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duskholland · 3 years

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Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. What happened?”

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

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

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

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

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom gulps nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

Tom follows you…?

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute.

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

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

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

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

Y/N: hey x

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

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, is it a home game?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me a spin, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

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

“Dutchy?” you question.

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

You coo. “That’s cute.”

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

And Tom… Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

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

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

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

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, darling.”

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

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

“What, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What— Tom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Penalty.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

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

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

“Funnier than me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

A smile breaks out across your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Overnight?”

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

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

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

“You can open them now.”

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

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

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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curiosity-killed · 3 years

Note

Hi....If you don't mind me asking, who are your favorite MXTX characters (top 5 from each novel)? And why? I'm sorry if you've answered this question before.

Aw of course I don’t mind! Though I feel like my answer is going to be a disaster bc I love these casts so so much aha let’s see:

✨ SPOILERS AHEAD ✨

MDZS/CQL

1. Wei Wuxian

Ah so I feel like this is obvious based on the sheer quantity of things I produce and the effort I put into hurting him 😅 but yeah! I love how much of a classical tragic hero he is and I love how much love he has and how that gets twisted around and shaped into a collar of spikes around his own neck. I saw gif sets of wwx before I ever knew about CQL and my reaction was “fuck. I’m going to love him” and I do! And I love that he does learn from his past and I love most of all that he learns to accept the love he is given and is able to make a happy ending in a place of being loved and held in respect and appreciation

2. Wen Qing

On the other hand, I did not expect to be like “mine now” with Wen Qing. Don’t get me wrong, the sexy immortal look got me but it wasn’t really till I started writing fic that I was like ohhhhh Oh Boy. Wen Qing is brilliant and ruthless, fiercely loving and aloof and cold. I love that she gets the lose-lose challenge of balancing what is right for her family vs what is right in the world, what she owes to her sect and what she owes to individuals. The golden core transfer is my favorite dubious science experiment in p much all media I’ve consumed. She gets to be so human—prickly and tough and also achingly gentle and afraid and putting on a tough face and sometimes still crying. “I’m sorry and thank you” ! Im!!

3. Jiang Yanli

The first fic I wrote for this fandom was literally “Jiang Yanli died no she didn’t” lmao I do feel like I underserve Jiang Yanli in that I often fall prey to using her to further the complexity that the male characters are permitted while denying her the chance to be given the same space for development and breath — something to work on! But in that, I really genuinely love how tightly she binds herself to her family and how she tries so hard to be what others need her to be—and then she does make a choice for herself and for a single moment at least, she gets to be loved and to be happy and to have this, a husband and a son and a place, for herself. And terribly I love how much she permeates the story still after death. She is the unspoken voice, the face turned from the camera but always still present, carried in the hearts and names and memories of the ones left behind

She deserved better but—I am weak for the tragedy of it all

4. Jiang Cheng

Another surprise (tho hardly surprising in hindsight): Jiang Cheng is just...horribly understandable. He makes terrible choices and his greatest heroism is undone by a choice made for him or, in the case of “killing the Yiling Laozu” is a lie. He is such a youngest sibling who doesn’t want to be the youngest until all at once, he’s the one in charge and he doesn’t want it at all. He is full of anger and hurt and so much love he doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t want it anymore, has no place to put all of its terrible, overwhelming flood.

5. Lan Wangji

I almost didn’t put Lan Wangji or Jiang Cheng on here and then I realized that this is sort of a list of characters I’m pickiest about in fic and...yeah. I think what I love best about Lan Wangji is his journey of grief and healing and through that, his decision to step into world. Where Wei Wuxian’s decision to travel and be removed from the cultivation world (in varying degrees depending on your headcanon preference lol) is really, really important to me, Lan Wangji’s decision to go from being an isolated lone agent working apart from the systems of the world to being involved and invested in changing those systems and working to make them better is also really important to me. I’ve talked before about how relatable Lan Wangji is to me (esp with regards to our interaction with the outer world) and there is something deeply hopeful and comforting about post-timeskip Lan Wangji being in his like mid-/late-30s and still making decisions and growing and changing and choosing to invest himself in the world and the future

yeah. i have thoughts here that I don’t really have the maturity, life experience, or articulation to put into words but Lan Zhan Good basically

TGCF

1. Xie Lian

suuuurpriiiiise!! Yeah honestly mxtx’s mains in TGCF and MDZS really just hit all my buttons basically. What appeals to me most of all about Xie Lian is, fittingly, how he is humanity taken to extremes. His capacity for incredible kindness and compassion is equaled with his capacity for cruelness and ruthlessness. His heaven-shaking highs are matched with calamitous lows. He is the hyperbolic of what it is to be human—and he is also the small moments, the wildflowers and the maple leaves and the mundane chores and the comfort of whispered conversations late into the night. I could quite literally go on for pages about what I love about Xie Lian but I am not Hua Cheng and can restrain myself LMAO

2. Hua Cheng

of all the characters on these lists, Hua Cheng is the one I’m pickiest about tbh! When I say I love him for similar reasons as Xie Lian I don’t actually mean this as being similarities between the two but the fact that both of them so richly convey mxtx’s points about the nature of humanity and what it is to be human. Hua Cheng is both the boldest and most arrogant of all and also the most vulnerable, the one who shies away from the truth because he’s braced for it to hurt and isn’t sure he can take it. He is gory blood rain and an umbrella to shelter a fragile bloom; he is a blade whose wounds only heal if he permits it and he is a sacrifice that he brushes aside as a fit of madness. *pats his head* this boy can fit SO MUCH inside him that he refuses to acknowledge

3. Jun Wu

Definitely my favorite antagonist in recent reading. I was doubtful of him from the start (something something issues with authority something something probably should talk to my theoretical future therapist shhh) but the unfolding of his reveal was so delightfully painful and exquisite that I was like “YES!!!” reading all of it. About the epitome of a satisfying plot twist imo. But about the character himself, I love how he parallels so many — Xie Lian in his rise and fall, his glory and disgrace; Hua Cheng in his fixation and ruthlessness; He Xuan in losing himself to the plot and not knowing how to move forward. I love that he feels beyond human in a way the others don’t—he’s so old and has gone through so much and he doesn’t feel things the way humans do anymore, doesn’t remember right how love squeezes the heart or how hate can exist without acting on it. I love that he thinks he knows how to control everyone and that it’s such mundane things that fool him: Xie Lian’s absurd stubbornness, Hua Cheng’s foolish faith, Yin Yu’s...emotional maturity??? Not Sure how to verbalize that one. But in the end, he is defeated by both the humanity of others and by his own—he’s so tired. He’s exhausted in a way that gods and ghosts aren’t meant to be. He is, under the armor and the masks, the curses and the power, human—benevolent and cruel, evil and good.

4. He Xuan

I love my fish man! No but really I love how He Xuan is so fixed on his one goal that he refuses to acknowledge anything else in his (after)life—which doesn’t make it go away. I love that he is left unmoored, purposeless through the very act of completing that which gives him purpose. I love his long con and the ways he clings to himself but loses himself not in the act but in the telling himself it’s an act. I love that he tries to be a moral man and then becomes a ghost king, a calamity. His reveal is also terribly badass and I do love his bone fish wholly unironically. Like I’m not going to get a He Xuan tattoo (for one thing I’ve been meaning to get a tattoo for 5 years and still haven’t gotten around to it) but also. B o n e f i s h

5. Mu Qing

Of course! The Jiang Cheng of tgcf lol Mu Qing (which my phone desperately wants to autocorrect to my Qing) is so...gah he’s such a mess! And he so fully commits to the belief that no one will ever see and understand him as he is but will always view them through their own convictions about him and his actions — which is simultaneously heartbreakingly lonely and also. Sir You Are a Clown. I genuinely think he’s owed apologies from both Feng Xin and Xie Lian for their treatment and assumptions of him and think that he would be HORRIBLY offended at the thought (while secretly touched? But like secretly even to himself). He will never explain himself and will just clam up tighter the more people accuse him and it’s such a self-sabotaging behavior and also so horribly relatable. I love u sir, you’re a disaster

SVSS I have not read but I do really like the moshang art 😂

#long post #asked & answered #lol sorry this is so long and incoherent #the truth is that I really love these stories and their casts #and I think it’s v hard to extricate the characters from the cast #because they are so deftly and beautifully interwoven #but here are the characters I think are my favorites lol #loosely in order #tgcf spoilers #also this is why I prefer tgcf to mdzs tbh?#jgy is intellectually interesting to me and a good antagonist #but not personally compelling in the way jw is

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ripley95 · 3 years

Note

Self-positivity ask! Show off some of your favorite bits of writing. It can be from a WIP or a published work, but go ahead an show off and be proud of your amazing work!

Thank you so much for this awesome ask whoever you are!! It means so much to me that you’re interested and thought of me. I’ve chosen a few passages all from already published works, some are under the read more including a long passage:

From A Cursed Blessing - Synthesis ending one-shot, F!Shenko:

He sees the husks helping rebuild in droves. Once grotesque reanimations of humans, asari and turians with the sole purpose to harvest are now breathing and civilized and have lives of their own. They are no longer hordes meant to kill. They're functional and cooperative. He laments at the thought that his father could be among them. He doesn't know what to make of them, and he can't decide if it's a blessing or a curse.

...

He turns in the middle of the night and moves his arm to envelope a body that isn't there. His fingers brush the empty pillow. He opens his eyes to see his arm, covered in green. He feels tears begin to form. He shuts his eyes tight and presses his fingers gently against his eyelids, and still sees green. Everything's green. He curses it and wants to scream. Just one night, he doesn't want the reminder. He clings the empty pillow tightly to his chest and imagines how he used to brush her hair out of her face as she slept. He remembers that this green sheen was because of her. The thought of it quiets his breath. He trusts in her decision. It was an end to the war, even if it wasn't how they'd planned it. He still doesn't know what happened up there, but he knows he would have done anything to stop the war. He knows he may very well have done the exact same thing as Shepard had their positions been reversed. It's a small comfort. He reminds himself that they'd won, and the war is over, and that's all that should matter. He willfully reaffirms that this is a blessing as much as it feels like a curse. He bunches the pillow up closer to his face and is saddened that it no longer smells like her. It hasn't for quite some time now. Eventually, he finds fitful sleep.

From This Ratty Old Thing - Post Alchera, Hannah Shepard grieving the death of her daughter:

She looked back to the screen then, any trace of mirth entirely gone. “Sometimes I wonder if we pushed you into this life. It was never my intention. As much as I’ve appreciated my time in the Alliance, I always felt like it was my only option. I never wanted that for you. I can’t deny that you’ve done well with it, but sometimes I wish I pushed you harder to consider other things. We never really talked about our careers much, but were you happy? Did you like it?” She cut herself off rather abruptly after that, realising she would never get a response.

Her gaze shifted back to the stuffed dog. Any semblance of happy memories was exchanged for something resembling disdain. “They never even found your body. How is someone supposed to grieve with no proof of death? I don’t even have any ashes. No dog tags. Nothing!” She was visibly upset now, still not looking at the screen. She waited until she calmed down slightly before continuing. “Nothing but this ratty old thing.”

She gave the toy one last glance as she brushed her thumb over the dog’s face, and set it down on the desk. She didn’t even bother looking back at the screen as she stood up, her finger hovering over the power button to her terminal.

“This was a mistake.”

She pushed the power button, and the room returned to blackness.

From Echoes of Old Embers - Post-War, accidental/fake dating, F!Shenko (this one’s long) Honestly, I think this has become my favourite story of mine, and it probably has most of my favourite passages in it, but only chose one to share:

Maisie walked up to them, moving to the beat as she made her way from the dance floor.

“What, you guys aren’t going to dance?” She asked with a beaming grin on her face.

Even if this was an ideal situation and she and Kaidan were somehow together, she would have had a good excuse for getting out of this one. She may as well have been a ballerina on the battlefield, but she had absolutely no rhythm when it came to dancing. Unless she wanted to make a mockery of herself, she wasn’t about to go out there. It was one thing in privacy with her crew. Under normal circumstances, she might not even mind letting loose here, but it would have been one more thing to draw attention to her. For the most part, Libby’s already had her magical night, but she still hated the potential to steal it from her and opted to want to stay on the sidelines.

“I’m afraid I’m a horrible dancer,” Shepard said.

“What?” Maisie asked incredulously, stopping dead in her tracks. “You can’t be serious. You?”

“Oh, she’s telling the truth all right,” Kaidan said from beside her with a snort.

“Hey! You’re one to talk. I seem to remember you making finger guns at that party in my apartment,” she said with a big grin on her face.

“Hey, now, this conversation isn’t about me. Maisie’s already well aware of my dancing abilities.”

“Uh-huh,” Shepard said with a smile that she couldn’t help thinking would wane the moment that Maisie left them alone again.

“It’s true, I know he’s got no game on the dance floor. You, on the other hand, are not allowed to say that without a show,” she said, all but ready to drag Shepard into the middle of the crowd when Shepard pulled back.

“Maisie, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t want to draw attention to myself,” Shepard tried to say in a lowered voice.

Maisie huffed out a laugh at her. “Well, if that’s your goal, maybe you should reconsider. Have you taken a good look at that crowd?” she asked, turning to look at everyone dancing. “Everyone’s making a fool of themselves. Only ‘Commander Shepard’ would have a complex about this. If you ask me, I think standing on the sidelines is probably drawing more attention to you than however bad your dancing must be.”

Shepard looked out into the crowd. Sure enough, it was full of people just letting loose. No one cared about how they looked, though she still thought her skills were subpar to everyone out there. At the same time, she probably wasn’t bad enough to draw attention away from everyone else who was just out there having fun.

Shepard turned to Kaidan then, “Shit. She has a point, doesn’t she?”

“I’m afraid she might,” Kaidan said with a smirk.

“Yes! You know I’m always right,” Maisie said with a smile.

“You don’t have to rub it in,” Kaidan said, holding his hand out to Jane. “Shall we?”

“Can’t wait to see this,” Maisie said with a smirk.

Maisie took their glasses and Kaidan gave her the tiniest of glares before he and Shepard made their way out onto the dance floor.

“So, do you have a buzz going yet?” Kaidan asked.

Shepard looked at him, slightly amused. “A bit,” she answered.

“Good, because I think it’ll at least help us not be so self-conscious out here,” he said with a smile as he started dancing.

Maybe it was because she was teasing him about it moments before, but it seemed like he would be leaving his finger guns holstered for the evening. His rhythm was almost as bad as hers. In fact, it was as bad as hers. It brought back memories of them dancing in that casino on the Citadel when they were trying to figure out who stole her identity. Before they even knew she had a clone. They had the exact same dance style then too… And somehow she was always the one that got flack about it from the crew. It made her wonder how security at the casino never thought they were suspicious, because who would want to be seen dancing like that out in public? Shepard had to laugh at the memory of it.

“What?” he said, in mock offense as he stopped dancing immediately, thanks to her outburst. “You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s not that,” she said, grabbing his arms to get him to start bopping them again. “It’s just that, I’d say we’re two peas in a pod or something.”

She started mimicking his moves. Not that she was trying to match him or anything, but more because she legitimately didn’t know any other way to dance. She never knew what to do with her arms. Or her legs for that matter... or where to look. Practically nothing came naturally to her about dancing, but then again, she rarely ever had a partner. Today, she had Kaidan as a distraction and it was easier to let go of the insecurities, already knowing that she looked ridiculous, because he looked ridiculous too. They looked into each other’s eyes. It made both of them laugh some more as they kept dancing.

She didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the dancing, but the night’s tension finally started to feel like it was easing away. She liked seeing Kaidan let loose a bit. It wasn’t something that was typically easy for him either.

Before they knew it, they danced through song after song, and the tempo suddenly changed to something much slower. That made them both stop and catch their breath as they looked to each other again, wondering what to do.

Kaidan saw everyone else around them starting to dance, so he looked back towards her with a smile, holding his hands out in question for her to join him. “I guess we probably should.”

Shepard looked around her, realising the same thing. “Right,” she said as she put her hands in his, and he pulled her closer.

Thanks again for this ask! This was really fun to pick out some favourites.

#my writing #mass effect fanfiction #snippets #F!Shenko #Hannah Shepard #asks and answers #thank you!!!#Anonymous

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writerloading · 4 years

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Here’s my brief analysis on why I think Klaus is the best written character in the TVDTO universe - why he brings such an impact. If you’d like to add anything else, please do!

First thing I want to say about The Originals is that it answers a big question that all screenwriters focus on when first beginning a story. The question is “What is your story about?” And when I ask that, I don’t mean, tell me the plot of your story. I mean, what is the theme, the meaning - what are you trying to say. For TO it’s: Family is power, Redemption, and The ability to change. Each story should have an A and B plot. A plot is the story and B plot carries the arc. The show builds a structure for itself. I also feel unlike other shows, TO doesn’t drag its story. It ended right at the best time and finished its story. A lot of fans were angry that Klaus died, but I think after the path that his character went through, it was time for him to die. After being the inevitable, the one who was the most indestructible hybrid that ever lived, the one who couldn’t die, the one who couldn’t love, he became the man who finally was able to die and love. And he died for the love of his daughter.

For what your story is about, most people are wrapped up about the plot, they don’t think about the person going through the plot. They don’t see the change. In order to be successful in your A story, you have to be successful in what your story goes through in general. What is your main character going through, what is their goal? For Klaus his goal was to be the most powerful by gaining his daughter. Even though he already was. From an outside perspective, everyone already saw him as one who can’t be defeated. He, however, didn't see that. By the end of the story, his goal was to make sure his daughter was saved. The goal began from his daughter and ended with that, but from a different ideology. When writing a story, your story should begin and end the same way - but the goal should be different. If I start my story with a shot of a cross and end the story with that same cross being burned, the story ends in the same way but with different intentions. Within that space, you should be able to figure out what happened in the story that caused that outcome.

Elijah’s goal was to gain Klaus redemption, and that is what he received. I think their relationship is one of the most important in the show, especially the way they develop as brothers. The way they develop tells us a lot in the cinematography.

Here, as you can see, they begin very far apart from each other, but as the seasons go by, they become closer until they are finally able to hold each other to show their love.

The Originals is a very character driven story. Klaus’ actions initiate another problem, which initiate another problem and so on. Without him, the story doesn’t go on. Everything revolves around who he is and what he does. Klaus’ inner conflict has a good way of being external. What Klaus feels about himself gets addressed through his anger and his actions. One thing about Klaus’ character is that he never used his abuse or his neglect of his father as the reason to justify his evil to other people. It was always because “He’s a hybrid. I can’t be killed.” or “I am Klaus Mikaelson!” People saw his high power because of his status, not because of what he went through.

When Cami admitted to him that it’s because of his past or because of his siblings, he always denied it and even though we all know that it’s because of that from what we see on screen, Klaus doesn’t see that. He is in heavy denial. I think that’s an important factor to his character because a lot of villains are like “Oh yeah, I’m like this because of you.” They use exposition to justify who they are, while Klaus is trying to run away from his problems and make himself a ruler because if he daggers everyone, then he doesn’t have to face why he’s lonely or why he’s angry. Klaus’ emotions weren’t just there to just show his character and who he was, but his emotions moved the story forward. His anger or his grief added a scene or created a different plot, which added consequences, and these consequences pushed change in his character or someone else around him.

One detail about Klaus redemption I’ve recognized is him showing affection. I don’t mean having sex with different women, I mean the kind of affection that shows your vulnerability. I’ve never seen Klaus sleep the entire show unless he was daggered or spelled or hurt. There’s one scene where Klaus sleeps for the first time and it’s next to Cami. Cami is the character he really exposes his vulnerability to. I think that is a really well written quality in his character. I truly believe Cami is the character in Klaus’ life that he really loves, really fell in love with and accepted. Now, I’m not saying he didn’t love Caroline. I think he does love Caroline, but his love for Caroline is completely different than his love for Cami. I think Caroline allows Klaus to love her and Cami - being the psychologist that she is - opens up Klaus to his feelings. Cami instigates Klaus to love. She tells Klaus to not be afraid of taking in love - that he’s deserving of it, and I think that’s one of the big things that draw him towards her. She was brave enough to push him - to make him see that he’s worthy of people. Cami is also one of the only people that Klaus has held hands with, besides Hope. Which is another vulnerable affection moment besides sleeping.

Klaus is one of the villains that knows his limits and even with his actions, he somehow cares for others more than he thinks. He portrays himself as someone with no capability for redemption, but the thing is, he’s been trying to redeem himself since the beginning of his time. And that’s another well written factor about his character. To reach your end goal, you need to be able to introduce that goal from the start. One example is Klaus saving Marcel from slavery. Or when Hayley was hitting him and said fight me and he didn’t want to hit his baby’s mom. Or saving Detective Will Kinney from suicide.

It’s really well written how The Originals “showed but never told” that the reason Klaus constantly made sure Rebekah never fell in love with anyone was because he wanted her for himself. Because if she fell in love and left then he would be alone and he wanted his siblings with him all the time. Which is why he also always kept them in coffins next to him. So they’re always with him even when they’re not. He also daggered them because when he saw a flaw in them that didn’t match his perception of how he saw him, it was just easier to just stab them than face his problems. Which is also why Klaus made hybrids for himself. He said he was making a hybrid army to keep himself safe, which didn’t make sense because he’s stronger than all of them, but it was also because he didn’t want to be alone. I think the writers did a great job in showing that in his character.

The story’s parallels display really well in Klaus’ redemption. When Klaus first became a hybrid and began turning, his father always saw him as an abomination. As someone who wasn’t worthy of being comforted during his transformations. When Hope had her first transformation, Klaus made sure that Hope wasn’t alone. He made sure that she was worthy of being a hybrid and that he was proud of her for it.

