone public yet.” You answer, thanking the fates.

“But if we found out about you, it’s a matter of time before others do. And once that gets out, everyone and their shallow-minded mother is gonna be gunning for you.” Robin states, blunt, but true.

Eddie stares off, a bitter disposition that he usually reserved for behind closed doors. “Hunt the freak, right?” You wince at the sentence, gritting your teeth.

“Exactly.” She confirms, and you make eye contact with her as she apologetically shrugs her shoulders. You shrug back, knowing it was only a matter of truth, one you instinctively knew yourself.

“Shit.” Eddie curses.

“So, before that happens, we find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence.” Dustin lists off, as if any of your misadventures with the upside down have ever been so easy.

“That’s all, Dustin? That’s all?” Eddie asks, voice hard.

“Yeah, no, that’s pretty much it.” He confirms, voice growing softer at the end of the sentence.

“Listen, Eddie, I know everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we’ve actually been through this before. I mean, they have a…a few times,” Eddie looks up for confirmation and you and Steve both casually nod your heads as she rambles, “and..and I have once. Mine was more human-fleshed-based, theirs was more smoke-related, but bottom line is, collectively, I really feel we got this.” You were glad Robin was confident, because you weren’t as sure as she was.

“We usually rely on this girl who has super powers. But uh, those went bye bye, so..” Steve adds, and Eddie side eyes you as to ask why hasn’t heard a single word of knowing someone with superpowers.

El, you mouth to him, and Eddie sits on it for a moment.

As you exchange this information Robin continues, “So, we’re technically in more of the-”

“Kinda..” Steve rolls off it, now thinking out loud.

“Brainstorming phase.” Max says putting the concept into words.

“Brainstorming.” Steve snaps his finger, thanking her for finding the word he needed.

“There’s.. There’s nothing to worry about.” Dustin offers, and doesn’t seem to believe it himself.

Steve scoffs, also not believing it either. You hadn’t even attempted to assure him, knowing he could see right through you, and in turn, your lack of confidence in the group’s lack of plan.

Eddie looks at the group, raises his eyebrow as if to ask if you were all joking. You truly wished you were.

Sirens pass, and Steve curses under his breath as you jerk yourself out of your seat, as if it would do anything, but unable to sit from the mere anxiety the police gave you.

“Tarp. Tarp. Tarp.” Robin repeats, telling him to hide. Eddie gets the message, and he’s hiding in the boat again, mean while you all run to where the sirens are coming from as they increase in proximity.

Multiple police cars pass by, and a fire engine, and an ambulance. It was a dead giveaway that something was off again.

Assuming that the numerous emergency vehicles meant an update to the case, you all hop into Steve’s car, and pull up to another scene surrounding resembling the one on the news from yesterday, this time Nancy speaking to the police officers. As you all pop out, Robin lightly pushes you back in. When you nearly ask why she whispers harshly, “You are still being searched for by them, too. You are technically someone wanted for questioning. Stay out of sight.”

Nancy offers a small wave, her tiny stature frigid with anxiety, and you’re not sure how much of a coincidence it all is.

-

The six of you sit down at the picnic table you at the trailer park, and you station yourself in a way you aren’t forced to see the crime scene tape surrounding Eddie’s trailer. You all tell Nancy what you have learned in the last 24 hours, getting her up to speed.

“You’re saying that this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy, it’s from the Upside Down?” She confirms, and dread fills the air.

“If the shoe fits.” Steve confirms.

“Our working theory is that he attacks with a spell or a curse. Now, whether or not he’s doing the bidding of the Mind Flayer or just loves killing teens, we don’t know.” Dustin says.

“All we know is that this is something different. Something new.” Max says, and there’s no arguing that.

“Doesn’t make sense.” Nancy pipes out, annoyed.

Dustin attempts to negate it. “It’s only a theory.”

Nancy realizes she has to explain herself. “No, Fred and Chrissy don’t make sense. I mean, why them?”

“Maybe they were just in the wrong place.” You had hoped that was wrong, because it was chilling to think how close it was to being Eddie in that case. “They were both at the game.”

“And near the trailer park.” Max points out, both cases surrounding the area.

“We’re at the trailer park.” Steve points out as well, making a decent point. “Uh, should we maybe not be here?” You all look around, spooked by the idea.

“I’d like to leave.” You admit, turning to face the plot that has been haunting you.

Nancy extends a hand to comfort you, adding on what Steve said. “There is something about this place. Fred started acting weird the second we got here.”

“Acting weird as in..?” Robin asks.

“Scared, on edge, upset.” Nancy lists, remembering his scattered brain.

Dustin recalls what Max had told him the day before. “Max said that Chrissy was upset, too.”

“Yeah, but not here. She was crying in the bathroom at school” She says, and it doesn’t seem to be only at the trailer park.

“Eddie said Chrissy wanted something strong. He said it was like she was losing her mind.” You add, voice small as you finished.

“Serial killers stalk their prey before they strike, right? So, maybe Fred and Chrissy saw this Vecman-”

“Vecna,” Dustin interrupts Robin, correcting her.

“Dunno bout you, but I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone.” Steve says, and you’re not sure you would’ve done the same.

“And? Say what? To who? If you don’t know about the Upside Down, like Eddie, chances are you would ignore it and hoped it went away.” You answer Steve, making a good point of Eddie not completely understanding what he saw with Chrissy.

“Well, maybe they did.” Max admits, and Steve give you a ‘see? Told you’ look that you roll your eyes at. “I saw Chrissy leaving Miss. Kelley’s office. If you saw a monster, you…you wouldn’t got to the police. They’d never believe you. But you might go to your-”

“Your shrink.” Robin finishes, and Max nods in agreement.

You all make your way to Steve’s vehicle, manning a plan to somehow get a hold of any information on Chrissy or Fred they might’ve shared with Miss. Kelley. Steve notices Nancy making her way to her own vehicle, and calls for her. “Whoa, whoa. Nance. Nance!” Nancy turns around, still on edge. “Where you going?”

“Oh, there’s just something I wanna check on first.” Nancy attempts to negate from the truth.

“Something you wanna share with the rest of us?” Dustin asks usually wanting the whole picture to solve the problem.

She looks down sheepishly, “I don’t wanna waste your time. It’s a real shot in the dark.”

“Yeah, okay. Are you out of your mind? Flying solo with Vecna on the loose? No, it’s too dangerous. You need… You need someone to…” Steve stutters through his sentence, and you’re confused to what the energy has been brought to them. “Here. I’ll stick with Nance.” Steve offers, tossing the car keys to Robin. “Take the car, check out the shrink.”

“I don’t think you want me driving your car.” Robin yells.

“Why?”

“I don’t have a license.” Robin barks out.

“Why don’t you have a license?” Steve asks, annoyed.

“Because I’m poor.” Robin deadpans, and it’s dropped.

“I can drive.” Max offers, half joking.

“No, no! Never again. Please. Here, you drive.” Steve hands you the keys, and you stare at them as he shoves them into your hands before glancing up at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, I’m not driving.” You say, shoving them back to him.

“What? Why not?” Steve asks, his frustration loud in the eerily quiet park.

“The police are looking for me, too. They have been driving around town all day. If they see me driving your car, something they wouldn’t know if I had permission to use, I’m toast, and so is Eddie. Not happening.”

Dustin makes a face, offering to drive, and Steve shuts it down.

“All right. Okay. This is stupid. Us ladies will stick together.” Robin takes charge, grabbing one of the long range walkies and tugging you to where Nancy was. “Unless you think we need you to protect us.” Robin jokes, and it’s decided.

“Be careful.” Steve yells, watching the three of you walk to the station wagon. Robin holds out a peace sign, both humorous and condescending.

Dustin watches Steve, amused. “Just gonna stand there and gawk?”

“Shut up.” Steve whines.

“Why don’t we go, okay?” Dustin offers, sweet talking him.

“Just get in the car.” Steve barks, unamused. “Wipe your feet.” Dustin does, on the fabric of the inside of the car, intentionally showing Steve. “On the outside, not the inside. Always the babysitter. Always the goddamn babysitter!”

The two different vehicles take off, and you’re feeing fortunate to drive away from Eddie’s place for once, the place now giving you the creeps.

-

You, Nancy, and Robin walk up the steps of the public library after she quickly explains her shot in the dark. The bells ring, indicating another hour passing by and creating a feeling of unease in the pit of your stomach. You glare at the clock as Robin gets the story straight, time isn’t your friend. “Help me get this straight.” She is continuing, still confused. “Eddie’s uncle, Wayne, thinks that Victor Creel escaped from Pennhurst Asylum and that he’s the one running around committing these murders?”  

As you’re walking fast paced Nancy shoots a glare to the two of you, signifying she knows she sounds crazy. “Pretty much.”

“But Victor committed the eyeball murders, like, way back in the ‘50s.” Robin points out.

“Well, ’59.” Nancy corrects her.

“So that means these murders predate Eleven in the Upside Down by about 30 years?” Robin continues.

“Yeah.”

You enter the library and make your way up to the front desk, and while you didn’t think it was a lead that would help the case in anyway, you had reason to trust Wayne. “Which makes spooky Victor Creel like 70 years old.”

“Yep.” Nancy agrees through gritted teeth, dinging the bell when the librarian wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“So he’s a grandpa murderer who can turn invisible and lift people into the air.” Robin concludes sarcastically, resting onto the front desk.

“It doesn’t make sense. I know. That’s why I said it was a shot in the dark.” Nancy explains, a little annoyed.

“Y/N, no concerns?” Robin asks you, looking passed you to where you’re stood on the other side of Nancy.

You shrug, absentmindedly looking at the pattern on the adjacent wall. “I trust Wayne. I also trust her gut.” You elbow Nancy lightly, and Nancy gives you a thankful look as she dings the bell again.

“Look, I know you trust her, it’s just that I thought by ‘shot in the dark’, you were being modest or hiding something super solid up your sleeve that you were gonna wow us with later.” As Robin continues on her tangent, Nancy starts dinging the bell repeatedly, seemingly done with her theory torn up. “But this is really, truly a shot in the dark. Like, we are snipers with blindfolds on who’ve been spun around fifty times.”

Nancy dings the bell more rapidly.

Robin stares at the bell, wondering what it could’ve possibly done to offend Nancy so much.

“Coming!” the librarian finally calls, holding a stack of books on her hip with a bright smile on her face.

“Hi. Sorry, we’re in a bit of a rush.” Nancy sheepishly says, turning on her good student tone. “Could we get the keys to the basement archives?”

“Of course! Give me one sec.” she answers, and you knew this was Eddie’s favourite librarian.

“Did I come off mean or condescending?” Robin asks abruptly, and you look at her inquisitively.

“No.” Nancy answers, and you’re not sure it’s all that true.

“Right. Sorry. It’s just, you seem annoyed. You don’t know me well.” After the many afternoons they have spent teasing you collectively you weren’t sure that was true, either. Although, Robin may be talking in terms of crisis. “I don’t really have a filter or a strong grasp of social cues.” That was true.

“Okay.” Nancy comments, clearly uncomfortable.

“If I say something that upsets you, just know that I know it’s a flaw. Believe me, my mother reminds me daily.” You think o the times you have guided Robin in a conversation where the lack of a grasp on social cues were clear and saved her from herself.

“Got it.”

“All right, ladies.” The librarian comes back holding the key. “Here you go. Have fun.”

“Thanks.” You take the key, the girls still ravelling after an awkward conversation. “We’ll try. C’mon.” You lug the two girls after you, unsure of the conversation that occurred and for the first time in a while you wonder if there’s some unresolved issues with those two.

-

Two of you sit in front of screens, scrolling through the archives as you continue to grab articles containing Victor Creel for the two of them. The tension is suddenly rough, and you wished you had also been a babysitter for today.

Robin interrupts the silent air, asking, “Anything…juicy over there?”

“Nothing new.” Nancy answers, her voice overly polite.

“Yep. Same here. Victor seemed like a normal guy. Dead family, missing eyes, took a plea deal, sent to Pennhurst. Blah, blah, blah, blah.” Nancy rolls her eyes deep into her head as Robin continues, and you wonder off to see if you could find any more articles to get you out of here.

Suddenly, as you’re moving through the archives, Nancy comes down the stairs to the drawer next to you, purposefully searching for something you’re not even sure she knows. “You know that Steve and I are like, totally not a thing, right?” Robin asks suddenly, and you jerk your head, wide eyed, wondering how this came up.

Robin shrugs, and gestures vaguely. That helps you understand nothing.

“What?” Nancy asks, turning to face her as well, and you share the same sentiments.

Robin moves around to the files, talking animatedly. “So, I figure you and Jonathan are still going on strong ‘cause you guys are going to college together. You’re one of those unstoppable power couples, but I..I just…I just wanted to make sure that Steve and I are just friends.” Robin moves to where you’re standing, and you decidedly move over a couple of slots. “Like platonic with a capital P.” Somehow this whole adventure just gotten more awkward as Nancy has no idea how to respond to either of this, and you’re almost ready to admit maybe they were right and you should’ve stayed behind with Eddie. “Just in case that’s adding any tension between us.”

“It wasn’t” Nancy answers, and she’s convincing as a fifteen year old with a fake ID.

“You look down to where you’re skimming, and your eyes catch a familiar magazine. “Holy shit.” You mutter. “The Weekly Watcher. Can’t believe they have this.”

“Didn’t they write about, like Bigfoot and UFOs?” Nancy asks, skeptical.

“First of all, UFOs are absolutely real.” Robin interjects, moving next you to look through the drawer as well. “Bigfoot, I’m still on the fence.” Holy shit, you think. She would get along with the members of Hellfire more than you’d realized.

“We are looking for information about dark wizards.” You add, considering what Robin has been saying.

“Exactly!” Robin says. “If someone’s gonna write about that, it’s gonna be these weirdos.”

“Those weirdos have kept Hellfire entertained for lunches on lunches.” You comment, now missing how mundane that feels in comparison.

“Case in point.”

Nancy glances down at the film and suddenly realizes you two may have a point.

You all gather around the screen, scrolling slowly passed each article, each one more ludicrous than the last. “Ah. Elvis Cloned by Aliens.” Nancy reads, and suddenly all hope is lost.

“You never know.” Robin lightly offers, and continues scrolling through the articles as she walks off.

She only goes past two more articles before landing on the exact one the three of you were looking for. “Holy shit.” You mutter under your breath.

“Victor Creel claims vengeful demon killed family.” Robin declares dramatically, and you stifle in laughter. “The murder that shocked a small community.”

“Ha, ha. That’s very funny.” Nancy sarcastically answers, apparently thinking it’s a cruel joke.

“She’s not kidding.” You answer for Robin.

“Get over here.” Robin calls her, and Nancy joins in-between the two of you. “According to several insiders, Victor believed his house was haunted by an ancient demon. Victor allegedly hired a priest to exorcise the demon from his home. Pretty novel for the ‘50s, Exorcist wasn’t even out yet.”

