#I know I’ve been bitter about it cause he never really hit off with me

[sanasanakun]

Since people are discussing Larian’s “people pleasing” updates with this latest hot fix, I’m gonna add my two (unnecessary) cents to this as well. I really love Baldurs Gate 3 for the choices and agency it affords me as a player. That’s its main draw to me. However, when comparing it to its main inspiration (i.e BioWare games), the writing in BG3 is far worse.

And I think this shines through the most with the companion content disparity. I do think Astarion is a very well written character, but I also think his popularity partially comes from the other characters being far too underwritten. This isn’t even touching on Karlach’s lack of depth and the shocking disparity that is Wyll’s entire storyline/character. But other companions like Shadowheart and Gale, while well written, lack the same attention and suffer for it.

And god, the villains. I think that’s another egregiously bad area of the writing. Kethric gets a whole act! Meanwhile, Orin is interesting but crammed into sharing space with Gortash. And Gortash is given an incredible backstory that ties to another villain, but nothing is done with it and it’s mostly hidden in notes. And the story overall is just ok. Act 2 is easily the most compelling. But compared to BioWare, the story is lackluster imo. The Dark Urge plot line is the most interesting part of the overall main storyline, but it’s not afforded enough detail or content (imo).

And none of this is helped by Larian removing bits and pieces of their characters in these hotfixes. I really wish they’d just start adding content to flesh out these problem areas, especially Wyll and Minthara.

#also I feel like some fans are getting bitter about the Astarion content disparity #I know I’ve been bitter about it cause he never really hit off with me #so maybe it was more noticeable for me? but yeah I think people are like ok come on now #esp cause it’s taken Larian so long to devote that same attention to other characters #but that’s just meeeee so don’t get mad since it’s just all my opinion on that matter #anything I write here is honestly inconsequential #but Larian’s involvement within the fandom and their need to respond to it #has always made me side eye and question their writing ability #larian critical #I’m also just a really harsh person when it comes to consuming media #so I could be overly mean with this one but like… #if I like something I will criticize it more harshly idk why #baldurs gate 3 critical

[dirtysvthoughts]

tipsy nights 🌕

tags/warnings: boyfriend! chan, female! reader, alcohol, mentions of a finished dinner, lots of kissing, lots of touching and feeling each other up, reader praises chan, chan gets kinda shy, dry humping

word count: 1.9k

notes: thank you to @duhnova for helping me with the idea for this drabble! this has been a recurring thought in my mind - getting tipsy with chan, making out, and getting handsy 🥺 the dingo tipsy live is also one of my favorite chan looks ever (and the inspiration for this drabble), it’s so boyfriend coded 😩 anyways, enjoy besties!

chan stretches out his body, groaning out in satisfaction as you wash the dishes from your meal. “seriously babe, you’re such a great cook! that tteokbokki was one of the best i’ve ever had.”

you blush at chan’s words, a smile making its way on your lips. “thanks chan, i’m really glad you liked it!” you dry your hands with a towel as you join him on the couch, resting your head on his shoulders as your legs move into a mermaid position. chan puts his hand on your knee and begins rubbing your skin in a circular motion.

“you take such good care of me,” he admires, looking in your eyes, feeling as if he could get lost in them forever. “you’re always making sure i’m eating, making sure i’m well, i don’t deserve you..”

“i don’t deserve you, chan,” you emphasize, holding his hand. “the things you’ve done for me and the way you take care of me too? you’re the greatest boyfriend ever.”

you share a quick kiss, resting your head on chan’s shoulder when you separate. having a partner that not only understood you, but wanted to know more about you, flaws and all is one of the best feelings you’ve experienced.

after a few minutes of silence, you eye the bottles of soju and other alcohol on the table in front of you. plates of snacks and fruit were also laid out, your eyes turning back to your boyfriend. “ready to start drinking?”

chan smirks as he grabs a soju bottle, causing you to sit up for a moment. he pops the top off fashionably and he pours halfway to your shot glass, while pouring to the top for his. you reach for your liquor as you both say cheers, clinking your glasses and taking your shots. you hiss at the strong taste of the alcohol, the slightly bitter taste of regular soju wasn’t your favorite, but it was tolerable.

chan laughs at your reaction, shaking his head, “still getting use to the taste huh?”

“the flavored one taste so much better to me!” you defend. “i dunno how you take down almost three bottles of this,” you take the bottle as you pour another shot, stopping halfway again.

“but yet, you’re getting another drink of it,” he chided and you playfully, lightly hit him on his shoulder. “i never said i didn’t like it, y’know,” you pop a chip into your mouth, swallowing it. “i just prefer other tastes.”

thirty minutes pass by and a pleasant feeling overtakes your body and brain. you’re not completely drunk, but you definitely could say you weren’t sober either. what was the word you were looking for?

“are you tipsy, baby?” chan smiles at you leaning his head back on the couch, hand covering his face, chuckling to himself. while his tolerance was way higher than yours, he had already downed two and a half bottles of soju - and is probably more intoxicated than you are.

“mmmhmm,” your slowly slur, leaning forward but stopping yourself so you wouldn’t fall over. “it feels good though, not gonna lie,” you giggle, shifting yourself to sit closer to your boyfriend. you rest your head on his shoulder again, hand holding on his forearms. you stare at the wall in front of you, but you look up at him when he takes another swig of alcohol, biting your lip watching his adam’s apple move with each swallow, how his lips looked so soft and pillowy.

you tap his arm twice and it brings his attention back to you, chan humming in response to your gesture. “i dunno if told you this but you look really hot today.. i mean you always look hot, but right now?” you stop to bite your lip, legs pressing together tightly, “god, i need you inside of me, on top of me, maybe even underneath me.”

chan blushes profusely at your words, his bright smile making one also spread across your face. you kiss his cheek twice, but something inside you is encourages you to go further and your lips trail down his cheek to the left side of his neck. his breath hitches at the sensation, your moist, wet lips doing something to him.

“i didn’t think my outfit today would have such an effect on you,” he muses, looking down at the long sleeve brown top he matched with some jeans. he hadn’t intended on making you feel a certain way when he puts this together, but he mentally pats himself on the back for it because look where it got him. his favorite girl in the world, tipsy and kissing his neck ever so tenderly.

you chuckle, moving your body to sit on top of his left thigh, praising and thanking all the high powers for convincing you to wear shorts today. you maneuver yourself closer to him, lips diving into his neck again, but this time alternating between kisses and small, light bites. this clearly arouses chan and his hands make their way to the small of your waist, softly gripping the skin.

“mmm channie,” you moan softly as your hands make their way down to his chest and stomach, fingertips tracing the line of his abs. “you’re so handsome and stunning.. everything about you is so attractive. you’re an amazing performer, a hard worker, so patient and understanding.. not to mention funny and insanely talented, you’re like the complete package.”

you momentarily pause as your hand goes inside his shirt, now tracing the lines of his skin. your fingers slowly dance their way down to chan’s zipper, his breathing becoming quicker. “just wanna show you how amazing you are my love, wanna shower you with you all the compliments i can think of,” you kiss his forehead as you tease him by rubbing your fingers lightly against his crotch.

chan leans his head back as he whines from all the praise he was getting. “baby, you’re making me red,” he says a little above a whisper, and you can’t help but smile at how cute he is right now. normally he would be one to take compliments to his advantage, use them to dirty talk you until you were leaking all over him. but tonight was different. there was something in the air chan couldn’t define, but whatever it was, he just wanted to let you take the lead in this moment.

deciding that it was time to switch things up, you begin to slowly grind on your boyfriend’s thigh, the feeling of your shorts and his jeans on your crotch has you immediately moaning. chan’s mouth opens in awe as he lays his eyes back on you, the expression on your face and the way you bite down on your lips has him starting to form a wet spot on his boxers.

chan tenses the muscles in his thigh and it has your chest falling forward, causing you to release a louder moan. “shit, channie,” you whine, a doe like look spread across your face. “please do that again, please,” you beg breathlessly, never stopping your enticing motions on his leg.

chan smirks at how affected you are and fulfills your request, tensing his muscles again and moving his leg side to side to add extra excitement to your folds. you whimper as your body continues to heat up, chan’s movement and groans tightening the coil in your stomach. before you think you’re about to burst, chan taps the back of your thigh twice, bringing all of your movement to a stop.

“there’s two things i want you to do for me pretty girl,” he bites his lips as he eyes you up and down, noticing how your nipples got perky and were peeking through your shirt. “yes baby?” you respond, pushing some of your hair back that got in your face.

“first, stand up and take your shorts off for me. let me see your cute little panties,” he smirks, now eyeing the lower half of your body as you get up from his leg. four eyes dare not leave chan’s as you find the button to your shorts, then you work the zipper down, pulling them down slowly as he groans when they’re completely off your legs, kicking them off to the side.

“like what you see?” you tease, already knowing the answer. chan licks his lips and beckons you to come closer with his index finger.

“second thing, you think you can ride me but sit on my lap this time? i wanna feel your pretty little pussy on my dick.”

“think?” you playfully roll your eyes as you maneuver your body and gingerly sit on his lap, you crotch pressing against chan’s. “i know i can, i wanna feel you too channie,” you moan already feeling his hard on touch the material of your underwear.

“how are you so hard already?” you geniunely question as chan wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. “not that i’m complaining or anything!”

your boyfriend smiles as he seals your lips in a long, drawn out kiss, guiding your body to grind against him. “that’s all you baby,” chan laughs as you hold on to his shoulders, feeling up his arms. “you feel so good rolling your hips into me like a good girl.. i can feel how wet you are too, soaking these adorable panties you have on,” his fingers lightly touch your clit from the outside and it has you mewling, craving for more - chan’s name and more higher pitched moans than the others you let out earlier consistently coming out your lips.

“channie,” you beg, moving down on him with a bit more pressure. “i need you so bad, need you to fuck me here on the couch after i come.. please tell me you’ll fuck me,” your eyes looking like they were watering. chan tilts your chin up as he pushes his hips up to thrust into you, making sure you kept your eyes on him. “i fuck you just how you want baby, i’ll make sure i’ll have you screaming for me on this couch, have you begging even more than you are now. you want that baby? want me to have you screaming my name?” you pace has sped up as you nod frantically, the coil in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter.

“chan! chan! cha-” you loudly whine as your body becomes undone, slumping into your boyfriend’s chest as you come all over his boxers, making an even bigger mess on his clothes. your breathing is ragged, but you love the state you’re in right now, chan continuing to hold you by the waist as he rubs your back.

“think you’ve sobered up a bit?” chan asks as he helps you sit up. “cause i know i have,” he chuckles, brushing his hair back. you nod, agreeing with him. “yeah, i think so too.”

after a few beats of comfortable silence, you call out your boyfriend’s name, looking up at him. “can you still take me down on the couch? i still haven’t felt you inside me yet,” you fake pout as he smugly smiles, switching your position, and pressing you down on the couch’s material.