Tagging the people in the previous post that were interested :) @true-unicorn-queen @g531 @saltybisexual @barnes-107th @adrianadmirer @nevermoreraven1 @i-lady-ink @imburtmaklinfbi @angelwingsnaya @wilt23 @lina-neena @anotherporpoisetofind @quirkymarvelstan @mrs-potato-head-stuff @sweetcakes-n-milkshakes @sztodo @caprica99 @senatorblitz @hargreves @gloster @aurea-corde @giraffe-sickle @salazar-slytherins-lavalamp @gracemyface @elijahs-wife @sherlockednerd @spn-obsessed-dean @darklights11 @thedorkphoenix @mrshaleyjames @ashinouterspace @theircrookedheart @fangirlonaroll @overwhelmingly-hufflepuff @bravura-cameos @eleanorgeorgia123

#klaus mikaelson #the originals #joseph morgan #klamille #hope mikaelson #hayley marshall #elijah mikaelson #phoebe tonkin #daniel gillies #cami o'connell #leah pipes #rebekah mikaelson #claire holt

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ardentmuse · 4 years

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Chalk and Leather (Murphy McNully x Reader)

DISCOVERING AMORTENTIA SMELLS LIKE MURPHY McNULLY TO YOU

Harry Potter Hogwarts Mystery - Murphy McNully x fem!Reader

A/N: Since we just finished up the valentine’s day quest, got to give some love to the characters we can’t date. :)

Masterlist

“What do you smell, Y/N?” Skye asks you as you stand what should have been a safe distance from the cauldron Snape has bubbling in the middle of his classroom. Streams of pink smoke loft occasionally into the air as your professor’s voice continues to cut through the crowd, droning on about how you need to study amortentia to know how to identify it and therefore avoid it. A better policy seems to be just don’t touch any potions you don’t know.

You try hard not to lean forward but it is intoxicating. Skye elbows you and raises her eyebrows; clearly hoping your nose might provide some juicy gossip.

“I smell chalk and freshly cut grass and—“

Your eyes find the real thing you are smelling on the other side of the room. Murphy McNully, one of your dearest friends, is beside Rowan, the two chatting in hushed tones about something or the other. He laughs — the kind of bright, full laugh that consumes his whole face — and you feel the warm trickle in your chest you haven’t been able to explain for weeks, at least until this very moment.

“Leather and shoe polish,” you finish with a whisper. The words flow from your mouth like they’re the solutions to a riddle because they are. You are in love with Murphy McNully and somehow you hadn’t put two and two together until it was right under your nose.

You take another whiff and enjoy the fragrance you associate only with your rambling friend. It’s a pleasant blend of masculine comforts, rustic and warm like the boy himself. McNully catches your eyes across the room. He smiles, always so friendly, though something in your face must be off because he frowns soon after, returning his attention to Rowan and the rest of your class on his side of the room.

“That’s an odd collection of scents,” Skye muses. “I just smell the pitch.”

“Predictable. Maybe I’ll give those bludgers some amortentia next practice and see if they’ll chase after you like some lovesick puppies so I can take the day off.”

Skye cackles even though your joke wasn’t that funny and Snape snaps at the both of you.

“Is this stuff getting to your head, Parkin? Making you dumb?”

“No, Professor.”

“Then I advise you keep your voice down and pay attention,” Snape says, speaking to Skye but looking at you as well.

“Yes, Professor.”

Snape turns on his heels and heads back towards his desk. Skye lets out a breath, shaking off her scolding. You wish you could shake off your feelings, too: joy, fear, anxiety, doubt, hope, and love above all the others.

As the class ends, your quidditch crew prepares to leave and head to the pitch for practice. McNully usually never misses an opportunity to come with you all and practice his announcing skills but when Skye calls out his name in the corridor of the dungeon, he mumbles something under his breath. He doesn’t even meet your gaze as he rolls down the hall and out of sight.

“Someone’s a little grumpy.”

The worry fills your chest like a balloon, making it hard to breath.

“Isn’t that odd, though? He’s always chipper.”

“So are you and you look like a house elf denied her supper,” Skye laughs, patting you on the back as she runs ahead to catch up with Orion and the rest of the gang. But you can’t join in the joyous run. McNully is somewhere less than pleased about whatever he saw on your face during potions.

You arrive at the locker rooms and change into your quidditch gear, a little slower than usual. Your brain won’t stop replaying images of the dinners spent playing wizard chess with the dimpled blond currently getting situated in the announcer’s booth, the late nights in the common room, your legs up on his lap, memorizing quidditch strategy, and the after-match hang outs where you often found excuses to be close to him, grab his hand, and congratulate him on commentary you arguably didn’t hear given your focus on the match. How had you not seen before just how much he meant to you and just how many of your tiny fantasies about how nice it would be to have a boyfriend involved soft blue eyes just as you closed your eyes to be kissed or running your hands down crisp white collars as you snuggle close in front of the fire, or the pleasant warm laughter of mirth-filled lungs as warm hands run through your hair, just as soft and strong as McNully’s? Everything you hoped for had been right in front of you for well over a year.

When the team assembles and takes to the air, you heard the faint calls of Murphy’s voice from the booth as you bat at the first bludger. He had come to practice after all, just not with you.

“And Y/L/N whacks the bludger away from Parkin with a—“

There is an odd and long silence that follows and it seems the whole team notices. The entire friendly slows, each broom taking to a lazy bob as your team’s statistician stands in stasis.

“… some level of accuracy,” he finally says with a cough.

Murphy is struggling with numbers? That’s odd, you think and it seems everyone else is as confused as you, that is at least until Orion screams for you to focus from the other end of the field, clearly not wanting to lose practice time. But he doesn’t even need to call you from your daze. A rogue bludger is already heading for your team’s latest addition, Oliver Wood.

You fly as fast as you can, swooping down towards the goal posts in hopes of intercepting the ball as the rest of the team resumes play. With a great push, you dangle down from your broom and swing low, just hitting the edge of the wall and knocking it back towards the pitch below.

“And with an impressive show of athleticism, Y/L/N managed to protect our young keeper from a bludger that was—“

Murphy coughs like there is a frog in his throat. It’s alarming and your heart pulls for him. Without a thought for anything but wanting to make sure he is okay, you fly down towards the box where Murphy is sitting. His head is in his hands and his face is redder than it normally is. When he sees you, his eyes bug out a little, but he looks away. His attention is back on the game. He straightens his shoulders and begins commentating again.

“And Parkin shoots for the upper left and misses! A rare miss for the ace chaser, whom this season alone has scored 92.4% of shots on open goals in sunny weather.”

Wait, how come that stat was not an issue?

You hover a bit and stare at the boy who is proving quite the enigma. Your chest heaves a bit as you consider what might be happening, but out of the corner of your eye a stream of black comes barreling through.

Instinctively, you press forward and swing your bat just as the bludger enters into Murphy’s commentary box. The bludger flies away to the east just as McNully covers his face, prepared for a sure to be painful smack right to the noggin. Your momentum however doesn’t stop just because you managed to knock the ball away. You pull up on your broom but can’t stop and land right down on top of Murphy, curling up in his lap as his wheelchair slides back into the wall. His arms wrap around you protectively, covering your head as the house banners fall down upon you in a giant crash.

Once your crash ends and the chaos subsides, you realize exactly where you are; seated on Murphy’s lap with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, canopied in the privacy of fallen tapestries. Murphy’s breathing is hard as his hands curl into the flesh of your back.

And for the first time since potions, he smiles.

“Y/L/N with the greatest save of the day,” he whispers, his hand reaching up to wipe a bit of dust off your cheek.

You face is hot as you look deeply into Murphy’s eyes, unable to stop the smile on your face, too. And somehow, suddenly, everything feels right.

“And what were my chances of making it?”

He slides his hand into your hair as he tilts your face up to him.

“I haven’t a bloody clue.”

He shakes his head and laughs, his cheeks turning the brightest red you’ve ever seen. You start to speak but his voice interrupts you.

“I can’t think of a single thing but you when you’re near, you know that?”

“I— I can’t either.”

Murphy laughs, the hearty kind you missed just a little, and the matching smile on his face only makes it better. He pulls you closer to him, letting you rest your head against his chest. He takes a deep and stabilizing breath.

“Lilac,” he says more to himself than you, “And fresh clean linens.”

And now it is your turn to smile as you realize Murphy knows your scent, too— two people attracted by nothing other than each other. It’s impossible to resist the urge, just like this morning in Snape’s classroom, to draw closer to the source of such joy. Every part you longs to lift upward, to taste the thing you’ve been craving so intensely, the thing you didn’t know you needed.

“Y/N! Y/N! Are you okay?” Skye is screaming from somewhere near by. You hear the scrambled sounds of brooms dropping onto the deck and footsteps rushing to your aid.

But McNully doesn’t care. His hand takes your chin and he kisses you full on, not wasting a moment to seal your newly-declared affections. And all you can do is melt into him.

A faint breeze hits your face and you look up to see Skye standing now under the banners, her eyes filled with mischief as she takes you in.

“That chalk smell makes a whole lot of sense now.”

Murphy’s eyes bug out of his head as he pushes back on you.

“I smell… like chalk to you?”

“Among other things.”

He laughs, “I’ll have you know my spell for the chalk board reduces chalk use by 68.3% over traditional writing methods.”

You can’t help but smile. He’s back in all his quirkiness and something about the fact that he can be himself with you in his arms, open about your feelings, brings you more joy than you can say. And that joy is the kind of joy you hope to have every night moving forward with the boy who smells like chalk and leather by your side and loving you fully.

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt, @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug, @igotmadskills, @hazelandcoconuts, @yallgotkik, @amberkay284, @the-new-galahad, @13ofjuly, @daft-not-punk

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot, @eldritchscreech, @luckyvirgo, @hellizhelusive2, @lexrius, @sapphireorchid, @amazingwonderlandnapkin, @garbdump

#hphm #hp hogwarts mystery #hphm imagine #murphy mcnully #murphy mcnully imagine #hphm murphy #mcnully #hp hogwarts mystery imagine #harry potter #hp #reader insert #x reader

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darkblueboxs · 4 years

Note

If you're taking requests, maybe the foxes reacting to soft andreil? I love seeing their relationship through outside perspectives

Sorry for the delay! I ended up with two very different ideas for this and wrote both of them. I’ll be posting the other one in the next week or so! [EDIT: Here it is!]This was great fun to write. Thank you for the request.

In the Eye of the Beholder

Read here or on AO3

#1 Dan

Dan raps her knuckles against the door to the monster’s flat and waits. Nicky greets her with an impressive mop of bedhair and a baffled expression which smooths over only when Neil darts past, citing brunch with Dan as his excuse for being awake at such a thoroughly reasonable hour on a Sunday morning. He’s in high spirits, from what Dan can tell, rolling on the balls of his feet as they wait for the elevator to arrive. Dan is ready to put it down to excitement over their plans – she has a stack of potential recruits under her arm thicker than Les Misérables for them to discuss, hopefully with a stack of pancakes of equal height on the side. Then she spots the light bruise peeking over the hem of Neil’s collar, and draws a very different conclusion about the source of Neil’s good mood.

She smiles as they step into the elevator, but keeps the observation to herself. While some members of the team love to badger Neil for the slightest insight into his relationship, Dan is willing to push her curiosity aside for the sake of Neil’s privacy. He has plenty other teammates to pester him without her jumping on the bandwagon.

Just before the doors slide shut, an arm bursts through the gap, forcing them open. Andrew is as stoic and terrifying as ever (not that Dan would ever admit it) even while wearing Neil’s foxprint-patterned pyjama bottoms. The quickened rise and fall of his chest is the only hint that he ran to get here.

Neil raises an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of his underdressed partner.

Andrew lobs something at Neil which bounces off his chest and lands on the floor between his feet. Neil stoops to scoop it up, and Dan sees that it’s his wallet.

“Thanks.”

“Idiot,” Andrew huffs. He retracts his arm, and the doors slide shut on the sight of him stalking back to their dorm.

Neil taps the wallet against his hand a couple times before sliding it into the wallet.

“You’re both idiots if you think I’m letting you pay for brunch,” Dan says wryly.

Neil shakes his head. “I said I was going to pick up some stuff at the store afterwards. But thanks. Brunch is on me, though.”

“We’ll see,” Dan says, which means no. “Okay, I’ll admit it. That was sweet of him.”

The corner of Neil’s mouth twitches. “Nah. He’s just making sure I come back with the junk food I promised him.”

“Sure.” And, oh, Dan had been trying to be good, but she really can’t help herself any longer. “So, did you guys mean to give each other matching hickeys, or was that just a fun little accident?”

Neil slaps his hand to his neck and groans.

All in all, it’s a great morning.

#2 Kevin

Aaron’s trial is coming up. Kevin wouldn’t care (well, he would, but for different reasons) except that it’s making the cousins snippy and fractious. More so than usual. Andrew isn’t sleeping properly, although he would deny that it had any relation to the trial. Unfortunately, his insomnia is contagious, which ends with Neil losing focus at their night practice, having spent the best part of a week running on fumes and gatorade.

Kevin has been patient – patient by his standards, anyway – but the third fumbled catch in a row snaps his temper like brittle bone.

“Get the fuck off my court, Josten.” Kevin says, smacking the base of his racquet against the floor.

“Fuck you,” Neil answers reflexively. He stops to push his lengthening bangs back from his face.

“I’m not joking. You’re in no state to play. Get the fuck out.” Kevin wishes Neil would take it as the blessing it is, a night to re-focus and re-calibrate, but instead he’s glaring Kevin down like he just asked him to eat sewage.

Neil turns away from him to send another ball barrelling towards the goal. It misses by an entire foot.

“Neil,” Kevin says sharply, readying for a fight that neither of them have the energy nor patience for.

Before he can begin, the doors to the court bang open. Andrew stands in the entrance, arms crossed. It’s the expression that ends an argument before it’s had time to start; Kevin knows it far, far too well.

Andrew leads Neil away to the showers while Kevin continues his drills.

When he’s finished washing up, he finds the pair in the team lounge, collapsed on the wider of the couches. Neil is asleep, slumped into Andrew’s side. Andrew looks up as Kevin enters, but he doesn’t move his hand from its resting place in Neil’s hair. Although Neil was the only one of the pair training that night, Andrew’s hair is plastered against his head as though he, too, is fresh out of the shower. Kevin tries not to consider the implications.

They wait in silence for a few minutes, watching as Neil sleeps, properly sleeps, for the first time in far too long. Neither are willing to disturb him, but the night is late and Kevin has a whole host of classes waiting for him in the morning.

“I’ll walk back,” says Kevin. Andrew meets his gaze for a long moment before nodding briefly. The bags under his eyes betray him.

Kevin darts back into the lockers to pick up Neil’s abandoned kit bag. When he passes them again, Andrew has slouched onto his side, having manoeuvred Neil in front of him so they can both lie comfortably. His arm is slung protectively around Neil’s waist like Andrew is prepared to beat off the world to keep him there.

Kevin knows they spend more nights in each other’s bunks than out of them in the dorm, but somehow they’re always up and away before anyone else is awake enough to give them any hassle over it. Kevin doesn’t care, but Nicky can be overbearing at the best of times, and Aaron is… well, Aaron. But here, in the privacy of an empty stadium, it looks like Neil has finally found enough security to drop off at last, and Andrew looks ready to follow. Kevin shuts the door behind him, not quite smiling, but close. It was strange to some, the idea of Neil and Andrew, but anyone who saw them curled up together would see it plain as day. They just fitted.

The next day, Neil is closer to being himself again, and no more is said on the matter.

#4 Matt

Matt has to admit that press duty with Neil is never boring. The interviewers seem to share his opinion, visibly perking up when Neil follows Matt into the room. They lost to the Bearcats, but it was close enough that Matt doesn’t have to lie when he says that he’s proud of the team’s performance today.

“Some are saying that the failure of the defence line in later stages was due to Minyard’s performance in goal in the second half. How would you respond to that?

Matt doesn’t know why he bothers opening his mouth; the question may be directed to him, but he knows damn well that a boulder in the shape of Neil’s fury is already barrelling in this hapless reporter’s direction. “Well-”

“Last time I checked, this was a team sport,” Neil says loudly. “Was I hallucinating that, or has there been a few rule changes since yesterday?”

Matt isn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. Coach had told Matt to keep an eye on their resident fire-starter as though anyone was at all capable of controlling Neil when there was a mic in front of him. Matt feels sorry for the poor sucker that will one day be assigned to the role of Neil’s publicist, because he’s sure that Neil will drive them into an early grave alongside Matt’s.

“You have to admit that the number of goals that he let in-”

“I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that his entire defence line had already played two full quarters before he even stepped foot on court. People get tired the longer a game goes on, of course defence is going to suffer in the second half. But sure, keep pinning it on the goalie you clearly have it in for.”

Matt claps a hand on Neil’s back. “What he said,” he agrees, staring down the reporter.

They take no further questions.

Matt doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when he leaves the showers to see Andrew and Neil alone in the locker room he ducks back out of sight. He walks into at least one dramatic confrontation amongst his teammates per week, and sometimes the best way to deal with the daily bouts of fox drama is to hide and wait for the storm to pass.

“Point me to where I asked you to lead my own personal crusade.” Andrew’s flat tones echo off the tiled floor. Matt regrets leaving his Ipod in his bag. The conversation doesn’t seem too personal to overhear, but Andrew and Neil have never been the easiest reads.

“I’m tired of them talking shit about you just because they have a vendetta against anyone with your…” Neil trails off. Matt imagines him to be making several expressive hand gestures; it’s hard to condense all of Andrew’s history and circumstances into one word. “…everything,” Neil settles on.

“Your principles should not intersect with my business.”

“Even if it could affect your future career?” Neil’s words are met, unsurprisingly, with silence. “Besides, yours do.”

“Explain.”

“When I first came here, you told Nicky to back off. Not out of concern for me. Because of your principles.”

This time, the silence stretches so long that Matt doesn’t think Andrew is going to answer.

“Point,” Andrew concedes.

“Besides, is it so bad that I’m standing up for you?”

“Only when it’s making new enemies for you. How many does one man need?”

“I’ve got room for a few more,” Neil says. There’s a rustle of movement, and, oh, are they kissing? Matt strongly suspects that they are kissing. It’s more than his life is worth to look. He takes a few steps back, rattles his kit loudly and makes as much noise as possible before entering the locker room. The pair are a safe distance apart by the time he enters, and Matt gives them a probably-not-convincingly-casual nod before busying himself with his change of clothes.

The pair spend the journey home holed up together at the back of the bus, and if he suspects that they’re doing a little more than talking, Matt keeps it to himself.

They’ve earned a little privacy, after all.

#5 Aaron

“Well, maybe if you stopped and took the time to, I don’t know, explain literally anything that you do, we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess.”

“Aaron,” says Bee, a gentle reprimand. He isn’t in the mood to hear it. His attention remains on his brother, who’s features remain the same stony, impassive blank that they have in almost every joint session to date. It’s an expression that makes Aaron want to tear his hair out, or kick his brother’s face in, or both.

“What would you like me to explain?” says Andrew, more of a challenge than an offer. Aaron snorts, because, where to fucking begin?

“How about we start with your little fuck-buddy, seeing as you’re so keen to start on mine.” Earlier that week, Andrew had returned early from a class to find Aaron and Katelyn together in their dorm room. The result, while not outright violent, had been deeply unpleasant for all involved. And of course, Andrew was being an ass about it.

“Aaron. We’ve talked about this. How can you expect Andrew to talk about Katelyn respectfully if you won’t offer the same respect to his own partner?”

Aaron scoffs. “It’s not the same.”

Andrew’s eyebrow… it doesn’t quirk, but it twitches. “Oh?”

Aaron gestures vaguely. “You know what I mean.”

“I can assure you that I don’t.”

“Me and Katelyn. You and Neil. It isn’t the same.”

“How so?” Andrew’s tone isn’t in the danger zone yet, but it’s edging towards it.

“I’m not talking about the gay thing. I’m talking about…” The hand Aaron was waving clenches into a fist as he drops it into his lap. “Don’t make me say it.”

Andrew and Bee share a look over his head.

“Aaron,” says Bee.

“I just, fucking…” Aaron grapples with words, struggling to find a combination that won’t rip them apart any worse than they already have been. “How the fuck can you expect me to believe that you and him… that you’re real. That you’re normal, that you’re like us, after everything those fuckers did to you. What makes him so different?”

Andrew watches him. Just when Aaron resigns himself to the fact that no answer is coming, Andrew speaks. “If I ask him to stop, he stops.”

Aaron bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard that he thinks he might have drawn blood. “It can’t be that simple.”

Andrew shrugs.

“How?”

Andrew’s eyes flicker upwards, like he would rather be anywhere else, having any other conversation in the world than this one. “We have a system. We don’t touch each other without asking first. We listen to each other. We talk. What more do you need me to say?”

Aaron falls silent. He doesn’t know what he needs from his brother, still, but it’s something.

“I have a question in return,” Andrew’s eyes flick to Bee. He isn’t looking for permission, but she nods in encouragement nonetheless. “Katelyn. What makes her so different?” Andrew meets his gaze dead-on as he turns Aaron’s own words back on him. “How can you trust her, after everything that bitch Tilda did to you?”

And finally, it all clicks into place.

Aaron forces himself to look his brother in the eyes. So much like his, yet at the same time so different. “Okay,” he concedes at last. “I see.”