You shudder at the title, the film by the same name when Robin turned it on one night, you only lasting the first half of the film before you begged for it to be shut off.

“Keep..keep going.” Nancy urges, and the look on her face gives you a small sense of relief that this might’ve been successful.

“So, Victor clamed this exorcism failed but it angered the demon, which then murdered his family, removing their eyes. Victor believed he was spared as a punishment.” You continue reading the article for them, not that Robin needed it, just attempting to help.

“That’s pretty convenient for Victor.” Nancy comments.

“Yeah, or super inconvenient.” Robin bites back lightly. “Victor was declared legally insane by the court, right? What if this is why? It sounds insane. Just didn’t go public because—”

“The plea bargain. The records were sealed.” Nancy finishes.

“What if demon did invade Victor’s home?” You ask, and you’re almost sure you’re on the same track as the two of them, having not read the articles with them. “It’s just. This demon wasn’t any old demon.”

“It was Vecna.”

The three of you head out the library, daylight now gone and a sense of urgency filled the air. “Dustin, do you copy?” You ask on the walkie, following behind as Robin and Nancy go down the steps.

“Yeah, I copy.” Dustin answers.

“As always, Nancy is a genius. Venca’s first victims date back all the way to 1959. Her shot in the dark was a bull’s eye.” You answer, the three of you arriving to the Station Wagon.

“Okay, that’s totally bonkers, but I can’t really talk right now.” Dustin answers, sounding out of breath.

“What are you doing?” You ask, afraid to know.

“Breaking and entering school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.” Dustin answers, matter of fact.

“Can you repeat that?” You ask, wondering if you heard him correctly.

“Just get your ass over here, stat. We’ll explain everything.” He answers very vaguely.

“I thought they were talking to Ms. Kelley.” Complains Nancy.

“We leave them alone for two hours.” Robin sighs, and the three of you get into Nancy’s car to head over to the school.

 -

Chapter 4: Dear Billy

Nancy drove with more urgency and less care than normal, pulling up to the parking lot of the high school with an abrupt screech of her brakes. The three of you burst through the double doors of the school, flashlights shining every which way as you run through the hallway to meet the rest of the group.

It leads to Max leading the group down the hall, the flashlights shining Max’s silhouette on the wall as she stares blankly. “It was here. Right here.”

“A grandfather clock?” Nancy asks, and Max shakily nods her head.

“It was so real. And then when I got closer, suddenly I just…I woke up.” Max says, her voice thick.

She sounded scared.

Real scared.

“It was like she was in a trance or something. Exactly what Eddie said happened to Chrissy.” Dustin comments, and you can’t help but notice the look you get as his name is mentioned from Steve.

You ignore it, observing as Max’s breathing grew shallower. She turns around, her eyes wide. “That’s not even the bad part.”

When asked to elaborate, she emphasizes that it would be easier to demonstrate by showing you, and the five of you follow her back into Ms. Kelley’s office. “Fred and Chrissy, they both came to Ms. Kelley for help. Uh, they were both having headaches, bad headaches that wouldn’t go away. And then… then the nightmares. Trouble sleeping. They’d wake up in a cold sweat. Then they started seeing things. Bad things. From their pasts. These visions, they just they kept on getting worse and worse, until eventually… everything ended.”

“Vecna’s curse.” Robin diagnoses.

“Chrissy’s headache started a week ago. Fred’s, six days ago.” You glance around the office, staring at the writings of Miss.Kelley’s notes on both Fred and Chrissy. “I’ve been having them for five days.” The admission makes your eyes shot up to hers, and the serious threat of Max’s life is now an added stake in the case.

How fucking inconvenient.

“I don’t know how long I have. All I know is that,” Max gulps, “for Fred and Chrissy, they both died less than 24 hours after their first vision. And I just saw that goddamn clock, so” Max exhales shakily, “looks like I’m gonna die tomorrow.” She admits, and her tone is shaky.

As her heavy words hang in the air, a distant sound in the hallways catches all your attention, each of you whipping your heads towards it in sync.

Steve turns his head to face the group, makes eye contact with each person and makes a quick albeit impulsive decision. “Stay here.” His sneaker squeaks as he stumbles, and he pauses by the door to glance back for something. He finds it, grabbing an adjacent lamp and continues to make his way to the hallway.

The four of you remaining glance at one another, exchanging a look and sharing the same thought. Dustin says it out loud, “We just gonna let him…” Without another moment’s hesitation, you all saunter to the hallway behind him, deciding you weren’t gonna let him face it alone.

Another bang down the hall, and you all hold your breath as the sound of quick paced footsteps echo in the hallway, coming at an unprecedented rate, the sound growing faster.

As you prepare yourselves, you holding your breath, Steve preparing to swing, Robin scrunching her face up, Lucas comes wildly around the corner, resulting in a screaming bursting out of most of you.

After nearly colliding it takes a moment to understand who is standing in front of you, the group backing off instinctively once realizing their ‘intruder’ is no longer a threat. “It’s me!” Lucas shouts, his face illuminated by flashlights.

“Lucas?” Nancy asks, still catching her breath.

“It’s me.” Screaming, now bending over to catch his own.

“Jesus, what is wrong with you?” Steve yells at him, on edge.

“I’m sorry.”

“I could’ve taken you out with this lamp.”

“Sorry guys. Sorry.” Lucas pants, still completely winded. “I was.. I was biking for eight miles.” Lucas walks around in circles, holding a finger to indicate he still needed a minute. You glance at one another as he does, knowing there was some news you had to drop onto him. “We’ve got a code red.” Lucas says, finally seeming to caught his breath.

“What?” Steve asks, hands on his hips, the lamp somewhat forgotten.

Lucas walks passed Steve right to Dustin. “Dustin. I’ve been with Jason, Patrick, and Andy, and they’ve gone totally off the rails.”

At the mention of this Steve glances to you, knowing something about Jason you still haven’t told Nancy or Robin. Jason added to the equation was an unwanted and unwelcome extra.

“Wait, Jason?” You ask, needing to know what he meant by it.

“Uh yeah,” Lucas says, now talking to the both of you. “They’re trying to capture Eddie and they think you know where he is.” Lucas says the last part mainly to Dustin, but you had a feeling they were also on the lookout for you as well. “You’re in terrible danger.”

The feeling of dread from being sought out by him only came second to the feeling of how your heart sunk to the words ‘they’re trying to capture Eddie’. Jason knew Eddie was the person of interest and of course, he didn’t doubt it for a second.

“All right. Yeah, that definitely sucks, but we’ve got bigger problems than Jason right now.” Dustin answers him, and glances back towards Max. You glance with them and you feel humbled as you gain some perspective.

Right. Max might die. Jason isn’t even on the top five right now.

But fuck, Eddie didn’t know and you still fucking worried for him.

-

You, Nancy, and Robin spend the next morning coming up with a plan, and it took all the fighting in the world to convince them you shouldn’t have been involved. As Nancy was on the phone with one of her newspaper workers, letting them know the final details the two of you hashed it out and Robin finally interrupts it. “C’mon just give us one good reason why.”

“Cause my boyfriend is wanted for fucking murder and I don’t have it in me to go undercover and play pretend for some lunatic. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.” You admit to them finally, and Nancy uncovers her phone’s receiver as she answers the numerous calls to where she had gone on the other end, confirming they only needed two fake files.

“Do you need to talk about it?” Robin asks hesitantly as Nancy hangs up and grabs her keys to drive to pick them up.

You sigh, following them and gulping as you can feel her watching you, you leant up against the Wheeler’s kitchen counter. “I mean it sucks, but I feel like being in either of their position would suck more. I feel selfish when I want to whine about it.”

“I mean, it does suck.” Robin tells you, and you follow Nancy to her car. “There’s no doubt about that. You’re allowed to think it sucks. Don’t you think it would be nice to pretend your biggest problem is talking to a loony bin doctor about his patients?” Robin gives it one last try to convince you to go with them, and you glance up at her and shake your head silently.

Robin seems to accept it, and you feel Nancy’s eyes on you as the corner of your head bounces against her back window of her car and you let it go.

Nancy’s worker was ridiculously fast with a typewriter. All papers were ready by the time we got there. She gleamed at the papers, and glances up her lackey. “Aren’t you curious to why we want these papers?” Nancy asks, a light mischievous smile dancing on her face.

“No. I’m on spring break. I’ll ask questions later.” The girl admits, and she shuts the door in your faces before Nancy could even thank her. Cool. You had everything you needed and they seemingly had a plan in place.

You got back to the house, making your way down the steps to the Wheeler’s basement. Dustin, Steve and Lucas all on the couch while Max is still at the desk writing, just as she two hours ago when you had left.

“Okay so…” Nancy starts, and you’re all out of breath. “we have a plan.”

“Thanks to Nancy’s minions, we are now rock-star psychology students at the University of Notre Dame.” Robin explains to them as they go through the indoctrinated files.

“There’s only two.” Dustin comments.

“Uh, she’s sitting this one out.” Robin says, a finger casually pointing towards you yet still resting on her knee.

Steve glances up curiously at you, and you sigh. “I can’t. I’d rather stick with you guys.” You stop there, refusing to sound any more trivial in comparison to what Max is facing.

“Anyway.” Nancy says, and you silently thank her for bringing the attention off you. “I’m now Ruth.”

“And I’m Rose.” Said Robin.

“Ruth?” Steve asks, somewhat teasing, and you glance at the exchange he has with Nancy, eyebrow raised.

Whatever, you ignore it for the sake of your sanity.

“Nice GPA.” Dustin compliments, admiring the handiwork of the fake files.

“Thanks” Nancy takes it, and you glare at her, it was fake.

“So we called Pennhurst Asylum and told them we’d like to speak with Creel for a thesis we’re co-writing on paranoid schizophrenics—”

“To which they outright denied.” You commented, cross legged on the carpet, picking at a loose thread.

“But we landed a three o’clock with the director.” Nancy adds, adding some good news.

“Now all we have to do is charm him and convince him to let us talk to Victor.” Robin finishes.

“Then maybe we can rid Max of this curse.” Nancy says.

“Yeah, about that.” Steve says, glancing back to her. “We’ve been doing our Victor Creel homework, and uh…we got some questions.”

“Lots of questions.” Lucas says, emphasizing.

“So do we. Hopefully, Victor has the answers.” Nancy says dismissively.

“Wait…wait…wait a second uh…where’s mine?” Steve asks, and Nancy glances up at you, scoffing. Did he just miss where Dustin did the math? How there were only two? And that was assuming you were going with them. Nancy looks at him, smiling tightly.

-

Steve angrily follows Nancy up the stairs, asking questions that are all going unanswered. As you sat picking at the carpet, Nancy goes back halfway down, calling for you. “C’mon.” She says, and you reluctantly follow them.

Nancy pushes passed Steve waiting outside her room and straight to her closet. “Nancy, you’re outta your mind if you think I’m babysitting again.” Steve complains.

“First, they’re not babies anymore.” Nancy answers, and you walk over to her bed, lying on it. “And Max is in real danger. She needs people around her.”

“I know. But why me. If Y/N is staying behind, then why can’t she do it? Why can’t I go?” Steve gestures to where you are lying there, and you lift your chin up, raising one eyebrow at him.

“We already have the papers!” Nancy half snaps, and Robin bursts into Nancy’s room.

“Oh my God, you have a Tom Cruise poster.” She glances back at her, smug. “You have a Tom Cruise poster.”

“Shit, you haven’t been in Nance’s room?” You ask, absentmindedly as Nancy goes through her closet.

“Nope.” Robin says, squatting as she unashamedly checks out Nancy’s cassette tapes on her bedside table.

“Can you please not touch anything?” Nancy asks, and Robin ignores her altogether, and you choose not to intervene, it’s far too entertaining.

“I can’t do anything here, Nance. Maybe I can be helpful with this asylum director dude.” Steve still attempts to make his case. “I don’t know. I could turn on my” Steve pops his lips animatedly, “my charm.”

“Not the charm we need.” Nancy shuts him down, incredibly smug about it.

“Ouch.” Steve says, and turns away from her.

Robin continues to dig through her room, you’re sat up watching her like a monkey in a zoo.

“No, it’s just. I did a little digging last night, and it turns out that his Dr. Hatch is a distinguished fellow of the American Psychiatric Association and a Harvard visiting scholar, okay? This is a lifelong student of the world. If we’re gonna win him over, we’re gonna have to convince him that we are too,” As Nancy explains this to a defensive Steve, Robin gleefully opens Nancy’s music box, all too excited about the knickknacks she is finding, “academic scholars.”

As if on her cue, Robin whispers, “Holy shit. There’s a little ballerina in here,” holding up the music box.

Steve nods bitterly, wondering how he lost to Robin. “Academic scholar? She’s giving you an academic scholar vibe? Yeah.”

Robin rolls her eyes, offended at the mere suggestion of her low intelligence.

You sit cross legged on Nancy’s bed, watching it all go down. It was entertaining, and it proved to be distracting. “No, but…” Nancy pulls out an outfit from behind the closet, holding it up to Robin. You have to bite back laughter at the ruffles and wait for Robin to turn around. “she will.”

Robin’s jaw drops, and she forgets all about mocking Nancy through snooping through her things. “Oh, please, tell me you’re joking.”

Nancy smiles, holding it up for her, and you are suddenly very glad you opted out of the undercover student plan.

-

You and Steve make your way back down the stairs after the two girls leave, Robin pulling on her neck level blouse, and wearing makeup for the first time since you’ve met her. Max stays quiet in her corner, writing and sealing envelopes.

You, Dustin, Lucas and Steve attempt to make quiet conversation but it eventually leads to looking after her, concerned no matter how hard you try.

“I know you guys are staring at me.” Max says, not even looking back.

You all move into action, as if she had pressed play and you grab at the nearest item to make you look busy.

“What sorry?” Steve.

“You said you needed something?” Lucas.

“Just hanging out.” Dustin.

“They really should be dusting down here.” You.

“How do you think your eyes boring into the back of my head is protecting me from Vecna, I don’t know.” Max says. She gathers her things and walks up to face you, but you’re all anxiously avoiding looking at her.

“You can look at me now.” She says, and you all instantly relax into it, putting your activities aside and mumbling your sorry’s to her. Max sighs, jerkily handing out an envelope to Dustin. “For you.” She does the same for Steve, Lucas, and surprisingly, you. “Oh, and um, give these to Mike, El, and Will.” She says, handing three envelopes to Lucas. “If you can ever get a hold of them again.”

You peer into your envelope, wondering what might be on it. “What are you doing? No, don’t. That’s not for now. Don’t open it now.” She rambles.

“Don’t…Okay.” Dustin stutters, staring blankly at his envelope. “I’m sorry. What is this?”