“just you wait, i’m gonna leave you wanting my touch for a very long time.”

#seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenarios #dino smut #dino seventeen smut #lee chan smut #chan smut #dino imagines #dino imagine #dino x reader #lee chan imagines #lee chan imagine #chan imagines #chan imagine #lee chan x reader

[trashywormeateroffics]

bigger than the whole sky (natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader)

the gif is not mine!

summary: inspired by the song “bigger than the whole sky” by taylor swift. you navigate the world after losing natasha on vormir. (angst, angst, angst, with a little bit of hopefulness cause i’m me)

a/n: once again i am asking you to send me natasha requests!!!! love you!!!!

masterlist

\\\\

no words appear before me in the aftermath

you’re back.

“hey, where’s romanoff?” tony asks you. you look at him. your eyes are hollow, you don’t feel anything other than blinding pain.

everyone else gathers around you. they’re talking but their voices are merely an echo.

steve says your name. you look at him with quivering lips. that’s when he knows. you’re back but she isn’t.

salt streams out my eyes and into my ears

a knock is heard around your room. you don’t look up from the bed. you hear shuffling until a head peeks over you. it’s tony. he says your name, pity dripping from it.

“you should eat something. here,” he puts a tray on your nightstand, “i made you your favorite.” you don’t answer. he simply kisses your hair and leaves.

every single thing i touch becomes sick with sadness

you become a shell of a person. you barely eat, barely sleep, you just walk around the compound like a ghost that’s haunting it.

cause it’s all over now, all out to sea

it’s not until a month passes that it hits you. everyone is back, but she’s not. the firm ground you once walked on has been broken under your feet and the warmth you once felt is gone. tony told you he tried to bring her back when he snapped but he couldn’t. it wasn’t posible. the deal wasn’t interchangeable. he’s healing better than you would’ve expected, even though his right arm is almost useless, but he manages. they all do. steve is captain america, he needs to be strong for the people. thor is rebuilding his home, making it better. bruce is happier, he doesn’t feel like a monster anymore. the one that isn’t doing great is clint, but still, he has his family, so he mourns in silence, he hides. you once found him crying in the garden of the rebuilt compound, you tried to console him but words failed you. what could you have said? you were no better than him. you were a wounded animal, veiling your pain, trying to lick your own wounds but they were so bitter. you were so bitter.

goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. you were bigger than the whole sky, you were more than just a short time. and i’ve got a lot to pine about, i’ve got a lot to live without, i’m never gonna meet what could’ve been, would’ve been, what should’ve been you

the funeral isn’t until two months after it happens. there’s no body, so it’s a closed casket. you’re thankful for that, even though you feel guilty for it. you don’t think you could handle seeing her again. not like that.

everyone is crying. tony only invited the avengers, no one else. this is a private ceremony, it’s intimate. there’s a lot to mourn, a lot to cry about.

you stand up to the podium and clear your throat.

“natasha was a good person.” you begin. everyone is looking at you. you look at clint. he nods. “but she was also so goddamn stupid sometimes, so stubborn.” your eyes well up. you can feel it, they all can, you’re about to break. “she was the love of my life…” you trail off. you look at all these people. these people that loved her. that knew her. but no one knew her like you did. no one loved her like you. you say your goodbye in the way that everyone expected, calm, collected, the right amount of sadness, and then, before you know it, it’s done.

it’s two days later when you go back alone. you sit on the ground and touch the gravestone.

“yelena says she really likes the compound.” you smile softly. “she says it’s very cool, very future-y.” you chuckle. you know natasha loved her sister and she would find peace in knowing that she’s alright, that she’s being taken care of. you purse your lips to stop them from quivering. “i’m so mad at you natasha.” you tell the piece of stone. “i’m so goddamn mad at you.” your face scrunches up and tears begin falling from your eyes. “now we’re never going to live in a pretty house in a nice neighborhood and cook dinner every night together and laugh because the only thing you know how to cook is a peanut butter sandwich.” you chuckle through your tears. “why’d you leave me natty? we could’ve found another way- i know what you would say- there was no other way detka. but we would’ve made one. i would’ve done anything for you. now, even though you’re gone-“ a sob escapes you as you say the last word. “even now, everything i do is still for you.” you sniffle. “i do it with the hope that you’re somewhere seeing me. i need you to be somewhere nat, i need you.” winds blows on your face and you feel the tears dry up on your cheeks. “how am i gonna do this without you, huh? i’m a mess, i can barely do normal tasks. i just- i wanted to grow old with you.” you sob with your face in your hands. a while passes and sobs continue to wrack through your body in the silence of the cemetery. “and i’m never gonna see your old self. i’m never gonna meet what should’ve been you.” you have nothing else to say, so you sit in silence, caressing the tombstone. two hours pass until you decide to get up and leave. once in the compound, you head to the kitchen to grab some food and have a silent dinner in your room.

did some bird flap it’s wings over in asia? did some force take you because i didn’t pray?

grief is a complicated thing. you have always been familiar with the stages, yet since they’re happening to you you don’t really realize it.

today is a difficult day. you woke up and turned around to hug her but were quickly hit by reality when she wasn’t there for you to touch. you spent your whole morning crying. now, it’s early afternoon and you’re having something to eat in the compound’s kitchen.

“hey kid, how are you?” tony asks as he enters all sweaty, probably coming from the gym.

“hi.” you say to him. you don’t answer his question.

“how are you?” he asks again, more pointedly this time. you shrug. he says your name, almost pleading. “please talk to me. yell at me if you need to but- say something.”

“i have nothing to say.” he says your name again, firmly.

“you lost someone. hell, you didn’t just lose someone, you lost natasha. but-“ he runs his hands through his hair. “we all lost her, we can understand.”

“sorry tony, but i don’t think you can.” you tell him dryly. you know his intentions are good but he can’t really stand in front of you and say i get it. he does not. no one does. tony sighs.

“you know what? maybe you’re right.” you frown. what is he saying? “though someone might.”

“who? yelena? clint?” he rolls his eyes.

“no. a therapist.”

every single thing to come has turned into ashes. cause it’s all over, it’s not meant to be, so i’ll say words i don’t believe

turns out, tony was serious when he mentioned the therapist. you’re in her office now, sitting down and looking anywhere but at her. she says your name. you hum in response. she says your name again.

“look at me.” you do and swallow hard. “you don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to.” you smile bitterly.

“there’s nothing to say. even if i did want to say something.” you clarify. dr. lopez nods.

“do you want to have something to say?”

“i don’t… no.” you shake your head. “it’s not worth it.”

“why not?”

“nothing will be able to express what i feel.” you shrug. “and really, it’s just grief. nothing too shocking.”

“you know, just because you know it’s grief doesn’t make it easier to feel it.” you purse your lips. the therapist straightens up in her chair, almost as if she just had an idea. “what color is grief?” she asks. you frown.

“what?”

“tell me, when i say grief, what color do you see?”

“um…” you look down. a color? it couldn’t just be a color. it had to be more. “i don’t think-“

“just try.” she tells you.

“um… i guess… i guess white.”

“why?”

“because it’s… it’s not just the color, it’s like a white room, empty and with no end.” dr. lopez smiles briefly. you narrow your eyes. “that’s… that’s how i feel?” you ask her.

“you tell me.”

“i-“ you take a deep breath and shake your head. the therapist tilts her head. “can’t.” you simply say, choked up.

“i’m going to tell you something about myself.”

“you can do that?”

“if it helps my patient then yes, i can.” you purse your lips and nod. “when i was eighteen, my best friend and i got into a car accident.” you look at her. “she died.” you swallow. “for a year i didn’t talk about it. didn’t even say her name. you know why?” you shake your head even though you have your suspicions. “because talking about it would make it real. and if it was real then i was going to feel a lot of pain, pain i wasn’t sure i could handle feeling.” you shake your head.

“no, i- i get where you’re going with this but i know i can’t handle that pain. i’ll die.”

“do you really think that?”

“if i don’t i’ll kill myself.” you tell her. she looks at you. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“you don’t need to apologize for grieving.” you look at her. then you look down, your hands are shaking. you look up again with scrunched up eyebrows.

“is that what this is?” you ask her, a tear falling from your eye. she cocks her head to the side, waiting for you to explain. “it doesn’t- it doesn’t feel like grief. it feels as if someone is constantly squeezing my heart.” tears are now falling freely down your cheeks. you try to wipe them away but they’re too many. “and the worst part is i don’t want to get over it. i want to keep feeling it, it’s all i have left of her.” dr lopez says your name and you look at her through blurry eyes.

“that’s actually really beautiful. grief is love. it’s all the love we can’t give them.”

“i don’t want it. it shouldn’t- it’s not fair.” you sob.

“it isn’t.” she tells you. “and that’s the thing about grief. you say it shouldn’t be like this but grief fights you and tells you well, it is. that’s why it’s so hard.” you blink, sniffle and shrug.

“i’m still never going to get over it.”

“you probably won’t.” she tells you. you look at her.

“aren’t you supposed to tell me that everything is going to be fine?”

“well, everything is going to be fine. that doesn’t mean that you’ll get over it.” you frown. she smiles softly. “a loss like this one, it’s more like you learn to live with it. you don’t necessarily get over it. but you do feel better, and you find hope.” hope. you found hope already. it was her. the doctor seems to read your mind because she gestures to you with her head. “why don’t you tell me about her?” you look at her and furrow your brows.

“i- she… she was….” you sigh.

“it’s okay, you know what? why don’t i ask you?”

“okay.”

“what was her favorite color?” you smile softly.

“yellow. she said it reminded her of sunflowers, her favorite.” you chuckle.

“what is it?” she asks.

“after i found out i kind of started giving her a sunflower every day… to remind her that- that they were her favorite thing and… and she was mine.” you purse your lips to stop them from quivering. you’re once again on the verge of crying. ugh.

“that’s really romantic.”

“yeah well, we weren’t together at the time i was just obsessed with her.” you laugh through your tears. “after we got together she would always make fun of me for it. but i knew she secretly loved it.” dr lopez smiles.

“and what did you like most about her?”

“oh i- i can’t choose. she was just- perfect. but i think her heart- yeah, her heart was just so good. i don’t think i’ve ever met someone who cared so much about others like her.” you say. then you grin. “she was also terrified of cockroaches. like, she was the most badass person ever but if she saw a cockroach she would lose it.” you laugh and so does the therapist. then, suddenly, you begin sobbing. heart-wrenching sobs escape you as you cover your face with your hands. “i’m so- so sorry.” you tell her. “i just- what i’m feeling i want to tell her. she would be the one to console me and now i need something else to make me feel better because she’s gone. i can’t believe that she- it should’ve been me.” dr lopez says your name firmly.

“she made her choice.”

“no! she was just a better fighter than me! i could’ve been the one to jump and she would still be here.”

“but would you want her to feel the pain you’re feeling now?” you look up at her, shocked. you had never thought of that.