Because, at last, he does.

#7 Allison

Neil appears at Allison’s door with a black eye, a bust lip, and the words “don’t freak out,” spilling from his mouth before she can get so much as a word in.

“Great start,” she says, pulling him in. “Who do I need to kill?”

“My shoelace came undone and I ate shit while I was on my run. I just need enough makeup that I can get through class without looking like I’ve been in a fight again. Do you know how many of my lecturers have taken me aside to give me the domestic abuse hotline?”

“You should know how to do this yourself by now.” Allison rolls her eyes as she leads Neil through to the table.

“You’re better at it,” he admits grudgingly, and oh, doesn’t that just warm her heart to hear.

“Nice try. You’re still taking me out for coffee after this.”

Neil pulls a face, and Allison laughs. It doesn’t take long – Allison has treated him in far, far worse shape, as much as she’d rather not think about it – and soon there’s only the faintest smudge around Neil’s eye.

“Can I tempt you to some mascara? Glitter?” Allison asks, waggling her eyebrows as she spreads the contents of her makeup bag out for his inspection.

“Maybe next time,” says Neil, “When I’m not going to a calculus lecture.”

“But that’s the best place for it.” Allison dabs the tip of his nose with her brush, and Neil’s face scrunches up as he tries to hold back a sneeze. His hair flops back down over his forehead as he moves, falling into his eyes.

“Don’t move just yet,” Allison says, yanking a drawer open and fumbling for the kitchen scissors. “I’ve been meaning to deal with that mop for weeks, and right now I have you trapped.”

“Oh, no,” Neil says flatly, but still he surrenders herself to her demands. Wise move.

“Perfect,” says Allison a few minutes later, ruffling Neil’s hair to shake away the last loose strands. “Ready for the red carpet now. I hope there aren’t any cute guys in your maths class, or Andrew is going to go mad with jealousy.”

Neil snorts. “He’s not really the type.”

“Mhmm,” says Allison, because in her experience, everyone is the type.

Speaking of the psychotic little devil himself, Andrew bursts through the door just as Allison is brushing up the last of the trimmings.

“Hey,” Neil says, apparently impervious to Andrew’s thunderous entrance. Andrew ignores the greeting, taking hold of Neil’s chin to turn his face from side to side.

“Kevin said you fell,” he says, relinquishing the grip. Allison half-turns away, pretending to busy herself tidying but really listening, because the monster’s overbearing-boyfriend performances are rarely seen in public yet endlessly entertaining.

“Shoelaces. Who could have seen it coming?”

“I did. And warned you. Twice.”

Neil winces. “My bad.”

Andrew mutters something under his breath that seems to involve the words kill you. The day Allison understands their relationship is the day that she gives up on any and all gossip for the rest of her life.

Then, Andrew pauses, distracted. “Did you trip and fall onto a pair of sheers?”

“Allison gave me a haircut. How does it look?”

Andrew holds his hand in front of Neil’s face. When Neil nods, Andrew runs it quickly through his hair, gently tugging at the roots as he goes. “Awful.”

“Hey,” Allison interrupts, outraged. They both start, and Andrew’s hand drops away, like they had forgotten she was there. Which was the point, really. She holds the scissors in Andrew’s direction. “You’re next, scraggy.”

“When I’m dead,” Andrew replies flatly. It’s clear he isn’t joking. Neil shakes his head at them both.

“Come on, then,” Allison says. “Neil’s taking me for coffee. Give us a ride and I’ll buy you the sugariest, most expensive drink on the menu. I’m hoping the diabetes will finish you off if lung cancer falls through.”

Andrew glances between them. “Fine.”

Sugar and Neil; the keys to Andrew’s stony little heart.

#8 Nicky

Nicky is fully capable of responding to his cousin’s newfound domestic happiness with maturity and decorum.

He just chooses not to.

This has nearly ended in violence no less than eight times. But really, how can he be expected to let it lie when his cousin, who came to him an unruly, violent teen to whom any conversation was like pulling teeth with plastic tweezers, is, for the first time, experiencing the gay teen college romance Nicky could only have dreamed of?

With his fiancée a million miles away, Nicky has to live vicariously when it comes to matters of the heart. There is no better subject for this than his violent baby cousin, who, it seems, isn’t such a baby anymore.

Nicky is beyond late for his class already when he realises that his laptop is dead. He had been skyping with Eric until ass-o-clock in the morning, forgot to plug it in before passing out in his bunk and is paying for it three-fold. He has two options; pencil and paper (what is he, a toddler?) or steal someone’s laptop. The answer is both clear and obvious.

Andrew’s is the first to hand. He most likely won’t surface until noon, by which time Nicky will have returned from class, leaving him none the wiser. The perfect crime.

Or it is the perfect crime until Nicky opens the laptop in the middle of his seminar to a webpage that is filled with very, very unsafe-for-classroom content.

Nicky slams the laptop shut. It wasn’t a video, none of the sites Nicky knew from his own fits of late-night loneliness. Large blocks of text, diagrams that were more analytical than downright pornographic. Nicky slides the laptop open again, just enough for the screen to light up once more, and tabs up. No, not porn. Informative. Educational.

The girl beside him, although unable to see his screen, is giving Nicky some very strange looks. Nicky glances back to the laptop before sliding it shut once more. Pencil and paper will have to do.

The class is drier than dirt, leaving Nicky’s mind with far too much space to think. A dangerous pastime in Nicky’s case, Eric would say teasingly. Nicky had assumed – well, not that he had thought about it, much, but Andrew always seemed so set and sure of himself that it was hard to imagine him googling how-to guides like an acne-riddled teen the night before prom. His apparent innocence is weirdly adorable. Not a word Nicky uses out-loud in his cousin’s presence, but true all the same.

Nicky remembers his first time. Awkward, uncomfortable, and involving entirely the wrong set of genitals. He can only hope Andrew and Neil’s is better.

He shouldn’t get involved. He really, really, shouldn’t.

Nicky slips the laptop back into place mere moments before Andrew slouches into the living space. Nicky watches him as the coffee-maker gurgles away, thinking.

“Andrew.”

Andrew glances up. Nicky isn’t sure what he reads in his face, but it must be setting off alarm bells, because his hands move almost unconsciously to his sleeves. Nicky holds his hands up.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“I just…” Oh, this is a lot more awkward than Nicky anticipated. “You know, I’m always here for you. If there’s anything you want to talk about.” He clears his throat. “If you have any questions…”

Andrew’s eyes narrow. They flick in the direction of his desk. Nicky remembers, far too late, Andrew’s impossibly perfect memory. He would remember the exact position he left his laptop in. Nicky is busted.

“Don’t borrow my laptop,” Andrew snarls. The coffee brewer clicks, and it may be the only thing that saves Nicky’s life.

“I’m sorry! I was in a rush!” Nicky says weekly. “If it’s any consolation, the guy who sits behind me now thinks I’m a grade-A pervert.”

Andrew slams a mug down on the counter so hard he almost cracks it. “One more word. One more.”

“I won’t. I won’t, I promise, I’ve been there, okay?”

Andrew takes his coffee and his laptop and leaves without another word. Nicky counts it as a blessing.

The next day, he’s working his way through the mother of all essays when Andrew enters the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Nicky keeps working until Andrew pulls a chair over to Nicky’s desk and sits in it. He stops typing mid-sentence, fingers hovering over the keys.

“Everything okay, Andrew?”

“I want you to take a moment and remember how many knives I have on me right now.”

“A lot, I assume.”

“A lot,” Andrew confirms. “If I had any other choice in the world, I would take it. But I have you. So, I’m going to ask you something, and you are going to be calm and level and mature and everything that you usually are not when you answer.”

“Of course,” Nicky says in a heartbeat. He can’t think of a single time Andrew has ever come to him for help, not even when he was wrapped up in bed and coughing his lungs out the day before his AP Calc exam. Nicky has never been more determined to get something right in his life.

“How,” Andrew says, stops, starts again. Today is full of firsts; Andrew is usually so careful and measured with his words. “How do I do it without hurting him?”

Nicky’s heart is ready to melt or break or explode, maybe all at once. “Oh, Andrew.”

“The knives, Nicky. Remember the knives.”

“Okay,” says Nicky, and he tells Andrew everything he can. He wants, more than anything, for Andrew to be safe and happy, and if it involves going into details that even Nicky is squeamish about discussing with family, then that’s what he’ll do.

He offers to write out a list of reliable books and websites for Andrew to check out, ones he used himself and others Eric recommended to him. Andrew shakes his head.

“Just tell me. I’ll remember them.”

When they’re done, Nicky almost claps Andrew on the shoulder. He thinks better of it, hand hovering mid-air before he withdraws it. “Andrew.”

Andrew is half-way out the door, but he stops, which is more than Nicky expected.

“You’ll be fine.”

Andrew huffs, and abruptly disappears. Nicky smiles to himself as he turns back to his essay.

It took him a long time to piece it all together, but the truth is that Andrew really can be quite sweet, in his own terrifying way.

Nicky wonders how long it will be before he has to give Neil the sex talk too. Maybe he should offer.

Best not to; he has some self-preservation instincts, after all.

#9 Renee

Renne likes to think that she has improved at reading Andrew over the years. Some of his quirks are more obvious than others, however; it doesn’t take a student of human character to notice that when Andrew wants to spar, it’s usually because he has something on his mind.

Renee is hardly in a position to judge, not when she finds the cut and blow of a vicious fistfight as cathartic as he does. There’s still a piece of Natalie Shields underneath all of Renee’s growth like the pit at the heart of a peach. Sometimes the best way of holding her down is by letting her out in controlled increments. Give her the inch so she won’t take the mile.

As usual, it is only when they have beaten each other to exhaustion and back that Andrew is ready to talk. They sit cross-legged in the centre of the room, slurping down apple-juice cartons like kids in the playground, and finally, Andrew speaks.

“I want you to train Neil.”

Renee sets her carton down. “I thought Matt was teaching him to box.”

“He’s a shit boxer.”

“Neil or Matt?”

“Both.”

Renee shakes her head. She reaches back to pull out her hair tie, letting her bangs tumble back into their usual place. “Is there a reason Neil hasn’t asked me himself?”

Andrew is silent. There it is; the heart of the matter.

Renee sighs. “I’m not going to force Neil to train with me if he doesn’t want to.”

“I don’t force Neil to do anything,” Andrew says sharply. Renee winces; it was a poor choice of words on her part.

“Why do you think he needs it?”

“Matt is teaching him how to box. It’s not the same as real fighting.”

Renee hums. “Can’t he do something for fun?”

“That’s not the point. Besides,” Andrew pauses. “Matt only knows how to fight like the fuck-off giant that he is.”

Renee can’t argue with that; Matt never had to learn the same style of combat that she and Andrew did. He may teach Neil how to throw a good punch, but there’s a big difference in stance and strategy when your opponent is a foot taller than you. Renee and Andrew learned that the hard way.

“And who is it that you think Neil is going to be fighting?”

Andrew waves one arm in an all-encompassing gesture. “Have you met him?”

“Andrew.”

“Renee,” he shoots back, imitating her tone and inflection.

“What did he say when you suggested that I teach him?”

Andrew scrunches up his features in an imitation of Neil’s ugh face. “He said that he gets enough bruises as it is.”

“He’s not wrong.”

Andrew doesn’t roll his eyes, but his eyebrows twitch as though he’s considering it. “He also said he doesn’t need to get any better. Because he…” Andrew grimaces. Sharing is still tough for him, even after years of therapy and trust. “He has me to protect him.”

“As I said,” Renee says, smiling. “He’s not wrong.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“He has his moments.”

They finish their juice boxes in silence.

“Well,” says Renee, getting back to her feet. Her legs may be going stiff, but there’s still some fight left in her. There always is. “I may not be able to train Neil, but at least I can train his bodyguard to the best of my ability.” She holds her hand out to Andrew. After a moment of careful consideration, he takes it, using the pull to swing himself to his feet. “One more round?”

Andrew nods, determination setting in his eyes like concrete. “One more round.”

Renee likes to think that she has improved at reading Andrew over the years. This time, as they trade hits and kicks, it isn’t anger or frustration powering Andrew’s movements; it’s something far more powerful.

She thinks – hopes – prays – that the worst of Neil’s fights are behind them. All the same, she sleeps a little easier knowing that, should the day come, Andrew will be at his back with a knife in each hand.

That’s love, after all.

Thank you for reading - please let me know what you thought

Still open to requests!

#aftg #andreil #tfc #neil josten #andrew minyard #my fic #asks #anon

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themusicplayedherlife · 4 years

Text

Of Warmth and Growth

pairing: dick grayson x f!reader characters: reader, the team, dick grayson word count: 7.7k+ warnings: angst, self doubt, and boat load of fluff summary: dealing with a broken heart isn’t easy, but your friend megan is hoping to get you out of that fink by inviting you to her holiday party where you meet someone that might help you move on. a/n: there’s a whole story behind this--originally this was started as a requested oneshot, but i couldn’t bring myself to finish it, so i revamped it and wrote a different story that i posted some time ago. fast forward to november, i made it my goal to finish this before the new year, and i was so close, too, but family took priority. there might also be a disconnect, but I really tried smoothing it over, hopefully I did well. anyway, better late than never, though?

Happy Harbour

December 7, 2019

“Sometimes it’s very hard to move on, but once you move on, you’ll realize it was the best decision you’ve ever made. You’ll see.”

You want to laugh bitterly at Megan’s words, but her sympathetic smile and warm gaze are holding you back from doing so. She’s only trying to help, you’re reminded by your conscious as she continues to spew words of healing and bullshit. Utter bullshit.

Your bitterness wins and you say, “I know,” wanting nothing more than for her to shut up.

Her smile turns sheepish and she pats your hand affectionately before excusing herself to get more coffee, or to get away from you. You wouldn’t blame her if it was the latter, you haven’t exactly been good company to keep around since your break up.

Sighing, your eyes trail to the world on the other side of the small cafe’s window. It’s bustling and full of people with shopping bags, all of them preparing for the holidays. It really is a different world outside, you muse. Everything inside the coffee shop is warmer and cozier—quieter compared to the outside. It almost, almost makes you forget about your broken heart that was ripped and stomped on by the person you thought loved and cared for you, things that you still, unfortunately, feel for them.

Your red-haired friend comes back with two styrofoam cups instead of one, and she sets one down in front of you, taking her seat across from you once more. “I got you another earl grey.”

You pick up the warm styrofoam, enjoying the heat against your palm. “Thank you.”

Megan doesn’t say anything for once, instead she watches the world with you, letting only the soft jazz of the cafe to envelop you. You can tell she’s going over something in her mind, she’s never this quiet unless she’s thinking, and that’s—usually—never a good thing, at least not when it pertains to you.

It’s not until you’re halfway done with your drink that she finally speaks, having grown restless with her thinking. She’s looking at you, her eyes narrowed and a little shaky, never really making contact with your own, but still facing your direction. “Sooo, I was thinking,” she drawls, “Conner and I are inviting some of our old friends over for a little get together this weekend and I thought, hey, maybe I can convince my best friend in the whole universe to finally meet my other friends, you know, I want us all to be friends and—“

“You’re rambling.”

“Right; sorry. It’s not going to be a huge thing, just a few of us watching crappy movies and drinking spiked eggnog, maybe play some games or something.” She reaches for your hand holding your drink and finally meets your eyes. “And I really want you to be there. What do you say, huh?”

“Megan,” you start warningly.

She raises a hand as a peace sign. “I know, I know! You said you wanted to keep a low profile this holiday season, but I really want to introduce you. They’re really nice people, a little odd, but so am I and you’re still my friend!”

You purse your lips, mulling over the idea. “Are the girls going to be there?”

“Yes! Well, Karen will be, I’m not sure about Wendy, yet. Should probably ask her tonight.”

Again, you think it over. Not only will you be in a small, confined space with a lot of people (she might have said it wasn’t going to be huge, but you and her have different definitions for small and huge), you’re going to be stuck in a confined space with strangers. It doesn’t sound very pleasing, but then again, you haven’t been very pleasant and there’s no denying that you always dodged her past intents to get you and her friends to hang out, and yet, she’s still here, trying to cheer you up.

You owe it to her.

“Okay, I’ll go.” She immediately squeals. Loudly. Blushing, you look around the cafe, and just as you feared, everyone in the small cafe is looking at you. You sigh, lifting a hand to stop her from over exerting herself—and from embarrassing you any further. “Just don’t expect me to bring anything.”

“That’s fine! That’s fine! As long as you bring yourself, I’m content.”

You’re going to regret it, you just know it.

Happy Harbour

December 14, 2019

You tug at the hem of your outfit, uncomfortable. You could hear the loud laughter of the people inside accompanied by the soft hum of Megan’s holiday playlist. In your hand is a Tupperware full of brigadeiro, a Brazilian dessert your grandma used to make for the holidays before she completely quit eating sweet things (in front of your mom anyway).

Fingers tighten around the container. Maybe you should go... You could always deal with an angry Megan later.

“Are you going to go in or are you just going to stare at the wreath all night?” A deep, amused voice registers in your mind and your body jerks in response, almost making you drop the Tupperware if it weren’t for the steady hand holding you against their strong, chest. “Whoa, there!” he exclaims, warm air fanning over your neck. “You all right?”

He doesn’t allow you to pull away until he steadies you, making sure you’re upright before letting you go. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you breathe out. “Thank you.”

He chuckles and you whirl around to meet your assailant and savior—and holy fuck is he gorgeous. They were gorgeous, too, but in that average kind of way. Nothing about them stood out to people, but to you? They were the most beautiful person you had ever seen. But this man in front of you, you had to be stupid not to notice how gorgeous he is. Striking blue eyes peering into you, a mischievous glint in them and matched by the lopsided smirk adorning his face; unruly black locks in waves and falling to one side as he runs his fingers through his hair. There’s something distinctly boyish and alluring about him that it renders you speechless.

“Megan never told me she had such a gorgeous friend,” he suddenly says. Or maybe not so suddenly because you’re sure his mouth had been moving before you allowed yourself to fall under his spell.

Hold on.

Wait a second.

Gorgeous?

Did he really just call you gorgeous, too?

Your throat closes and your eyes widen, hopefully not comically or at all because holy shit. A really gorgeous man just called you gorgeous. The last person to ever compliment was your mom. But she’s your mom. She’s supposed to think you’re pretty good looking. And before that it was them. And realizing it now, they probably never even meant it. So this? This is new and weird and what the fuck are you supposed to say to something like that to someone like him. “I—“

A draft of air hits your back as the door is swung open behind you. The Christmas music that Megan has been preparing since June is louder than before without the door closed.

“You’re here,” she squeals, wrapping her arms from behind you, her chin settling on your shoulder. “I’m so happy you came!” She kisses your cheek messily and something sweet and alcoholic fills your nostrils. “And you brought something!”

“Yeah, yeah! Don’t make it a thing.” You laugh, pulling away as she makes a show of having to let you go. “How much eggnog have you had?”

“Not too much.” Her eyes turn to the other guest and her eyes brighten. “Dick!” Dick? What kind of name is Dick? Was his mom angry at his dad? Noticing your stare, he smiles down at you, amusement never leaving his face before he turns to Megan. “You’re here! Wally and the others are already here.” She moves away from the door to let you both in.

Dick gestures to the inside of her apartment. “After you.”

Blinking owlishly, you thank him and enter the loud apartment full of people you don’t recognize—well, mostly of people you don’t recognize. There’s Karen and Mal by the Christmas tree talking to a redhead and a blonde, who Dick makes his way over to after excusing himself. Wendy is with Marvin by the snack table, the two arguing—really it's Marvin arguing—about which dessert is the best for the holidays, and a few other really gorgeous and fit people. Why are all of her friends ridiculously good looking?

“You okay?” Megan asks, her hand settling on your shoulder and squeezing lightly.

Your head swivels in her direction. “What?”

“You were frowning,” she says softly. “Hey, if I forced you to be here—“

“No,” you interrupt her quickly. “No, I’m glad you invited me, I just—I’ll be okay. I promise. You were right about me having to move on. I can’t avoid society forever because of a broken heart. I just need to get used to… this,” you say, moving your eyes around the party of people that seemed to already be coupled off.

She smiles gently but doesn’t seem all that convinced. “I’m right here if you need me, okay?” She takes the Tupperware from your hands. “Come on, let's say hi to everyone.” When you bristle, as you take off your coat, she laughs. “In moderation.”

An hour into the party and you’ve already become acquainted with mostly everyone at the party. You meet Wally and Artemis, the couple who were with Karen and Mal when you first arrived; Raquel and her baby boy, Amistad. Cassie and Tim; Jaime and Bart; Gar and some really weird guy who keeps glaring at Conner; Kaldur, who looks strangely familiar—and only smiles when you mention it before being pulled away by Megan—and Barbara, who eyes you momentarily before flashing you a warm smile. She’s a little intimidating, if you’re being honest.

There are still a few more people you have yet to meet, but you seriously need a break, and you say as much to Megan.

“You said a little party,” you say accusingly, as if you hadn’t known this was her definition of small.

She laughs, her arm hooked around yours as she pulls you towards the spread of food and drinks. “It is little!” She lets go of you, opens the treats you made and places them between all the others. She then grabs a clean cup to fill it with eggnog before handing it to you. “Here! Conner and I made it, so it might not be… good.”

You take a tentative sip of the thick liquid made out of egg and spices and doused with alcohol and holy fuck do you regret it. “You and Conner made this?” you sputter, the taste of bourbon lingering strongly on your tongue.