“It’s um… it’s a fail-safe. For after. If things don’t work out.” Max admits, and the air grows heavy and thick with tension.

“Wait, whoa. Max, things are going to work out.” Lucas says, reassuring both himself and her.

“No. No, I don’t need you to reassure me and tell me it’s all gonna work out. People have been telling me that me entire life and it’s almost never true.” You make eye contact with Steve and Dustin, and you feel eyes glossing over as you listen to her. “It’s never true. I mean, of course this asshole curses me. Should’ve seen that one coming.” Max admits, and you’re watching someone too young trying to grapple with the idea that her life is over. She exhales shakily, glancing around the room. “Where’s a walkie?” She asks, and you hold it for her.

When Dustin gives you a questioning look, you mouth ‘Eddie’ to him, having talked to him last night when you managed a minute alone. It was only a minute, and you barely managed to continue talking after the sound of his ragged voice tugged a tear out from you, but it counted, and you held onto the walkie in case he would reach out again.

“If we go to East Hawkins, will this reach Pennhurst?” She asks, holding up the walkie.

“Of course, yeah.” Dustin nods, knowing it could reach California if he had really wanted it to.

“Why are we talking about East Hawkins?” Steve asks, and he knows the answer before she even says it. “No. No. No!”

Max doesn’t even pay him any mind, grabbing her bag and booking it to the outside, and you all struggle to grab your things and follow her. “Max, Max. Seriously.” Steve yells, finally catching up to her. “Seriously, I’m not joking. I’m not driving you anywhere.”

“If you think I’m going to spend what is likely the last day of my life in the armpit that is Mike Wheeler’s basement, you’re out of your mind. Either take me where I need to go or tie me down, which is technically kidnapping of a minor. And if I live to see another day, Steve, I swear to God, I will prosecute.” Max ends her threat with a failed attempt to open his car, and they have a stand off. “Open the door.”

“Uh, no.” Steve dismisses her.

“I know a good lawyer.” She threatens him. Again.

Steve looks at her in disbelief, glancing up at you, sitting at the other side of your car with your hand on the roof. “Gotta be honest, Steve. I don’t really want to sit around all day waiting for something to happen, either.”

He looks back down at Max, who is staring him down, and reaches into his pocket, scoffing. “Henderson, that super walkie of yours better reach Pennhurst.” He threatens and the five of you finally crawl into his car. “Henderson, back seat. The adults sit in the front,” he says, wondering why you were sitting in the back.

“Cops.” You say to Steve, and he rolls eyes.

You sit on the other side of Lucas, and Max hesitates before climbing in. Hallucination? Hesitation?

Or just fucking scared? Cause even if was just the latter you wouldn’t have blamed her, regardless.

-

Even with the police on your tail, listening in on their radio hearing the reports of retrying your house and keeping an eye out for you to bring you in for questioning you wished you had sat in the front. Max slouches in her seat while Lucas does his best not to watch her, but fails miserably. It was far more awkward with you stuffed in with them.

You slouch your head back as well, catching Eddie’s trailer as you look out the window, and it feels as if your breath is caught in your throat. Steve pulls into Max’s parking lot, the dust settling around the car.

Steve puts the car into park with gusto. “This better be fast, Mayfield.”

“Twenty seconds.” Max promises, and the door is shut hard before you can even register she left the car.

You are left to wait for her, and Steve’s brow furrows. “That thing’s got batteries in it, right?” He asks, gesturing to the walkie in Dustin’s hands.

Dustin tilts his head to face forward, shaking it as he sighs. “I’m not even answering that question.” Steve grimaces, looking confused until Dustin responds, exasperated, “Yes, it has batteries.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Steve barks, and your eyes roll to back of your head as you let it heat the leather softly, closing your eyes.

If you had a nap right now, would shit be normal when you woke up?

You wake up to Steve yelling “Hey, that was longer than twenty seconds” at Max as she gets back to the car, in a hurried pace and worried disposition. Steve notices it, attempting to cut her off. “Hey. Whoa, whoa. You all right?”

Your eyes open to see all three boys now stood outside the car, no wonder since it was fucking blazing hot inside it. “I’m fine, just drive.” Max says dismissively, waiting for Lucas to get back to the middle seat before slamming the door shut behind her.

“Did something happen?” Dustin asks, his voice worried.

“Can we please just go?” Max asks, and avoids eye contact with every one of you.

-

Max lets Steve where-else she would like to go, and the car ride is dead silent. You can’t help but notice as Steve’s brown eyes look into his rear view every minute or so, and you know it’s not because he’s being a careful driver. He’s concerned.

The car radiates with concern for her from all of you, and she rejects it outright. She didn’t want it.

“Turn here.” The only things coming out of Max’s mouth has been directions, and this was the first one in over five minutes.

Dustin assesses their location to where she’s requesting, and it’s surprising, to say the least. “Here?”

Max says nothing, just nodding her head so lightly it was like she barely did it.

You, Dustin, and Steve share a look as you pull in the cemetery, and Lucas has barely stopped watching Max the entire ride. The car pulls into a long windy road and Max tells them to stop at the newer tombstones, leaving the car without a word and with conviction.

“Shit.” Lucas mutters, and he’s out of the car, he couldn’t stop himself another minute. “Max?” He calls for her, running to catch her.

You scooch forward in your seat, reaching across the centre console to Steve, “Hey, roll the windows down.”

“Already on it.” Steve mutters, the window already on it’s way, and you work on the back.

“Lucas, please, just wait in the car.” She pleads him, continuing her tread.

“Max, just wait. Max, please.” He continues anyway.

“Lucas, just wait—”

“Max. Just listen to me. Just, please.” Lucas begs, and she reluctantly stops in front of him. “I know something happened back there with your mother. Was it Vecna?”

“I told you, I’m fine.” Max insists, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Okay?” Max sighs, adding, “I mean as fine as someone who’s hurtling towards a gruesome death can be.” Her voice drips in sarcasm, and it’s a coping mechanism, but it’s not helping her case in anyway. She loses her nerve, breaking her eye contact with Lucas as his face shows the genuine concern he’s feeling for her.

“Max…you know you can talk to me. Right?” Lucas starts, not believing her smile for a second.

Max takes in the expression, and it’s full of care for her enough where she feels uncomfortable. “Yeah, I know that,” she smiles awkwardly.

“Okay, then why do you keep pushing me away? Okay, look, I don’t need a letter. I don’t want a letter. Just talk to me. To your friends. We’re right here. I’m right here.” It was what Max needed, someone to take her and the situation seriously. She jerks her head towards the car, and back to Lucas, taking him in. “Okay?” He asks her, soft. “I’m here.”

Breaking up with him in January was the start of her closing herself off, and if this was the first conversation they’ve been able to genuinely have since then, then it was a long time coming. “Wait in the car. This won’t be long.” Max dismisses him, walking fast paced to the headstone in question.

You all watch her, worried and anxious.

-

Max sits crossed legged in front of Billy’s grave for a for a bit, and not much is said as she’s so far away. “Hey, Dust, that thing is on like all the time, yeah?” you ask, not hearing much of a peep from anyone for a while.

“24/7.” Dustin answers, staring after her, standing at the passenger side door.

You don’t answer back, anxious due to Eddie not reaching out all day.

Steve has been checking his watch frequently, his fingers anxiously tapping the window ledge of his car. When you were about to tell him to cut it out, Steve gets out. “All right, it’s been long enough.” He comments.

“Steve, just give her some time.” Lucas argues, now sitting on the hood of Steve’s car.

“I have, all right, Sinclair? I’m calling it. She wants to get a lawyer, she can.” Steve says with finality, running off to where Max is still sitting.

You get out of the car, relaxing onto the roof next to Dustin. Lucas glances back anxiously at the two of you, mostly at Dustin, and exhales sharply.

Steve is talking to her in the distance, and suddenly he bends down to face her. As he starts clapping, the three of you still waiting by his car realize she was back in a trance, your bodies tensing up as Steve yells at her to wake with no avail. “Max! Wake up!” He calls, voice carrying across the cemetery.

“Oh, something’s wrong.” Lucas mutters, and the three of you slowly start to make your way off the car.

“Guys!” Steve calls to you, and it pushes you into running straight toward her. While Dustin and Lucas don’t hesitate, your first instinct is to grab the walkie, something telling you that you would need it, and follow them as fast as your feet could carry you.

You spend an uncomfortably long time surrounding Max, calling to her, begging her to wake up. You stared at her, eyes white, not even flinching at you yelling at her face and wondered if this was how Chrissy had looked.

Steve pauses his yelling to direct it at Dustin. “Call Nancy and Robin! Go get ‘em! Call Nancy and Robin! Go!” Steve releases his hold, and Dustin makes a run for it.

“Dust!” You call, running after him. “Dustin!”

“What?” He asks, gesturing to you to let you know now was clearly not the time.

You toss him the walkie, and Dustin’s face lights up in understanding. “Oh, shit. Ok.” He starts calling for them, repeating the code red with the occasional use of curses in between.

It takes minutes of Dustin begging in the background, pacing back and forth on the grassy path as he keeps repeating the code red signal, until it’s met with Robin’s answer, “Dustin, it’s Robin, we copy.”

“Holy shit. Finally!” Dustin yells, and there’s nothing you can do but continue to beg for her to wake up. “Please, please tell us you guys have this figured out.” Dustin begs, and his voice isn’t just desperate, it’s borderlining on hopeless.

Dustin takes a sudden run off to the car as Robin is explaining, and makes a quick return holding a bunch of tapes and Max’s Walkman. He trips into the circle where you’re still attempting to wake her up, the tapes all clumsily landing onto the grass. “What, what is this?” Lucas yells, voice hurried.

“Her song! What’s her favourite song?” Dustin yells.

The question is understandably met with confusion, both you and Steve giving Dustin a weird look. “Wh-why?” Lucas asks, exasperated.

“Robin said if she listens…it’s too much to explain now. Whats. Her favourite. Song?” Dustin stumbles through, and suddenly it’s the most important thing in the world right now.

Four pairs of hands fumble over the tapes, fingers shaking as you all ask the same question. What was Max’s favourite song? Lucas holds a tape, fingers gripping against it desperately. “It’s right here! Got it!” Lucas yells, and it’s put into the Walkman and pressed play, you place her headphones on her, telling whoever had the Walkman to press play now. The matter of who did what was unimportant, as long as Max didn’t suffer the same fate.

Your shouts to wake her up continue, calling after her. You were running out of patience, but it didn’t matter. This was working. It had to be.

As you were clinging onto this thought, you find yourself falling stuttering backwards onto your ass as Max starts to levitate. She rises higher, and you are finding it harder to breathe as you stared at her in horror and heartbroken disbelief. Max finally stops rising at nearly twenty feet, and all of you can do nothing but shout after her and hope Kate Bush was working.

It felt as if you were yelling for forever, jumping up and down, calling for her, your arms bent as your hands hold your heads in a mutual incredulity of what you were seeing.

The desperation.

Her name was being repeated like a mantra, over and over when her eyes open, she gasps out sharply as she drops to the ground. You all crowd around her as she sits up, her voice shaking and sobbing, and you can’t make anything of what she’s attempting to say but thank god she was okay.

Lucas holds an arm around her, and she clings onto him just as much as he attempts to calm her hyperventilating. You reach out for them, comforting in any way you can, and you can’t explain the need to reach out for them like you did but it was all anyone could do.

“I thought we lost you.” Lucas croaks out, his voice cracking yet didn’t hold a candle to how desperate he felt.

The sentiment is echoed by all of you, and you look up from where you zoned out onto the back of Lucas’ jacket to see both Steve and Dustin clutching onto them as well, a sign of solidarity and unity. The relief you had felt was over whelming, and there was nothing any of you could do but sit there.

“I’m still here.” Max says, and it’s both for him and her, as Max nearly lost her life. She was telling herself this as well.

She was still here.

[monaisme]

Sicktember: Day 27

#27- “This is non-negotiable”

“But Dr. Cho!” Peter jackknifed up to sit on the edge of the med bay bed, trying not to look like the manoeuvre hadn’t just hurt. “You said yourself that this was a clean break! And I’m ME! I am literally already healing while we’re sitting here arguing about it!”

Dr. Cho sighed and rolled her eyes as she swivelled her chair to face Mr. Stark. “I am a world renowned geneticist, one of the biggest names in cellular biology, and work on cutting edge medical technology that will one day change the world. Can you please, Tony, tell me why, with all of that knowledge and expertise, I am sitting here having to try to convince a teenage vigilante that it’s in his best interest to wear a cast on his freshly broken arm and NOT a removable brace because he wants to go to the water park with his friends tomorrow?”

Mr. Stark heaved a sigh of his own. “He was tested, Helen, I promise... said he was a genius and everything.” He shook his head in disappointment. “So either the tests lied, or—” Mr. Stark paused for affect, “the kid is a certified idiot.”

“Hey! That’s not nice!” Peter protested, “And you know the team has been planning for this for weeks! It’s the social event of the season!”

“I do know that,” Mr. Stark agreed through his chuckles. “I also know that an uncomplicated bone break takes you an average of two days to heal enough to safely switch over to a brace. Not,” the man checked his Starkwatch and looked Peter dead in the eye, “twelve hours. I’m sorry, kiddo.”

“Gah!” Peter shouted out in frustration then dropped back in defeat onto the bed. “ow.” He glared up at the ceiling. “This is so unfair.”

“Fair or not, Pete. It’s what it is.”

“But why?” Peter whined. “I’d be careful with it, I swear!”

Tony looked unconvinced while Dr. Cho mumbled under her breath, “I’ve seen how you’re careful with things, Peter...”

“Hey,” Peter lifted his head up from the bed and glared at the two adults. “Super hearing here! You don’t have to kick me when I’m down, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Doctor Cho could see that he really was.

She pushed his head back down onto the bed, and with a sigh of defeat, got up from her stool, her own flashback to missing science camp when she broke her own arm all those years ago suddenly at the forefront of her brain.

“I can’t believe I’m even considering doing this,” she mumbled to herself before clapping her hands together and committing to the new plan. “Okay, how’s about this?” Dr. Cho headed toward a supply cupboard and started rifling through it. “I personally hate using this because all of you think it gives you permission to not follow my rules HOWEVER,” She plucked out her supplies as she located them, then placed it on the supply table, and rolled it toward where Peter still lay, “If you promise me that you’ll be careful with this cast, AND the arm lying within it, I will give you a waterproof cast.” She lifted up the blue, futuristic sleeve of resin casting material. “But only this once, do you understand what I am saying?”

Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief, “So, you’re saying I can—”

Dr. Cho cut him off. “Nope, don’t get ahead of yourself. Listen to me Peter. This is an absolute non-negotiable. You will NOT be on any waterslides or in any swimming pools. You do not know moderation and so you will still have restrictions. You can be poolside—did you hear that? On the side, but you don’t have to worry about splashing and the like. You can also have VERY limited use of the toddler splash pad zone, to splash—with your feet—IF they allow that even. Do you hear me? You will still be careful because you are still healing. No stupid stuff.”

Peter had paid rapt attention, then turned his head to look at Mr. Stark once she was done talking. “Is this really happening? Did I hit my head and I’m hallucinating? Please tell me I’m not imagining this,” he pleaded with his mentor. “Dr. Cho is being nice?”

Mr. Stark snort-laughed. “Dr. Cho is always nice. We’re just pains in her ass and she reacts accordingly.”

“True.” Dr. Cho chuckled in response. “Now stop talking and let me focus on putting Peter back together before I change my mind about this whole thing.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will be stopping with the talking right now. Not a sound. I will not utter a peep—”

“Kid.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark."  

/-/-/

“I can’t believe you broke your arm the night before our big Aca-Deca Waterparkapalooza!” Ned exclaimed, making no effort to hide his disappointment.

“I know!” Peter replied, “It’s not like I did it on purpose, and besides,” Peter checked to make sure the rest of the Aca-Dec team was out of earshot. “At least I can be in the water park proper to hang out without wrecking Dr. Cho’s handiwork. And Mr. Stark says he’s going to rent out the park for an afterhours ‘private function’ when I’m all healed up.” Peter announced, “It’ll be for all of his family and friends, which obviously means, like, the Avengers, and Aunt May, and us and whoever else I decide to invite AND we won’t have to worry about long lines to get on all the best rides!”

Ned’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding? Please tell me that you’re not kidding!” Ned tried not to squeal—and failed.

“Ned!” Peter chastised. “Be cool!” he hissed loudly, trying to be both heard and not over the sound of all the water moving around them, “The more people who know, the more likely that I’ll have to invite—”

“Whatcha talkin’ about?!”

“Geez, Flash!” Ned clutched at his chest as he shucked Flash off his back and turned to confront him. “Way to give a guy a heart attack!”

“Ah, you’re fine, Ned.” Flash insisted, “So? Whose being invited where? Gimme the deets, peeps. Is it black tie? Should I rent a limo? Buy a lambo?”

Peter glared at Ned now that the cat was out of the bag. “It’s nothing, Flash. Mr. Stark is just going to give me a bit of a water park re-do because of the whole arm-in-cast thing, is all.”

“Sweet!” Flash replied then cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey, nerds!” Flash hollered over to the rest of the team off in the distance, “Peter’s hosting another water park visit once the cast is off!” He lowered his hands and looked over to Peter. “Do we have a date yet?” He asked.

Peter shook his head, ‘no.’

Hands came up around his mouth again, “Details TBD! Wahoooooooooo! Let’s goooo!” Flash bellowed as he rushed toward the others, all talking excitedly about their next water park adventure.

“Well.” Peter huffed out in frustration. “That went well.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Pfft. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just never get over the fact that Flash doesn’t set off my spider senses anymore.”

Ned grinned at Peter’s statement. “I know! It’s like were trapped in an alternate reality.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad, I guess.” Peter smiled. “Besides—” A tingle across the back of Peter’s neck distracted him. “Hold on a min—”

A high pitched scream echoed across the water park, and then everyone heard it, “HELP ME! SOMEONE STOP HIM!” A woman’s voice called from somewhere behind them, “HE’S GOT MY PURSE!”

Without missing a beat, Peter pulled out his cell phone and handed it over to Ned. “Call Mr. Stark,” he ordered as he walked briskly toward the sound of the running feet. “You know how he gets when he doesn’t know what’s going on!”

“But Peter!” Ned looked worried, “Your cast! Dr. Cho!?”

Peter didn’t have time to worry. “It’s a purse snatcher in an enclosed park with security and cameras everywhere. What can I really do? Besides, it’s just a matter of slowing him down for someone else to catch him, Ned. We’re good, okay?”

Ned nodded, not convinced, but entered Peter’s PIN regardless.

And Peter started his trek, if he could even call it that. 

It took him only a minute to come upon the poor woman, surrounded by both security and friends, as she gestured wildly toward one specific pump station located inside of the park as the direction the perpetrator had fled toward.

It didn’t really make sense to Peter, but that was okay. If he wanted to make Peter’s job easier, he was more than welcome. Honestly, Peter was gonna find him either way. He just needed to block out the noise—

He closed his eyes and focussed.

Yikes.

The intensity of trying to hone in on one bad guy in a water park where the hot summer air was filled with the overwhelming chemical scent of chlorine, the cacophony of thousands upon thousands of gallons of water flowing through pipes and filters then hammering down plastic slides, and so many people... it suddenly seemed a little tricky.

But what a rush! He could do this, Peter thought. All he had to do was concentrate... find something that didn’t-

fit-

in-

Gotcha.

The swoosh of dark blue denim jeans and a rustle of a black hoodie would have blended in just about anywhere else in New York on any day of the year, even today, but in a water park where even the security guards were wearing tank tops, shorts, and water socks?

Peter approached cautiously, he thought, but the man must have sensed Peter’s gaze upon him as he turned to face him. They locked eyes, Peter and the purse snatcher, and then the chase was on.

Well for a minute, at least.

This guy had no clue what he was doing.

At least it seemed that way to Peter, which he guessed was a good thing. If the fight had gone on too long, they’d have drawn a crowd which would not be ideal, and it was already going to be tricky trying to insert himself back into the role of curious bystander. Peter just needed to find something to tie up the guy currently slumped and unconscious against the concrete wall. Then security would find him easily enough and— “Hey!”

His spider sense flared, giving Peter barely enough time to lift his casted arm up to block the pipe that was flying towards his head. (Apparently his purse snatcher friend was a big ol’ Fakey McFakerton!) Peter ignored the nauseating vibrations running up through his casted arm, instead using his good one to grab hold of the man’s wrist and twist it away then behind him as Peter forced the pipe out of his hand and his face down to the ground.

“That was not cool, man!” Peter grumped as he fought down the urge to puke. “So not cool.” He scanned the area once more for something to secure Purse Snatcher Guy’s wrists, but was having no luck. Peter was about to give up on finding anything when he looked down at himself and had an epiphany. “Ah, well.” He sighed. “It’s better than nothing,” he pulled at the drawstring from the swim trunks he’d worn in hopes of a few blissful minutes on the splash pad with his friends, and then a few twists and knots later, “Et voila!” Purse Snatcher Guy was bound well enough to keep him where he was until security showed up.

“And now, to get on with my day,” Peter announced to no one as he stood up and brushed his good hand against his t-shirt. For all that racket at the end there, he’d been sure he’d draw some observers, but there was no one. All it would take was a little sneaking for Peter to make his way back to his group... just like he’d planned.

Perfect!

Peter exhaled shakily then smiled as he approached Ned, who eyes bugged out of his head as he took in Peter’s form. “Dude! Are you okay? You look a little—”

“I’m fine, Ned.” He put his hand out to take his phone back. “Why?”

The sound of the Iron Man boosters must have been masked by the sounds of the park so there was no hiding it when Peter jumped at Mr. Stark answering the question in his stead. “Maybe it’s the Casper impression you’re trying to pull off OR maybe even because your cast is currently sporting a dent that I’m 100% certain was not there when you left the tower this morning?”

 “Huh?” Peter lifted his arm to see what he was talking about, and there it was. Peter gulped. “I can explain?”

Mr. Stark looked over Peter’s head to the cluster of Aca-Deca team members that were watching the exchange with bated breath. “Maybe we’ll discuss this back at the tower with Dr. Cho instead?”

Now that the excitement has passed, Peter could admit that maybe the pipe had done a little more than dent the cast, and the idea of the med bay and a moderate dose of painkillers was sounding pretty good. Peter stepped forward, exhaled shakily, and replied, “That sounds good.”

“Perfect!” Mr. Stark smiled softly at the kid before flashing his press-ready grin to Peter’s friends, making note of each of their faces. “I’m assuming I’ll be seeing you all in a few weeks when we try this again?”

Every one of them nodded.

“Fantastic! Well then, we’re going to be off.” Mr. Stark looked over to Ned, “Ted, thanks again for the call. We’ll see you at the tower on Tuesday, right?”

“Right,” Ned smiled big.

“Okay then,” the Iron Man mask flipped closed and Peter was swept up in its arms. “Let’s go see what kind of damage you caused, kid.”

Peter simply rested his head on the suit’s chest and chuckled. “At least I didn’t get my cast wet.”

[fandom-alley]

You're So Gorgeous | Part 2 - First Date

Summary: Spencer goes on his first date with the girl he met on a dating app that Penelope and Emily signed him up for. Pairing: Spencer Reid/OFC and Spencer & Friends Category: Fluff Warnings: like very small bau work mention stuff, kissing Word Count: 3.6k Part One AO3

“I can not believe you’re actually doing this.” Penelope said from her seat on Spencer’s worn leather couch. She looked over to Emily, who stood next to his impressive wall of books. Some stacked on top of others, shoved in this way and that way to make room. And there still wasn’t enough room, as evident by the piles and stacks of books littered throughout his apartment. But, where as some would see it as clutter or hoarding, the friends just saw it as pure Spencer. 

“Neither can I. Who knew that some random girl I picked on a dating app for you based solely on the picture of her hair, would become someone you’re actually interested in,” said Emily.

The two girls had shown up unannounced to Spencer’s apartment on the night of his first date to help him get ready. It hadn’t taken them long to realize that Spencer had been messaging back and forth with Avianna after their lunch at the cafe. When he got back from the morgue with Derek, they were on him in an instant, asking why he couldn’t stop smiling when he was just looking at a dead person. He couldn’t hold back and told them about their conversation. 

Now, exactly one week later and lots of luck having not been called out on a case, Spencer and Avianna were meeting for the first time to go on a date at an Italian restaurant of her choosing. Spencer was glad he didn’t have to make the decision on where to eat, because they might have just ended up with takeout on his living room floor, and he wanted to make a better impression than that.

“Some studies have shown that 0.6% of men find a match through Tinder. For woman, about 10%,” Spencer said from his bedroom, where he had left the door ajar to listen to the conversation, but not have two of his best friends see him naked and changing. 

“Was it Tinder that we signed you up for? I can’t remember,” Emily said. 

“Not sure. We switched to texting that night when I messaged her that I was done work,” said Spencer again from his room, shocking both Penelope and Emily.

“Wow, if she can make you, certified boy genius, forget something, than she must be really special,” Penelope quipped. 

Emily was about to make a witty remark as well, but the sound of Spencer’s door creaking open further made her hold her tongue. He walked out slowly, unsure and maybe a little bit nervous, by his outfit choice. It was a standard Spencer ensemble. His best pair of black pants, a deep purple long sleeve collard undershirt with a dark brown sweater vest on top, paired with a black tie. He had a black suit jacket to wear with it outside hanging over his arm, waiting to be put on for when he left his place.

Emily let out a whistle with an approving nod as she took in his attire. Penelope jumped up from the couch with some excited hand claps, also approving his look. She ran up to him to begin fussing with his tie and making sure his shirt was tucked in nicely. 

“You look so handsome,” Penelope said in his ear. Spencer felt his skin get warm from their attention. 

“It’s not too similar to what I always wear?” He asked, uncertain. 

“It’s important not to change who you are or what you like when you’re meeting someone new, Spencer. You’re always handsome, and she’s going to appreciate you no matter what,” said Emily. “Unless she doesn’t. In which case ditch her and come back here and we can watch that Russian movie you were telling me about the other week.”

Spencer chuckled at her attempt to be up lifting. Sure, he’d only been talking to Avianna through text for a week, but he was pretty sure she wouldn’t be the type of girl to see him standing by a restaurant and just turn around because his looks weren’t up to par. I guess that’s what first dates were for. To see if there’s any sort of real life connection there between two people. 

Their messages for the last week were on a range of different topics. One of them would usually start the conversation by asking how their day at work was, but quickly the boring mundane talk would disappear and they’d chat for hours about the most random of topics. Like plant species that Avianna would spot on one of her many hikes, or Spencer’s facts about Doctor Who and magic.

Spencer broke away from Penelope to put his shoes on by the front door. 

“I should go. We’re meeting outside the restaurant. I’d rather be the one waiting out there for her, as opposed to arriving and seeing her already standing there,” Spencer said. He started to nervously play with his hair, making sure that his unruly curls were situated just right. 

“Awe, it’s like watching my child go on his first date,” Penelope cooed.

“Don’t worry. We won’t be here when you get back,” Emily winked.

“Oh. Well, you can stay as long as you want though. I really won’t mind if you’re both here when I get home,” Spencer said.

“Never mind, pretty boy. You go have fun, we will talk about how it went tomorrow,” Emily said. She pushed him out the door with a final goodbye.

Spencer arrived to the restaurant early, as planned. He didn’t see Avianna standing around, for which he was glad. It really would have made a bad impression if he had let her stand alone outside because he was running late. He gave her a courtesy text to let her know he was outside, and then tried his best to lean casually against the wall while he waited. However, three seconds after that he straightened up again. Leaning wasn’t good for the spine and he was pretty sure he looked like a creep. 

He did not have to wait long for his date to arrive. Just a couple minutes after his text, he watched as she stepped out of a taxi, thanking the driver. Spencer felt his breath catch in his throat. She was even more beautiful in person. Her long hair was pulled back in a French braid, resting over her shoulder. She wore a crisp white top tucked into a pair of high waisted beige checkered pants, her outfit tied together with a long black peacoat. It was simple, but it was beautiful, he thought. He made his way over to her with a wide smile.

“Avianna? Hi. I’m Spencer.”

She pulled him in instantly for a hug, which he hesitantly returned. He wasn’t the best at physical contact with people he just met, but he was drawn in by her aroma. Something floral, like lavender. 

“Sorry, that was a bit forward,” she said in a rush, pushing him away from the hug. “I went over this moment in my head so many times and I didn’t want us to just give some awkward smiles to each other before going inside.”

“That’s okay. It was a nice hug,” Spencer reassured her. 

“It was, wasn’t it? Wow, you are so tall,” she said, looking him up and down with bright eyes. She was probably a foot shorter than him. “And you look fantastic. Purple is a really great colour on you.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” he breathed out. “You look very beautiful.”

Spencer was pretty sure he could see a blush forming on her cheeks, but she diverted the attention from herself and led them inside. The restaurant was decently busy, but not too crowded to be overwhelming. The sound of peoples cutlery clinking together as they ate was only barely audible over the soft instrumental music they had playing throughout the dining room. 

The hostess led them to a booth next to the window, placed their menus down and took their drink orders. Both of them asked for water, not even a peak at the wine or cocktails list that sat next to them on the table. Spencer didn’t want to comment on why she was opting for no alcohol, but he was kind of glad she did. He would never bring it up to his team, but sometimes going out with them for food and drinks was a bit hard and overwhelming when all of them drank alcohol besides him. 