“i- of course not. but i just- she deserved to live a long, beautiful life. she deserved it more than me.”

“i know you feel like that, but that’s not true.” she tells you. “what you truly deserved, both of you, was to live a long, beautiful life together. but because of circumstance, you can’t. but you can still live that life.”

“i don’t want to! i don’t want to live a life without her!”

“then, at least, live it for her.”

you leave the session feeling something strange in your chest. realization perhaps. an epiphany of some sorts. she would want you to live this life fully. even though she’s not here, you know she wouldn’t want to see you broken like you are now. and you think, maybe i’ll do this one last act of love for her.

that night, you have dinner with the rest of the team. wanda is there, and you realize that you haven’t asked her how she is.

“hey, wanda.” you call after her before she leaves. “could i talk to you for a second?”

“yes.” she tells you. you two walk over to the balcony and sit down.

“i never asked you, how are you?” she looks at you with a questioning gaze.

“i’m…” she trails off.

“i’m sorry about vision.” you tell her. she looks at you.

“i’m sorry about natasha.”

“thank you.” you say. for a bit you’re both silent. until you speak up. “i wish there was a way for us to tell them that we won, that it wasn’t for nothing.”

“they know.” she says. you swallow hard and look at her.

“you think so?”

“yeah.” she smiles softly.

“how do you… keep living life?” you ask her. she tilts her head at you. “i mean like… how do you keep going forward without him?”

“vis once told me: what is grief if not love persevering?” you sniffle. wanda looks at you and puts a hand on your shoulder. “he was right. it is.”

“where do you put that love?” you ask her, crying now.

“you keep it inside you, and you use it to never forget them.”

you end up the chat by hugging, where in the middle of it you tell her that you’re grateful to have her as a friend, and she says the same thing.

goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. you were bigger than the whole sky, you were more than just a short time. and i’ve got a lot to pine about, i’ve got a lot to live without, i’m never gonna meet what could’ve been, would’ve been, what should’ve been you

the first time you feel it you’re training with wanda and bucky. wanda makes him fall with his magic and you laugh. for the first time since she’s been gone you laugh an honest laugh. you’ve been going to therapy for a month now and it’s helping. it doesn’t replace her, nothing ever will. but it helps with the anxiety and the soul crushing pain.

you miss her, everyday you miss her more and more. they say that time heals, but as of now, time is making you need her more than ever. still, you laughed.

“that’s not fair, you punk!” bucky yells and wanda laughs.

“it’s called being strategic.” she tells him.

“it’s called cheating.” he tells her matter-of-factly. then he turns to you. “what do you think?”

“um…” you say. he raises his eyebrows. “i think it’s called being strategic.” you shrug.

“you two punks are siding with each other? fine! see if i care.” you and wanda look at each other and you both burst out laughing. shortly after, bucky joins in too. you’re laughing with them, you’re laughing with them and suddenly the world doesn’t seem so heavy on your shoulders. you are still in a lot of pain, you are still mourning, and honestly, you don’t think you will ever stop. but you’re laughing wholeheartedly, and that’s when you feel it. perhaps you will get better. perhaps, you just found hope.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff x female reader #mcu x reader #avengers endgame

[februaryflowers]

a touch of maple

order up: (matcha) strawberry popping pearls for vernon + @woozisnoots​ !​

coffeeshop au meet cute fluff

check out the (now closed) carat writers club summer fair event!

warnings: none

just cute fluff meetings, 646 words, vernon x reader

Life was boring, to say the least. It was becoming a cycle of waking up, getting ready for work, doing your office job, coming home, having dinner, and going to bed. There was so much more you wanted from it, yet there wasn’t enough time in the day to find it. 

So to avoid the monotony, you’d started to order the same drink as the person in front of you in line at the cafe every morning before work. You’d have a new beverage every day and be able to expand your palette. What could go wrong?

Well, a lot more people than you realized had…questionable taste, to say the least. You remember a little too well the time the person in front of you ordered a coffee that was so rancid you swore off all caffeinated beverages for the next week. 

Despite your efforts to branch out, that beverage was just so disgusting that you’ve been avoiding ordering a new drink and have simply been sticking to your usual coffee. But there’s just something in the air today that urges you to try again.

The bells tinkle above the door as you push it open, letting the warm scent fill your nose. The line is a little longer than you’d like, but at least your favorite cafe is finally getting the business it deserves.

Pulling out your phone, you scroll aimlessly through your emails as you wait. It’s all the usual, unremarkable: requests from coworkers and bosses for files and help, advertisements, whatever other tasks that you had been assigned to do.

With a sigh, you place it back in your pocket, watching the shrinking line from the corner of your eye.

You’ve definitely seen the guy in front of you before. Perhaps it was here, since the barista at the counter recognizes him and gives him friendly small talk before he orders.

“I’ll take a hot chocolate with maple, please,” he finally says, his boyish and casual tone ringing a bell. 

The employee puts in the order and takes his cash as he moves to the side.

Then you’re hit with the “Hi, how can I help you?”

“I’ll get what he got,” you reply, pointing at the previous customer.

“Maple syrup hot chocolate?” he repeats, to which you nod before he rings you up. 

As the barista prepares your order, you step to the side, finding yourself right next to the mystery man. Side-eyeing him, you swear you’ve seen him here before, maybe jamming out to something on the headphones that sit around his neck. Something about him is just so…familiar, even if you haven’t spoken yet. 

“I usually find the chocolate here a little bitter,” he pipes up, catching your eyes and sliding his headset to his neck. “So I always get something sweet like maple syrup or whipped cream with it.”

“Oh?” You turn to him, blinking. He’s…really talking to you right now? About your random copycat drink order? “I’ve never had the hot chocolate here,” you admit.

“Well you’ll have to let me know how it tastes,” he quips. 

“Vernon and y/n,” the barista calls, placing your steaming cups on the counter. 

“Nice to meet you, Vernon,” you say, smiling as you watch him pull his sweatshirt sleeves over his hands to hold the hot drink.

He grins in return, standing patiently and staring at you, as if to beckon you to try the chocolate. 

Rolling your eyes playfully, you bring the lid to your lips, deep, creamy chocolate meeting your tongue topped off by the rich maple syrup mixed in.

“It’s…delicious…” you gasp, wiping the small mustache it left above your mouth with a napkin. 

Watching as you immediately bring it in for another sip, he smiles, a silly one that comes over his face and causes his eyes to crinkle. “Well, I’d say you have good taste.”

#caratwritersclub #cwcsummerfair #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #vernon imagines #vernon scenarios #vernon fluff #vernon x reader #seventeen vernon #mei's #mei.svt #summer fair drabble requests

[vacantgodling]

🪄🪄🪄🪄

thank youuuu!!!

🪄 Aishite Aishite Aishite — Ado

Don’t get angry. / Don’t abandon me. / Don’t go anywhere. / (Hey)

starting with a vocaloid song of course we are lmao. there’s actually 2 ways you can read this song (that i’ve seen, though more than that exist im sure) — the first is more akin to the actual intent of the song which is talking more about and alluding to yandere undertones of obsessive love even if it doesn’t seem Real. the second and the one that i associate with dearest narcissus spokes from paramour/prim & provocative is a more Literal reading of certain aspects of the song. she’s terrified to be alone, she wants people to love her and think that she’s important, she doesn’t want people to abandon her—but to others outside her it seems like an attention grab or fake etc etc. but she means it she’s genuine she just doesn’t know how else to ask for love because no one’s ever really given it to her.

(she’s also arospec if that means anything either)

i really ADORE ado’s vocals in this song because it really captures the RANGE of emotions that narci is feeling. pleading, sweet, enraged, manipulative, sincere—it’s everything all at once. a lot of this energy is definitely directed at myrtus (her ex husband) at first, but it is genuinely how she feels about the world. she feels discarded and abandoned by it (and has been a bit) and she doesn’t know what she’s doing Wrong to make people never give her the time of day or love her.

🪄 MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT — Loveless

Just call on me, oh / Just call my name (just call my name) / Like you mean it

i’m a sucker for bridges. also this cover is so insanely good.

this entire cover is actually the beginning band sequence (after maverick quits the band) to my wip LuKEWARM ReJECTION — it represents the band’s best and most hard worked on song; maverick’s (the ex lead singer’s) magnum opus. it took them nearly a year to perfect it, and as di somberly thinks when they get up on stage for the battle of the bands with their new short notice fill in lead singer toph, there’s no way in fuck they’ll be able to pull this off. toph hadn’t even had time to practice. they get onstage, make their intros, and then they start off the chords for the song.

and toph just blows it out of the water.

his voice is better, stronger, more emotional, more star like than anything maverick has ever TOUCHED and as they roll through the whole set toph just knocks the pants off of everyone including the band! it should be a momentous moment but for di it’s so so SO bitter because he and maverick were dating and he not only left the band, he left di, and you just can’t get over that with the snap of your fingers.

but i LOOOOVE this song as an opening too bc toph deadass thinks these lyrics are so juvenile LMAO it’s the first fight he and di get into after the performance bc he disses the song and di still has emotions high so they start arguing. how dare you call my boyfriend my ex’s magnum opus garbage!!! and toph is all these lyrics were written by a washed up pop star wdym (which hits better for my imagination since the loveless version IS a cover lmao and for me personally, the lyrics aren’t hella compelling i moreso like the bridge for the singer bc his voice MAAAN it’s so good)

🪄 Better Than Me — Hinder

And I can't pretend / I won't think about you when I'm older / 'Cause we never really had our closure / This can't be the end

i have this song on so many playlists i’m literally INSANE about it. also once again the bridge makes me crazy.

i specifically think about this song when i think about amon and hya unsurprisingly but i also think about this song with graves and dove from the graves we dug. like GODDDDDDD the yearning, the pain that was caused, the struggle to accept that it’s over even if you don’t want it to be ???? like how am i supposed to be normal about this.

🪄Split — WILLOW

I'm always acting tough / Close my heart and now I starve the love / And no, I never wanted / I never wanted this for us

this whole album makes me crazy willow is so talented i love She.

i got this song on a couple of playlists but most recently i was thinking about this song in the context of betwixt thumb and forefinger and it really makes me think of sjaak. like he really doesn’t ask for 99.9% of the shit he’s going through and his reactions are horrible but understandable. the background sound and the vibes and the emphasis on the i never wanted this for us is literally him @ biscella and you can’t convince me otherwise.

the other person i’m thinking about with this song is arden from red death & the oracle’s favor, our favorite scorned prince. but instead of like sjaak and it be him talking to someone else, this song for him is more like him talking to himself. he never wanted this responsibility placed on his shoulders and he plays the part but it’s so hard to on some days — how does he survive? he doesn’t know.