She pouts. “The recipe called for a ton of bourbon to counteract the sweetness!”

You pull the cup away and eye the liquid with scrutiny. “Did you put a whole bottle of Bourbon from Costco in here?”

“Yes?” she answers, a little unsure. “Probably. I don’t actually remember.”

Conner comes up from behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. “Enjoying yourselves?”

She tilts her head to kiss him on his cheek continuously and smiles. “Always.”

You avert your gaze.

“It’s good to see you again,” Conner addresses you after they’ve had their fill of small pecks. Honestly, you don’t blame them for being so affectionate and in love. It wasn’t that long ago that the two finally decided to give each other another chance after a falling out that Megan still doesn’t want to talk about. And again, you don’t blame her. You don’t want to talk about the reason why you and your ex broke up either, let alone think about it.

You hum and reluctantly move your gaze back to their interlocked embrace. You manage a smile. “Same to you. Been a while hasn’t it?”

Before he can reply, Gar interrupts with a call of their names. He’s standing near the fireplace with Bart, leaning over something. “Come check this out!”

Megan wiggles out of Conner’s hold and instead grabs his hand to lead him towards the boys. “Don’t go anywhere!”

Conner flashes an exasperated glance at you over his shoulder, which you return, before he wraps his arms around Megan again—the two laughing and joking about who knows what as they close the distance between them and the boys.

Sighing, you take another sip of the eggnog and your face scrunches in response to the liquid coating your tongue. “Bleh.”

“Fell victim to the spiked eggnog, I see,” a voice cuts through your thoughts as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Eyes snap up to meet the familiar, amused gaze of Dick. “Uh, yeah.”

He offers you a different mug and you eye it suspiciously. He chuckles. “It’s just apple cider, I promise.”

You reluctantly relent, taking the mug he offers as he takes the one you had been drinking. You take a sip, and surprisingly enough, it really is apple cider, no alcohol at all. “Oh, god, thank you.”

He flashes you a pearly smile, and takes a sip of the eggnog without grimacing. “So, how did you meet Megan and Conner?”

“Oh, um, from school. We went to the same high school.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I was a year below them, but I became friends with Megan when she joined the cheerleading team. My friendship with Conner just followed naturally after that.”

His eyes brighten, as if what you’re saying is actually interesting. “Really?”

You curl a piece of loose hair behind your ear. “Uh, yeah. What about you? How did you meet them?”

“Oh, through our families,” he supplies, a little detached, as if it weren’t really important. “Most of us met like that.”

You frown, but try to hide it behind the rim of the mug. “Wow. Then you must’ve known Megan for quite some time, then?”

His eyes flicker to your lips and his turn upwards. “Actually, I’ve probably known her for about the same amount of time as you.”

Wait. If that's true…“Does that mean you went to the Halloween disaster of 2016?” You remember Megan telling you she would be inviting her friends to the dance, and you heard that she did. Maybe he was among them?

He snorts. “Is that what they’re calling it?” You nod eagerly, hoping to hear his side of what happened that night.

“No.” You deflate, and he huffs a laugh. “I wasn’t able to go, had plans that night. Did you?”

You pout, the disappointment you felt at missing that night coming to mind. “Unfortunately, no. I was sick, but I heard from Marvin and the others that it was a night to remember.”

You don’t get to ask him more questions because as soon as you open your mouth, the front door opens to reveal a beautiful girl with dark, raven hair in delicate waves and bright blue eyes entering the room. Immediately, everyone (excluding you, Marvin and Wendy—wtf Karen?) recognizes her and greet her with a loud exclaim of her name, “Zatanna!”

Dick turns to you and you already know that he’s about to excuse himself. “Do you mind if—“

You shake your head interrupting him with, “No, no, go ahead.”

Surprisingly, he reaches for your arm and squeezes gently. “I’ll be right back.”

You blink after him and mutter, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Be right back” doesn’t happen. He stays by the pretty girl’s side, the two of them being overly familiar with one another—tight hugs, continuous small touches, long eye contact, leaning against one another. You wouldn’t be surprised if they dated at some point, to be honest; or maybe they are dating—ugh. Why does the thought of it bother you?

“You all right?” Wendy softly asks, her kind eyes full of worry and briefly moving to Karen by the entrance.

What’s that about?

You try to keep from frowning. “I think I just need some fresh air,” you assure her.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll just be out for a moment, besides—“ you flick your eyes to Marvin by the dessert table stuffing his face with walnut bread—“I think you’d better stay to make sure Marvin doesn’t eat all the walnut bread.”

“Oh—damn it, Marvin!” She sighs ready to chastise her boyfriend, but she pauses to look at you. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

You hum in agreement and watch as she saunters over to Marvin before turning on your heels and stepping out through the sliding doors leading to the balcony.

The cold winter air bites your skin, your long sleeved turtleneck not enough to combat the cold, but just thinking about going back inside makes you try to suck it up. You cover your mouth with your sleeve as you lean against the railing—Happy Harbor lights glinting brightly in the dark.

Maybe you should leave. You’ve been here a good amount of time to deem acceptable, right? You’ve met some of Megan’s friends and even talked to a few of them for a while, and you didn’t show an ounce of disgruntlement—as far as you know—so you should be good right?

An ache fills your chest, pulsing slowly as you let out a long sigh. God, what happened to you? You weren’t always like this. So closed off and unwilling to spend time with your friends. You’ve practically been unconsciously ignoring Karen and Mal, attaching yourself to Megan when she is alone, or staying with Marvin and Wendy because they act least like a couple compared to your old classmates. And the moment the one person you’ve talked to for an extended period of time at the party joins his pretty friend, you become bitter about it!

You need help.

Something heavy lands on your shoulders and back, strong cologne filling your nostrils and making you jump.

“Woah, easy, it’s just me.”

Startling blue eyes twinkle with mischief and your shoulders drop, heat combatting the cold air. “Anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on people?”

He just grins and settles in the space beside you, eyes sweeping over the town you grew up in. “My job kind of requires that I do.”

You slip your arms through the sleeves of his coat, ignoring the fact that it’s not exactly your size. It’s warm anyway. “Thank you.” You lean forward, tightening the coat to fit you snuggly. “What kind of job requires you to have ninja like stealth?”

He chuckles, meeting your gaze. “I’m an officer at Bludhaven PD, trying to become detective.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Bludhaven? Really?”

He hums, elbow resting on the railing and cupping his cheek.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Gotham has its norierty, but so does Bludhaven. It was basically untapped, scandals and crimes hidden behind a veil created by corrupt officials, until a couple of years ago when it all came to light with Nightwing’s arrival.

“Yeah,” he drawls, mulling it over, “but what isn’t? Anything can be dangerous if you think about it.” He leans closer to you. “Where do you work?”

“Happy Harbour Times, Opinions.”

“Then you must have to deal with a lot of angry readers when you write about something they don’t agree with, right? Threats and angry phone calls and letters. Those can be dangerous, too, right?” he asks cheekily.

You laugh, ducking your head. “I guess you’re right.” There’s still no comparing writing articles to police work, no matter how light of a situation Dick is trying to make it. “Why police work, though? It’s not many people’s first choice. Especially in Bludhaven.”

He shrugs. “Always been interested, I guess.” He leans back, hands holding onto the railing and causing his blue cable knit sweater to wrap tightly around his arm muscles. “My guardian…” Now, that’s an interesting choice of words. “He was—is a fan of mysteries.” His voice is far off, stuck in his jar of memories. “When he took me in, we’d used to solve cases together, most of them taking place in Gotham, where I was raised.” He chuckles. “And I guess from there I just… I just decided I wanted to be a cop.”

“I see... And you decided not to become a cop in Gotham?”

“Gotham has good people looking out for her already.”

“She could always use more.” He cracks a smile, blue eyes twinkling with the city lights as they find yours, and you return it shyly. “But I get it. Bludhaven has become yours, in a way. Separate from your… guardian.”

“In a way,” he repeats, and you have to look away from or else your heart will stop. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

He nudged your shoulder with his. “Happy Harbour Times?”

“Ah.” Your breath comes out in a puff, the night air still growing colder by the hour, but you don’t mind it. Dick doesn’t seem to mind either. “Well, when I was a kid, my third grade teacher told my parents I was a really good writer. So, they got me into workshops and short story competitions,” you recall, remembering the constant competitions your parents would sign you up for without your knowledge sometimes. They did it with good intentions, hoping to help hone your skill, but it was too much sometimes. “Truth is, I hated it. Never really liked… fiction, I guess? Don’t get me wrong, give me a good fiction novel and I will read it for days, but… it… it just wasn’t me,” you confess locking your fingers in place.

“I was about ready to give up on writing when my tenth grade English teacher assigned us a topic to write about and I guess I fell in love with the research and being able to go out and interview people.”

“Yeah? And what was it that you wrote about?”

You bite your lip and find Dick staring at you, a curious glimmer in his eyes. “Don’t laugh?” He promises he won’t. “Robin.”

He chokes on his saliva, eyes growing in disbelief. “As in Batman’s Robin?”

You tuck strands of hair behind your ear, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yeah, um, the prompt was about vigilantes and I chose to write about him instead of the Flash, Batman, Wonder Woman and whoever else everyone wrote about.”

“Why?”

You shrug, trying your best to mask your embarrassment with a blase attitude. “Fighting crime with Batman? That was pretty cool, you know? He was living every kid’s dream.”

“Was he?” he asks, voice soft.

“He was!” you confess, smile blooming on your face as a memory of you and your friends playing as the superhero sidekicks comes to mind. It’s some of your best memories from elementary school. “But I didn’t want to just write about the good. He was a kid seeing some fucked up shit, after all.” You pause to look at him, only to find he’s not looking at you, but at the city lights. There’s something… wistful and forlorn in those blue eyes of his, and you wonder if he’s thinking back on his time in Gotham, seeing Boy Wonder up close and personal. “Being Robin must’ve taken its toll on him, both mentally and physically.

“And I wanted to write about that. Even had my parents drive up to Gotham for the weekend so I could do some snooping, maybe even find Boy Wonder myself.”

Finally he reacts, lips twitching as he turns to look at you. “And how’d that go?”

“I learned that the citizens of Gotham really hate being asked questions.” He chuckles and you smile. “But those who did answer... you can tell they were grateful for him and worried about him. The kid really touched people’s hearts, whether they agreed with his nightly activities with Batman or not.” You tilt your head, watching his eyes light up with your words. “It’s just a shame I didn’t get to interview Robin himself.” You grab hold of the railing and lean forward. “But I’d doubt he’d have given me the time of day if I had gotten the chance to ask him. Probably too busy saving babies and punching villains with Batman.”

“I’m sure he would have made time for you.” Your fingers slip from the metal to turn to look at him, unsure of his sincerity. “How could he not?” His cheeks have become flushed with the cold, nose bright and blue eyes stark against his skin.

You smile, but you’re sure it looks more like an awkward grimace. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not.” He frowns, sincere eyes knocking your breath away. “I know if he knew someone as sincere as you wanted to ask him some questions for their article, he would have dropped whatever he was doing to help you.”

You don’t know why you stand there, waiting for him to laugh in your face and say his punchline. You don’t know why he just stands there and stares back at you, quiet and shining with sincerity that he’s trying to penetrate into your being. It’s weird and totally unnecessary, but maybe a part of you is desperate to know if he’s really being sincere and a part of him is desperate for you to know he is.

“Hey!” Megan’s voice break through the trance you’re both in. Her head barely poking out into the cold and green eyes narrowing. “Get in here before you both catch something!”

Dick chuckles, attention moving from her to you. “Should we head in?”

You nod mutely, smiling tight lipped.

As you follow Megan inside, the only thing on your mind is that you might have already caught something.

Bludhaven

December 15, 2020

“You’re really not coming home for the Holidays this year?”

Megan is pouting on your computer screen, but you hardly pay her any attention. You have an article on Bludhaven’s growing homelessness due in the morning and you still have some revisions to do. Your little mishap earlier today took time that you were reserving for this article and now you’re running behind.

“‘Fraid not,” you tell her, your voice accompanied by the clicking of your keyboard. “I’ve been overloaded with a ridiculous amount of work this month and I need to get it done before the end of the year.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see her scavenging through boxes of decorations. “Won’t your mom be disappointed you won’t be coming home?”

“Nope,” you pop the “p” as you rewrite a fragment. “She’s coming down to see me instead.”

She stops, head lifting like a prairie dog on alert. “So it’s just going to be you two this year?”

“Maybe. Dick said he might stop by, but he’s not sure.”

“Ooh,” her teasing rings through your quiet bedroom and you roll your eyes.

“It’s not like that, Megan.” You wished it were like that, but it’s not, and maybe it’s for the best. Dick became one of your good friends since the party last year and one of your best friends after you volunteered for a transfer to Bludhaven’s Times earlier this year. You don’t want to mess with what you have, not right now when your life feels perfectly balanced.

“Don't let the person who didn't love you keep you from the person who will,” she says, sounding serious as hell and making you snort and pause in your typing. “Hey! Don’t laugh at my words of wisdom!”

“This has nothing to do with them, Megan. When I said I was finally over them, I meant it.” The moment you were able to look at an old tagged picture of you and them on their friends’ Instagram and you felt nothing, no numbness, no anger nor sadness, just a strange vagueness as if they were a stranger, you knew you were over them. “Dick and I… we like where we are.”

“Boo.”

Conner appear on screen and shakes his head as he wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t listen to her. I respect your decision.”

She rolls her eyes, playfully pushing his head out of the screen. “I respect your decision too, doesn’t mean I agree with it.”

“Heckling does not equate respect, babe.”

You laugh at their antics, their displays of affections no longer bothering you. Now, when you see them you just feel happy, happy for them and for you. Bitterness long gone from your bones, and there’s one person you can thank for that.

Your phone on your desk dings.

Dick 🥳🤩: Chinese food 2nite?

You: only if you promise to get extra egg rolls

Dick 🥳🤩: Got’chu, omw.

“You’re smiling! Why are you smiling? It’s Dick, isn’t it? It’s totally Dick.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep your face neutral but knowing you’re doing horribly at it. “I have to go, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait, is he coming over?” She gushes, and Conner is back on screen, trying to wrestle the phone out of her grip.

You laugh when you hear a curse from Conner. “I have an article to finish, Megan.”

“You can’t just leave me hanging like this—“

All right, you’ve had enough. “Bye, Megan!”

Megan🧡: 😨 You hung up on me?

Megan🧡: 😡😡

Megan🧡: Expecting deets tomorrow ❤️

You: goodnight, megan!

It doesn’t take long for Dick to arrive and for you to shove your article aside—you’re almost done with it anyway, nothing wrong with a little break.

The door jingles and as you begin to clear your coffee table—where you and Dick usually eat dinner—of your paperwork, it opens to reveal Dick still wearing his uniform. You smile up at him briefly, gathering everything and taking it over to your round, small dining table that could probably fit four people if you really tried to squeeze them in. “Hey! Let me just grab some plates and we can—“

Before you can finish your sentence, or head into the kitchen, a hand wraps around your wrist, worried crystallized blue eyes staring into you. “Why didn’t you tell me you were almost mugged?”

Ah, hell.

The crack in his voice makes your heart drop to your stomach and your eyes fall down to his ugly black shoes that you make fun of every chance you get just to hear his laugh. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Which isn’t a lie. Since you moved to Bludhaven, Dick has been checking up on you more often and even picking you up from work if he has the chance—“Bludhaven isn’t like Happy Harbor. It’s… tougher and harder,” he had said after offering to teach you some self defense moves. You had laughed and said you could handle yourself, but accepted it anyway if it meant spending more time with him.

Today was just bad luck, he was on the other side of the city and you had chosen to take the bus to work that day and hadn’t been paying attention. Next thing you know, you’re being threatened to give your purse up.

His warm fingers leave your wrist and instead they find your chin. Gingerly, he lifts your head to force you to meet his gaze. “When Rohrbach called me on my way here to check up on you because she was worried, I swear my heart almost stopped.” His eyes shine with worry and there’s a twisting in your gut. “What if Louie hadn’t been nearby, huh?”

“I’m okay, Dick,” you reassure him, wanting nothing more than to lean against him, maybe have his lips press a kiss on your forehead. “I handled him pretty well. Used those self defense moves you taught me.” It was why you were able to shake him off and run to the nearest officer for help. Dick inadvertently saved you.

He finally smiles. “Yeah, Rohrbach said you left him pretty bruised up.” His hand under your chin moves to smooth out your hair before cupping the back of your head and pressing you against him. “I need you to be more careful, sweetheart. Need you to be safe.”

Your heart bursts in your chest at the pet-name and you wrap your arms around his waist, fisting the jacket of his uniform tightly. His cologne makes you dizzy—ginger and spices for the holiday. “Only if you promise to stay safe, too.”

“I’ll do my best.” His soft lips land on your forehead briefly before he’s pulling away and you restrain yourself from chasing after him. “Let’s eat? You must be starving.”

“A little,” you admit, and let him pull you toward the couch. “Eating out of the cartons today?”

He flashes you a grin. “Why not?”

As you both settle next to each other on the floor, back being supported by your old couch and you turn on your television as he pulls out the food he bought, you can’t help but think that even if your relationship stay like this with Dick, you wouldn’t mind it.

Bludhaven

December 31, 2020

You check your watch for the umptenth time.

He’s late.

Everyone around you is celebrating, filling the bar with laughter and talk, most of it incoherent over the loud music and the inebriated state most of them are in. You’re only a few hours away from the New Year and people are already drunk out of their minds—this doesn’t spell trouble for the night whatsoever.

Dick 🥳🤩 (7)

7 outgoing calls, all unanswered and completely unlike him. Sure, sometimes he doesn’t answer your calls when he’s busy, that’s a given, but he always sends you a message if he’s going to be late or apologizes for not being able to answer your call. This just not like Dick.

You try calling one more time, covering one ear with your palm to hear the ringing, but just like before, you get sent to voicemail. Worry begins to over take your annoyance. You grab your bag and quickly make your way out of the crowded bar, not caring about the warm bodies complaining.

Driving to his place takes you about thirty minutes with traffic, and you occasionally find yourself cursing at other drivers and yourself. It’s a miracle you don’t get into an accident or pulled over. With his garage key that he gave you, you open the gate and make your way to the space that has become yours over the last couple of months with how much you visit him.

Locking your car with a simple click of the key fob, you power walk to the elevator. One last time, you try calling him, hoping he’ll answer and apologize for being late, but once again it sends you to voicemail just as the elevator doors open on his floor.

“Please be okay,” you whisper to yourself.

Taking out your copy of the key, you slowly insert it and tentatively call out to him as you open the door.

No answer.

You strain your hearing as you swear you hear some shuffling and thumping, but that noise could just be coming from down the hall. He does have some noisy neighbors.

You enter the apartment and close the door behind you. “Dick?”

There’s a crash and you jump, your heart in your throat, but the familiar string of curses eases your fear. You follow the noise and come face to face with a wide eyed Dick shirtless covered in nasty forming bruises in the middle of his bathroom.

A whimper escapes your lips and you rush forward, cupping his face in your hand. “What the hell happened to you? I thought you managed to get the night off?” You turn his head this way and that, and then push him back by grabbing his shoulder to look at his torso and back. Only letting go when he winces at a particularly hard tug. “Oh shit! I’m sorry!”

He grabs your wrists not allowing you to give him space. “You’re not blushing,” he says cheekily, his eyes twinkling even with the slowly forming bruise.

Your eyebrows furrow. “Why would I be—“ Your eyes drag down to his naked torso peppered with old wounds and spanking brand new bruises and you immediately feel a wave of heat spreading through your body. “Oh.”

He laughs softly, chuckling almost, low and a sweet timbre.

But when your eyes fall lower, you’re doused in cold water, black, almost skin tight material—unitard?—and a black holster wrapped around his right leg greeting you. This isn’t his police uniform! What is he wearing? And why does it look like kevlar? “Why are you—“

You’re not allowed a moment to ask because Dick pulls you towards him with a tug of your wrists and you fall against his chest, barely bracing yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, large hands flat against your back.

“Dick?”

“I’m okay,” he murmurs airily into your hair and you don’t know what to do, you’re pretty sure he can feel and hear your pacing heart.

You repeat his name, trying to pull away from him to look into his eyes. He doesn’t let you.

He inhales. “Just give me a moment and I’ll answer any questions you might have.”

You sigh, warm air brushing against his bare skin, and the hands that braced yourself on the kitchen sink wrap around his torso loosely. “What happened?”

Circles are traced on your shirt, one hand climbing higher to cradle the back of your head. “Remember the guy who tried to rob you?” You nod and hum, remembering that crooked nosed, pale skin idiot who thought you’d be an easy target. “He escaped during transfer today with the help of some of his friends, and I went after them. Off record.”

You pull away from him and look up at him with wide eyes and slack jaw to find his serious gaze on you, lips pulled down into a thin line. “What do you mean off record?” Your throat closes and the back of your nose stings—he went after them ‘cause that man tried hurting you? “Dick, what if something happened—”

His eyes bore into you and his thumb find purchase on your face, tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “It's just a couple of scratches and bruises. I’m okay. I promise.”

You blink back your tears and lean into his touch. “You still shouldn’t have gone by yourself!”

“I didn’t,” he says softly. “I went with a friend.”

Your nose scrunches, your eyes still watery. “Rohrbach?”

He shakes his head. “No. Better, Robin.”

“Robin?” You try to remember if he’s ever mentioned anyone named Robin at the precinct, but you’re pretty sure he hasn’t—“Wait. Robin? As in Batman’s Robin?” His gaze doesn’t change, it remains serious and your heart leaps in your chest. “You really know Robin?”