They were comfortably quiet as they looked over their menus. Spencer worried for a second that maybe he and Avianna had already talked about everything they could possibly talk about over text messages, but those thoughts were quickly swept under the rug as she looked up at him from behind her menu with a sparkle in her eye.

“Not that anyone is paying any attention to us, but if they were, it would be so obvious that we’re both on a first date,” she laughed.

Spencer laughed softly as well before asking her to clarify what she meant.

“Just that, from an outsiders perspective, we both probably look so nervous. I mean, I can’t totally speak for you, but I’m very nervous. Maybe I’m just the one who would look like they’re on a first date. You actually look totally cool, calm, and collected.”

Spencer couldn’t help but give a real laugh this time, his eyes crinkling as he did. She rambles more than I do when nervous, he thought to himself.

“I’m definitely nervous,” he said. “I’ve never used a dating app before, and it’s been a long time since I’ve been on a real date. Actually, a couple of my friends set the account up for me without me knowing. Emily, my friend, sent you the first message on the app, but the rest was all me.”

“I’m so glad they did. Remind me to thank them if I ever meet them. I’m also so glad you answered my stupid little math question,” she laughed. Spencer wanted to listen to her laugh forever. It was so light and infectious.

“I was meaning to ask what that was all about. Emily nearly choked on her water when I asked if it was a normal thing to answer before getting to talk to someone,” he smirked.

“It’s kind of stupid,” she said, avoiding eye contact and looking back at the menu.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” 

Avianna grimaced, but started to explain anyways, “I kind of set my account up as a joke with my friends one night. None of us have ever been in any kind of long lasting relationship, and we were having mocktails night just goofing around when we all set up an account to see what was out there. But when we all instantly were getting matches with some of the same guys in our area, we knew people were just using the site as an easier way to try and hook up with anyone.”

“Hook up with someone?” Asked Spencer, a little unsure about what that terminology meant.

“Like have sex,” Avianna clarified for him.

“Got it,” he said through a cough.

“So yeah. We decided to ask everyone who matched and messaged us to answer some kind of skill testing question. Kind of like what they make you do when you win a prize online. Most of the guys would just never respond, and the few that did always gave some bullshit answer like ‘I could love you harder than this math question is.’” She lowered her voice to imitate a man.

“They thought that math question was hard?” Avianna laughed at Spencer’s question, which made him smile.

“Apparently they did. But not you,” she looked at him across the table with a small shy smile.

Their waiter came by to take their orders, both of them opting for the classic best seller, spaghetti and meat balls. The two of them fell into a comfortable conversation, further melting away Spencer’s worries about not having anything to discuss in person. The conversation flowed so easily between the two, Spencer was sure that if anyone looked their way now, they would no longer look like a pair on a first date. More like a couple just going out for dinner.

They chatted a little about work, about Avianna’s job at a bank, but they kept it light. Because talking about Spencer’s job with the FBI could sometimes bring the mood down. Mostly they just continued to get to know each other. Some of the stuff they messaged about got brought up again in person, like her love for hikes ant the outdoors and Spencer’s dislike for extreme physical activity. But it was nice to hear the excitement about her interest’s in person this time. He could study the way her eyes lit up when talking about a cool bird she spotted on her last hike, and the way the corner of her mouth would tilt down when she mentioned how she didn’t like the way someone would disrespect nature on the trails by leaving garbage and breaking off tree branches. 

Spencer would chime in with facts about over tourism and then their conversation would switch to destinations they would love to visit some day. He of course mentioned how much he traveled around the country for work already, but that he would love to spend time in Europe.

When their meals were finished and Spencer paid the bill, Avianna said she promised to pay next time. It made his heart beat a little quicker knowing she wanted to spend more time with him. 

As they made their way outside the restaurant, Spencer really didn’t want to just send her away in a taxi and head home, so he suggest they go for a walk along the waterfront. She happily agreed. He had a small inner battle with himself, on if he should hold her hand or not. On the one side, hand’s held lots of germs and sometimes he would even tell people it would actually be safer to kiss, than to shake hands. But on the other, he just spent an hour chatting with this beautiful girl, and he was feeling a little bit desperate to get closer to her. So eventually he reached down and grasped her hand in his.

Avianna looked up at him after he did, with a pleased smile on her face. He was more than happy with his decision. 

“So did you grow up around here?” She asked him as they strolled along a nice path near the water. It was a little breezy and cold, but something about the heat being shared between their hands made Spencer warm inside.

“No, actually. I grew up in Las Vegas.”

“No way. That’s pretty cool. Did you go to casinos a lot?”

“Yes. To the point where I got banned from most of them for counting cards,” he confessed. 

“Shut up, you did not,” she laughed.

“I am! From Laughlin and Pahrump as well.”

“Remind me never to bet against you then,” she said with a squeeze to his hand that he returned.

“Are you banned from anywhere?” He asked with a joking smile.

“My sisters bedroom, for stealing her clothes when I was a teenager,” she joked back.

The pair made their way to a small park that was empty now that the sun had set. As they were crossing a small bridge over a pond, Avianna stopped in the middle of it so she could lean over the edge and look at the fish. 

“Did you know that in every drop of pond water there is a microcosm of life? And a lot of ponds are actually home to some rare species,” Spencer informed her.

“So don’t drink the pond water?”

“Probably better to wait for filtered water, yes.”

Avianna stood up straight to look at him.

“Can I kiss you?” She blurted out. It took him by surprise, and she could see that on his face. “I’m sorry. That was really forward, it’s only the first date. We can wait for, like, the third or fourth date, if you want.”

When he’d recovered from the shock of not only her wanting a kiss but the mention of a possible fourth date, he replied, “Actually, I really appreciate how to the point you are. It leaves nothing to the imagination.”

“Oh, shit,” she said. “Should I be leaving things to the imagination?” 

“No, I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” he shook his head. “I meant, your forwardness means I’m not overthinking things. Wondering if you want me to call you back tomorrow or wait for a few days. It’s nice, to hear it right out in the open. I’m just not used to it.”

“Well, I’m glad. Because I’ve always been one to say what I feel or ask for what I want. Also, just to be clear, I’m totally okay with the answer no. It won’t hurt my feelings. I do want a second date, though,” she pointed her finger at him to make sure he understands that point.

“I want that as well,” he chuckled. Then he bit his bottom lip in contemplation, before making a decision. “I wouldn’t mind that kiss as well.”

“You do?” She asked and waited for him to nod his head. “Can I kiss you?” She asked again.

“Please,” he breathed out. 

They met each other half way. Spencer bent his head down, and Avianna got up on the tips of her toes. As their lips met, Spencer wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her steady, pulling her in closer and lifting her a little higher. Avianna moved her hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck, where she gently ran her fingers through his hair. Spencer took a step backwards until he was leaning on the wall of the bridge. He couldn’t believe that his was happening. That he was kissing someone on a first date, and that she was as beautiful as she is. And that she was just as into it as him. 

Eagerly, Spencer nipped at her bottom lip, kissing her harder when she let out a gasp of pleasure. He left one arm around her waist to keep her in place, and moved his other so that he could cup the side of her face with his hand. Gently, he rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone, before moving the hand to get a hold on her hair. He used his grip to pull her head back, exposing her neck. He trailed kisses along her jaw then down to suck on the tender part of her neck, making her gasp yet again.

“Oh my,” she gasped in pleasure as Spencer no doubt left a mark on her. “We might have to stop before we expose ourselves to someone in public.” 

Spencer nodded his head in agreement from his place at her neck, but he didn’t stop. Instead he moved back to her lips, in another earth shattering kiss. Spencer wasn’t quite ready for it to be over yet. They moved together like one, breathing each other in. This close to her, all Spencer could smell was that lavender again, and it went straight to his head, making him feel drunk on her kiss.

He let out a shudder when Avianna curled her fingers in his hair. It felt so nice to have someone in his arms. Spencer started to slow down when he heard a dog bark in the distance. He pulled away to rest his forehead against hers, going in for a small peck every few seconds because he just couldn’t believe how lucky he felt to have found her. He really did owe it to his friends.

Finally, when his heart rate went back to normal, he loosened his grip and lowered her down so her feet were flat on the bridge once again. She kept her arms around his neck, looking up at him in wonderment. 

“Sorry, I think I messed up your braid,” he said when he noticed strands of hair sticking out where they were once contained.

“That’s alight. It was worth it,” she said, then she took out the elastic and let her hair fall down in waves around her shoulders.

Unable to help himself, Spencer reached forward to run his hands through her hair. Then he used his grip to pull her head back, bending down a slightly uncomfortable amount to kiss her quickly once again.

“Sorry,” he said bashfully, then pulled his hands away from her.

“Don’t apologize. That was amazing, you can kiss me whenever you want.”

Slowly they started walking again, hand in hand, as they made their way back to the main road where Avianna called herself a taxi. 

“Spencer, I had such a wonderful time tonight. I am on the moon happy,” she said to him.

“Me too. I would love to do this again.”

“How about tomorrow for breakfast?” She asked right as her taxi pulled up.

“It’s a date,” he said. Like earlier in the evening, Avianna pulled him in for a hug. Except this time, he tightly hugged her back and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I can’t wait,” she said before hopping into the taxi. Spencer watched with a massive smile as it drove down the road and made a right turn, disappearing from sight. 

He turned around to start walking back to his apartment when his phone dinged from his pocket. 

Avianna - ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Yup. He really owed it to Penelope and Emily.

[ashandkatiewrite]

Chapter 10

FIC SYNOPSIS: Maggie Hastings meets her dream man after a flight into New York City— Bucky Barnes, a pilot who seems to be everything she’s looking for. Except that she already has a boyfriend who never has time for her. After a near-tryst with her dream pilot, Maggie runs, only to find out he later meets her best friend and they’re now crazy about each other. Among their group of best friends, between Chicago and New York, and four weddings and a funeral, Maggie and Bucky struggle to keep their fiery chemistry a secret so they don’t hurt the ones they love.

WRITTEN BY: @if-you-onlyknew & @katiekinswrites

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OFC

Rating: M (Mature) & E (Explicit)

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

chapter preview...

“Give her some room!” An anxious voice spoke as Maggie was set on the edge of the bed again. Everyone else in the apartment took a collective step back, but no one left. Everyone was quiet, watching. Bucky’s face loomed in front of Maggie’s as he checked her pupils again. “Was it your results?” he whispered, knowing only something like that could possibly have garnered such a reaction from her.

Chris was standing beside Natasha next to Bucky. “Mags?” Chris asked. 

“I passed,” Maggie finally said clearly. “I passed the surgical boards. I am officially a certified surgeon…” 

A broad smile broke out across Bucky’s face and not a second later, he was shoved back, away from Maggie as Natasha threw her arms around Maggie, whooping with victory. “Of course you did, Pchela!”

Being tackled in a hug by Natasha was finally the thing that snapped Maggie out of her shocked state and she couldn’t help but cry and laugh from the happiness and excitement she felt in that moment. 

Steve and Sam clapped as they smiled too. Not only was Chris staring at Bucky with a raised brow, but Frank was too. But they all knew why Bucky had stayed with Maggie for two weeks. No one else had been able to. Someone had to. And Bucky was glad he had. It had been one of the most rewarding experiences of his life. Seeing how happy Maggie had been with him, and it had been reciprocated. 

Maggie’s eyes instantly searched for Bucky, watching as he kept his focus on both Chris and Frank. She wanted so badly for him to look at her so she could thank him for helping her study for the exam, for putting up with her crazy and being by her side these last thirteen days even when she told him he didn’t have to. Maggie — even though she knew Natasha was in the room — wanted to tell Bucky she was so unconditionally in love with him and always would be. She wanted to be held by him during the greatest moment in her life — she just wanted him. 

TAGLIST: @ocappreciationtag • @julieelliewrites• @acabecca • @arrthurpendragon • @darkwolf76 • @cas-verse • @victoriapedrcttis • @seb-soph • @cjand10 • @eddysocs  • @darylandbethfanforever9 

[morbidlyhumorous]

Scuba (Jake Webber)

I was tying off my air tank on the ship when I saw the three guys approaching. Sam and Colby had come to our dive shop a few days ago to get certified and their friend Jake had decided to tag along for 'moral support.' I honestly didn't mind as I found myself warming up to him and thought he was pretty funny. Sam and Jake were cracking jokes the whole way down the dock while Colby looked slightly stressed, though I couldn't blame him. Even though I was confident in my abilities from doing this for several years, I still sometimes felt a dull sense of panic. But I was fine, and Colby would be, too, because he would be partnered with Keline.

Once the three guys were on the boat, we casted off and were soon skipping over the waves. Keline did a run down of what we were going to do with the two guys and I sat next to Jake. We talked for a little while before the captain announced we were close to the site. I already had my wetsuit on halfway, so I focused on putting my gear together. I heard Jake laugh behind me, so I turned to see that Sam had fallen over trying to get his leg through the wetsuit. It was one of the funniest things ever.

Keline and I then checked their gear set up. "Sam! You forgot to turn your air on!" I called out. Sam froze and Jake beside him said, "Oh boy, that would not have been good.""No shit!" Sam exclaimed and I couldn't help but smile. "This is why we check things like this.""I can't even begin to imagine what would've happened otherwise." Sam said, his face slightly draining of color. "Nah, you would've been fine. We always triple check these things." Keline said as they clapped Sam on the back. Once everything had been put together, Keline was the first one into the water. I helped haul Sam up from his seat, slowly walk him to the edge, watched his stride off the edge, then I went back and did the same to Colby. 

Finally it was my turn. I got the rest of my wetsuit on before I turned to Jake and asked, "Can you zip up my back? I usually have Keline help, but they're already in the water." Jake walked over and replied, "It'll be my pleasure," as he zipped up the back. I thanked him and then strapped on my gear before putting my flippers on. I shuffled to the edge of the boat, made sure my BCD was inflated, placed my hand over my goggles and regulator, then strode off the edge. I signaled to the captain that I was okay and then waved at Jake before swimming towards the others. Jake was probably going to find some game to play on his phone while we were gone.

When the four of us reached our descent point, we began our descent. The world around me was quickly silenced as my head went under the surface and I began the frequent process of equalizing my ears. We slowly made our way down the line until we had reached the bottom, which was at about 75 ft. Keline began leading the way and the rest of us followed. A few minutes in, I felt the familiar feeling of underlying panic, but I ignored it. We swam around for about half an hour before we decided to start heading back. It was great to see all the marine animals that live down here, but we only had so much air. We made it to the line and began our slow ascent, making sure to take a safety stop part way through. When we finally broke the surface, Keline and I made the guys go in front of us when getting back on the boat...just in case. Colby took his flippers off and passed them up to the captain before he climbed the ladder up, where the captain grabbed him by the top of his air tank. He walked Colby back to his seat, tied his tank off, and then went back for Sam. After Sam was Keline, and after Keline was me. 