#ren mix

[venjamin-kingdomhearts]

another rox and ven headcanon that was supposed to be short but ended up not lol

Underrated Ventus and Roxas dynamic/headcanon: “Everyone thinks we hate each other so maybe we should hate each other, but when I’m with you I can explore a side of myself I’ve never been allowed to before.” Roxas has always been pretty naive and vulnerable, relying on Axel a lot through his time in Organization XIII. So of course, that’s still a very big part of who he is, but every since the Org’s fall and how much Roxas had to grow up/change in such a short time, a lot of that is kinda pushed aside. He’s seen as less innocent since he’s grown up with rowdy friends (Axel, Hayner) and made the decision to fight to protect his friends rather than choose to sacrifice himself. People start to assume he’s more “adult” since he’s so determined, can be so bitter, has been through so much and had to sometimes be more independent. Even if Axel and Xion still know he’s a softie, maybe Roxas has trouble being more vulnerable in front of others, just cause of how many people assume he’s this angry, tough kid. He swears, listens to rock and metal, likes to skateboard. He wants to enjoy his freedom and be whoever he wants. Roxas doesn’t really want to be seen as weak, either. So maybe he lives up to other’s expectations, even when he doesn’t realize it. Talking back to Yen Sid, questioning Riku... Ventus is naive and vulnerable, yes, and he’s very dependent on others. But he’s also passionate, angry, and he’s been through hell, too. He’s just as confused about his identity as Roxas is, and though he was lucky enough to have a family and Master who loved him and didn’t try to manipulate him like the Org. did to Rox, he still had to face a lot. Yet he chose to sacrifice himself for the greater good rather than fight, and because he was raised to be more honorable, like a traditional Keybearer, he’s always seen as softer, more innocent. He doesn’t like to swear (Master Eraqus would always tell him it was rude), he spends so much time reading, he doesn’t always understand slang. He wants to enjoy his freedom, but he also wants to respect his Master and be the ideal Keyblade Master. Ventus also almost lost Terra and Aqua, last time his disobeyed them and Eraqus. He doesn’t want to lose them again, so he won’t run away from home or take them for granted, even if he kinda wishes he had more chances to be independent. They’re opposites. In the way they’re perceived, they way they dress, what they like. And considering how much Roxas fought for his identity, it’s easy for people to assume he wouldn’t like Ventus. And seeing how Ventus already has Terra and Aqua, it’s easy for people to assume he wouldn’t even think about befriending a former Org. member. There’s a lot more that goes into it, honestly, but at the end of the day, people assume the two wouldn’t get along. And because they both want to be the person their friends need, Ventus and Roxas kinda assume they won’t get along, either. But something happens, and suddenly they’re alone together, and as awkward as it is to be with your “clone” and not know what to say. . . . . .they hit it off, sorta. The first time they hang out is weird and tense, with both Roxas and Ventus looking down at the other while also thinking “man, he’s way out of my league. Would people like me more if I was more like him?” But one thing leads to another and they’re cracking jokes. Maybe Ventus’ jokes end up being a little more pessimistic and self-deprecating than normal. It’s the first time he’s been able to be a little bitter about himself in a long time. Roxas is naturally curious. He starts asking Ventus more about himself. More silly questions, things that other people expect Roxas to know already. It kinda becomes a thing, after that. They hang out together, just the two of them alone. Roxas lets Ventus be as dirty and loudmouthed as he wants to. And Ventus lets Roxas ask any question, even if it’s something any “mature” person would know. It’s nice, to let go of “what I should be/what others want me to be”. Nice for Ven to stop pretending he’s a perfect little angel, nice for Rox to allow himself to be as innocent as he was his first days in the Organization. Soon Roxas is the person Ven comes to to vent and have fun with. Meanwhile, Ventus is the first person Roxas talks to about stuff he’s too embarrassed to bring up to Xion or Lea. The funny thing is? No one else notices for a while. Not until the Wayfinder Trio and Seasalt Gang bump into each other and Ventus greets Roxas with “Shit, Rox, I’ve missed you so much!”

#roxas #ventus #roxas and ventus #rokuven #kh #my thoughts #sorry im just. thinking about them #obviously most of this is headcanon stuff and not necessarily 100% canon but LOOK i have THOUGHTS about these two and #and how they feel like they need to act vs how they want to act vs who othey really are #this. is just intended to be friend stuff btw but im throwing the rokuven tage here #because rarepair shippers need their food #anyways uh i love talking about these two. friendship. ship ship. whatever

[stargazeraldroth]

You’re fine!!! Honestly I also don’t always remember everything I’ve said, it’s How Things Be sometimes- You’ll find no annoyance at repetitions or contradictions here! We’re having fun, not engaging in a life-or-death situation.

Anyways, yeah! I get that, and I do agree that he tends to end up just. WILDLY on one side or the other (my poor man just can’t exist as a chaotic neutral entity to some people, huh-), when in reality he’s firmly a neutral force who’s Seen Some Shit. Honestly, my only qualm with him being chaotic neutral is that some people make him a malicious chaotic neutral and he’s like. Very much not, you know? I dunno, his characterization is fascinating to me and I wish! That more people! Leaned into his actual character instead of making him something he isn’t!!! But ramblings aside, yeah, he’s very much a desensitized guy who wouldn’t be nearly as good at his job if he was as wholly good as people seem to think he should be.

(I could go on about this man forever but I’ll stop now-)

Oh no I definitely agree! He’s got major abandonment issues with anyone he cares about- The creators might be a more primal kind of fear (since without them, he’s just. A husk.), but it would definitely apply to his loved ones, too. People like his Dadsters, Cross, Dream and Blue, probably Error in a weird “rival who has existed for as long as I have” way… There’s definitely potential there for Dream and Blue to use it against him, the poor guy. And while I don’t see them intentionally making him blame himself (they want him to be happy! To be free!), them saying that they did this for him, because they care for him and what to “help him” would… Definitely fuck him up, I think. I could see him blaming himself for it all- For not catching them going down a slippery slope, yes, and for not being proactive enough, and for “causing” this, but I could also see him eventually coming to the conclusion that this happened because he, specifically, was their friend. If he’d just stayed distant, if he’d never interacted and formed friendships, if he hadn’t interfered, maybe this would’ve been avoided? Just. A total belief that he, specifically, ruined things.

Core angst!!! My poor child is suffering All The Time and the entire Multiverse just expects them to be Wise and Good, it’s so much pressure for a fucking- What, ten year old? They need to have a breakdown at some point, I think- Not just over this, but over all of the accumulated stress of every bad things they’ve witnessed (and, let’s be real, they deserve to have a breakdown and get out their emotions-). Dream and Blue writing them off might end badly for the two of them, though… Core is a highly stressed child, yes, but they’re a highly stressed child with omniscience and omnipresence, and I imagine that existing for so long has led them to be Very Attached (whether they show it or not) to other, equally eternal beings. They’re still a Frisk, after all- They’ve still got their own brand of Determination, and that willpower to help people- And eventually, I think they might be one of the biggest threats to the yanderes.

Cross (and XChara) are wildly versatile here, but I do love me some Oreo Bros, so I’ve got no issue with that route, haha. XChara is definitely a very bitter person in general (which, like, fair, they’ve gone through some shit), but even if they don’t particularly like Ink, I could see them being somewhat sympathetic (and probably very angry) on his behalf- If only because Dream and Blue’s desire for “the best” for Ink would probably hit. A Lot of sore spots in the way XGaster acted. They aren’t fond of Ink at all, really, but that doesn’t mean he deserves what’s happening to him.

Cross, meanwhile, has a lot of potential for some Realizations here, and, I think, the chance to rebuild his bond with Ink (artist buddies!). Ink has, by and large, done his best to help him, after all- Even spent lots of time with him, in his empty AU, despite his terror of blank white spaces. He didn’t leave Cross to rot, but he very much could have, and even when Cross was endangering the Multiverse, Ink still tried to have faith in him. That, combined with how much the situation probably reminds him of his own, could definitely prompt him to reach out and reconnect- And apologize, I think. Ink is probably in too much shock and emotional turmoil to respond, like you said, but it’s the thought that counts… Now that I think about it, do you think Cross would take up the mantle of “protecting” Ink (in a much healthier way) as a way to sort of atone for his part in all of this? Hell, maybe it becomes a sort of thing where he almost becomes a “co-Protector” with Ink, towards the end of all of this- He’s got a knack for codes, if I recall correctly, and Ink could do with some healthier help.

(This AU is giving a lot of potential for the Oreo Bros, I love them dearly-)

Oh, it’d definitely take more than one person to pull Ink out of the emotional spiral that’d form after all of that- Cross, Core, Error if he’s a good guy here, maybe even Fresh? And possibly a few others. Poor man’s gonna need a support system after all of this, to be honest.

Error, in my mind, is always very possessive of (A) his role as the Destroyer, and (B) his position as Ink’s rival and primary enemy. In a version where he’s at least semi-good, I definitely see that coming out in full swing- He’s Very Offended that other people managed to not only do so much damage, but that they did part of His Job. And, to make things worse, they fucked with His Rival. Glitchy has some potential here, I think.

Oooh, those two would definitely be tempted by Overwrite, if they got a hold of it- And since Ink has never exactly tried to stop the creators from being awful to him, I could easily see them rationalizing not asking for his input when using it. He doesn’t know what’s best for himself! He needs them to help him, to make sure he’s taken care of and happy and safe- He’ll thank them for this later, they’re sure… Or at least, that’s how I think they’re thoughts would go.

Oh boy, time to see how much I remember from the last time. I've been a bit busy with schoolwork and some other things, but I have a bit of time right now to get to my inbox. I'm actually taking a small break from my environmental notes to be on Tumblr.

I'm a bit guilty of making Ink lean one way or the other myself, but I swear I don't do it on purpose lol. I absolutely love reading it, though! I just can't seem to get it right myself. I think it's because I'm so sick of the blatant mischaracterization in how people make him solely malicious that I just like. Can't make him stray from good myself?? I dunno, could just be a bit of a personal bias. Maybe a bit of a niche thing. I also haven't tried to write him in more neutral scenarios very often, he's always kinda stuck with the other two Stars. Maybe I should try experimenting with that sometime. I think part of his desensitized attitude would be the fact that he... doesn't really have anyone to confide in? Like, a running thing between me and one of my friends is that Ink is in dire need of therapy but doesn't think he needs it because this whole time, he's been compartmentalizing what he's seen/experienced and has had to keep it to himself.

I once read a fanfic on AO3, forget what it's called, that used that idea! Ink being "forgotten" by Error, but Error was just pretending to see how he'd react. He didn't take it well lol. And you're right, Dream and Blue wouldn't intentionally make Ink believe that it's his fault, but it would end up just pushing him to that perspective. Another thing to consider could be Ink wondering if he ever said or did anything that made it seem like he was unhappy about being soulless. I think blaming himself would be the only way he'd be able to process it: he's not a yandere himself and he doesn't have the greatest understanding of emotions, let alone thought processes and other people's perspectives. He wouldn't be able to rationalize their thought processes and obsessions otherwise.