He finally cracks a smile and you’re half expecting him to say he’s joking (you don’t know which is worse, him joking about knowing Robin when he’s aware how much admiration teen you had for him or finding out that he really went after that thug and his friends on his own!), but instead he answers with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Dick, if you’re—“

He chuckles, his thumb that had been tracing your cheekbone dragging down to your bottom lip, slowly tracing the swell. You would have melted if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand. “I’m not playing with you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fall to his torso and down to his pants and the hanging arms of his unitard and they snap back up, alarmed. “Are you—does this mean you’re also a—“ you can’t even form a proper sentence, the rushing of your blood flowing through your head and ears drown out your thoughts and voice.

His hands drop from your frame and you take a step back as he adjusts the unitard, slipping into it only to have you gasping at the familiar symbol on his chest—Nightwing.

Without waiting for his permission, your fingers trace the symbol, the material under your fingers soft and somehow firm. A deep ache blooms in your chest, your nose wrinkling and Dick reacts quickly, cupping your face with his now covered hands, and you’d laugh any other time at the fact that his suit is falling forward and down his arms, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself from crying.

It all makes sense now! His double shifts and all the injuries—gods. How could you have been so blind?

He rubs the corner of your eyes and coos gently, worry swimming in his eyes and honestly, that’s not fair! You’re the only one allowed to be worried right now! “Hey, hey, why are you crying, huh? What’s wrong?”

Your head falls forward and Dick leans down to press his forehead against yours. “This isn’t going to make me worry less about you, Dick.” Your fingers wrap around his thick forearms. “You promised you were going to try staying safe and this,” you pause to sigh, refusing to meet his eyes, ”this isn’t going to keep you safe.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the space between you. “I’m sorry I’m going to make you worry. I’m sorry I’m making you cry. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you say with a sniffle, because it doesn’t. You don’t care that he didn’t tell you he was Nightwing or that he allowed you to gush about Robin when he’s always known who that is. What matters is that now you know Dick is out every night as Nightwing risking his life and you’re not happy about that. That’s what matters.

“But I won’t break my promise.” You squeeze his arm. “I promised you I would try, and ever since that night, I’ve done my best to keep to that, and I always will.” His nose bumps against yours, trying to get you to look at you and you do, suddenly aware of the lack of space between you. “I have someone to come home to now.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and your heart pounds against your rib cage. You’re no longer okay being just friends with Dick, not when he says things like that and when he’s looking at you like this either—like you’re the only thing that matters and all he wants is to keep you trapped in his arms (you wouldn’t fight him if he tried).

Before you can voice anything, coherent or incoherent, your mouth is sealed shut by a paid of chapped lips. It’s a small peck, but it’s enough to send a tumble of acrobats into a frenzy. And all you want is to feel his lips against yours again, and so you meet him halfway after a shallow collection of breath.

Lips move in tandem, heads tilting this way and that and it’s all very much like the passionate romcom movie kisses you’ve seen over the years, the kind you’d dream about every time Dick would kiss different parts of your face and never your lips. It’s all fire and sweetness, like fireworks on a hot summers’ day and watermelon juice dripping down your chin.

A loud boom echoes in the quiet night and you jerk away from Dick, eyes snapping to his bedroom entrance, the windows covered with blinds allowing the bright flashes of light to filter in.

“Did we miss the countdown?” you find yourself asking dumbly, a little breathless and mind still reeling from his intense kiss.

He presses another one to your temple, chuckling. “Does it matter?”

“It’s the New Year!”

“Could really care less,” he grumbles, voice coming from deep in his chest as his lips dragging from the corner of your eyes to your lips, pulling you away from the firework show outside. “Too busy trying to make out with my gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” you tease in between kisses.

“Mhmm, have been trying to make her mine for a couple of months now, but she’s pretty clueless. ‘S supposed to be one of the best reporters in all of the tri state area, too.”

“Should’ve said something, Dick. I’m not a mind reader.”

He chuckles, pulling away from your lips for just a moment. “There’s something else you should know.”

“What?” you ask, a little hazily.

“I was Robin.”

And before you can ask him to elaborate on that or you’re allowed to be embarrassed, he closes the distance between you once more and kisses you senseless.

To think you thought you’d regret going to Megan’s a little over a year ago; if only the you from then could see you now, happy and moved on.

#dick grayson x reader #richard dick grayson x reader #robin x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #reader insert #young justice #titans #fanfic #young justice fic #titans fic

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elmaxlys · 4 years

Note

21 QUESTIONS FOR JUOKA, LETS GO! 3 4 5 6 11 12, also 20 because I am acutally curious ! (i shall ask the other ones in another question)

ALRIGHT THEN HELL YEAH 👀👀👀

3) What is your favorite AU/prompt idea/trope for your pairing?

Fav trope is obviously enemies to lovers because come on XD

But favorite AU, oh boy. I have so many of them how do I choose... But probably any canon divergence AU in which Juo survives - be it against his will (as in Yuri got close enough and grabbed him by force) or because his “don’t want to die”-ness was strong enough to overshadow his convictions and he took her hand. The infamous Redemption Arc AU that lives in my brain and I haven’t written one line for because I have too many versions of the same thing lmao i just really like that AU

HOWEVER I can’t not mention the Juo’s Apostle AU here. I rarely ever talk about it but damn... Rika as Juo’s Apostle... I don’t even have any definite or real idea for this AU other than “wow. that’d be dope” but jesus christ the simple idea of it puts sparkles in my eyes

4) Do you prefer canon ideas or do you have your own headcanons for them?

I’m gonna go with canon, here. Miura’s characters are pretty solid yet, in Juo’s case, vague enough to allow hc to fit in without disrupting canon. And their storyline is why I ship them so much in the first place. Also they both incredibly stick to character all along and that’s very hot of Miura to stay consistant in depiction. We say��“Thank you Miura”

5) Favorite canon moment of them?

*inhales* YOU ASKED *talks about the Juo arc for so long you’ve stopped reading after the first few paragraphs but it goes on for 50 pages*

I’m only half kidding, because my fav canon moment of them is every single of their interactions and I could go on so long... They’re constantly trying to outsmart the other, to try to manipulate the other into lowering guard, but they’re so evenly matched both in terms of brains and in terms of raw power that they just can’t and they’re stuck and jfc the tension, the undressing, the shameless flirting. The entire phone conversation.

Tho if I really have to chose, it’d be either “If I have a demand, it’s you” or both of the “I surrender please don’t kill me”.

6) Least favorite canon moment of them?

It’s kind of fucked up on my part but I love the ugly parts of their relationships. That’s what it’s like to ship enemies. I can’t answers the threats, the manipulations or the murder attempts because that’s what their interactions are made of and that’s what I like. For the first seconds they saw each other they already went the full “hey let me just point a gun at your face while you manipulate me into not killing you despite how much I really should do exactly that”. I saw that and went “nice 👀”

11) If they aren’t a canon pairing, how would you get them together?

OKAY SO. HEAR ME OUT.

The mask proposal and then boom- careful it gets long

It’d go approximately like this: canon divergent of course but: Juo manages to stop Okihara from destroying the mask or kills Okihara so he doesn’t use the mask he kept for Rika. Then they get on the helicopter and Juo gets the code before allowing Rikuya from seeing it. Having seen the code, Juo is strong enough to resist the Administrator who took Rikuya’s body (then if okihara isn’t dead yet, Admin kills him because heh). Then either Juo pushes him off either Yuri just shows up for their fight and takes them elsewhere. We now have 2 almost full gods + one complete devil. Yuri fights the Admin, defeats him and becomes the new Admin, leaving our final two god candidates to the last level (that we actually don’t know of. how fucked up is that)

So. Judges VS Juo. Juo is like “whatever I only wanted the code because it sounded fun you can be God if you want” and the Judges are like. Bitch we went through all this just for that? And Juo’s like *shrug emoji* “I wanted to test something tho” *takes out his mask* “I want a proper fight with Rika-kun” and Rika is like dude seriously? i sorted my intensities, I’m as strong as the mfing Judge here why would you want to make me wear a mask to then fight me and Juo really doesn’t care because come on that’d be so fun. and they do fight. Rika becomes a 2nd Juo and Juo is having fun. But they’re of equal power. Juo has some vague thoughts of “ah I don’t want to die” like every time but then he realizes that it’s the last fun thing he could do. he’s so powerful no fight will ever have flavor again, you know?

Fighting Rika was his goal and he accomplished it, he didn’t get him to beg but he’s fulfilled but also really really empty now that it’s over so they’re both like huh. I can’t kill you you can’t kill me what up with that and Rika refuses to give up because hey his family, man. So Juo. Man Juo would tell Rika to kill him. No irony, no fake smile, just a tired but honest one, if a little sad, and Rika lowers his hammer like. No. I won’t give you the satisfaction of having me kill you. You were right from the beginning, I won’t kill an unarmed human that’s not resisting. And Juo is like “dude there can’t be two Juos anyway that’s against the rules” and rika is like “that was your idea in the first place wtf” and yuri is like “i make the rules” and, just like she was so ready to give him a second third chance in canon when she jumped to save him, she fully recognizes both Juos as one (like the Judges, you know?) and Juo is like okay yeah I was wrong, that’s nice. And he has an excuse to hold onto Rika because none of them can stand straight on his own

Bam, they’re married by the Admin power and they work through their issues together and Rika slowly accepts his title as Juo - which would be a metaphor of accepting the actual Juo - and they become real close and none of them really confesses they just. you know. are together. It’s smooth, they move in nebulous waters when it comes to their relationship. they don’t have an anniversary etc. But yeah, they’re together

12) If you had to take them and plunk them into another fandom, what fandom would that be? Why?

I’ve only watched the first season but probably the Walking Dead. It’s gore, it’s violent, it’s post-apocalyptic - it suits them.

20) What made you decide to ship them?

I actually have no idea sskksk I think I’ve shipped them for approximately as long as they’ve been seen interacting so I can’t remember exactly but it probably was a mix of the following elements:

“I’ve been thinking about you all this time”

man, the sexual tension in this room o_O

man, they’re both hot, they’d look well together and also I’m crushing hard on both of them so, you know,,,

“If I have a demand it’s you”

“I’m glad to see you, Rika-kun”

everything about Juo

his every line

how alike they are

shipping my faves together because why the hell not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

oh.

oH.

OH.

UTAREN VIBES HOLY SHIT (was my ultimate otp at the time etc but that probably was on a less conscious level than the one i’m writing here because I’m a dumb idiot that only realized the similarities recently)

I just really like the bad boy x good person trope, okay? even more than the actual enemies to lovers (that I enjoy a lot)

all of that buried under the stupid guilt of “yo hey why would I ship them that’s so messed up haha,, ha :’)))” that made me deny to myself that I shipped them for a loooong time

#long post #sorry about the length i'm really passionate about them #but thank you so much for asking about them ;v;#juoka #juo #suzuki emiri #honjo rika #tenkuu shinpan #romance

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crystaljins · 4 years

Text

Sea.

Characters: Namjoon x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Synopsis: It takes a lot to follow your dreams. Idol!reader x manager!Namjoon

Notes: @tuserendipia requested Namjoon + dreams. And all I could think about is how BTS have achieved their dreams. And actually, this week I achieved MY dream. So this is what you guys get. LOL. It’s pretty shoddily written but who cares? It’s all for fun.

Warnings: Nothing except mentions of dodgy record label companies? Also atrocious plotholes because i know nothing about music contracts. If that bothers you please read something else.

Few people are fortunate enough to experience the adrenaline rush that comes with finally achieving their dreams. You are though, and you’re practically glowing from the high. Namjoon can only stare in awe as he captures your fingers before you can step onto the platform that will raise you onto the stage above.

“Hey.” He calls, adjusting the headsets he has on and slipping them off so that they rest on his neck. He very intentionally reaches down and switches off the battery pack it attaches to. No one will hear the words he says next and he will not have panicked staff members contacting him through the comms system. These words are just for you. “I’m proud of you.”

You’re all dolled up in stage makeup to highlight your best features. The dress has been designed carefully so that the stage lights will be caught by the tiny diamontes and dance across your body like starlight. He almost misses what you look like bare-faced and relaxed, with the hood of your jumper pulled up over unwashed hair, but there is no denying that you are in your element like this. The person he is looking at now is the pop princess who captured the heart of the entire nation with her amazing voice and beautiful face, about to perform on her dream stage.

You don’t smile in response. Instead you frown at him and he knows what you’re thinking. Really you should be buzzing with the nerves and excitement that comes with achieving your dreams, but you clearly have something on your mind.

“Joon.” You say in response. “Thank you.” The words are whispered, barely audible over the music that starts up, building up to your grand entrance. Already outside, the crowd is screaming. “But you should be up there with me.”

He offers you a smile because even now, in the moment that you are about to achieve your dreams, you are thinking about him. He didn’t always appreciate that about you- when he first met you, he had thought you were spoiled and single-minded. You wanted to have it all and had none of the motivation or determination to take it. And yet things still seemed to fall into your lap- you’d open your mouth and sing a few notes and entertainment companies would trip over themselves to have you sign with them.

He had been working as in intern then, trying to break into the industry and form connections and his run-ins with you had left him jealous and frustrated. Jealous that you had everything he wanted and frustrated that you didn’t even seem to recognise how easily things came to you. And that had only become exacerbated when someone had decided he’d be a good manager to you. Suddenly it went from having to see you in the hallways of the company or sitting in on meetings discussing your schedule to having to spend every waking minute worrying about you and where you were and what you were doing. He should have refused the promotion, really, but the pay was better, and it meant he was meeting far more influential people than he was as a mere intern.

You, of course, had been baffled by Namjoon’s initial dislike of you. You seemed like the kind of person who was used to people handing their hearts to you on a silver platter without much effort on your part of all. But you had somehow met him everything with a smile and a cheerfulness that none could match, and he soon learned the reason why.

No one follows their dreams with ease. To achieve the goal your heart is longing for comes with blood, sweat and tears and you had never forgotten your humble roots. Even though Namjoon had only seen you from the point where people on social media sites had started to see and recognise your talent, he didn’t see the financial difficulties, or the days you busked on the side of the road for hours to even be able to pay for your dinner. He didn’t see the people who had scammed you and taken everything in your blind and desperate attempts to share your voice. He wasn’t there when you’d had to give up the performing academy you’d always dreamed of because your father had gotten sick and your mother couldn’t afford both your schooling fees and his hospital fees. And so, while he had seen you and been jealous that things looked easy for you, you had seen him and known that Namjoon too was working hard for his dreams- that no dream comes easy or naturally. That’s why you were able to treat him with such kindness and warmth- because he was your fellow dreamchaser.

When he realised that, he started to see the other things that made you great. Your big heart, your genuine and sincere nature, the way your voice captured hearts… you had inspired him. And he’d done something really dumb and embarrassing- he had written a song about you. No, a song for you. Written for your vocals and your style. And to be honest, it was never meant for anyone but him to hear. And then of course you had come across it entirely by accident when you were searching through his phone for a video he had taken for you.

But then something funny had happened. Namjoon has been searching, ever since he began his internship, for the person who would take a chance on him and his music. Who would hear it and love it enough to make it big, and never, in a million years, did he think that person would be you. Of course, your record label had refused, saying that it didn’t fit your image or your sound, but you had fallen in love with the song and you were determined to sing it. You’d recorded the song with him and released it on soundcloud, and of course, your vocals combined with his music… it had blown up.

Your record company had been angry. They had wanted to seize the rights to the song and in an oversight on your part, a tiny clause in your 75-page contract stated that any and all music released by you automatically belonged to them. And thus, Namjoon had lost his first ever song to a big corporate that hadn’t even wanted to give him a chance in the first place. And he’d learned how painful the journey to realising your dreams could be. But that had been nothing compared to you- you were inconsolable, especially when his song only took your career to new heights. The very heights that are allowing you to perform here, at the biggest stadium in your country. The place only the biggest stars even hope to perform in and you were to take the stage as the top female solo act. You had begged him to take legal action, but he couldn’t do it- couldn’t take his song back without harming you. Perhaps that is the most painful part- that he had had to choose between you and his song. And ultimately, you had been what won.

“I’m just happy to see you up there.” He tells you warmly, because it’s true. Gone are the days when he was jealous and angry at the world, for choosing you and not him. Now… after seeing you in every facet of your life, from the angel on stage to the grumpy young woman in stained, unwashed tshirts… He only wants to see you achieve. To climb higher and higher and keep moving and capturing heart the way you have wholly captured his. Once upon a time, it was just him, his music and his dreams, but somewhere along the way you wiggled into his heart and there’s now something more important than his music: You. As much as it hurts to lose his dreams… You are more important to him.

Something flashes in your eyes, an unfamiliar mischief and challenge.

“You’ll be even happier in a moment.” You warn, and he doesn’t even have a chance to ask you what you mean when you step away from him, releasing his fingers and climbing up onto the stage. The next moment you vanish as the platform raises you onto the stage.

Above ground, the cheers grow in intensity. No doubt the screams and cries rumble through the whole city- there is surely not a soul that does not know that tonight, you are taking centre stage. Namjoon smiles as he steps backwards and goes to find the ideal spot backstage to watch the rest of your concert. He’s comfortably waiting at the side of the stage where he can see and hear everything that is happening. He’s about to switch his headpiece back on, when it happens.

The music that booms onto the stage is not your usual opening music. Instead, it’s a familiar tune. A song he had written in private, in some of his darker days when his dreams had seemed far away and unattainable. He doesn’t know how you found it, or how deep you delved into his secret soundcloud account to get the backing track, but it’s playing as the opening song to your concert, for the entire nation who is watching and listening to hear.

“This song was written by a very special friend of mine.” He hears your voice boom through the microphone. “And I need you all to do me a favour- help me get his music out there. Spread the word. Post the videos online. And tell everyone you know whose song this is: Kim Namjoon!”

And then you burst into song, his words, his tune, but better. It’s a song that captures all the hardship of following your dreams, the pain and hopelessness that comes with it, and a song that resides specially in his heart.

“Where there is hope, there is always hardship.” You sing. Due to the controversy of Namjoon’s song for you, it never made it to the live stage- this is the first time one of his songs will be performed live, and it’s on the biggest stage in the country with his name at the forefront. And not a song written for you, but a song carrying a piece of him. This song is unashamedly his and you have just helped him release it into the public.

Namjoon shakes his head in disbelief, hardly believing your audacity, or the way you’ve just shot down your record company. This is a big move for you and with so many people hearing you declare the owner of the song out in the open, it will be much harder for the company to quietly assume the rights. You’ve made a daring move, and risked your career. And for him. The song finishes and Namjoon is not ashamed there are tears pouring down his face. But then what happens next is unbelievable.

“Guys!” You cry. “Do you want to meet him? The man who wrote that song?” The ensounding chorus of “Yes!” rumbles through Namjoon’s heart like a stampede. You turn your head to where he’s hidden in the side of the stage and the smile that you give him is dazzling. You run up to him, and grab his hand. You switch off your mic for just a moment.

“They won’t steal this one from you.” You promise and then you’re stepping onto stage with him.

For a moment, all he feels is a rush of adrenaline as he gaze out onto the huge crowd. He can’t hear anything past the roaring in his ears. But then the buzzing fades and then he hears what the crowd is chanting.

“Kim Namjoon! Kim Namjoon!” They scream wildly. That’s his name they’re cheering. His song they’re going wild to. They’re chanting his name in the biggest stadium in the country and it’s so beyond his wildest dreams that he’s speechless.

And then he glances at you. The stage light catches on your dress and your eyes are filled with a dazzling light that takes his breath away. And he realises something.

Dreams are arbitrary. They can change in a heartbeat. Some will go unfulfilled for all eternity and the second one is filled it’s time to make a new one. It’s in human nature to always be running for more, to be chasing a moving goalpost, but he’s found something better than a dream. Something that he doesn’t have to chase desperately after and never meet. Something that he can stop and stare in wonder. Somewhere he can stay, in warmth and happiness.

And that is you. You’re more than a dream to him. You’re his love.

And he’s yours.

#kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #btsboulangerie #bts fluff #writing #1000followersdrabble

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cherryblossomshadow · 4 years

Text

Masquerade

Summary: "You should be socializing," Temari stated, as if it were obvious. "You’re here as the Konoha envoy, right? You need to be dancing with someone influential."

Shikamaru opened his mouth to correct her, but he found himself asking, “Is that an offer?” His eyes widened in horror when he realized what he had said.

But her ruby lips simply curved into a surprised smile. "It can be," she answered, holding out a hand.

Day 2: Masquerade

2282 words

Helpful link to AO3

Masquerade

Written for Day 2 of ShikaTema Week 2020 - Masquerade!

I’m so excited that this event has rolled around again, because ShikaTema Week 2019 is what got me back in the swing of writing (and actually posting 🤭) last year! It means a lot to me to be posting and seeing content for my otp again 😁

This fic is set during the canon time skip. The setting is “just-AU-enough-to-squeeze-a-masquerade-ball-in.” I picture Sunagakure as being kind of aristocratic (with the big clans being the aristocracy) in order to get away with it. If anyone has read the Invitation series by Lord of the Land of Fire, that’s what I’m talking about.

“Come on, Shikamaru.” Ino tried to tug him to his feet. “You have to dance.”

Shikamaru stubbornly slouched further into the cushioned seat he had claimed at the edge of the village square. It had been a long, rough trip, and he had no intention of getting up until they were leaving.

“Well, it is a ball,” Choji nodded in agreement. He shrugged apologetically when Shikamaru scowled at him, but he did not retract his statement.