I walked back to my seat and got myself out of my BCD before I could tie my tank off. I managed to get the top part of my wetsuit off before I felt myself beginning to cry. I hastily tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming. My breaths started coming in short gasps and I couldn't see anything. I tried to focus on the cool metal railing beneath my hands, but it didn't work. Suddenly, I felt a warm, rough hand on my bare shoulder. I looked up and saw Jake beside me, a concerned look on his face. As soon as he saw my face, he immediately made me sit down and took one of my hands in his, his thumb rubbing over my knuckles. His other hand was gently rubbing my back as I leaned my head on his shoulder. He rested his chin on my head and said, "Shh, it's okay now. You did it, you got through it, and I'm proud of you. It's over now and what matters is that you're safely here with me."

We stayed like this for a few minutes, Jake muttering soothing words the whole time, before I felt myself calming down. I let out a final shaky breath and used my free hand to wipe my eyes. I glanced towards the other end of the boat and saw that Keline was watching me. They gave me a little thumbs up and I offered a small smile in return. "There we go." Jake said once he had noticed I was calming down. "And look at that," he continued, "We're here." I gave him a little laugh before I stood up to take my wetsuit the rest of the way off and pack it away. 

When we had docked, the guys were nice enough to carry the air tanks off the boat. Once those were off, I grabbed my bag of gear and made my way to the side of the boat. Jake was there and graciously held my hand as I got off. The two of us walked together to the main building next to the dock to rinse my gear off. While rinsing my gear off, Jake got a hold of the hose and began spraying me. I shrieked and tried to block the spray, but it didn't work. "Jake! Stop it!" He laughed but finally turned off the hose. I packed my stuff back up and Jake carried it for me to me car. I popped open the trunk, Jake unceremoniously tossed the bag in, and then we both sat on the edge. Sam and Colby were still near the main building with Keline, so I knew we had a few minutes to kill.

"Hey, I wanted to thank you for helping me earlier. I really appreciated it." I said as I nudged his arm. He smiled and took my hand in his own, giving it a squeeze. "I was happy to do it. I completely understand what you were going through.""I think I should keep you around every time I dive, because that's the fastest I've calmed down from that." Jake laughed slightly at my words and said, "Well, I've always wanted to be certified." I smiled at him before I allowed my head to drop against his shoulder, starting to feel tired after the long day. Jake held me closer to him and we enjoyed watching the waves until Sam and Colby were ready to go. Before he left, Jake pressed a lingering kiss to my knuckles and said he would see me soon before he hurried off, leaving me a blushing mess.

[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!

[novaviis]

Hard Truths

Watercolour Series.

Words: 9.6k Status: Complete Rating: Teen and Up Relationship: Dick Grayson/Wally West

Summary:  The Team is captured and interrogated by Dr. Hugo Strange, under the influence of a powerful Truth Serum. They only have to bide their time before they can make their escape – but they soon find that it’s more than enough time for Strange to get the answers he wants out of them.

Particularly the answers he wants out of one bird.

Excerpt:

Strange clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace the inside of the circle. “I was extremely disturbed by the Justice League’s use of children for their covert operations - yes, I know all about your little team,” he waved a hand, presuming their indignation and too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice that they showed none. “Bad enough was the fact that these ‘Heroes’ insisted on training child soldiers to follow them into battle, but this is just...” Strange clicked his tongue and shook his head. He clapped his hands together twice and the door opened again. A man in an orange jumpsuit with an inhibitor collar around his neck entered, pushing a rattling metal cart that screeched on every other turn of its wobbly wheel, two more men in identical jumpsuits and collars entered behind him, taking places behind Artemis and Wally. The first inmate pushed the collar in front of Strange, and moved to stand behind Dick. “Incorrigible,” Strange concluded.

The three Belle Reve inmates at once reached out and yanked off Artemis, Wally, and Dick’s masks - or at least attempted too. Artemis and Wally’s masks came off without much fuss, Artemis’ detached style falling to the floor while Wally’s spooled on the back of his neck where it attached to his suit. Dick’s would-be unmasker barely touched his domino mask before a massive voltage of electricity shot out and shocked his arm. The inmate retracted his hand with a scream, clutching at the burn marks scorching up his arm, his fingers seized in a grotesque claw that his muscles couldn’t let go of.

Dick, unaffected by the shock, merely grinned back at the poor sucker. “Ah, ah, ah,” he shook his head in admonishment. “No peeking.”

“Stop whining ,” Strange hissed at the agonized henchman. He waved his hand to the other two, and they each took him under his arm and dragged him out of the room, the solid metal door screeching shut behind them. Strange glared down at Robin, who only smiled sweetly back at him. “Those three were out helping me on Good Behaviour,” he huffed. “Do you think that’s any way to promote their reintegration to society?”

“Probably not,” Dick shrugged. “But I’m going to go out on a limb and say your methods aren’t exactly board certified.”

Strange’s lip curled. “No matter,” he sighed as he turned toward the cart left behind. On the surface sat a metal tray and eight syringes. “We don’t have too much time before your mentors arrive, and I plan to be long gone by then, I’m sure you understand. With the time we do have, I’d like to ask you a few questions about yourselves. Really get to the root of the interpersonal issues that brought you into such a dangerous lifestyle. We’ll take an open circle approach, so you can share with your teammates.” The whole cart reeked of astringent. At least he had the courtesy to use proper hygiene. Strange lifted one of the syringes into the light, tapped the barrel, and pushed the plunger until a short burst of clear liquid was forced out of the needle. “Now, I believe that honesty is the best policy. That’s why I am going to give you a little something to help you release those inhibitions.”

*chanting* Truth Serum Fic, Truth Serum Fic, Truth Serum Fic

If you want early access to future fics as well as other treats, please consider joining my Patreon!

[thatshithurted8]

jeff wittek imagine where the reader and jeff go on vacation together like to vegas or miami???

Holiday 

Summary: Throughout your mini holiday in Miami with your boyfriend Jeff, he realizes just how special you and your relationship are. 

Word Count: 2.3k

Warning: Tooth rotting fluff, mention of alcoholism and Jeff’s accident

A/N This is also inspired by KSI’s song Holiday! 

I wanna wake up every mornin', feelin' better 'Cause I know you're sleeping by my side And every moment we're together I remember just to keep it all for you and I

Jeff’s brown eyes slowly open, being awoken by a crying baby that was a few rows behind you two. He lets out a yawn before looking over at you who were fast asleep on his shoulder. 

Something that not a lot of people knew was that Jeff hated flying despite being a certified skydiver. Ever since he was younger he was never a fan of flying, only now he was a bit more comfortable with it due to his experience skydiving. Nevertheless his initial nerves after waking up quickly wash away just from being in your presence.

Wanting to capture this seemingly perfect moment, Jeff slowly grabs his phone out of his pocket without disturbing you and takes a quick picture. As he analyzes the picture his heart swells at how at peace and comfortable you looked sleeping on him and in one of his sweaters. The two of you were extremely tired from catching a red eye flight to Miami so no wonder why you both fell asleep. 

Saving the picture Jeff puts his phone away and slowly opens the blind of your window seat. The rising sun shines into your row, the rays illuminating your face making your features and long lashes more prominent. The purpose of the trip to Miami was to watch the Logan Paul vs Floyd Mayweather fight. In fact you were ecstatic when Jeff told you he got you guys tickets to the event since you grew up watching boxing with your family and you were a huge fan of Mayweather. With that being said you had no idea how close the tickets Jeff got were to the ring. 

Jeff’s breath hitches as he admires you. He was so in love with you and was so excited to see your reaction to being ringside. As Jeff softly moves some stray hairs out of your face he realizes everything he does is for the benefit for not only you, but your relationship as well. It was you two against the world. 

I see that body in the sunlight Feelin' the heat and it feels right I wanna do this for the rest of my life

“I know you guys are dating and all, but you seriously need to stop staring before you sink the boat with your drool.” Mike Maijlak says walking over to Jeff’s side and handing him a La Croix. 

Jeff booked your mini holiday to last a few days before and after the fight which gave you guys the opportunity to explore Miami and let lose. With that being said neither of you were going to turn down Mike’s invite to join him on a yacht to party. So there you were talking and dancing with some girls you knew from LA while sipping on a La Croix. 

Jeff lets out a laugh while opening one of his favourite drinks. “I can’t help it man, just look at her.” He says taking a sip of the bubbly liquid while continuing to admire you from afar. 

The Miami sun that shined onto your skin paired with your infectious laugh, seemingly gave you a golden glow that made you standout. Not only that, but the bikini that you were wearing flattered your body type so well. 

After feeling as if someone was staring at you for the past few minutes you finally turn and look around the boat to find the owner of the eyes that were on you. Quickly your eyes find Jeff’s brown ones and you realize it was just Jeff staring at you the whole time, causing heat to wash over your body at his gaze. 

You shoot him a smirk and wink in return before turning back around to continue your conversation. A smirk of his own falls upon Jeff’s face as you do so, along with a light shade of pink on his cheeks. 

“You’re so whipped.” Mike laughs shaking his head, finally speaking up after watching the whole interaction. 

“Well I wanna be whipped for her for the rest of my life then.” Jeff says without realizing how big of a statement that was while his eyes remained on your beautiful figure. 

Oh, I know, I know, you know the vibe I wanna stay with you every night You and me underneath the lights I'm always good when you're by my side I know, you know you're on my mind You really make me come alive I wanna be here for the rest of my life

“Jeff look at my hands I’m literally shaking I can’t believe we’re this close!” You exclaim while glancing between your boyfriend and the boxing ring in front of you. 

“Only the best for you doll.” He says sending you a wink while laughing. For the past hour and a half as you two watched the undercards you continued to gush about your seats making Jeff happy to see you happy. 

Without wasting another second you roughly grab Jeff by his green shirt and pull him in for a passionate kiss. Just before the brunette could immerse himself into it fully you pull away. Some of your lipstick was smudged and Jeff knew without a doubt he had some on his lips, but he didn’t care. In that moment it truly seemed as if you two were the only ones there under the rings bright lights and in an arena full of screaming fans while you two stared into each others eyes lovingly. 

Your attention on your boyfriend is torn away when the already loud arena becomes even louder as Mayweather starts to walk out. Quickly you start to cheer for your favourite boxer while jumping up and down and clapping excitedly. Jeff glances between you and the boxing legend before his gaze finally lands on you. 

You look over at your boyfriend with a smile that was from ear to ear. “It’s Floyd fucking Mayweather!” You exclaim pointing over to the undefeated boxer entering the ring. 

A smile washes over Jeff’s face as he laughs at your excitement. You truly resembled a child in a toy store. Seeing your excitement only made Jeff more excited, causing him to join in on cheering for Mayweather despite being friends with Logan. 

There was no one else Jeff would rather be with to witness the fight and this thought only made him realize he wants to be by your side for the rest of his life. 

Looking for sun rays, needin' them good days Fly me away-away, you're my holiday Cool like the ocean, lost in emotion Fly me away-away, you're my holiday Whenever you're here it's a good time Strawberry shirts in the sunshine Ice-cold drinks 'til the moonlight You're my holiday Whenever you're here it's a good time Strawberry shirts in the sunshine Ice-cold drinks 'til the moonlight You're my holiday

The next few days after the fight was a whirlwind, but in a good way. Despite having a good time underneath the Miami sun and it’s nightlife Jeff wouldn’t be having as good of a time if you weren’t there. You truly made the trip for him, making the sunny days that were good for his mental health even better and the dreary days full of life from your infectious positivity and smile.  

You let out a loud laugh as you and Jeff wrap your arms around each others, mimicking a toast before brining your drink to your lips while your boyfriend did the same. At the same time you two sip at your virgin drinks while maintaining eye contact with each other in the close position. You gulp down the rest of your cold drink despite it being alcohol free before untangling your arm with Jeff’s and ordering another at the outside bar. 

Over the past four years of knowing Jeff the two of you created a special connection that no one in your friend group had with each other. And that was being sober. Jeff turned to alcohol after his break up with his ex girlfriend while you on the other hand turned to it to deal with the death of your mom. To say you were there for each other was an understatement. When the temptation to drink was too much Jeff would call you up and the two of you would go on late night hikes and talk about everything and anything, and vice versa for you. There was always a mutual pining for one another, but neither of you acted on it due to how broken you both were at the time. However, as the years went by your feelings only intensified along with Jeff’s. Though it wasn’t until a few months after Jeff’s accident when he took a leap of faith and finally confessed his feelings to you after realizing how short life truly was.

Jeff places his glass on the bar as well, placing his hand on the small of your back while looking around the crowded club that was partly inside and partly outside. Once you get a refill of your drink you turn around sipping on the paper straw, your back leaning against the bar causing Jeff to redirect his attention back to you. 

“You look beautiful.” He says looking down at you in his arms. 

Heat washes over your face and Jeff’s smile widens at how flustered you still got after all this time together. He loved showering you in words of affirmation and he meant every thing he said to you. Although, you always look beautiful the way the moonlight reflected off of your skin made you look angelic. It was a great contrast to you earlier in the day at the beach wearing a strawberry printed bikini that made Jeff feel a certain way. 

“Thank you baby you don’t look too bad yourself.” You say placing a soft peck on Jeff’s lips before pulling him towards the dance floor. 

I wanna stay up 'til the mornin' with you talkin' Just to listen to the things you say And every time we're in the middle of the city I imagine us so far away

The two of you sat down in a booth with Mike Majilak and Logan Paul at a random Denny’s that was in between your hotel and the club you four were previously partying at. By now the jet lag and the numerous activities you and Jeff participated in was starting to catch up to you. However, that wasn’t apparent to anyone other than Jeff as you talked the boys ears off while eating. 

“We’ll see you guys later! And once again Y/N text me when you’re free to film an episode of ImPaulsive.” Logan says as him and Mike get out of the booth, placing money on the table and getting ready to leave the restaurant. 

“Of course!” You exclaim before picking up your lemonade and drinking what was left. Jeff bids his goodbyes to the two influencers and once they leave you quickly rest your head on his broad shoulder, letting out a loud sigh. 

“You okay doll?” Jeff asks placing his hand on your thigh. 

“Yea just tired.” You say kissing his neck and placing your hand on his cheek. Similar to Jeff you were able to pick up on the energy of situations and that affected how you acted. So once Mike and Logan left you felt as if you could finally wind down from their partying aura. 

A comforting silence falls upon you two and your eyes slowly flutter close as the rising sun shines in through the Denny’s windows. As cliche as it sounded Jeff felt as if it was only you two in the quiet breakfast place. The brunette rests his head against yours and his eyes follows your lead by shutting close. 