I thiiiiiink CORE is around 10? They're either 10 years old or younger, and that doesn't make it any better. And you know what I think? I think they've more than gone past their breaking point. I do think that the two underestimating CORE and writing them off would come back to bite them, and rightfully so. I think the fact that they're still a kid makes people instinctively underestimate them, and if Dream and Blue are especially confident in themselves for this, then they're more likely to underestimate their influence. I'm very fond of the idea that CORE is a key character in foiling their plot.

I absolutely love the idea of Cross being a healthier protector for Ink, if only for the time being. He doesn't view it in the same way Dream and Blue (probably) did, in which he HAS to protect Ink, but in a companion sort of way. I can see Cross proposing the idea of being an official co-protector, but I think it could be left ambiguous as to whether or not it actually happens. After all, Ink's co-protectors did kind of just betray him and threw the Multiverse into chaos, so he's not doing too well in the co-protector department. This man's getting screwed over left and right. Damn.

I- I'm sorry, I just- I love the image of CORE and Cross being the primary supports, while Error and Fresh are in the back. Error doesn't know how to comfort people to save his life (me too babygirl dw) and he's mostly being disturbed by Fresh, who doesn't really care about Ink... but he's still a valuable ally (or asset, if you will), so he'll do his part.

If you wanna go with an Error who is more in-line with how he acts in Underverse, then he's probably gonna throw a temper tantrum over someone else being such a thorn in Ink's side. HE'S supposed to be Ink's greatest rival! HE'S supposed to make Ink hurt! NOT! THESE! ANOMALIES! THEY'RE TAKING INK'S ATTENTION AWAY FROM HIM AND- *screaming turns into glitched screeching as the impersonation gets out of hand*

Okay, now with that being said, here's some angst fuel: hypothetically speaking, let's say Dream and Blue do use the OVERWRITE. What then? Since they're most likely using it on a whim and, despite seeing X-Gaster use it, haven't had any experience themselves... how might it go wrong?

#underverse au #dream sans #swap sans #blue sans #ink sans #platonic yandere dream sans #platonic yandere blue sans #anonymous asks

[2-lines-and-a-circle]

Link to video above: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z9Q89KB_xGs 

! Warning ! Emotional talks, mentions of bullying, dark past, slight racism

1,000 + words

I know I don’t usually post things about this or anything similar, but I really want to leave everything behind, and I thought that writing this all out would help me leave it all behind. Also, I hope that if you’re someone going through something similar you can find comfort in this story and know that you are not alone. Or not, for whatever reason you are reading this I hope you respect what I’m about to talk about.

Now you’re probably questioning why I have that amv up on this post, the reason is because I cried when I first saw this and it helped me greatly to move on in life. *spoilers coming up* The amv focuses on the anime movie A Silent Voice where the main character Shōya Ishida bullies a deaf classmate named Shōko Nishimiya. Now he doesn’t bully her all by himself, but it’s a majority of the class who either join or are bystanders to the action. However, when the situation escalades, everyone points fingers at Shōya Ishida alone and this doesn’t end well. Once Shōko Nishimiya leaves the class (due to bullying), Shōya Ishida is then isolated. This leaves a bitter taste in his mouth as he can’t help but think negatively about himself as well as his actions. He acknowledges what he did was wrong and deeply regrets what actions he committed. Yet he slowly starts to block off everyone else as well, this goes to the point where he avoids making any sort of contact. This had all happened when he had been in grade school, and it wasn’t until six years after meeting Shōko Nishimiya again that he really changed.

At first it starts off with Ishida trying to make Nishimiya happy as a way to make up for all those bad memories he gave her. From taking her out to different shops to just being beside her, Ishida does just about anything. Not to mention the fact that he even made enough money to repay his debt for breaking her old hearing aids. However, Ishida still feels regret towards his past actions. He even goes so far as to block everyone with “x” on their faces. It’s not until he learns to trust and befriend that he changes. From the moment Ishida learnt to trust, did he really change from his past self who believed that he deserved to be lonely or that he was unlovable. Of course, there is much more that follows the storyline but that was the main part I wanted to highlight.

Going back to what this has to do to myself, the reason is simple, it’s because I’ve lived a life similar to this. When I was in kindergarten and first grade, I was a bully. Though I’m not proud of this I’m not ashamed either. I had bullied the boys (not the girls, just the boys) for multiple reasons. I thought this was the proper way to play with them. I thought this was interesting. At the time I was quite rebellious and didn’t listen. I just continued thinking this way. It wasn’t until I hit the end of first grade that I had this thought where what I did was wrong. However, it was already too late for me to apologize as I was already moving to a different area. It was at that moment that I knew I had to change for the better. I promised to keep my mouth shut and never harm another boy.

So, when I started second grade at a new school, I made extra precautions to never harm another boy or person no matter the cause. I had been successful too, I never harmed anyone because I never approached anyone. I always stayed silent, until we talked about our favorite food in class. That was when I had been hit with isolation from the boys and girls in my class (not everyone, I did have friends). Maybe it’s because it was too weird for them to handle but I shared that one of the snacks I enjoyed was boiled chicken feet and chicken heart. Of course, this had grossed everyone out as they all shouted how gross it was. During that time, I was purely confused and felt sorry for them as they’ve never had it but I also didn’t fight back. I thought that I should just live with them behaving like that. Little did I know that those kids would get yelled at by their older siblings though. Anyway, fast forward to fourth grade where some boys in the back of my class made fun of me for my looks and I cried. Then in fifth grade I worked hard to study fashion, and this continued all the way to eighth grade. At the same time, I experienced some slight racism like “you eat dogs haha” yeah, I fought back at that point because I was so done. Before I even thought about fighting back, I believed that I should just take those hits because I deserved it as a way to make up for the past.

Once I was in eighth grade, I had to really love myself and understand that I shouldn’t dress for the public eye but for myself. I did learn fairly quickly. Then I entered high school where someone told me, the most shocking words in my life. The first had been “you should be more confident in yourself, you're so pretty”. This shocked me because I thought I was already confident but as I opened up to them, I realized there was still a hole in my heart. I thought I had been pretty confident already but then I opened up and realized I was still scared. I was scared I would attack someone because just like my past self. A little later after working out that problem, a close friend told me that I was so kind to approach them first in becoming friends. To me I didn’t think it was an act of kindness I just thought it was something normal that everyone did. Afterwards I opened up to this boy who I would walk around and talk with during lunch (I was finally okay with boys now). I told him everything and he told me to snap out of being so sad because I was so different from who I was in the past. This was the final blow to me noticing that I was no longer the same person anymore.

Now this post is getting really long so I just summarized what this amv has to do with me. It basically summed up the story of my life and I cried lots. At the same time, I want people to understand that not all bullies stay as bullies. So, if you’re someone who is working on their path to be a better person, it’s okay if you stumble or find it hard at first. You’re going to stumble but you’re going to make it. Just as Shōya Ishida turned his life around I believe you can too!

#anime #movie #sad #i cried #amv #a silent voice #my past #it's okay

[tealbeats]

@deadn30n | cont.

It took a lot of self induced pressure for him to admit something like this—his personal fears boiling within his core and pumping through his veins—the fear of abandonment & rejection something he struggled to over come. In situations like this, Ezreal too would keep a distance; break away before he got too close; analyze the other to see if they would stay or if he had to break it off before they could to keep the damage to himself minimal.

But Yone was different.

Everything felt so natural. Sure, Ezreal had a little bit of a hard time when it we to Yone’s consistent working—but over all, he was comfortable. He felt as though he didn’t have to walk on eggshells all the time; that Yone actually cared about him—maybe even loved him too. That was what made Ezreal take that leap; that’s what gave him the courage to admit something to the producer that he wanted to for what felt like a long time, now.

What a mistake that was.

His head tilts ever so slightly as he analyzes Yone’s expression, his own smile from his spoken revelation on how he felt now faltering as the dread started to creep up from the back of his mind, like tendrils slithering across his brain and threatening to wrap around and squeeze—whispering the words of self doubt that always plagued Ezreal in these sort of situations. Yone looked…disgusted, at Ezreal’s words; that’s what the smaller thought anyway, and he he could feel something grip at his lungs in tandem; causing the air to leave past his lips shake and tremble.

Yone can’t even look at him and the smaller can feel a weight on himself that threatens him to collapse. It’s hard to breathe—it just keeps getting more difficult. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears in a way that strikes fear through him—like something was going to kill him right then and there. A primal fear, but fear all the same.

The tone of voice that Yone uses with him is something he had never felt before. Icy; cold—has he ever talked to him this way before? Ezreal couldn’t recall. Though he was more focused on the words that were said which felt like a blade had pierced right through his heart; causing citrine gaze to widen and water. He felt as though if he had brought his hand to his chest, he could really feel blood ooze from a wound that didn’t exist.

“Is…That all I’ve been to you?” Words are murmured as his head tips forward to hang for a moment; droplets hitting the ground, though the fear and the pain that had started to consume him had ignited into a fire; which could have possibly been worse as it battled ferociously with his other emotions. “…An easy lay? That’s it?”

He’d never felt so used in his life. Sure, he didn’t know about the horrors that plagued Yone—but perhaps that was part of the problem. If he knew, he would understand,—maybe he wouldn’t feel so used—or so thrown away.

“What the hell is wrong with you, man!? You—you lead me on! Who DOES that!? I thought you were—You were better then that!” He’s yelling—not uncommon for such a loud one like him, but Ezreal wasn’t one to yell out of anger very often. It was different from his usual boisterous behaviour. His voice had cracked and wavered; his feet took him steps back; his breathing ragged in a way of panic—of fear.

Abandoned, again. It was a vicious cycle.

‘They left you because they didn’t care about you.’

‘He doesn’t care about you either.’

It’s a bitter taste in his mouth—Ezreal felt like he was going to throw up. How could Yone do this to him? Ezreal’s feelings were always so obvious, he thought, without having to say the words outright. Ezreal trusted him...

What a mistake, mistake, mistake—

“H—how could you DO this to me!?”

#deadn30n #𝐏𝐎𝐏⭑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄! — | in character. #𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑! — | v.main ( heartsteel ) #literally crying rn

[milf-murdock]

Last Kiss (Part 1)

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader 

A/N: So the first prompt won, hahaha. Simon thinks his S/O went down in a plane crash in a mission gone wrong, only to find out upon return that she made it. The relief causes Ghost to finally confront his feelings about you and how much you mean to him.  This is my first time writing for Simon, and I’ve never played Call of Duty, but damn the chokehold this man has me in. I was a little lazy with the research, so we’re gonna need to suspend some disbelief for a minute here, okay? This really got away from me, so I’m going to make a part 2 with the promised smut + feelings confessions.  Warnings: some angst, implied reader death (but she’s fine!!!), happy ending I promise :,) Some minor description of injuries (bruises, cut lip) Reader call sign is “Ace” because for her first few months in the military she was pretty much always in some kind of ace bandage for one injury or another (this may be based in my real life experience lol).