“And not just any ball!” Ino interjected. “It’s the Suna Masquerade Ball!”

Shikamaru gave an exaggerated groan in response, rolling his eyes for good measure. Secretly, he was glad that he and Choji had been able to arrange the invitations. They hadn’t seen Ino so lively in months. But that doesn’t mean that he wanted to dance.

“Ugh, fine,” Ino sighed. “Alright, Choji, sounds like you’re my dance partner!”

Choji quickly gulped down his mouthful and chirped, “Okay!” He took her hand, and they disappeared into the bustling courtyard. Shikamaru relaxed against his chair as they and the other attendees turned to the raised dais in anticipation. Finally, long low wails of traditional Wind instruments floated across the night wind, sparking movement as it swept over and brought the village square to life. The clamor of conversation softened under the force of the music and the allure of the dance.

The Suna Masquerade Ball was the village’s Event of the Year. The masquerade was ostensibly a celebration of Sunagakure’s founding and was intended for the affluent civilians of Suna. However, according to Ino, it was also a prestigious event for the Wind nobility, and only the most influential among them would make an appearance. Consequently, the Masquerade had become an unofficial summit for Suna and Wind nobility. Not that Shikamaru particularly cared. But talking and speculating about this event had been the only thing that they knew would pull Ino out of her slump.

“But they’re Wind nobles,” Shikamaru had said at one of their team dinners. “I know your dad’s started teaching you politics and stuff, but wouldn’t it be better to focus on Hi no Kuni nobles before you start looking at other countries?”

“But we don’t hold a masquerade ball; we hold some boring banquet.” Ino had rolled her eyes derisively. “After all, we’re allies! I’ll have to learn them eventually.”

“Well, it’s a shame that Lady Tsunade has already chosen her envoys,” Asuma had interjected. And that was that. Ino had sighed, Asuma had asked for the check, Choji had taken the last piece, and Shikamaru had started thinking. He had waited until he was certain of success to rope Choji into his operation, but the two of them ultimately managed to procure an invitation for Ino at the Masquerade. Tsunade had been amused, Asuma had been exasperated, and Ino had been ecstatic. She had excitedly pledged to fulfill all the Konoha envoy responsibilities, though she requested that her teammates escort her. Shikamaru had been reluctant to travel all the way to Suna for a multitude of reasons. But, watching his teammates whirl merrily across the courtyard, he knew for certain that it had been worth it.

Of course, this was the perfect time for one of his reasons to appear in the flesh. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He had spotted her soon after arriving and couldn’t help but notice when she started moving in his direction. He had hoped that she would simply ignore him. But then, she never did make things easy for him, did she?

"What are you sitting around for?" Temari asked imperiously as soon as she was within earshot, everything about her fiery and bold. Her dazzling blood-red mask framed her challenging gaze and matched her ever-present waist sash and her glittering red lips.

Shikamaru wrenched his gaze away and cleared his throat. “What? Am I not allowed to sit?”

Temari scoffed. "You should be socializing," she stated, as if it were obvious. "You’re here as the Konoha envoy, right? You need to be dancing with someone influential."

Shikamaru opened his mouth to tell her that she was mistaken, that he was here as an escort for his teammate, that Ino was the one acting as the Konoha envoy. Instead, he found himself asking, “Is that an offer?” His eyes widened in horror when he realized what he had said.

But her ruby lips simply curved into a surprised smile. "It can be," she answered, holding out a hand.

He gazed warily at the hand, as if it would reach out to bite him, before rising and accepting it. He led her to the center of the courtyard, and they waited for the next dance to start. I'm supposed to be avoiding her! Not dancing with her! he berated himself, even as they began dancing. I didn’t even want to dance! And this was the main reason that he had been worried about running into her. He couldn’t trust himself around her. He always felt off-kilter. And he would just do things - things he would never otherwise consider. As scary and unpredictable as she was, if he were being truthful with himself, he was more scared by how unpredictable he was around her.

Not that Shikamaru truly minded the dancing. Strangely, he found the rhythm in the moves to be soothing. The way they moved together felt so natural. They swept across the courtyard as fluidly as they did the battlefield, moving in perfect sync with each other. What did unnerve him was the closeness. He didn't think he had ever been as close to Temari as he was now, not even in training or battle. Because when they trained, he didn't rest his hands on her hips. She didn’t rest her hands on his shoulders. They didn’t stare deeply into each other’s eyes.

“I’ll admit, I was surprised to see your name on the guest list," Temari began before twisting away in time with the dance. He watched in awe as she weaved around the other dancers, barely paying enough attention to his own dancing. He really should have guessed how much her personality would be portrayed in the way she danced. Her movements were powerful and untamed, exactly as they were when she fought. She glided back into his arms and continued, "Taking an interest in politics?"

"No!" Shikamaru barely repressed a full-body shudder. He'll leave all the political maneuvering to the likes of Tsunade and Ino. He would much rather stick to his battle strategies and his cryptanalysis, thank you very much. “Troublesome,” he muttered.

Surprisingly, she began to laugh at his answer. He blinked, taken aback by how soft she looked. Even half-hidden by a fiery red mask, she clearly wore an ease about her that he had never witnessed in her before. Somehow, she always had a hidden side to reveal, no matter how many times he studied her. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she found a way to surprise him. She was a puzzle he had no hope of solving. A mystery whose solution lay forever out of reach.

“That sounds more like the Shikamaru I know,” she smirked. “I didn’t think you had changed that much in three months.”

“Has it been three months?” he asked, almost missing a step in his surprise.

“To the day.” She nodded.

“Wait, so when is your next visit?” he asked distractedly, his mind turning to his mental calendar. He thought he had her schedule down.

“Why, did you miss me?” She quipped, but her lips curved into an amused smile.

Shikamaru immediately wished he could take his words back. And maybe tape his tongue to the roof of his mouth while he was at it. Why does he keep saying the wrong thing? But to deny it would be to insult her. “Konoha is always honored to host her allies,” he mumbled.

Temari raised a delicate eyebrow above her mask. “Very diplomatic,” she complimented. They danced in silence for a few moments before she spoke again. “To answer your question, no. I won’t be back to your village until the spring.”

Until spring? “But I thought you were coming to the Konoha Winter Festival?” He desperately tried to shove the bitter taste of disappointment down where it belonged.

“I had been looking forward to it,” she sighed. “But I have no reason to go.”

“Oh.”

Even an unsavvy guy like him could tell this was the perfect opening for him to extend a personal invitation. But to what end? She wasn’t the kind of puzzle he was equipped to solve. And he was not in the practice of pursuing unattainable goals. He certainly wasn’t going to begin now.

The dance finished with a flourish of the music, and they bowed courteously to each other. Temari drew back, and he thought he saw disappointment cross her face. But he must have been imagining it. “Til next time,” she told him.

“Til next time,” he echoed.

She disappeared into the crowd of elegantly dressed nobles, and he stared after her far longer than he should have. Shikamaru forced himself to make his way back to his seat only to find Choji sitting there. He avoided his inquisitive eyes and slouched onto the stone bench beside him.

Shikamaru shook his head at his friend’s offer of a foreign pastry, instead asking, “Where’s Ino?” He had lost track of her while dancing with Temari.

Choji pointed her out, where she was dancing with … is that the nephew of the Wind Daimyo? Whoever it was must be hilarious, because they were both laughing exuberantly. He relaxed against his seat with a sigh. As exhausting as the journey had been and as grueling as his dance with Temari had been, it was all worth it to see the light return to Ino’s eyes. These past few months had dragged on far too long. Ever since … Shikamaru roughly shoved thoughts about that traitor out of his head with practiced ease.

“So, how’s Temari doing?” Choji asked.

“Fine,” Shikamaru answered shortly, wishing he could just put the troublesome woman out of his head as easily as he had the Uchiha.

“So, when’s her next visit?” Choji asked curiously.

“Not until spring,” he reported, unable to keep the bitter notes out of his voice.

“Wait, she’s going to miss the festival? I thou-”

“She said she didn’t have any reason to come,” Shikamaru interjected. He could feel Choji’s eyes on him, but he ignored them.

“Hmm, well, that’s a shame,” Choji hummed.

“Is it?” Shikamaru rested his head against the back of the chair, staring into the glittering night sky.

“It is. You should have given her one.”

Shikamaru lifted his head in alarm. “I should have what?”

Choji lifted his chin, as serious as Shikamaru had ever seen his best friend. “You heard me.”

“But … why would I do that?” Shikamaru sputtered.

“You know why.” Choji stared him down. “Ino was right; you do know how you feel, you just don’t want to do anything about it.”

Shikamaru just gaped at him. “Ino … what?”

“I thought you just hadn’t figured it out yet,” Choji explained. “But Ino said you were still confused by your feelings and that’s why you haven’t pursued her.”

Shikamaru couldn’t help but feel bitter that his friends had such little faith in him, though he was still reeling from the fact that his two best friends had already figured out how he felt, and they didn’t bother to tell him about it.

“Well, I have figured it out,” Shikamaru told him needlessly.

“Well, that’s good,” Choji nodded encouragingly. “Now, what are you going to do about it?”

Shikamaru sighed, shifting on the cold hard bench. “What can I do about it? She lives in another country.” He swept his arm out broadly, as if to encompass all of Sunagakure and Kaze no Kuni.

“You could make it work,” Choji said confidently. Shikamaru scoffed, but Choji shook his head with determination. “No, listen to me. Who got us in here?” He waved a hand nonchalantly at the finery that surrounded them.

“Okay, fine,” Shikamaru assented. He knew and Choji knew from experience that if he and Temari put their minds to something, they could make it happen. “But it doesn’t even matter, because she won’t want to.”

“Ino was right.” Choji sighed. “You’re scared.”

Shikamaru felt that was an unfair assessment. “I’m just being realistic!”

“Then shouldn’t this be her decision?” Choji asked. “She should at least know how you feel about her before you give up.” Shikamaru looked instinctively into the crowd again, his eyes immediately drawn to her. “Go. Invite her to the Festival. You can worry about what to do and say there.”

Temari turned, as if able to sense his gaze on her. She tilted her head to side, a slight invitation, but then she turned away. She wouldn’t be seeking him out any more tonight. He would have to pursue her. Maybe some puzzles don't need to be solved, Shikamaru mused. They just need to be attempted.

Filled with purpose, he weaved his way through the courtyard, focused on reaching her. He tapped on her shoulder and took a deep breath when she turned to face him. Strangely, he felt calmer than he had felt all night. “I would like to extend my personal invitation for you to come to the Konoha Winter Festival. If you are willing to make the trip, I would be honored to be your escort for the event.” He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

Her lips curved into a full smile, making his heart stutter. "I believe that can be arranged."

Endnotes: let me know what you thought!

#shikatemaweek #shikatemaweek2020 #shikatema fic #shikamaru nara #temari #my writing #fluffy

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lolas-writings · 4 years

Note

Ahh I’m so sorry that happened! But here’s me, asking for your project details again lol

(Man I hate Tumblr a lot these days... Copy and paste here we go)

Oh buddy, you’re getting a real treat today. I’m putting this under a cut because it’ll be quite long. Enjoy!! All songs have a link included so you can listen to them. (Here’s a preview)

Ships Included:

DabiHawks

TodoDeku

ShinDeku

(Very possible TodoShinDeku)

Single Character Studies Included:

Dabi/Touya

Shouto

(Villain) Izuku

Ship Based Fics:

What A Time (Trilogy):

For this one, I won’t give too much detail because it’s already being written but I will give the general overview

A Hawks Betrayal and Dabi/Touya Rehabilitation concept. Also a mix between a ship based fic and a character study of Dabi

Part 1: [Already posted!! Read here if you’d like] Deals with the immediate aftermath of Hawks betraying the league and getting them all arrested. From Dabi’s POV (the entire trilogy is in Dabi’s POV) he begins to question his and Hawks’ relationship while Hawks is a mere ten feet away acting like they don’t even acknowledge each other’s existence. Maybe 65% angst due to present times and 35% fluff due to flashbacks

Part 2: A few months after Dabi began his rehabilitation. Discusses his therapy, goes into more detail about what exactly the rehabilitation program entails, and Dabi has a major breakdown due to an unexpected visit from Hawks. 100% angst, there is no happiness in this installment.

Part 3: About a year and a half after the league was arrested and Dabi Touya began his rehabilitation. He’s doing a lot better, both mentally and physically, and is slowly accepting his new life. Hawks in under major fire in the news, and Touya decides maybe it’s finally time to talk things out. I’m estimating about 25% angst and 75% fluff for this installment because I’m putting these boys through the wringer, they deserve to be soft. (Also, happy ending guaranteed)

Before You Go:

A childhood friends AU where Keigo and Touya are part of the same hero program. They become good friends and are practically inseparable until Touya has a training accident and is presumed dead (by accidental suicide).

I’ve actually already talked about this in much more detail in this post here so you can just read that. That post is also quite long

Rewrite the Stars:

I’m gonna call out @call1998 because I just woke up one day, sent her this song, and said that it’s such a DabiHawks song. And then we created a fantastic soulmate AU together so she helped co-create this idea <3

So, as I said, this is a soulmate AU, but DabiHawks are not each other’s soulmate.

Hawks met his soulmate back when they were kids. Merely 12 years old and under the commission’s care because they were both part of their hero program. Hawks was the one to notice first, getting excited when he met his soulmate and wanting to get to know him. But they only got that one day together, because the next day his soulmate was gone and never to be heard from again. The commission had him believe that his soulmate moved to America and entered a different specialized program, but Hawks finds out the truth when he’s around 20 years old and snooping around the commission. He finds old files that they wanted buried, and he learns the commission actually killed his soulmate because they saw them as weaknesses, and since Hawks was the “better specimen” he was allowed to live.

Dabi’s soulmate is an abuser who works for the commission. And since Dabi is Touya, of course, he grew up watching his mother be abused by her own soulmate and thought “oh hell no.” After Dabi meets his soulmate and realizes how abusive he is (not only to him but also the wife and kids his soulmate already has) Dabi tricks him into believing Dabi actually likes him. When he’s able to, he brings his soulmate back to the league and has him turned into a Nomu, because while he’s an abusive piece of shit, his quirk is really powerful and could be of use to the league.

Now, for the DabiHawks part. Their relationship is more of a friends with benefits ordeal, but of course they wind up falling in love eventually. They never mention their soulmates until one day, after a mission left them both tired, Hawks decides to confess. He’s sitting behind Dabi, applying a special salve to the fresh burns that Dabi can’t reach himself because he can’t bring himself to confess if he’s able to be seen. When his feelings are finally out in the open, the only thing Dabi asks is “What about your soulmate?” Hawks recognizes it’s not a flat out rejection so some of the tension in his shoulders dissipates, and he tells Dabi how they met when they were just kids and how cruel the commission is for killing him off, solely to groom the perfect hero.

And Dabi? He’s vulnerable and hesitant, because the man he was supposed to “end up with” was a garbage piece of human trash, so he’s reluctant. And self deprecating, because he doesn’t believe he deserves to be loved. So he tells Hawks about how he killed his soulmate, omitting the very important fact that his soulmate was abusive just like his father was to his mother. And he uses it to try and drive Hawks away. But the thing is, Hawks knows that Dabi is a critical thinker and wouldn’t act without reason, that all of his actions have a purpose. So after that night, he searches. They don’t touch again, either, their meetings reverting back to being strict information swaps, but it only drives Hawks to uncover the truth. And he finds it, and he even remembers who Dabi’s soulmate was because he was one of the people in charge of the program that Hawks grew up in. But he keeps it to himself, he has to make sense of things first.

Then one night comes, where Hawks just has to let Dabi know, let him know that he’s not the bad guy he’s trying to paint himself to be. But when Hawks reveals what he knows, Dabi just tries to deny everything, because he truly doesn’t want to talk about this. And then he snaps, yells at Hawks about how he witnessed the abuse his mother went through, how his father broke her in more ways than one, how he vowed to never allow someone to do the same to him. That he accepted the fact that he was meant to wind up alone after he killed his soulmate because the universe is a cruel place to once kind people.

Hawks is having none of that, though. He stops Dabi, tells him he doesn’t have to be alone anymore, that they’re not explicitly tied to “fate” anymore and can in fact rewrite their own story. It takes a lot of back and forth between them, but ultimately Hawks’ end goal is convincing Dabi that they, the two of them who no longer have a soulmate, are no longer tied to whatever fate was “chosen” for them. That they’re free to go their own route, carve out their own lives how they see fit. And eventually, Dabi gives in, because in truth they both know that they love each other, so why not give it a go?

More Hearts Than Mine/Like We Used To (duology):

Okay, this duology is centered around both Shindeku and Tododeku and in the end one of y’all is gonna hate me and I’m okay with that. As a multishipper, it is so hard for me to chose which ship gets tanked in the end I’m so sorry. ((But honestly, I high key have thought about ending it with all three of them being in a poly relationship and like, ya girl likes poly. It’ll most likely happen to be completely honest))

Also, quirkless AU!!

MHTM: This is the first half of the duology. In this half, it depicts the rise and eventual fall of Izuku’s initial relationship (either with Hitoshi or Shouto, it’s so far undecided). They get together, fall in love, and genuinely have a good relationship, but it all goes downhill when they eventually have to break up due to different life interests and Izuku’s boyfriend having to move away for a few years. They knew long distance wouldn’t work, so they decided to end the relationship, and this fic ends with the aftermath of their breakup and how not only Izuku, but also his mother and step father are hurt by the breakup.

LWUT: In the second half of this duology, this fic will be from the perspective of whichever boyfriend had to end things with Izuku. He returns from his travels a few years later, but he doesn’t tell Izuku just yet. Instead, he’s trying to deal with being back and constantly reminiscing what once was. One day, while getting coffee, he sees Izuku and his new boyfriend sitting at a corner booth and overall acting very in love. And it hurts, seeing Izuku with someone else, and he gets jealous. But as the fic continues, he eventually comes to terms with the fact that him and Izuku did fall in love, but at the wrong time and while they may not ever get a chance again, he just hopes Izuku is happy with his new boyfriend. (And then they meet again at that same coffee shop, and Izuku realizes his first love is back in town and invites him to sit with them. And he does, and it’s awkward, but when Izuku’s current boyfriend leaves to use the restroom, he tells Izuku that he’s glad he found someone. And this is only the beginning of the start of all three dating because while writing this out I’ve decided, yea, I like happy endings too much so they all three fall in love.)

Single Character Study Fics:

King for a Day (warning, kind of screamo):

Dabi/Touya character study.

He’s already a villain at this point, and this fic would be a character study of his feelings throughout his mental collapse, his rise as Dabi, and his thirst for revenge.

I actually don’t have as much for this idea compared to some of the other songs on here, but the basic outline is almost your standard “Touya died then became Dabi, his mental stability is compromised, and his primary goal is bringing down Endeavor”. This song is actually more of a “hey this fits a story that already exists” than using it to create one, that’s why I don’t have much on it.

I do, however, want to share my favorite line that I’ve matched with a scene. “Dying is a gift so close your eyes and rest in piece.” Dabi says this to Endeavor because he believes he deserves to live the rest of his life rotting away in prison, but he has to kill Endeavor to make sure he gets punished. Since Endeavor is rich and famous, he could probably get out of prison with minimal damage to his reputation and life, and what would be the point then? So Dabi believes he has to die.

Modern Loneliness:

Shouto character study.

The title alone I think suits Shouto fairly well, but if you listen to the song it’s about felling alone in a room full of people. About not knowing how to connect to others. The first line alone is very much in line with Shouto. “I’ve been thinking ‘bout my father lately, the person that he made me, the person I’ve become.” I don’t even need to tell you why that line fits so well.

So this fic would be centered around the time the UA students move into the dorms, because I feel that Shouto would still be wary and not understand how to truly connect with his classmates. In the end, eventually he’d come to find that it takes two to put in the effort a relationship requires, and though it’s new and scary, he’s willing to do it.

Let Me Be Myself:

Another Shouto character study.

Again, the title alone already very heavily aligns with Shouto’s character. And, as we all already know, Shouto hates when people compare him to his father or only acknowledge him as his father’s son, and this song is about being allowed to break free from past restraints in order to live your life how you see fit.

With Izuku’s help, Shouto is able to come to this realization sooner and grow the confidence needed to finally fight back and regain control of his own life.

Lovely:

Villain!Deku character study.

I’m not even gonna lie, I saw that multiple people have done animatics of this exact concept and it’s very intriguing to me. I’ve never written villain Izuku so I think it’d be interesting to explore that kind of mindset.

That being said, I just wrote down “villain Deku = lovely” in my phone’s notes and never actually plotted anything so I have nothing more to share on this

And that’s it so far!! Realistically, I probably won’t get around to all of these, and it would take me forever to actually make a dent in this, but I’m having a lot of fun with this project. Also, these don’t go into nearly as much depth as my notes, because I basically annotate these songs in order to create an outline so, this is like the lite version.

#dabihawks #shindeku #tododeku #todoshindeku #dabi is touya #dabi is a todoroki #todoroki touya #mha hotwings #takami keigo #shinsou hitoshi #shoto todoroki #todoroki shouto #midoriya izuku #lola writes

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for-emilia · 4 years

Text

Lap Of Honour.

Tottenham Hotspur Stadium had become a second home to her, as much as she hated to admit it. Spending time every week at the stadium, in the stands, in a box, waiting in the tunnel, has made her grow more fond of the opposition’s stadium than she ever expected. She couldn’t deny it was a gorgeous stadium but there was something special falling more and more in love with the man on the pitch as the fans scream his name, doing what he loves most in the world.