The two of you remain in this position for a few minutes, cherishing not only the first quiet moment of the trip, but also the little moments you two shared. 

Ooh, ooh Ooh, you're my holiday

Scratching at his eyes and stretching Jeff slowly and quietly gets out of bed, the sun filtering in through the hotels curtains and onto your sleeping body. You looked so peaceful and he didn’t want to disturb that. Once you guys returned to your hotel room from a night out partying and a very early breakfast at Denny’s the two of you instantly fell asleep. 

Jeff glances at the analogue clock on the bedside table which read 2:34pm before he slips on a pair of pants and a t-shirt. Making sure to not wake you Jeff grabs his phone, wallet and room key then quietly leaves your shared room. However, before he leaves he makes sure to place a gentle kiss on your forehead and whisper to you how much he loves you. 

Throughout the trip he was constantly reminded of how much he loved you. You helped him through some of the darkest times in his life and after all this time of knowing and being together Jeff finally knew what he had to do. 

Remembering a shop that was a few buildings away from your hotel, Jeff quickly walks over to it wanting to be back before you woke up. The Staten Island native hands become clammy as he approaches the store, his tough guy persona seemingly crashing down with every step he took. 

The bell above the shops door dings as Jeff walks in causing a sales representative to walk over to him with a welcoming smile. 

“Good afternoon how can I help you?” She asks. Jeff takes a look around the quaint shop and all of the glass casings before redirecting his attention back to the worker. 

“Hi uh yea, I was wondering if you guys have any engagement rings?” 

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - Does Anybody Have A Scrub Daddy™️

For: @catalystofthesoul @lunastarthecat @currentlylurking @buff-borf-bork @zombiemerlin @lexosaurus @higgidigs @what-even-is-sleep @language-of-ghosts @ crazydragonlady

The G.I.W. litterally invited all this chaos. So there is absolutely no sympathy to be spared. Plus, they’re just stupid face bigoted meanies with about as much colour to them as unbaked potatoes

Mr. Lancer looks over the class before nodding to himself, “so as you all know there is a G.I.W. compound just a little way outside of Amity Park”, nodding slightly at the class paying more close attention, “tomorrow, yes I know this is quite last minute, the G.I.W. have extended an invitation for us to tour that very compound”.

Todd jerking up a had, speaking before Lancer even calls on him, “can we bring flamethrowers”.

“Absolutely not”; Lancer throws a bit of a glare at the teen, who rolls his eyes.

“What about a bazooka!?!”.

“A collection of knives?”.

“What about pro-ghost propaganda t-shirts?”.

“Can I bring a blob ghost?”.

“Oh mi god yes! Blob ghost army to their doorstep, girl!”.

Lancer sighs and gestures for the class to be quiet. Daniel having not said anything and just chuckling in the back of the class is honestly more worrying that everyone else. “Quiet down. There will be no weapons, beyond standard ecto-weapons for personal protection”, glaring slightly, “and that does not include bazookas or flamethrowers or knives or bombs. Only pen-blasters, lipstick-blasters, and personal mini shields”, eyeing Daniel, “and Daniel, please try not to destroy anything”.

Daniel smirks, “you know… technically I am certified to wield a bazooka”. Lancer simply sighs.

Lancer truly has no idea why his principal thought this was actually a good idea.

---

Danny laughs to himself as he walks into the classroom the next day. He knows shit is going to be fucking CRAZY crazy. Especially since Wes looked like he had at least eight major recording devices on him, not including his phone. He’d bet money on the teens necklace being a disguised mini camera too. But hey! At least that’ll keep the G.I.W. from being too fucked up due to fear of being recorded!

And Lancer eyeing Wes with a tired look tells Danny that the teacher felt the exact same way as him. Lancer clapping his hands together, “alright everyone! To the bus please! Single file!”. Everyone runs out, decidedly not in single file or in any kind of orderly way. Danny’s not sure why the man still tries to control the chaos, all things considered.

…

By the time they actually get to the compound, everyone on board is getting a little rowdy. At least eleven games of seat surfing have happened, one guy had begun doing some seriously outdated planking, it smelled like someone had lit a joint that Lancer had yet to successfully find, and there was a very heated debate about proper Tamagotchi care while calling Lancer old for knowing what they’re talking about much to the teacher's confusion.

And once the G.I.W. compound was actively in sight, damn near everyone went out of their way to stare meanly or hungrily at random G.I.W. men to just be randomly creepy or scary. Why? Because fuck the G.I.W. that’s why; the whole fucking town actually really hated them pretty much.

Lancer sighing as the bus stops, “please, everyone, behave yourselves”. Emilie lifts up a paint can and laughs meanly, chucking it out the window and immediately causing a code brown. Off to a fucking GREAT start.

Danny’s the last to get off, hands in his pockets, “Lance?”.

“Yes Daniel?”.

“You know this is going to be a right shit show, yeah?”. Lancer sighs, nodding slowly. So Danny pats him on the arm, “you have my pity”, then moving to join his classmates.

The most surprising thing about the first five minutes is that absolutely no one has punched one of the agents yet. What’s also not legitimately surprising is the way Danny can feel the agents all eyeing him. Why? Because the G.I.W. plus last-minute plus him really only equals them having figured his shit.

Should he maybe have skipped out of this? Probably. But he wasn’t a chuckle fuck like that and it’s not like they could end his ass? Sure torture was totally on the table, but who doesn’t get a little dose of torture in their life every now and again these days? So long as whatever happens in the near future doesn’t involve Dash’s underwear, Danny couldn’t be paid to give a flying rats ass about what happens in this shitty little middle of butt fuck nowhere compound.

Lancer eventually noticing the staring, approaching Danny some, “Daniel… is there something going on between the Fenton’s and the G.I.W. again?”. It wouldn’t be the first time after all.

Danny snickers, “eh they’re probably just playing a lets abduct Danny game”.

Lancer looks concerned.

-

Annnnnnnnnnd not even five minutes later Danny winds up getting separated from the group via weird moving floor tiles and being knocked out. Apparently a strange ‘pop the balloons full of powder’ game to teach ghost hunting somehow was really just a way to release an ectoplasm-specific knock-out drug. But of course that kinda went wrong, knocking fuck all everyone out ‘cause fuckin’ everyone and their mother was ecto-contaminated these days. But anyways, Danny winds up getting dragged into some over sterile room… all the while all the live footage Wes had been taken suddenly goes live, due to his unconscious finger no longer holding down a certain little trigger. Queue the G.I.W.s image and name getting tarnished even more for knocking out a goddamn group of teenagers. But also queue a now slightly panicking and very pissed off Jazz Fenton, who was currently hauling ass to rain down wrath on some shitty men in shitty suits. Though she forgoes weapons purely because she knows, and unlike everyone else actually cares, about the fact that the G.I.W. have sensors for literally anything ectoplasmic; including stuff powered by ectoplasm. So she was going to take a page out of her brother's book, and her mother's training, and punch a couple of people in the face.

---

Danny wakes up blearily. Blinking and chuckling faintly, speaking up from the table he’s definitely strapped down on to, “well good morning gentlemen, a lovely fucking day we’re having right?”.

One of the men glares at him, tightening a restraint just to be a dick, talk about a totally dick move right? “Silence, ghost”.

Danny, in fact, does not go into silence, “do I look like I’ve got a glow or whacky ass glow-stick eyes? You been smoking Johnny’s good shit”, Danny waving a finger mockingly from inside the restraint, “you know he gets really pissed about people stealing his shit, right?”.

Annnnnnnnnd he gets a cattle prod to the side. Nice. What is it with people and jabbing him with cattle prods specifically. Valerie did that, his mom that one notable time, Vlad keeps doing it for funsies Danny thinks, and Walker actually has a specialised cattle prod with Phantom’s name branded on it.

Why couldn’t someone spice it up with bear mace or something?

Anyway, some fuck stick rolls out a cart of scalpels, Exacto knives, and other medical thingamajigs and doohickies; and Danny sighs. This shit? Really? Chuckling anyway at the men, “oOoOoOo, now that the sharp silver friends are here can I officially dub this area the stabbin’ cabin?”, beginning a little cheer of: “stabbin’! Cabin! stabbin’! Cabin! stabbin’! Cabin! stabbin’! Cabin! stabbin’! Cabin!“; until one of them gets fed up enough with his shenanigans that they just stab him one in the leg with a knife or some shit. Danny sticking out his tongue at them, “awww are you trying to butter me up with a nice little butter knife”, that earns him another stab, “hey can we at least play rock, paper, Caesar over what gets actually used first?”.

One of the men scowls, “no. This isn’t up to you”.

“Well don’t worry about any medical sensor shit, I promise I’m in stab-le condition”.

They just ignore him and move on to cutting off his shirt. Him muttering, “well this sure as shit ain’t my preferred type of exposure”, blinking, “oh wait! Make sure to take pictures please!”, smirking, “I came pretty and proper for my all my close-ups!”, and winking. They slap a piece of white duct tape on his mouth, him promptly eating it, “now that’s what I call pointless”.

One with a particularly excessively shaved head -like really, the dude had a really fucking ugly head shape and should thus never ever shave almost down to smooth scalp ever again- just gets this party popping n’ hopping by shanking him one right in the sternum. Which is not how you do a fucking dissection, man. Have class why dontcha? “Bro, you're supposed to start happy stabby time higher up, did they not train you for shit? Like the right proper dick weasel you are?”.

Some other guy decidedly starts the actual dissection process. Baldy was a basic bitch that probably didn’t know his scold’s bridles from his bone saws. Danny makes a point to whistle the most annoying song he can think of followed up by whistling a good old fashion Rick Roll. They cut a little more meanly for that, “really cut in deep there, fuck sticks. You know… y'all should start stabbing clocks too, it’s a great way to kill time”.

And then the dick on the right decides to jab him right in the fucking heart with a fucking tazer like an ASSHOLE. Danny forcing down a wince with comedy, “awww that’s touching. Really heartwarming. You’re the ecg to my heart, babe”, blowing a cheeky kiss, “we’re really getting to the heart of the matter, eh?”.

The G.I.W. douche canoe snapping, ”you are, by far, the worst ghost we have ever captured”.

“Oh please do sing my glorious praises more!”, Danny breaking out into song, “🎵You wooo me so! Just look at my heart palpitations go!🎵”. He even manages to keep up the mild tune when one of the fucking asses rips out a solid wad of Danny’s very own intestines. Danny spitting a bit and eyeing the mound on the floor, “wow that is very officially eight metric fuck tons of my exposed steaming innards! Nice!”, looking back to the men, “so how we gonna cook it?”, groaning, “oh wait don’t tell me, you guys are the ‘we like it raw’ kinda cannibals?”.

They ignore him and keep going, peeling away bits of skin and muscle, moving around organs.

…

“You know, US stats say a guy gets stabbed every fifty-four minutes; I think I’m really skewing those rates”, barking out a laugh, “soon it’s gonna be a guy gets stabbed fifty-four times every minute!”.

…

“What? You gonna use knitting needles next? Really start following a pattern?”.

…

“Guys, I promise I’m not a Pikachu, you can’t play poke a man with me”.

…

“You know, I bet y’all’s therapists have all said time heals all wounds, and your responses were to stab them and see how long it would take“.

…

One of the guys stabs something that is definitely not part of Danny’s insides, it sounding vaguely like an over pressurised gas canister being pierced, followed by a loud bang and peanut butter getting absolutely splattered fucking everywhere. The G.I.W. guys screaming about cleanliness breaches, while Danny glances at his entirely popped open and exposed stomach, “huh. I forgot I stored a jar of peanut butter in there. Man that must be so expired”, at the men beginning to scream and the globs of peanut butter beginning to attack the men, “and definitely ecto-contaminated”.

Needless to say, Danny was having a very exposing fun time.

---

Meanwhile, while Danny’s busy torturing his tortures, Jazz gets to the compound at the same time as Lancer, one of the less ecto-contaminated people, wakes up.  Lancer quirking an eyebrow at her, “Jasmine? Why are you here?”. Jazz sighing, “I saw Danny getting abducted over Wes’s stream”.

“He was streaming this?”, Lancer sighs to himself, slouching for a bit before walking after Jazz as she begins moving around the compound, kicking open random doors. Lancer muttering, “never mind. I really need to ban Wesley from carrying any kind of camera”.

What neither of them were aware of, was the fact that there was actually a second stream coming straight from a mini cam Wes slipped into Danny’s back pocket. Danny totally noticed, Danny totally didn’t care, Danny was totally letting Wes take the blame if the G.I.W. tried suing over the footage.

Jazz humming, “that would be an idea but currently I’m glad you haven’t”, kicking in another door and sending the G.I.W. agent on the other side flying into a wall. Her smirking and walking over, “okay you, where is my brother”; even Lancer’s a bit thrown by the threat to her voice.

“As if I would tell some ghost lover”. Jazz punches him in the kidney and then slams the heel of her shoe into his forehead. Turning on the next G.I.W. agent in the room, “where is my brother”.

“You’re probably a ghost too”.

Jazz breaks his fucking jaw, before moving on to the next man.

Lancer stares a bit, officially believing those odd comments he’s heard about Danny beating the Hell out of the school bullies. Size really meant nothing when you knew what you were doing. Jazz steps on the next guys fingers and rams her knee clean into his eye socket; before body slamming him through a wall and moving on to the next man in the next room.

At this point, Lancer’s just following in an attempt to ‘supervise’ the situation and the one teenager just going on a rampage; this was so far above his pay grade.

And at that very moment the wall next to Jazz, who’s currently holding a man up by the collar, gets blown in; bits of rubble and… peanut butter? going flying by their heads.

Lancer whipping some off while men shout about cleanliness breaches. Jazz blinking before decking the man she was holding up in the face, knocking him out easily. Groaning sounding from inside the room the peanut butter came from, followed by thumping, some screaming, someone that sounds suspiciously like Daniel Fenton, “awwww, you look disappointed. What’s the stigmata?”.

Jazz damn near running into the room, shouting, “Danny!”.

Lancer just stands near a bit of destroyed wall, Daniel chuckling while half attached to some kind of experimentation table and having seeming been completely gutted. Lancer can’t help but turn to the side and vomit. While Danny speaks up, “oh uh, hey, some totally unneeded but needed help would totally be appreciated here. This is limiting my range of motion so much that I’m just really not interested in getting e-motional attachment”.

“Danny, oh my god”, Jazz ripping the straps off him.

“Oh hey now, surely these guys just grabbed me up specifically for all the cutting remarks, right?”.

Jazz smacks him one over the head, his skin flaps flapping around and bits of insides dripping out, “Danny this should not be funny to you!”.

“And how many fucks do I give?”.

“I don’t know, Danny”.

“Well I don’t know either, so you want the measurements in imperial or metric? Either way it’s still zero”, and flips her off. She cuffs him over the head for that.