“It’s a relief mission,” you stated, clicking on the map that was projected in the briefing room. “This storm is hitting hard and fast, and if we can’t get these supplies to those people before it hits…” You let the others fill in the rest of the sentence on their own. 

“It’s too dangerous,” Price argued, his brows furrowing in concentration as he studied the report. 

“We’re the only option, Captain,” you countered, your eyes flicking to a familiar masked face at the table. Simon hadn’t said one word since you filled them in on the briefing. “There’s no other group as close as we are. If we don’t act now, those people will die. They have no supplies–no food, no clean water, no medical supplies.”

Price opened his mouth to object further, but you pushed on. “The flying conditions are suboptimal to say the least, but two small planes should be enough to bring all the necessary supplies and get us there and back in time to beat the storm. It’s a tight window, but we can make it. I know we can.” 

At this point, Simon finally looked up and met your eyes. 

“No.”

The word was solid. Decisive. Not open for discussion.

“I’m not asking for permission,” you seethed. “The mission has already been approved from higher up. I’m heading out within the hour.” 

With that, you slammed the laptop shut, considering the briefing over. You stormed out the door, eager for some fresh air and to step away from the men continuing to bicker amongst themselves. You made it all of five steps before a familiar hand found its way to your elbow, pulling you aside. 

“Listen to me,” the hoarse, gravelly voice that provided so much comfort to you most days served to just work you up even further. 

“No, you listen to me,” you snapped, taking a step closer to him. A familiar fire blazed in your eyes, and Simon hated how much he enjoyed it. “I don’t know why all of a sudden you think I can’t handle myself, but let me just remind you I’m really fucking good at what I do.” 

“This has nothing to do with whether I think you can do this,” Simon couldn’t help the frustration that edged its way into his tone. “I just want you to be safe. There is so much potential for error in these calculations. I mean, we’re talking about the fucking weather for christ sake. And this ‘window’ you guys have come up with? There is no room for error there. This plan is insane.”

“I know that, Simon.” You couldn’t help the bitterness that laced your voice. “I helped come up with the damn plan.” 

“But I also know that I am the best pilot we’ve got, and the only hope for those people. So I’m sorry that apparently you don’t think I can fucking handle it. But I’m going. And that’s final.” You turned on your heel to storm off again, and to your mild surprise, Simon didn’t stop you. 

Simon stood there and watched you walk away, trying to fight the war of emotions going on inside of him. Frustration that you wouldn’t listen. A tinge of pride at your commitment to your mission. And a sinking nervousness that had his stomach feeling like it was lined with lead.

“Damn stubborn woman,” he muttered before turning and heading back to the briefing room, half hoping he could still talk some sense into Price to stop this, while also knowing you were damn well going to do what you wanted. 

You took one more final look over the supplies before giving everything the final approval and hopping down from the cockpit. “She looks good to go,” you commented, giving the aircraft a hearty smack. Your partner, Dameron, did the same. 

“Then let’s get after it. Time’s a tickin,” Dameron threw a smile and a wink your way, which was met with your own considerable eye roll. You two were the best of the best, and as such had flown on countless missions together. He was one of your closest friends, and you knew immediately he was the right man for the job. 

Just as you turned around to climb back into the cockpit, you saw a flash of a skull mask in your periphery.

Simon was making his way to you. 

You toyed with the helmet in your hands, trying to look anywhere but at the mask and those deep brown eyes. 

“I’m glad I caught you before you left.” 

You made a noncommittal sound, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and buffing out an imaginary spot on your helmet. 

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I don’t believe in you. I’ve flown with you. Believe me, I know you’re a fucking excellent pilot. I just–” he cut off, swallowing hard and looking away. “Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath. “I just worry. That’s all.” It wasn’t easy for Simon to talk about his emotions. Especially when it comes to you. It’s all just such foreign territory, and this whole worrying about someone else thing? That was definitely uncharted waters. 

As much as you hated to admit it, hearing Simon admit to caring about you this way, and caring about your safety this much, it warmed something in you. 

You two hadn’t really put much of a label on this thing between the both of you. It was so much more than just the frequent hookups. But in this line of work, and with the background you two had, everything else just went unsaid. There didn’t seem to be much point in establishing anything else, not when you weren’t sure what the next day would bring. 

Your eyes drifted up to meet Simon’s and you immediately felt yourself getting lost in those mesmerizing brown eyes, clearly filled with worry. You tried to commit every last detail to memory. 

“I’ll be back before you know it, Ghost,” you winked, trying to force yourself to remain relaxed and confident and desperately trying to hide the fact that your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest because of that look in his eyes.

You took a step closer, one hand held on to your helmet and the other reached up to trace the outline of his tactical vest. You glanced up through your eyelashes, a devious smile on your face and you hoped it matched the confidence you were trying to project. “And when I get back…” you trailed off, sliding your hand up to toy with the hem of the balaclava at his collarbone. You inhaled a shaky breath, which immediately betrayed the calm facade you were trying to front. “Well, when I get back, I expect you to show me just how happy you are to see me.” 

It took everything in Simon not to groan at your touch. “Come back safe to me, darling, and I’ll show you exactly how much I missed you.” 

With a quick glance around to make sure the coast was clear, Simon lifted up the very edge of his balaclava, just enough to expose his strong jaw, a hint of blonde stubble catching your eyes. Simon took your jaw in his free hand, pressing a strong kiss to your lips. 

You drank in his taste. His scent. Committing it all to memory. 

With a final pat on his tactical vest, you put your signature confident smirk back on your face before taking a step back and placing your helmet on your head. 

“See you soon, Ghosty,” you teased your favorite nickname for him before turning and climbing back up into the cockpit, taking a decent amount of satisfaction in knowing how good your ass looked in your flight suit. 

“This is Ace to base, over.” Your aircraft gave another shutter beneath you and you fought for control. 

“This is base, we copy.” You could barely make out the words through the static. The storm came in so much faster than you had expected, and you were navigating through the worst of it. 

Another jolt came, this one even stronger, and suddenly your dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree. 

“This storm is hitting hard,” you gritted out into the microphone. “I’m not able to hold it.” You grunted as the plane shuttered again. You were fighting a losing battle here. 

“I think we’re going down,” you finally admitted, trying your best to maneuver the plane for any possible successful crash landing.

Simon and the rest of the 141 squad were gathered around the transmitter, eagerly awaiting updates. Johnny was going on about some story, clearly trying to provide some comedic distraction, but all Simon could focus on was the live update of the storm heading directly for you. Dread settled in his stomach. He was thankful for his mask hiding much of the worry in his face, but he couldn’t stop the anxious bouncing of his right leg. Every minute felt like an hour. 

A firm hand found its way on Simon’s shoulder. 

“Aw, It’ll be okay, Ghost,” Soap’s thick Scottish accent was surprisingly comforting to Simon, though the man routinely drove him crazy. “Ace is the best pilot we have. She’s going to be fine,” Soap continued.

Finally, your voice came through the speakers.

“Ace to Base, over.”

Simon jumped to his feet, his heart racing. The audio was spotty, your voice slightly distorted and cutting in and out, but he didn’t care. The relief that flooded through him at just hearing your voice. It was instantaneous. And then,

“Storm–hitting–hard–”

Immediately, his blood turned to ice. Something was wrong.

“–not able — hold it—”

“–going down–” 

Simon felt the blood drain from his face. 

No. No. No, this wasn’t happening. 

Simon couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t think. 

He couldn’t do anything but stare helplessly at the transmitter, replaying your last words on a loop in his mind, a dull roar filling his ears. 

A pair of strong hands grabbed his shoulders, breaking the trance and pulling him back to reality.

“Simon.” Price’s voice was authoritative, an unspoken order to keep it together. 

“Simon,” he continued, just a hair gentler. “This isn’t her first crash landing. These things happen.” 

Crash. Landing. The words were like a physical blow, and Simon felt the air empty from his lungs again. It felt like his chest was caving in on itself. You were gone. 

“Simon, you need to listen.” Another firm squeeze on his shoulder, and Simon brought his eyes up to meet Price’s. “If anyone can get through this, it’s her.” 

The captain’s words loosened Simon’s chest just enough to where he felt like he could at least get in another gulp of air. 

Simon took a seat, staring intently at the transmitter as if he could will your voice to come through the speaker. He was vaguely aware of the rest of his team gathering around him to offer him more words of encouragement, but all he could focus on was you. Your last moments together. The fight. His chest tightened at the thought that one of your last moments together was spent fighting over whether or not he supported you. 

Then he began replaying that last kiss, consciously trying to remember every last detail. The smell of your shampoo, the curve of your hips in that flight suit, the taste of your lips. The look in your eyes. It was the same look you gave him every time he took off the mask and made love to you. No Ghost, no lieutenant. Just Simon. And you. 

It took everything in him not to collapse right then and there. 

Shortly after your transmission, contact was lost with the other aircraft. It was nothing but a waiting game now. 

The hours dragged on in agonizing waves.

The sound of an approaching aircraft had everyone out of their seats and rushing out to the landing zone. Ghost followed in a daze, completely disconnected from his body. He didn’t dare hold on to hope that you were still alive, but he had to see. He had to confirm it. He stayed at the back edge of the group, ready to take off and process his grief in the privacy of his own bunk.

It was Dameron’s plane. The cockpit opened up and Simon watched as the man climbed out. 

His heart threatened to cleave in two. It was too much to take in. His world started spinning. 

“Hey, you’re all not gonna believe what I picked up on my way,” Dameron’s cheerful disposition didn’t waiver for a second. Before Simon could even process the words, he watched as you stepped out from the obscured co-pilot seat in the cockpit. 

The air emptied from Simon’s lungs. His knees felt weak. 

You climbed down, that same confident smirk still on your face as you took in a hug from Soap. 

“You guys didn’t think you’d be getting rid of me that easily, did you?” 

Your laugh is what finally snapped Simon out of it. He was instantly on the move, feet heading straight for you. You caught sight of him as he pushed his way through the crowd. He was a hard man to miss with his general size and of course the signature mask. That look in his eyes though…wild…almost feral. Your smirk was gone. 

Simon closed the gap between you in two more steps, not hesitating for a second before taking your face in his hand and flipping up the bottom edge of his balaclava. 

And then his lips were crashing into yours. Unlike the sweet, chaste farewell kiss, this kiss was dripping with need, relief, passion. And Simon didn’t get a damn who saw. 

His hands slid from your jaw to your waist and with a grunt he pulled you up into his arms, never breaking the kiss. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands cradling his face, deepening the kiss. 

In the background you could hear the whoops and cheers of the 141, along with some playful jabs of “get a room you two!” 

You pulled back from the kiss breathless, your eyes desperately searching his for some kind of understanding. 

Simon gently set you back down on your own two feet, making sure to pull the balaclava back down. 