They’d met near the start of the new campaign meaning Emilia had seen it all; the wins, the losses, the mistakes, the goals. She’d been by his side for the majority of the season so it was only right she was there to support him on the final day. The final whistle blew signifying the end of the premier league season and the crowd burst into applause. They didn’t care that the trophy was further up the country in Manchester or that they’d go another season without silverware, the spirit of the club and the love for their team kept them going.

Dele took his first glance around the stadium, sweating and out of breath from making the final run of the game, before glancing up to where she was sat, always in the same place. He tilted his head towards the tunnel, asking silently from across the pitch if she was coming to meet him as if it was the first match she was at all over again. With a scrunch of her nose and a sarcastic shake ‘no’, he rolled his eyes and disappeared out of her vision. She looked around her seeing all of the other wags and children making their way out of the stand and followed on. Chatting away to Lowri, Winks’ girlfriend, they observe all of the excitable children waiting to get out on the pitch and see the stadium from their hero’s perspective.

“Harry can’t wait to join the dark side and have kids, I dunno if I can cope quite yet,” Lowri giggled as they made their way past someone’s child crying to be carried. “I think Del is the same, keep having to remind myself we’ve been together less than a year,” Emilia laughed back trying not to think too hard about the times she’d spent underneath her boyfriend with comments whispered in her ear letting her know just how much he wanted that. Suppressing the shiver that threatened to cascade her spine, she looked up to see the boys beginning to stream out of the dressing room, clad in club tracksuits and their normal clothing.

She couldn’t help but smile, observing tiny children jumping into their fathers’ arms and the men she’d grown to know more over the past 8 months cuddling them close and pulling their wives to their sides. “Well that’s my calling, there’s my man.. God doesn’t he look good in that tracksuit,” Lowri mumbled out as she left her friend’s side and walked towards Harry. Emilia was just happy she departed before she burst out laughing with a ‘no’ on her lips that she couldn’t contain after seeing her god of a boyfriend appear behind the tiny puppy-like man on Lowri’s arm.

Emilia heard a chuckle from behind her that she’d recognise anywhere. “Thought you weren’t coming on the pitch, miss?” She turned around and spoke out to Hannah. “Oi, ‘m not, just wanted to give him a kiss before he went out,” she responded looking sheepish and pushing Emilia away when she made pretend hurling noises. “Here they areeeee.”

As always, Dele was the last out of the changing room. Dele claims it’s because he likes to keep her waiting and make sure he doesn’t smell but she teases it’s because he doesn’t know how to dress himself. “Come here,” he beckons her into the dressing room after laughing at Eric trying to pull Hannah onto the pitch. “Mate, the fans are out there not in here, what do you wan-” Emilia’s response was cut off by their lips colliding before he pulled back and murmured “don’t call me mate, mate.” Looking around, she saw all of the boys’ things packed away neatly ready to grab on their way out apart from Dele’s. “Just wanted to show you the surface options for where you wanna get pregnant after the lap, you’ll be broody,” he smirked out at his own joke (knowing it held a lot some truth to it) pulling her into him by the waistband of her leggings.

“Dele!” Emilia’s jaw dropped at his suggestion, trying to brush it off so he could have his walk around the pitch and get the love and support he rightly deserved. “Are you quite finished, you creep?” she whispered against his lips as she straightened up the strings on his hoodie. “You sure you wanna go out there?” Dele reaffirmed, knowing they hadn’t been public for long and knowing 50,000+ prying eyes was a lot for anyone. “Of course, just protect me from any flying objects,” She joked, knowing after they went public, the fans and the media were all over the fact Tottenham Hotspur’s star boy Dele Alli was dating a Chelsea fan.

They walked out holding hands inside Dele’s hoodie pocket ‘inconspicuously’ (it was all over fan accounts the day after with the media gushing over their ‘young love’) and started making their way clockwise around the fans. The applause he got was unbelievable, everyone shouting his name and waving, taking pictures and clapping for him as he walked slowly around the perimeter of the pitch. A small family all clad in ‘Dele 20’ Spurs jerseys waved Dele down, the smallest child holding a poster asking for a hug. Dele wiggled his hand out of Emilia's grasp and walked off towards the family, happily chatting and taking a photo hugging the little boy as requested before kneeling down to his level to chat to him. Just the sight alone made her want to drag him to the changing rooms and choose a spot but knows she can’t so opts to walk over to the small group by the goal post.

“Look who’s decided to join, have you seen what Dele’s up to?” Kate Kane asks with her daughter on her hip, glancing over to Dele behind Emilia. She looks again and sees he’s moved along the row and is stroking the cheek of a fan’s baby and thanking them for coming, “do not even, I can’t look.” With a laugh she turned back around, looking at all the little families and children running about with the mascots and smiling to herself despite being surrounded by the wrong London club’s jerseys.

Distant shouts of her name pulled her from her gaze, seeing Harry with his arm in the air to show where they were. Giving them all small hugs, Emilia settled resting against the barrier at the side of the pitch as Harry leaned on the other side next to her. “How’s your stomach holding up? Y’know, being around all this Spurs propaganda?” Robyn appears at her other shoulder slapping the logo beneath her hand on the board. “Don’t mention it, I’m in a good mood, I’ll start spewing,” Emilia jokes back hearing Alan and Sally laugh along too.

“It’s nice seeing him like that, ain’t it?” Harry spoke out quietly, all 5 pairs of their eyes trained on Dele doing the last half of the lap with his teammates, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. His joy and pride was unmissable, there was nothing he loved more than his job and the passion seeped out of hispores, especially on this day each year. She didn’t even need to answer, knowing they were all thinking and feeling the same thing.

They all observed as he found a football and kicked it in between Jan’s kids and himself. “He’s such a natural with kids, he’d be such a good dad,” Emilia spoke out subconsciously, barely registering what she was saying. In the future, she’d look back and realise that moment, leaning against the edge of the pitch surrounded by his family, watching on as he was in his element surrounded by the fans, his friends and things that made him happy, was the moment she decided this was the real thing: what she wanted forever.

“Isaiah, come here, bug,” Emilia beckoned her toddler over from where he was sitting a few seats over from her and the 5 month old baby in her arms. “You remember how this is gonna go?” She asked knowing he was still absorbed in the final minute of the game, unfolding in front of him, “we’re gonna go and wait for Dadda, then go and wave at everyone, you’ve gotta be on your best behaviour.” Juggling the hyperactive almost 3 year old and the fussy baby during a match was a handful, normally opting to drop them with their grandparents or Uncle Harry, but she knew it’d all be worth it once they were on the pitch.

The final whistle blew signalling the final win of the season as the crowd erupted into applause. Seats around them emptied quickly in the dash for wags and families to get onto the pitch although they stayed put, knowing Dele would wait as long as humanly possible to come out anyway so the busy battles in the corridors weren’t worth it. She ensured everything was packed away into the bag she’d become accustomed to carrying since becoming a parent and made sure Mabel’s little soundproof headphones were on securely then stood up and made her way out towards the tunnel.

“Took you long enough,” Dele pushed himself away from the wall as he walked over to his family turning the corner, recognising them from just their shadows. “Well babe, what can I say? your days of having people wait for you are over,” Emilia kissed him before continuing, “You’re a dad, you've gotta do the waiting now.” She giggled at his sour reaction while handing Mabel over, her fussing coming to an immediate stop as she mewls at the feeling of Dele’s t-shirt. “She’s missed you,” Emilia spoke quietly as Dele lifted his daughter in the air Lion King style, making her kick her feet and give a toothless grin. “Issa, you ready? It’ll be quite loud, squish,” Dele fruitlessly asked, seeing he was itching to get out of the tunnel and onto the pitch. “God, just like his dad,” Emilia mutters under her breath, chasing the excitable 3 year old out of the tunnel leaving Dele smiling to himself.

Once they’re on the pitch, Mabel settles in the nook of Dele’s arm and Isaiah walks nicely alongside Emilia, tiny hand wrapping around two of her fingers allowing the parents’ other two hands to connect between them, swinging idly. The crowds never ceased to amaze her, the sheer size of the stadium and how almost every seat was filled for the last match of the season. All of that for her man, her husband, her children’s father, the love of her life. The smile that spread across his face was so unique. There were few things he loved in life as much as his job and to have them beside him and on the side lines on the lap of honour every season.. The feeling was unparalleled. He really couldn’t describe it.

After Emilia unlinks their hands to lean down and chat to Isaiah, asking him if he wants to go and kick about with some of the other kids, Dele hops Mabel up and down in his arms a bit to wake her up. He looked around the stand in front of them, hundreds of beaming faces waving and clapping trying to get his attention but getting that of the little baby in his arms’ first. Mabel’s looking backwards and forwards between the fans and Dele, snuggling closer to his chest as a few families in the front row coo.

“You gonna wave, princess? Show them what you learned for today,” Dele started waving, showing Mabel what he was asking her to do. A tiny hand raises in the air and stays there for a minute, clearly too tired to do the full wave but cute nonetheless so Dele takes matters quite literally into his own hands and executes the ‘Dele wave’ with his youngest, having no idea just how much it was gonna blow up on social media later on. “Aww, are you waving Bel?” Emilia emerged from ground level again after double tying her son’s trainers and making sure he was playing nice with other players’ kids. “Wave at grandma and grandad,” she mused, getting the baby’s attention resulting in her making grabby hands and leaning towards her grandparents.

“Well done, bro,” Harry clapped him on the back as they wandered over, Alan immediately taking Mabel off Dele and making her giggle within a few seconds. “Just surreal isn’t it, never gets boring,” he replies mostly to himself, looking right to the other end of the stadium and waving the length of the pitch. Emilia looks over to see Isaiah had veered towards Eric and Hannah, weaving in between Eric’s legs like the little menace he was before getting thrown over his shoulder playfully; they both chuckled at their son in unison as their heart strings pulled at seeing their best friends be so close to their children.

“You coming for the other half or do you wanna stay with madam?” Dele questioned against his wife's lips. “Hmm, I’ll come, she looks comfy enough with your dad,” and that she definitely was, fast asleep in his arms, none the wiser to the crazy world around her. Despite his question, he didn’t move, staying attached to Emilia’s lips every so often and talking away to his family, the crowd still clapping and gentle noises of his teammates and their children chattering away in the distance. “Come on, you lump, people are gonna start lapping us,” Emilia laughed as she pushed him up off the barrier and towards the pitch again.

They went back to holding hands, this time uninterrupted by a baby or a restless toddler, just them and the fans to wave to. “I love this day every year, brings everything into perspective, doesn’t it?” Dele talks directed towards his wife although his words got muffled by the crowd cheering for somebody’s child scoring a goal further down the pitch. “I agree, can’t really get much better, ey?” She replied with a fond smile and walked closer to him. “I think I’m gonna make next season my last,” he suggested while bringing his bottom lip between his teeth, Emilia could tell he was terrified at the thought but it felt right, she didn’t press, trying not to ruin the moment and knowing it’d be brought up again later that night tangled up in bed anyway.

“Maybe we can have another one of these too?” He followed up with a smirk and having his hand swiftly swatted away from where it was drifting towards his wife’s bum in the eyes of the fans. “The lap of honour always makes you broody, you exhibitionist” Emilia rolled her eyes but gave him a small kiss of approval still, “from the first year we were dating and had this day, I knew I wanted you to give me kids.” He chuckled, remembering the ins and outs of that day with a raise of his eyebrows, “you’re such a melt now you’re a mum.”

“Nah not having that, I’ll knock you clean out in front of all your likkle fans,” Emilia chastised, pushing him away and pretending to be in a sulk. Dele laughed in mock offence and pulled her by the wrist directly in front of him, wrapping both arms around her and moving like a penguin, the only way the position allowed. Isaiah scurried back over towards the pair as he rambled on about how he scored a goal against Gazzaniga and Emilia looked back behind them, seeing Mabel waving on her own accord towards them before giggling and clapping herself at her own achievement. This was them, in their happy place, feeling on top of the world. Despite the mess of two young children and Emilia’s lifelong distaste towards the club her husband called home, it couldn’t get much better than this.

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queensdivas · 5 years

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A Damned Soul Chapter 1 (Gwil Fic)

So something new has popped out of my brain earlier this week and one thing that I love to do is avoid homework and papers as much as I possibly can!

I’m warning yall right now! This isn’t gonna be a light hearted fan fic! It’s got witches, vampires, magic, death, fluff, angst and of course and eventually...smut! I’m really gonna have fun with this one because I enjoy learning and writing everything under the sun.

I also will be posting this on Wattpad if it’s easier for you to read there instead of here. (TOTH-Girl is my username on Wattpad). If you would like to be tagged just let me know and I will be more than happy to tag you!

Here we go ladies and gents..I hope you all enjoy this possible train wreck of a fic!

Next Chapter

Masterlist

@mexifangorl @leah-halliwell92 @bonafiderocketqueen

The flame crackles,

Spitting shining sparks

And ashes and fire

Into the warming air.

It’s always fighting,

It’s Always changing,

Seems always so close

To life.

To it’s burning,

But beyond its brilliance

The fire defies, denies

And defeats it’s death.

Patience, I believe,

Is learned in the view.

Because with strength and defiance,

The coals burn anew.

-Sandra Osborne

I’d like to think that when you’re executed in public it’s because of the fact you’ve done something horribly wrong. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go anyhow? When you’re in the 13th century England.. eh. Not so much. Being a woman is already hard enough in this time. Being a women whose about to be burned at the stake because she's a full blooded witch..just absolutely peachy.

“BURN HER!” The village began to scream as I was beginning to enter the village by the priest. A village that once welcomed me to heal their sick, to help women give birth without passing away, and even teach them simple remedies. And now that a church has brought their God...Well..you see how it’s going now.

Escorted to the top of the wood pile then was shoved against the wooden stake as I just started into the soul of man who dragged me out of my home. The priest...hypocritical bastard! My wrists were bound so tight that it was beginning to cut through my skin already when I tried to at least get somewhat comfortable before I die..and might as well spew the truth and call the priest out for being an absolute hypocrite!

“You poor minded fool who has a twelve year old locked in the basement of the church. Tell me. Doesn’t your God tell you to love all men! To love thy neighbor! Great job at loving thy neighbor you old bastard. I’d like to remind you that your savior Jesus hung around a prostitute in his life when he was preaching your word! Yet he loved her because he preached to love thy neighbor! You are all massive hypocrites who are so caught up in your daft religion that you’ve forgotten the true meaning of love! Go on then! Burn me! It will make you feel better that the only thing you have in your life is religion! I refuse to give you the benefit of me begging for my life!” Screaming to them as moed their torches towards the oil soaked wood. The priest opened his bible to start spewing bible verses from the wretched book!

“I condemn they to die by fire for going against the nature of God's will! By the spirit of judgement and the spirit of burning! For it is on this day that atonement shall be made for you to cleanse you! You will be cleaned from all your sins before the Lord! Be not conformed to this world! But be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind! That ye may prove what is good, and what is acceptable, and perfect for the will of God! In the name of the father, the son, and the Holy Spirit! May God have mercy on your soul! Any final words before you are taken to the almighty.” His final words echoed in my mind as I looked out into the crowd..

“I’ve been good to you...I’ve been good to all of you as you have been for me. Those who are sane..please hear my final words and I hope that they carry with you through time. Do not follow the path that this priest has laid out because he is a liar...a crook..and no religion should make one kill another! True religion should be love..not execution like this man.” Grinning at the priest as he slammed the Bible shut to walk towards one of the villagers. Yanking the torch from one of them and holding it right over the oil.

“I condemn you to hell!” He screamed then I tried to lean down close to him with my grin still bright.

“Can’t wait to see you down there then.” Leaning back up then taking one last glance through the crowd.

His eyes were glowing red even though he wore a black cloak to hide himself from the audience. Though a normal human wouldn’t be able to see this, but I could see him in complete rage. He’s smart enough to know that stepping in would only kill him in the end...he’s already lost most of energy for being outside in the first place.