A G.I.W. agent pops out around a corner, grabbing Danny by the wirst, “what are you doing out of containment!”.

“Pfffft. Fuck you, you peon”, and Danny’s arm just… pops off. Sending the G.I.W. agents stumbling over, the bone of the arm smashing him in the face so hard it breaks his nose. Danny blinks, “what the actual fuck actually”, looking to Jazz in shock, “I just delimbed my arm! I AM THE DANNY STARFISH!”. Lancer sighs, “I’m going to check on the other teens. Just, Daniel? Please put yourself back together again?”; he is decidedly not asking. He knows as well as Shakespeare knows drama, that questioning Daniel’s everything was simply not worth it and didn’t actually do anyone any good.

Danny chuckles, watching his poor poor son of a bitch teacher walk off, avoiding bits and bobs of rubble as he goes, Danny shouting after him, “I do not apologise for solidly wrecking shop!”. His teacher just waving over his shoulder at him. Danny turning his silly smile on his sister, “so, did you know that spinal fluid tastes like a mixture of bananas and a nine-volt battery?”, waving her off, “sure with a slight tingle of the ecto, but that one’s all on me”.

“I was worried about, you problem child”.

Danny cackles at that very loudly while Jazz jumps a little, spinning on her heel to punch some APPARENTLY FUCKING SENTIENT PEANUT-BUTTER. The peanut butter makes grabbled sounds of annoyance.

And off in the distance, another explosion rings out. Ahhh it sounds like all the teens have awoken, and now doomsday has finally come.

---

By the time Lancer got back to his students, utter pandemonium had broken out. There were fistfights left and right. One guy was being choked. Someone had seemingly forged a hammer utilising bits of metal torn out from a wall and their lipstick-blaster, they were screaming about ‘indoctrinating others into a good ol’ round of whack-a-mole!’ while chasing a G.I.W. agent. Emilie had an entire katana and was just going to town on anything that looked expensive. Eight people where jumping weirdly and chanting in gibberish around a tied-up G.I.W. agent. And then there was Wes… off in the corner recording with a smirk, he even had a tripod set up; it was probably recording live and streaming with Lancer’s luck.

Oh god the angry parents were probably coming.

One of the agents can be heard shouting, “this was not how this was supposed to go! What is wrong with this town!”. Receiving cackles in return. You know,  Lancer had once wondered why no one thought Amity Park was actually a real place, but of course they didn’t; the sentient peanut butter -there’s more of it?????- really selling the sheer insanity here.

Apparently, the peanut butter has congealed into a hulking goopy mass, with G.I.W. agents and other assorted things stuck in it and struggling to get free. Lancer has never heard peanut butter roar before, and he wishes it had stayed that way. And just then the angry parents arrive on schedule, being stereotypical as everything by currently wielding shed tools and torches, as they break through a few sidewalls.  Lancer’s not surprised to see James’s rumoured to be mob-involved parents at the forefront with hunting knives.

Danny walking up behind the teacher, looking wrapped up like a mummy and still sans an entire arm, “well this is some syphilitic insanity shit right here”. Lancer just sighs, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. Though he does side-eye Jazz, when she walks in dragging an unconscious man, “we found who was responsible for this whole plan”.

Lancer sighs, “good. That’s good”; sounding tired.

Danny giving a cheery, “yup! Now we know who gets to foot the bill! And who’s got enough of an ego to make my organs be or-gones”, gesturing to his rather messy self since the bandages and everything were just done over top of the blood splatter gore, “got a sponge? ‘Cause I could so use a good sponge bath scrub down. Seeing as I am the quirkiest of quirked up white boys goaded with the sauce and I deserve to get this everything hygienically busted down sexual style”.

“Will… you be alright”.

“Indubitably”. Danny then shrieks like a banshee, roundhouse kicks an agent in the face, and goes off whacking them and different things with his unattached arm.

One of the parents laughing at the entire situation, many of the teens having just started infighting for the fuck of it, “well at least the kids are having fun”.

Someone shouting, “hello hello! Oh my my my what have we here!”, is followed by a loud explosion that results in the peanut butter monster just kinda exploding everywhere. Danny snickering from being thrown into the ceiling, “ah I just love sticky situations. A lovely turn of events”.

Everyone can see the culprit of the explosion after a while, Emilie’s father strongman style holding up a questionable gas canister with a knife in it, “THE DRAGONS HEART HAS BEEN SLAIN!”. Far too much laughter followed that statement.

---

The clean up the next day was truly something to behold, and the peanut butter factories were confused for a few weeks by the aggressive amount of their product that was being sold and used in memes. And the Amity news absolutely paid to use Wes’s footage, including the audio taken from Danny’s back pocket which had already gone viral. The town's general consensus was that the Fenton boy apparently had one really disturbed sense of humour.

But the other notable thing that happened shortly after? Why the local Amity Ghost Relief Fund receives an honestly staggering amount of donations, why? Well someone *cough cough* Danny and Tucker *cough cough* had created a subscription-based donation service to supply the great world with weekly footage of Amity Park’s general insanity. Apparently selling the visual embodiment of a crackfic was lucrative business. No one was going to question how the actual fuck the teens got around the G.I.W.s tendency to screen and block footage from Amity getting out into world too heavily though. Maybe Phantom had helped them out to make up for it being him and his kind’s fault that the town had been months away from complete bankruptcy; eh, who were they to question their town hero? And hey, at least the town wasn’t all strapped for cash now? Right? Right.

End.

Prompts: Peanut butter. and Danny Fenton has been kidnapped! Unfortunately for his kidnappers, he finds this hilarious. and The Fenton siblings aren't just formitable with different types of ghost hunting weapons; their black belt of a mother taught them better than that! and Danny goes missing, and it's up to Jazz to find him. and Oh no! Danny has gotten himself captured by either his parents or the Guys in White. Hope nobody brought a scalpel with them hahaha…. unless? and Amity Park holds a fundraiser to try to profit off the ghosts in town, but with no one biting Danny and co. have to figure out how to con investors/tourists into supporting the town. and danny learns he can starfish his limbs. and The school field trip to the Guys in White facility goes wrong. and Mr. Lancer doesn’t get paid enough for this.  and Jazz, but make her terrifying. and Amity Park takes a lot of damage on a regular basis. The city government has disaster funds and the mayor donates some dough out of his pocket, but six months after Danny Phantom and ghost fights appear, the money is about to run dry.

[aqricus]

having your car break down in the middle of nowhere and happening to find a local named Nishinoya who knows his way around cars n boats :((( just a nice lil country boy who’s more than willing to help a pretty lady down on her luck…

getting tamed by Nishinoya for being such a brat to him while he fixes your car :( not scared of his small stature and foggy, amicable demeanor until he has your front pinned on the trunk of your car, hands clasped in one of his behind your back while he makes your pussy squelch nice and loud around his cock :((

such a small man but god he’s so strong,, practically pulling you on his dick and using you like a fleshlight, loving the way your tits flop all aggressive against your chest as he milks orgasm after orgasm from your puffy cunny 🥺

AAAAA COUNTRY BOY NISHINOYA

you don't know why you feel comfortable taking out your irritation on him. maybe it's because all the build-up from your shitty day has finally whittled away the remainder of your ability to care about anything other than getting your damn car fixed. or, maybe it's because nishinoya seems to take everything in stride, brushing off your snide remarks and misguided frustration and bouncing back with that same cheerful smile of his.

you should've expected the strength he slams you down onto the hood of your car with when he offhandedly mentioned that he knows quite a lot about the inner workings of cars and boats from experience. he's not anyone certified, just someone who likes fooling around with vehicles every now and then, he claims, but his strength suggests otherwise when he's tugging your hips back against his hard enough for the clapping of your ass to be audible above your squeals and breathless pleas for him to slow down.

it should be embarrassing, the way your sharp tongue melts and your attitude gradually disappears with every orgasm he demands from you--nishinoya, someone you've only known for about an hour and simply met by chance. but, even as globs of mixed cum drip onto the pavement between your high heels and trickle down your thighs, you can't find it within yourself to care.

[parchmentedpetrichor]

➳ don't let him know ♡

in which y/n l/n is a certified gryffindor scaredy cat who bumps into fred in his shop, gets scared by a product, and catches the eye of a ginger headed monster. he takes an interest in her and invites her to watch a horror movie at his place to prove a point.

fred weasley x fem!reader

word count: ±1.3k

tw: horror movies, scary things, darkness, clowns

drop a follow if you wanna see more of this content!!

my masterlist:D

- when playing it cool doesn't work

don't let him know

she was pretty sure he knew she would freak the hell out of her pants if she ever saw a picture of a killer clown. yet the stupid fearless annoying guy who laughed in her face when she got slightly paranoid about the darkness caused by the peruvian dark stuff insisted. in the most annoying way.

he knew she would freak the hell out. sure, she had been a gryffindor and a pretty well-known one, but she was probably just trying to be strong. plus, he liked her.

anyway.

y/n knocks at the door to a very interesting apartment. it has straight white walls and a dark oak door.

"ready to be a scaredy cat?" fred opens it with a grin.

y/n rolls her eyes, "no. i told you, the powder was just a little surprising, that's all."

fred would have completely believed her easy tone if it wasn't for the memory of her panicked voice calling out, "mister gingerman? uh, this is kinda a problem!!!" to him.

he put on 'it', settling back into the couch as she took off of her shoes and pulled her jacket closer to her.

"why's it so cold in here?" she shivers.

"is it?" fred's lips are smirking, "cold and scared?"

"oh shut up. i'm just saying."

truth is, she is cold, and she is scared. but fred likes the company of brave and ruthless women, she knows. he probably wouldn't even want to be her friend if he knew she was scared by spiders and death and murders.

she hops onto the couch, thankful that there's a blanket waiting for her. ignoring the way it smells of the ginger head next to her, she pulls it to her chin. y/n grabs a handful of popcorn and gulps it down as the movie begins.

she's utterly terrified. her eyes are wide with fear, her fingers trembling. a mild jumpscare appears and she shrinks. fred's engrossed watching her scared figure tremble, but he notices that she's very very embarrassed and decides it's not right, putting his amazing broadway acting to use.

he shivers as the clown comes on again, faking a scared look.

"h-hey, y/n, can we c-change the movie?" he asks meekly, lying.

she nods far too eagerly, "yeah!" she's thankful that she doesn't have to admit she's scared.

"o-okay."

he switches it quickly to 'F.R.I.E.N.D.S'. it's cute and light.

he feels her relax tenfold beside him. a smile is painted across her lips. she's laughing, and her eyes are no longer fearful.

fred decides he likes this much more than the scared version of her.

she turns her head awkwardly as a kissing scene comes up and fred can't help but laugh, shamelessly watching chandler and monica snog.

"seriously?" he chuckles.

"it just feels like the moment should be theirs. like we shouldn't be here- oh another one? can they NOT keep their hands off of each other?!!!"

he laughs, but it's drowned out by her laughter as phoebe says something utterly bonkers.

she's clapping, laughing uncontrollably. and he folds his arms.

because of course he's jealous. he wants to make her laugh like that, not a stupid movie character.

and as the clock ticks by, he notices her become drowsier and drowsier. finally, she slumps asleep, head supported by arm.

he thinks of moving her to the guest room but decides that if she does have nightmares, which would be completely his problem, she probably needed to wake in a more alive room. so he gently sweeps her up, and gently puts her in his bed, tucking the covers under her chin as she smiles subconsciously.

"scaredy cat, huh?" he whispers fondly.

"'m not," she automatically flounders, "you're stupid, big clown."

he finds her sleep talking utterly adorable. he can't think of why she would think being a scaredy cat is a bad thing. it's okay to have fears.

a boost of confidence suddenly runs through him as he realises she might want him to think she's tough and strong, trying to get him to at least like her as a friend.

his lips quirk into an odd smile at the very thought.

that would explain her embarrassed expression. and the way she suppressed her shivering.

but that also meant she wasn't comfortable around him. he frowns.

unable to resist, he pokes her shoulder continuously. she rolls around, annoyed and grumbling in her sleep, trying to dodge the poking.

finally, her eyes open wide, before her form relaxes as she realises a fire isn't actually happening.

"y/n?"

"mhm?"

"do you not feel very comfy with me?"

y/n ponders the question, "why?"

"well- you kinda seem on edge?"

"on edge?"

"like you're tryna hide something."

"huh?" y/n doesn't really want to explain it all to him, it seems really silly to her.

"i don't mind if you're scared of stuff, really," he smirks, "i find it cute."

"uh-erm, i-" she's rendered speechless, spluttering, "it's not cute! i'm a gryffindor, for godric's sake!"

"well, not all gryffindors need to be brave."

she narrows her eyes, flipping over with her back to fred, "now you're just insulting my womanhood."

"not all gryffindors need to be brave in an obvious way," he offers.

"that's a lil bit better. i-, i still wanna be brave and not fearful, but it's hard, if you know what i mean?"

his expression is bewildered, "wha?"

"never mind. so you don't really mind?"

"love, it's not a big deal."

she wonders if it's traditional english custom for all the people to call all the other people 'love'. apparently though, where she comes from, it's a mocking thing.

people say it when they go, "hey, love, stop being a jerk, won't you?" and "lovely, shut up." and "do us a favour and stop your ignorance, won't you, love?". it's meant as a sarcastic term.

so when fred says it ever so casually she nods and returns to her dreams. the problem is, she can't. the image of the clown is still imprinted in her head. fred's scribbling things down on a little desk.

she doesn't want to disturb him, so she quietly begins daydreaming. daydreaming about a nice love story.

sirius and remus would look good together, she muses, having seen pictures of the two standing side by side a little younger.

and sometimes, she thinks, a little creepily, of what it'd be like to have fred love her.

a small smile is on her lips as she creates little tales and images in her mind about the couples in her life.

cuties, she thinks about harry and ginny, guess the potter men have a thing for redheads. but redheads are kinda cute. ginny has the most beautiful features, ron has the nicest eyelashes, george has angie's love? if that counted- she chuckles to herself.

blushing a little, she admits in her head that fred has cute freckles, and whenever he wasn't up to no good, he has this sweet little smile on his lips.

percy's smart, charlie's got nice tattoos and bill has the best hair.

the exchange in her head doesn't go unnoticed by fred. he's confused by the little sighs of dramatic happiness she lets out and smirks. when a dainty blush paints over her cheeks he's got to say something.

"thinking of me, love?"

she really isn't listening, so she hums a "mmm" back and he laughs.

"you are?"

"huh?" her eyes snap back and she frowns.

"i asked," he says slowly, "if you were thinking of me."

she gives an awkward laugh, "nope! not at all! good try!"

and that, followed by another blush, is reason to fred that she might just be thinking about him.

"hey, y/n?"

"yeah?"

"i think about you a lot, too. probably more than you think of me."