That kiss had stolen your breath, and much to your embarrassment, you suddenly felt very unsteady on your shaking knees. Ghost’s gloved hand was quick to reach out and steady you. 

“Easy, sweet girl,” he murmured. 

The comment had your cheeks feeling flushed, although you could also probably blame that on that fucking kiss. You don’t think you’ve ever been kissed like that before in your life. 

“Fucking hell, what a kiss, Ghost,” you gasped out, just quiet enough for him to hear. 

You heard the slight rumble of a chuckle deep in his chest before his covered lips pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Masterlist ✧ Ask Box

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #task force 141 #ghost x reader

[duskholland]

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. What happened?”

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

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

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

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

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom gulps nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

Tom follows you…?

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute.

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

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

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

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

Y/N: hey x

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

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, is it a home game?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me a spin, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

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

“Dutchy?” you question.

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

You coo. “That’s cute.”

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

And Tom… Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

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

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

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

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, darling.”

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

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

“What, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What— Tom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Penalty.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

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

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

“Funnier than me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

A smile breaks out across your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Overnight?”

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

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

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

“You can open them now.”

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

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

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

#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?

[slasherhaven]

hi!!

can I request hcs about a reader who is on a trip with her s/o and her best friend, and ends up defending Thomas from a group of other travelers, and ends up probably getting like punched in the face for him.

they have car trouble, and are allowed to stay at the Hewitt household for the night, (solely because reader took a punch head on, and still continued to defend Thomas) only for reader to discover that her s/o is railing her best friend, and u know that that means— death for them, and now Thomas gets to keep reader.

Thomas Hewitt X Reader

Warnings: cheating, mentions of blood

Disruptive:

This road trip had been being planned for the last couple of months, the three of you planning on travelling the states, hitting the more rural areas and not just the main tourist destinations. It was supposed to be a an opportunity to get away from everything just for a while.

The plan was in the works for a couple of months, so how hadn't any of you thought to plan ahead if the car broke down?

Ian, your boyfriend, had his head under the hood of the car while you and Cecilia, your best friend since childhood, stood by the edge of the road. Ready to wave down a car if one drove by, but none came. You hadn't seen another car for at least two hours now. You must have hit a very isolated part of Texas.

"Well, I think a professional need to take a look at this" Ian sighed as he closed the hood. "I think there's a gas station a little further down the road, maybe they know somebody who could help" he informed you.

Not wanting to leave your car full of your belongings on the side of the road, you all grabbed your own bag and locked up the car before beginning the walk.

It wasn't a long walk, but the heat made it feel much longer, before you arrived at the gas station. It almost seemed abandoned, looking pretty run down, but their was a truck parked outside by one of the gas pumps.

You walked behind your two friends as you approached the front door, pausing when you heard somebody shouting. With a frown, you stepped back as Ian and Cecelia stepped inside the station. Neither of them noticing that you were no longer following behind.

You considered ignoring the shouting but just couldn't, glancing back at the front door before walking around the gas station. As you walked around to the back of the small building, you saw three men.

One was significantly taller and broader than the other two. It looked like he was just trying to work, hoisting up a crate with an impressive amount of ease, while the two men just berated him.

The larger man just continued to ignore them. You wondered why he didn't respond, surely he could scare them off pretty easy. Maybe he was just trying not to cause any trouble while he worked?

"Hey" you finally spoke up, making the two men look at you. The larger man glanced at you, and that was when you noticed the leather mask. It was curious but you tried not to stare. "Is there a problem?" you asked.

"No problem. Just came for gas, didn't think we'd be treated to a free freak show as well" one of the shorter men jeered.

"Sounds like he's just trying to work and you're just being jerks" you folded your arms over your chest. The larger actually seemed to be reacting to the conversation now, placing the crate down and looking over at you. "Looks like you're just bothering him" you added.

"Just get outta here, we're only messing around" one of the men rolled his eyes.

"Dumb bastard probably doesn't even understand" the other man scoffed.

"He's the dumb one? You're the ones picking on some stranger to make yourselves feel better" you huffed, walking further towards the three men before smirking slightly.

"You know, from my experience if men feel the need constantly put others down and act like the 'alpha', they're usually overcompensating for something" you knew men like this and you knew the best way to get to them was to bruise their ego.

One of the men glared at you, stepping closer, trying to intimidate you. You glanced down at his crotch with a look of disappointment and disapproval. "Looks like the math checks out" you smirked as you met his gaze again, not backing down.

"You little bitch" he growled.

Maybe you had underestimated him...you had thought they were just a couple of jerks, finding some fun in pushing a stranger around, but you had underestimated them. You never even saw it coming but the bastard had punched you. You hadn't expected him to actually violently act out like that. You thought you would bother them enough for them to just storm off, you had been very wrong.

The shout that left you was out of your control, hands coming up to clutch your face after the impact.

You stumbled backwards, knowing you had to get away from these men, but there was suddenly something in front of you. The large man with the mask had moved between you and the two men as soon as they lashed out, squaring his stance and glaring them down, fists clenching at his sides.

Thankfully, the two men came to their senses and realised that they couldn't take the larger man even if there was two of them. They tried not to show fear on their faces but failed as they muttered to themselves, hurrying back round to the front of the gas station.

"Ah shit" you cursed, clutching your bleeding nose.

The large man turned to you with wide eyes. What was he meant to do?

You pinched the soft part of your nose and tilted your head back like you heard you were supposed to do. The man quickly shook his head, stepping closer and cautiously touching your head, making you look down instead.

"Thank you" you thanked him for correcting you. "I've never been punched before" you confessed with a slightly bitter laugh. He didn't know what to do, so he just stood there, his feet shifting slightly in the dirt.

Once you had managed to dry your eyes that had started to water, you lifted your head slightly too look at the man. "Are you alright?" you asked, glancing down at your bloody hands once you stopped holding your nose.

The man just nodded, digging around in his pocket before pulling out some clean cloth, holding it out you.

You thanked him again as you accepted it, brining it up to your nose to soak up the blood.

"Is it broken?" you asked. Surely, you would know if it was broken? But he seemed more knowledgeable about this sort of thing that you were, you didn't even know that you shouldn't tilt your head back when your nose was bleeding.

The man hesitated before carefully lowering your hand, letting him examine your nose. Thankfully, he shook his head and you let out a sigh of relief.

You were about to ask his name but got interrupted by a call of your name. You recognised the voice, it was Ian.

"Back here!" you called back to them.

Ian and Cecilia came running around the corner, looking between you and the masked man, their eyes widening them they noticed the blood on your face and the cloth.

"What the hell did you do?" Cecilia snapped at the large man standing beside you, looking like she was ready to set Ian on him, not like he stood a chance if she did.

"Hey, leave him alone, he didn't do anything" you were quick to defend the man again. "Just some assholes" you told them.

"Christ, why are you always doing this sort of shit?" Ian rolled his eyes, seeming more irritated than concerned.

"I didn't know he was going to punch me. I was just trying to help" you muttered, feeling like you were being told off for doing something wrong when you just wanted to help.

"Well, the car is pretty much fucked and-" Ian began to change the subject, giving you an update on the car but he was interrupted by the back door of the gas station swinging open.

"Thomas, what is all this noise?" a older woman asked as she stepped outside. "What happened?" she asked, looking between the two of you, glancing over at your friends.

The man, Thomas as she called him, didn't answer, so you spoke up. "I'm really sorry, ma'am. There were some men causing trouble, I was trying to help but...guess I made things worse" you explained, pulling the cloth away from your nose, noting that the bleeding had slowed.

The woman looked between you and Thomas again, seeming to add things up in her mind. "You took a punch for my boy?" she asked, her expression softening slightly.

"Uh...I guess, just asked them to leave him alone. Guess I pushed it too far" you nodded.

"You with those two?" she asked, gesturing towards your friends, "with the busted car?"

You just nodded and she hummed to herself. Feeling a little uncomfortable, Ian and Cecilia moved closer, coming to stand just behind you.

"Alright well...for your trouble, how about you come stay at the house for the night, we can get someone to look at your car tomorrow morning" the woman offered, surprising you.

"Oh we couldn't intrude" you shook your head, hating to be a burden.

"I insist. It's the least we can do" she didn't look like she would take no for an answer.

"Only if you're certain" you looked back at your friends, who just shrugged, alright with the arrangement. "Thank you, this is very kind" you look back at her with a smile.

"I'm Luda May, this is my son Tommy" she introduced herself and the man that was awkwardly standing to the side now.

"I'm Y/n. This is my boyfriend, Ian, and my friend, Cecilia" you introduced your small group.

Tommy frowned under his mask. Boyfriend. Of course. It's not like he even dreamed of getting his hopes up, thinking your kindness was anything more than pity. Still, for some reason, it stung a little. He just couldn't explain why.

"Come on, dear, let me lock up and get you back to the house, get you cleaned up" Luda May offered, placing a hand on your arm comfortingly.

After Luda May locked up the gas station, you all walked back to their home. It was a large but somewhat run down house. Luda May guided you all inside and introduced you to Hoyt and Monty, two rather rude older men, but she had told you not to pay them any mind.

"Thomas, will you help Y/n clean up while I show them to their room?" Luda May asked as you all stepped out of the living room, leaving the two older men behind. Thomas seemed surprised by her request but nodded.

Ian and Cecilia were ushered up the stairs, taking your bag with them as well as their own, while you followed Thomas into the kitchen.

Thomas gestured for you to sit down on a chair and you did, while he grabbed a bowl of water and a clean cloth. He seemed nervous but determined to help, cautiously taking your hands in his to clean them.

You watched your hands, almost in amazement. They looked so small in his hands, he must have been able to break your arm just by holding on too hard.

"Can I call you Tommy?" you asked, breaking the silence. He paused for a moment, looking up from your hands to meet your gaze. He had nice eyes. He nodded. "Well, thank you, Tommy. I'm sorry about those men, I hate people like that. You'd think they'd grow out of it when they left school, but they don't" you sighed.

Thomas only nodded again, obviously not a talker but you didn't mind. He still seemed nice enough.

Once your hands were clean, Thomas moved to clean the blood from your face but you noticed how he paused, seeming nervous again. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable and you thought that was sweet. "It's alright" you assured him.

Gently placing his hand under your chin, Thomas angled your head up slightly, holding it in place as he wiped away the drying blood from your face. Making sure to be extra careful around your nose.

You stayed still, letting him work. He was a large man with strong arms and large hands, and yet he was being so gentle. Like he was afraid of hurting you. It made you smile a little.

Just as he finished cleaning you up, pulling his hands away from your face, Ian walked into the kitchen. "How's your nose?" he asked, walking over to you, glancing at Thomas suspiciously.

"Good, it's stopped bleeding" you told him with a smile. "Thomas said it's not broken, but it still hurts" you chuckled. It was sore but there was no real harm done.

"Just don't get what you were thinking" Ian huffed, shaking his head.

"Was just trying to help" you rolled your eyes, not in the mood for an argument.