We just...we never get the timing right in our lives.. it’s in the end when everything begins playing back again..and again…

~~~~~

The last book from the moving back fit perfectly on the shelf! Nieve floated the last jar of sunflower seeds up to the top of the seed shelf. Now all that’s left is to bless and protect the new building then step up the tablet for payment and we’re open for business!

Nieve yanked down the tapestry we had over the wall to reveal the new mural she had painted on the only empty wall space we have that’s not a bookshelf. The mural was a woman out in a very high grass field with the sun setting. The setting was a very green blue that had white clouds spread across the entire wall.

“Probably my best work since Campbelltown.” Nodding in agreement as I slid down the ladder so I could see the mural and all its glory.

“Beautiful. Nice job Nieve.” Telling her as she put her arm on my shoulder.

“Is everything ready?” She walked over to her pile of brushes so that she could start cleaning up before we open.

“All that’s left is setting up the tablet. Spices and herbs are on the shelves, books in place, and the reading table is all set to go.” It’s not that I don’t mind that I do most of the work for setting up the shop. I love setting it up because everything has a place and needs to be done right. Sort of a perfectionist.

“Tell ya what. You get the tablet all set up and I’ll get the place ready for casting out the bad jujus. Should I use cedar or pine this time?” She walked into the back and began cleaning her brushes.

“Cedar.” Yelling back as I took a glimpse around the shop for a moment. Shop number four I believe now. Don’t think that we go absolutely bankrupt then move on to the next town. On the contrary. As witches we can make our own money if done right and it was our last order given through our teacher Madame Rouge.

Madame Rouge was our mentor who trained us in the ways of becoming a grande witch. She would always move her shops to small towards across the Uk and even Ireland some times. The ultimate goal of moving around constantly is that we help fellow witches and warlocks who either hide in the shadows from the world or even help them with perfecting their spells.

But all good things must come to an end. One night Madame Rouge decided to take the evening off so she could rest and we found her passed away in the night with a note for her after life instructions. The first goal being that we continue her work on going across the country to help

Madame Rouge was my mentor who helped me with spells, hexes, becoming one with the gifts I’ve acquired. It was as if I found my new home with Madame Rouge and Nieve eventually joined us after she turned 18. But all good things must come to an end. Madame Rouge was reaching the end of her life and told us to go across the country to save other fellow witches and warlocks who are casted out. When she passed away. Nieve and I set off on our journey throughout the entire country with now calling an abandoned library home in Balmedie Scotland!

Finishing up the last few details on the tablet as Nieve closed her book to grab the sage that also had rosemary, juniper, and a hit of cedar in it. Rosemary allows for fresh new starts, juniper for bringing a comfort feeling for us and any new sort of people coming in and out, then the cedar for basically cutting off those bad jujus out of the store.

“You almost ready?” Nodding as I put the tablet onto the stand as I pulled out my rose gold evil eye necklace and grabbed the box of matches from under the counter. She lit the end of the sage as we began with the door and saying the incantation.

“Blessed be that light energy to come..blessed be that good souls wander through our store.” It’s a simple incantation that does the trick about 90% of the time. It’s almost impossible to keep bad juju away from your living dwelling because it’s as powerful as good juju. Besides. Incantations don’t need to be super long anyhow since if you’re in an emergency situation, you won’t have the time to say a one hundred word spell.

Once we finished the doorway, a customer already poked their head in as I let her continue onward with the blessing. It was a very old lady with her tiny pug and came into the store. She looked around for a moment as I approached her with my hands rubbing together.

“Good afternoon! Welcome to Le Rouge! Is there anything I can help you with?” She snapped her fingers so the pug would sit then flicking her finger to lock the door to the shop. OH god..did we enter ministry territory?

“My name is Madame Maia Whyte. I’m from The Ministry obviously and I’ve heard about you two through the grapevine. You must be Robin La Torneau and Nieve Macleenan We’ve been watching you two for the past few years. The ministry is very pleased on what you two are trying to do and are sitting very well with us. If you should require anything from us then feel free to give us a call.” A business card came out of her pocket as I looked to see only a number on the card.

“Thank you Madame Whyte. We’ll keep this handy.” Smiling as she nodded then proceeded to leave the shop. Didn’t realize we were causing that much good in the UK anyhow. I know our fellow brothers and sisters over in America are having a difficult time with everyone hating each other.

The Parliament of Witches and Warlocks was formed a little after the 9th century when we were beginning to be cooked alive, being drowned, and hung by humans who were scared of us. But it wasn’t just humans who were coming after us after a while. Would you believe me if I told you vampires are also running around this world of ours causing mayhem? Just sounds unbelievable doesn’t it? We can cross that bridge in the future with that whole long history lesson.

This is it! A new store! A fresh start in a little off the coast town. What could possibly happen to us out here!?

26 notes · View notes

gg-astrology · 5 years

Note

Since both Hoseok and Jimin are infamously known as the two who are most scary when angry, can astrology tell us how scary?

Hey there! 💕 Thanks for sending this in dfkjnkn I’ll do my best to explain it 💕

[Below Cut: BTS anger]

warning: long post

Note: this is just my interpretation, feel free to have your own interpretation on the subject. As always, please use your own discretion when reading! 💕

Premise

First thing that comes to mind is that context might be important here, everybody gets angry to an extent. How they lash out depends on how angry they are and who they are as well (nature- overall placement, nurture, how they’ve grown/developed/matured).

Some people might have trouble getting angry (they’re just never angry) Some has only experienced mild irritations. Suppressed emotions can be pretty common, especially those who just doesn’t know how to express themselves properly/acknowledge their feelings.

They’ll have to learn sooner or later. How to recognize and resolve ‘negative’ emotions they might feel. How to express them healthily, and how to do so in doses instead of overly-expressing them or suppressing them entirely.

Now, the reason Hoseok and Jimin might be ‘the scariest when angry’ is within the context of BTS themselves. How often does the other boys express their anger? How do they express it? Is it just irritation, frustration or do they suppress/act passive aggressive about it?

Taehyungie

Taehyungie– with a truckload of Capricorn in him, is literally the most peacekeeping lil shit without actually being peaceful himself. Capricorn Mars, Aries Moon, Aquarius Venus. Alot of his energy goes into making sure nothing gets too out of hand, but at the same time– trying to find objectivity in his reasoning/situation in order to express his anger

(Like, there has to be that ‘exact’ moment where everything in his head makes sense within the context of the conversation, so he can just insert it out there – like a pre-formed phrase that’s just waiting for the right time/context to be expressed you know? Kind of like Cards Against Humanity.)

Capricorn placements (especially Mars) might find it so much easier to just swallow down their anger– a momentary emotion, in order to observe and find the best way/opportunity to express them properly.

The head always rules the heart, even when the heart is close to breaking down in tears/a million pieces (not trying to be melodramatic sdjfnakns this is just– how it is sometimes)

There’s a reason Capricorn is exalted in Mars, and it’s because they can literally put themselves on the back-pedal in order to put the situation first.

It’s the same self-sacrificing aspect they have, where they don’t want to ‘burden’ others with their emotions/problems because they feel awkward expressing themselves. A dumbass about it, but a well-intended one (that’s going to bite them in the ass eventually).

There’s power and dominance in being able to handle your own emotions, even if you had to suppress them at the beginning. In terms of anger, oh it’s not like he doesn’t feel anger. It’s just that– the Capricorn/Aquarius way, anger is always expressed through the head, through objectivity, rather than emotionally letting go/releasing that outwards.

It’s this innate need for power and control over their own objectivity that makes them quiet, makes them seek a different opportunity to express themselves. They’re stubborn and foolhardy, they can wait forever just for a 0.5 window of opportunity that’s perfect to align itself for them.

(Also, Capricorn Mercury/Mars – loud booming voice, no heat in them. Intimate sometimes, but always clear about what they want. Once they’ve reached a limit/others push them to the limit, they’ll become pretty blunt about self-protection.The loud voice is more to do with intimidating tactic, done subconsciously. Not really meant to harm/shout at others, it’s just the way they naturally escalate in volume/primal in a way. Push authority into short words but straight to the point. Doesn’t like to do this to others bc they feel guilty/like they’ve wronged their social responsibility to others (some moral integrity stuff)– so they’re always trying to ‘soften’ themselves up constantly/outside of the context.)

Jungkookie

Compared to Taehyung, Jungkookie has more of an internal alignment to be peaceful internally– even if he doesn’t know how to do so/exert it externally that well (he’s still learning).

Virgo, compared to Capricorn– is more internally controlled. They’re aware of what they’re doing, what they’re going through, how they deal with situations. While Capricorn as a cardinal sign, is more intuitively aware/experienced with keeping peace externally.

Virgos as a mutable sign, is more of a sign that configurate things inside of themselves and if the solution isn’t satisfactory– they go ‘this aint it’ and work to find a ‘better’ solution (in regards to emotional dissatisfaction/anger).

Virgos motive for making a move is centered around ‘can it be improved?’ – if it’s a constructive criticism, if the other person can make some changes around it. Will it be useful/helpful going further? They’re stubbornly prideful, clings onto their moral integrity. If it’s just a ‘passing emotion’ they’re less inclined than any other signs to make a screaming match about something that doesn’t matter to them in the long-run.

Moral integrity is the utmost important, and then ‘will they listen? will they accept help?’ becomes secondary factor on whether or not they should express their anger. Like Capricorn, it’s pretty controlled. Clean cut, moral objectivity. But in this case, there’s actually an allowance for irritation to flare or personal feelings to come forward.

They’re not going to deny themselves the opportunity to feel something, but they will most likely deny expressing it to another person. Would rather eat the poison and suffer alone, than drag anyone into it because they don’t know how to express it properly. Maybe after they broke down, they process everything and have had time to think about what they want to say– they might consider letting others in on their inner thoughts/vulnerabilities. Maybe not.

(Also, Scorpio Mars. Has the ability to ‘shut off’ emotions to get things done. I know, ‘water signs are emotional’ and all that– but when it gets too much, too overwhelming and they have to focus on a single-minded goal/objective– they are prone to just exerting themselves into action, to reach a certain goal, with or without hurting other people along the way.)

(Can be kind of prissy, isn’t booming like Tae but isn’t backing down either. Clipped, short but shows more self-control/awareness of other’s emotional receptivity than Tae does/primal. Isn’t guilty about it unless Leo Moon dictates so.)

Namjoonie

Can’t talk about anger without mentioning Namjoonie. Again, with his Virgo there’s a modicum of control. But also with the Sagittarius Moon, Libra Mercury and Cancer Mars– there’s a conscious decision to ‘slither’ this control into something different, something not as openly hurtful to others, but still self-expressive.

Anger is just an emotion people go through. Frustration, embarrassment, shame, regret are emotions everyone’s supposed to feel.

There’s no shame in acknowledging that, in discovering and categorizing that inside of yourself (Virgo - wants internal control/seeks out externally, and part of that control comes from noticing emotions inside of themselves - Cancer/Scorpio)

With a Sagittarius Moon (fire moons), every emotion feels physical. Your face flares up, your heart-beat quickens.You react instinctively, through what you’ve already experienced/know before their brain goes on shut down.

Processing of emotions comes after, putting a name to it acknowledging what it is and figuring out a way to counteract it in the future.

See, the thing about it is that fire signs feels emotions but can’t control it. It’s an automatic reaction, everything catches them off-guard. Water signs feels and acknowledge emotions but doesn’t see the point in letting it all out at once (inner-depth/internal emotions not just external ones).

Sure they might know how to navigate through it and often wish to ‘turn it off’, but the comparison between fire/water sign is like throwing a pro-swimmer and a non-swimmer in a pool and ask them to stay afloat for 30 minutes.

One is just struggling to survive while the other is tired because they’ve been paddling for 15 minutes. Fire signs shows more emotional reaction than water sign does, mostly because they don’t have complete control over their emotions the way water-sign does.

Water signs acknowledge emotions, acknowledge reactions and learns how to navigate through it. How to swim, how to figure it out, how to work through it eventually. Fire signs are stuck at the beginner-level swimming phrase for a lot of their emotional reaction.

Having both of these in one’s chart (Sagittarius Moon/Cancer Mars/Scorpio Venus) – Namjoon can’t control his emotional reaction (his frustration/anger)– but he can learn how to categorize them, how to work with them and how to express them to others properly.

He feels emotions (not just anger) truthfully and honestly. He learns how to hone it, how to cope and work with it through social obligations/situations (Scorpio Venus/Cancer Mars). He’s a sneaky bitch who acts passive-aggressively sometimes, side-eyes, snarks, can be a little insensitive but he’s learning.

If there’s a situation where he can’t express his emotions, earth/air takes over. That’s his awkwardness, fire/water at least acknowledges/expresses emotions. Earth/airs would rather die than express any kind of vulnerabilities they haven’t screen-tested before showing it outwards.

Think of it as like, the head (earth/air) versus the heart (fire/water). Which side would you choose? Which side is more important? Neither, but when it comes to anger/expressing anger– Namjoon might let his heart rules him before his head (earth/air) actually shifts into gear (vice versa too, but it usually lets to the heart losing control and the head having to pick up the pieces/try to keep a modicum of control that we’re talking about earlier with Virgo)

The difference between Namjoon and Jungkook is the configuration of placement. They might have all the elements there, but Namjoon has 2 counts water (Scorpio/Cancer) while Jungkook has 2 counts earth (Virgo Sun/Mercury).

With an elemental balance (all elements in a chart) – the ones that’s overwhelmed by the other is the one that needs to be practiced, learnt and is like their ‘vulnerability’.

So with Jungkook, anger is more controlled than Namjoon. He may not express it well/all at once like Namjoon does, or know how to do so without holding back —but it’s heart-felt anyways. Namjoon goes heart-first in expressing his emotions, his thoughts, he tries to make it reasonable, but the heart/emotions wins over logic when push comes to shove.

It’s kind of like– the 2 count head/earth is the overt exertion, while the heart is the underlying layer for Jungkook. While for Namjoon it’s the opposite, the 2 count heart/water is exerted (way of expressing his emotions) and then the head is the underlying layer underneath (trying to keep balance/control).

(Which is why– if he holds a grudge, the heart doesn’t forget and the head works to keep it under-wraps. )

(Always wants to win, so the main objective to Libra Mercury is winning the argument. Competitive without realizing it, especially when Cancer Mars is engaged/cardinal. Smug but firm, gloats a little.)

Yoongi

Now we have a watery man example. Yoongi is?? similar to Jungkook and Namjoon in a way. Pisces Mercury, Aries Venus are quick to point out things that they disagree with. They may be easy-going most of the time, but if it’s taken too far by someone else– they’re the ones who’s going to go ‘this aint it’ and explain to others what could be added to make it better.

Of course, emotionally he’s aware of himself (virgo moon) but can also steer the direction very quickly (pisces). Yoongi is like, the opposite and similar to Taehyung.

Tae’s fire moon earth sun expresses emotions physically but also suppresses himself– doesn’t have time to acknowledge bad behaviors/habit he has or the emotion he just went through.

Yoongi’s aware of the emotions he went through/feels, he can suppress it too if he wants. Most likely if the opportunity/the way he words it isn’t to his liking.

With Pisces Mercury, often times he has a hard time expressing his emotions forward to others anyways. The way he goes about expressing/connecting to others is through teasing (Aries Venus) motivating others, guiding them/being there for them (Virgo Moon).

In terms of anger/expressing anger, Virgo/Aries takes over externally. ‘This ain’t it’ becomes the biggest concern, constructive criticism but also objectivity becomes key points. Underneath that, is the underlying Pisces/Cancer– he cares, it’s from the heart. Emotional connectivity to others for protection, guidance, empathy and realizing objectivity in the situation.

More of the type to rely on empathetic logic/rationality (emotional) than trust himself to express things from the heart completely. Everything is kind of a ratio of 1:2 emotions to logic. Mostly from that Virgo Moon keeping things under-wraps for him (internal control).

At the same time, he can tend to take personal offense to things because of this Virgo/Pisces/Cancer part. Nagging, irrationality, personal complaints about his personal lifestyle that isn’t bothering anyone might irate him (less serious stuff -> irrationality anger, more serious stuff -> rational empathetic anger - Pisces).

Yoongi structures things methodically, systematically through the head to achieve the heart’s emotionality/expressing the heart out. That’s why, compared to Namjoon, he tends to be much more a person who holds a grudge over the decades and plans for revenge (with a smugness/air of superiority that Pisces/Virgo has, ‘martyr-like’ superiority) because the heart really doesn’t forget, but the head also works to exact revenge exactly as planned.

(Because of trouble expressing the self, tends to rely more on Aries Venus to get through to people. Complains a lot, goes about seeking things in a roundabout way sometimes.)

Jinnie

Next we have Jinnie, let’s acknowledge how the luminaries are fire/fire which makes him pretty expressive/lose his head pretty quickly. But the lower half, his inner planets– are Scorpio/Capricorn/Cancer.

Similar to Namjoon, but because Namjoon has a Virgo Sun, he can tend to hold back a bit more (trying to figure himself out) while Jin has no regards expressing how he feels in a way that’s accessible to him – logically but also rapidly.

I know we’ve all said ‘Jin’s hiding something’ or has a more ‘serious side’ to him– but that’s mostly just a Capricorn and how Capricorns typically are. There’s no hidden agenda, everyone just thinks Capricorn are like hidden darkhorse or something/has something underneath it all.

Capricorn and Scorpio both are kind of objectively driven, pressured by the same kind of stamp as each other (time/challenges) grind in the same kind of mortar.

The reason most people feel unease because of these signs (‘they’re intimidating’ or ‘they’re mysterious’) is because people like to objectify them without understanding/acknowledging them as people themselves. (Wow what a surprise that Jin gets treated the same sometimes by the fandom!)

Jin expresses anger through objectivity, but it comes in layers.

One, if it’s frustration/immediate he jokes about it, tries to bring it to attention so others can pick up on the ‘actual’ gravity of the situation through pressure/tenseness of his snark.

Two, if that doesn’t work– he expresses his points objectively instead. You’d be caught dead in a ditch if a Scorpio Mercury actually spill their heart out to you with all their vulnerabilities, everything has to be screen-tested first.

You’ve been screen-tested, his emotions are screen-tested, his strength/weaknesses are screen-tested. Everything can be tested in order to ensure optimal support and transformative motion to the situation.

Three, it’s pretty straight forward. Unless he can handle it himself (keep it under-wraps) work through his insecurities/vulnerabilities and come out alive. He likes to categorize concern for ‘ones to talk about with others’ and ‘ones to deal with himself’.

Control — Capricorn/Cancer/Scorpio all talks about having control. Externally most of all, what you see is what you get (for now). There’s more underneath it (obviously) but unless he’s ready to conclude/worked through it already he’s not going to let anything get ‘messy’ externally so others can see it.

Control is also level-headedness. The key word to Jin is that he’s not messy. His emotions aren’t all over the place, everything is pointed, purposeful. Evoke something purposefully with an objective/punch-line he can run with. Even his jokes/first level frustration has an objectiveness to it.

It’s great because it’s systematic and objective right? There’s the private, personal and public. Everything is organized in layers. Whether you want him to be personal or his public self, he can bring it out for you. The main key here is Capricorn Venus dependability. Combined with Cancer Mars control/protectiveness.

(This ‘not messy’ part is important. Having layers helps him with this. It’s not like Namjoon or Yoongi, who can get quite messy. Not like Taehyung or Jungkook who’s abhorrant to messiness in general (on a spectrum of Taehyung/Jungkook to Yoongi/Namjoon how messy are you?). Jin isn’t afraid to get dirty with his emotions, but he cleans up after himself afterwards because he knows how.)

Hoseok and Jimin

Now, we get to the two in question. The members mentioned how they’re the scariest when mad right? Well after we’ve looked at everyone– on the scale of Taehyung to Namjoon– how messy do you think they get?

There’s two things here. First, Jimin doesn’t hide his anger/frustration. Most of all when it comes to himself. His own frustration/anger at himself, he’s pretty expressive about how he feels, where he’s at emotionally and wants to engage emotional conversations with others (BV3 - also Scorpio Venus).

Hoseok hides his anger/frustration. Not through an obligation (although it does make an easy convenience/excuse to do so considering his job) but more like he doesn’t understand it, can’t control it. Doesn’t even know how to go about acknowledging it sometimes (Taurus Moon).

We see the sister signs Scorpio-Taurus here more prominently. And of course, Namjoon who also has a Scorpio Venus is just as messy as Jimin (although Jimin is– substantially better at controlling/using his Scorpio than Namjoon is)

The key point here is that Jimin doesn’t hold back from expressing himself. Crying when someone mentions it? Expressing his emotions/thoughts? His Forte.

He grew up learning how to do this, despite his awkwardness shy clumsy ass. He doesn’t disallow himself to express what he’s learnt to express, what’s good for him, what he shouldn’t keep to himself.

The luminaries (Libra/Gemini) is lighter than the lower half (Scorpio Venus/Mars)– there’s a balance of rationality to emotionality. Doesn’t mean he knows how to control it.

What he lacks in fire/earth– makes him learns thing step by step. He doesn’t rush into things, doesn’t hold himself back. He learns what he has to learn and he keeps going that way. Focused, in the present, build up from each other without suppressing himself down (Libra/cardinal).

Which is why he has a better grasps at expressing himself emotionally than Taehyung does, or directing Jungkook on where to go/how to do things when kook needs a little more emotional direction (Namjoon is kind of similar in this way to Jungkook)

Jimin isn’t head driven or heart driven, he’s made up entirely of those two (air/water). That’s his entirely (Libra/Gemini/Scorpio). He isn’t like Yoongi who lashes out playfully to his own inability to express himself properly (Pisces Mercury/Aries Venus) or Jin who reacts in layers (Fire Sun-Moon/Scorpio-Capricorn-Cancer)

Jimin’s steadfast in his approach to emotional reactions, he learns and grows as he goes– step by step. He doesn’t hide himself or hold himself back.

Figuring out that literally 6/7 of the team members have some earth placements in them that kind of acts as an ‘anchor’ holding them down – its freeing to be able to zooms in and out of guiding others in the right emotional direction as well.

Now we look at Hoseok. Who is literally the opposite of Jimin. He’s just as zoomy, quick on his feet. But emotionality? Pah.

The thing with Taurus Moon is that unless it hits them in the face, they won’t even realize what they’re feeling sometimes. This isn’t stubbornness, it’s literally obliviousness.

Thus why, when they ‘explode’ (because, y know. Suppress it until you can’t make it. But unlike Virgo/Capricorn, Taurus doesn’t have that self-preservation sensor that tells them they’re nearing their limit/should express themselves now)– it’s a whirlwind of unexpected, surprising emotions. To them and to others.

The reason why it’s scary is because they don’t even realize what they felt/how they’ve been feeling. Everything is fine and dandy in the Taurus world until it’s not. And then it’s like the Apocalypse is happening. Because everything comes crashing down all at once, taking everything– the Taurus themselves, others around them, off guard completely.

This isn’t like the Scorpio native who knows their emotions, comes in short bursts, can fix it/control it pretty quickly.

The Taurus literally has no idea where it’s coming from, so any modicum of control they may have over their situation/themselves/others? Gone in a flashflood (*depends on the person, mostly their development/placement)

The repercussion is a series of self-evaluation. Wondering where they’ve gone wrong, what they didn’t notice the first time around. It’s a slow learning curve, unlike the Scorpio’s transformation/regeneration process. The Taurus is stagnant in what it’s learnt/know, so it grows only when it does some serious self-evaluation (after) and not during it.

The thing with Hoseok is that he’s also made up of Aquarius and Pisces. So besides that Taurus Moon– his problem is that he’s always a bit frantic. Pisces does that to people, want to be appreciated, want to be near/close and observe others. The power of their astute observation is also their downfall, because that directly fuels their anxiety.

It creates a time-scape where they’re concerned about the now, the future (or think constantly about the past without doing much about it). They don’t have time to self-evaluate or go through the process of learning the Taurus has to do in order to progress/grow the way it wants to.

Aquarius observes, direct, helps both sides. But getting involved in the Taurus’s messy emotions or the Pisces’s urge/desire? Unlikely. To others who needs it– yes, sure of course. To itself? It’s own problem? Pah.

So now we have two duality. Both who learns in similar ways. Step by step, growth spurt by growth spurt (fixed).

But one who doesn’t realize his emotions until it’s too late sometimes (wants to help others, wants to be useful/helpful and cries easily - Pisces Venus)

And one who still has to learn, to be able to explore all types/variety/ranges of emotions (optimistic, idealistic, wants to explore, looks on the positive - Libra/Gemini)

They counteract each other, one who controls and the other who loses control (Taurus-Scorpio * this is kind of simplified, they’re much more complex than that but this is kind of a small conclusion in regards to the context/subject above).

One who looks at things optimistically and one who wants to do things properly (Gemini/Libra/Scorpio-Aquarius/Pisces/Taurus)

They balance each other out. They work similarly, approaches things similarly, but execute things differently from each other.

Conclusion

On a scale of all of Bangtan, Hoseok’s obliviousness to his emotions is even worse than Taehyung is.

Mostly because Taehyung still acknowledges that he does have emotions, and his burdened with his ‘worser’ emotions (don’t want to burden others) – while Hoseok doesn’t even acknowledge that he has it, or felt it. Going straight to solving other’s problem or approaching it practically instead (Aquarius -making the fall out worse sometimes)

Out of all of Bangtan, Jimin’s on the other end of the scale. Maybe tied to Namjoon or the Hyung-line (Jin, Yoongi). He’s kind of like Jungkook, as time goes he gets more control over his range of emotions. And thus, he learns how to balance it out himself.

Note that Earth and Air signs do feel emotions, and can express said emotions. But whether or not its ‘good’ or ‘bad’ emotions to them, will dictate how/if they express it to others.

So yeah, contextually. It’s all of Bangtan that should be considered. As well as perspective of those involved. To me, someone like Yoongi or Jin would be hard to handle. Mostly because my way of handling my anger/emotions wouldn’t know what to do with those who express their anger/emotions that way.

Considering Bangtan, and their lack of experience with Taurus emotional expression (or Gemini emotional expression) – it might be hard to calm them down or help them if they can’t approach it/understand it in their own way.

Whether someone’s scary when they’re angry or not depends on how well equipped we are with handling them. Whether we see it in ourselves, or whether we lose control completely.

I mentioned control a lot in this answer, mostly because that’s part of the problem (abundance of control/too much of it) but also the way it’s expressed to others. We all have some kind of control over ourselves, as– you know– maturing adults.

We’ve learnt how to express ourselves differently, some of the lingering problems when we were kids are still there, but we try to grow with it, grow through it anyways.

Ending Ment

Sorry if this was a bit messy sdkjfnkasnf I feel really stiff coming back after going on vacation for a while. But I hope this is a good answer anyways 💕 Thank you for sending in the ask! 💕

#bts #bts asks #hoseok #jimin #namjoon #taehyung #yoongi #jin #jungkook #bts astrology #bangtan astrology #kpop astrology #bts scenario #bts imagines #bts reactions #anon #asks

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