"C'mon, he's like twice my size, I don't think he needs you defending him. I'm sure he could've took a couple of men" Ian scoffed, making Thomas tense again. He had been so relaxed around you, now he wanted to leave the room, feeling like he had done something wrong.

"Ian, stop being rude, you're being an ass" you told him, sounding tired.

"Fucking freak" he muttered under his breath, glancing at Thomas.

"Ian!" you snapped, eyes wide in shock and disgust. "What is wrong with you? Just get outta here" you stood, pointing towards the door. You didn't even want to look at him right now.

Ian just rolled his eyes before leaving the room, not seemed to care about your anger towards him.

"God, Thomas, I'm so sorry" you turned towards the masked man, looking genuinely apologetic and horrified by your boyfriend's behaviour. "I don't know what's been wrong with him lately...never used to be like this" you made a weak attempt at an explanation, sighing as you returned to your seat.

Thomas just shook his head, telling you not to worry about it, but you knew it had bothered him.

"Hey, I'll kick his ass for you as well, if you want" you offered with a playful smile, hoping to lighten the mood a little.

It worked, at least a little. Thomas smiled a little under his mask, you were cute and kind. He liked you and, if he didn't know any better, he would think that you liked him.

Luda May had provided the three of you with one room, the only spare room they had, but that was kind enough in your eyes. She had even invited you for supper with the family. All of you sitting around the table, you sitting between Thomas and Ian, as Luda May dished out the food.

It was a little awkward, eating with complete strangers, so you all mostly ate in silence. "So, where are you lot heading?" Luda May finally asked, breaking the silence and trying to start a pleasant conversation.

"Nowhere in particular" Cecilia shrugged, still being polite.

"Just taking a little road trip. Get away from things for a while, you know?" you added.

Ian and Cecilia had been glancing at Thomas whenever they were in the same room. From behind the gas station to right now at the dining table. You thought it was rude but as long as they didn't say anything stupid, you wouldn't comment on it.

Unfortunately, there was a lull in conversation and Ian thought he would speak up. "Alright. What's with the mask, anyway?" he asked, looking past you to Thomas.

"Ian" you warned through gritted teeth, in complete disbelief with him and frowning at Cecilia when she giggled to herself.

The Hewitt family was looking at Ian, glaring. Thomas had tensed beside you. Shit, how do you save this one?

"Did you make it yourself?" you asked, turning your full attention to Thomas. He just nodded, staring down at his plate, assuming you were going to beginning mocking him. "That's pretty impressive, it looks good. You must be pretty handy" you complimented with a smile. Thomas looked at you with surprise in his eyes but smiled, as did Luda May.

Ian muttered something under his breath that you couldn't understand. You just ignored him, not wanting to risk him causing more trouble.

The rest of the supper was uneventful and you had thanked the family once again before everyone started to turn in for the night.

You had taken a shower before bed. When you returned to the bedroom, you frowned when you saw that both Ian and Cecilia were gone. With a sigh, you left the room and began to search for them.

You couldn't find them anywhere in the house so you stepped outside, onto the front porch. Once you were outside, you heard movement and followed it. Hopping down the steps of the porch and wandering around the side of the house. Maybe they had stepped out for a smoke? You thought Ian had quit, maybe he hadn't...

You followed noise until you heard what sounded like a moan. You frowned and turned the corner, freezing at the sight that greeted you.

Ian was pinning Cecilia up against the side of the house, her bare leg hooked over his hip, his pants bunched down under his ass. They clearly hadn't noticed you.

"What the hell!" you shouted, getting their attention.

They both jumped apart, Ian pulling up his pants and Cecilia fixing her skirt, looking horrified. "Shit" Ian cursed.

"Yeah. Shit" you scoffed. "Are you seriously fucking my best friend?" you asked rhetorically, wondering how he was going to try to talk his way out of this one. He didn't speak. "And you're fucking my boyfriend?" you looked to Cecilia, who looked down at her feet. "Will somebody answer me!" you were tired of being ignored.

"Yes!" Ian snapped, making you flinch. "Obviously that's what we were doing" he rolled his eyes, knowing he couldn't lie his way out of this one.

"...how long as this been going on?" you asked.

"About a month" Ian shrugged.

"I can't believe you!" you shouted at him, tears stinging your eyes. You were furious, more from the betrayal than anything. Ian had become a jerk over the last few months but now you were losing your boyfriend and your best friend.

"Look, we can talk this out, alright?" Ian approached you, going to place his hand on your shoulder.

"Don't touch me" you snarled, stepping back. How could he even think that you would be willing to 'talk this out'.

"What the fuck is all the shouting?" Hoyt's angry voice boomed as he rounded the corner.

"God, you are a fucking asshole" you ignored Hoyt, glaring at Ian. "I hope you're real happy together, you deserve each other" you spat before turning around, walking past Hoyt, who watched you leave with an irritated expression.

By the time you had made it back inside the house, tears were rolling down your cheeks. Thomas had been coming to find the cause of all the shouting, nearly running straight into you.

"Oh, uh, sorry Thomas" you apologised as you nearly collided with his chest. You kept your head down, hoping he hadn't seen the tears. But he did, and he worried that you had been hurt, had Hoyt hurt you? He swore he heard Hoyt shouting.

Without thinking, Thomas gently took hold of your shoulders and examined you. You were confused by his actions at first but when you realised what he was doing, you smiled a little.

"I'm not hurt, Tommy" you chuckled, sniffing slightly. He looked so concerned for you, it was sweet. You couldn't remember the last time Ian had looked at you like that when you cried. "So, uh...Ian really is an ass" you laughed bitterly, wiping away some tears. "...he's been cheating on me with Cecilia" you told him, explaining the cause of your tears.

Thomas could kill him. You were so kind and sweet, putting yourself in harms way for a complete stranger. How could he do something like this to you? How could he or your friend betray you like that.

Both of you could hear shouting coming from outside again, it sounded like Hoyt and Ian were arguing.

"Oh god" you groaned, embarrassed by everything that had happened. "I'm so sorry, we shouldn't be bothering you all with this" you were crying again, and getting frustrated with yourself.

Thomas wasn't sure what to do, people didn't normally like being around him but you didn't seem to mind, so maybe you wouldn't mind him comforting you as well. His movements were slow and careful, guiding you closer to him and wrapping his arms around you.

As soon as you realised he was offering you a comforting hug, you accepted it. You wrapped your arms around his waist, just needing somebody to hold you, as you cried into his chest. Feeling more confident, Thomas wrapped his arms around you more securely. His arms were large and strong, making you feel safe. His body practically engulfed yours, making you fell like the world couldn't touch you. It was a nice feeling.

"Thomas?" Luda May asked, also coming to investigate the commotion. "What is all that shouting about...are you alright, dear?" her attention turned to you when she saw that you were crying.

"I, uh..." you sniffled as you pulled away from Thomas, wiping your wet cheeks. You looked up at him and he nodded, reassuring you that you weren't being a burden. "I think Hoyt and Ian are arguing about something outside" you told her.

"Is that why you're crying?" she frowned. Has Hoyt decided to pick a fight even when she had warned him not too?

You shook your head. "...I caught Ian cheating on me with Cecilia" you sniffled again.

"Oh...I'm so sorry" Luda May's expression softened once again. Something flashed behind her yes but it was too quick to name.

"Thomas, will you go and help Hoyt?" Luda May asked calmly, looking up at her son. Thomas squinted at her and she nodded.

Thomas gave you a soft look before leaving through the front door. You didn't like the idea of other people dealing with your problems, but you couldn't argue because Luda May already had your attention again.

"Come on, dear" she took your hand, leading you to the living room and sitting down with you on the couch.

"I'm so, so sorry. You've all been so generous and my friends have been rude and now we're being so disruptive. I'm so sorry" you apologised. This family had tried to be so kind to you all and now you were being completely disrespectful.

"Hush now, it's not your fault" Luda May cooed, gently guiding your head to lay against her shoulder, beginning to stroke your hair. "Tommy and Hoyt will take care of them" she promised.

You just nodded, trying to stop the tears. You were too worked up to dwell on what Luda May meant exactly, just letting her hum and soothe you.

Luda May smiled as she stroked your hair, humming the same tune she would hum to shush Thomas when he was a child. You seemed pleasant, polite and kind. You would make a good addition to the family and you were so good to Tommy. Of course, she had seen how her son looked at you, amazed by your sincere kindness, already falling for you, the poor boy. Your so called friends did not deserve any kindness, but you deserved mercy.

Oh, she hoped you could forgive Tommy, she hoped you would continue to see him as the sweet boy he is.

#thomas hewitt x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #slasher #slashers #my writing

[v-hope]

omg so maybe the way y/n would react when someone else flirts with jk and how he’d handle the situation? 🌺

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, slice of life, established relationship, college au

word count: 1.9k

a/n: i don’t think i had ever written y/n being jealous before, it was always the boys somehow so this was fun! thank you so much for requesting! btw, this takes place on their last year of college.

Jeongguk had eyes for you only.

That was no surprise. You knew that. His friends knew that. Your friends new that. And pretty much everyone with eyes could see that was the case in a heartbeat. It had been that way ever since high school, and now that you had been together for a year and he had you all to himself, it was far from ever changing.

There were certain people, however, who did not know that was the case — strangers mostly, or classmates of his who did just not give a fuck about him having a girlfriend he was madly in love with.

The latter being the case that day.

The two of you had agreed on meeting at the library to get started on a project you had signed up as partners for, as it was pretty much a given by now. And although the library was not your favourite place to go to when it came to get done with college stuff, it was the only place the two of you would truly focus in, which would be much needed this time since you had to turn it in later the next day, yet were just now getting started on, as you had both been too busy with other exams and assignments to even think about this one.

So, he had headed over there as soon as his last class ended, going up to an empty table and taking a seat, wasting no time on leaving his backpack on the chair next to his for no one else to take it as he waited for you. Not like said act of his had been of any help, though, for a girl he recognized from one of his classes —one of the few you were not in with him— had reached his side in a matter of seconds, asking if he could help her out with something from that day’s lecture she had not quite understood, and removing his backpack from the seat he was saving for you; hanging it on the back of the chair as she took a seat next to him before he could even protest.

Biting his tongue as he did not want to sound rude, he decided to just help her out in the meantime you got there. It wouldn’t take that long anyway, would it?

Only it did, for you were taking longer than you should have, and she showed no signs of planning on leaving anytime soon as she didn’t even try to hide her ulterior motives with him — from time to time trying to turn the conversation into a non-academic one, yet having to stick to it as Jeongguk made it clear he was only carrying on with the conversation as long as it was about the class.

“You’re really good at explaining” she smiled brightly, looking up from her textbook and moving her seat closer to him, which only caused him to move his slightly back as he nodded — his awkwardness making an appearance as he did not know what to answer to that. “You think maybe we could go grab some coffee later so we can talk some more about the class?”

“I have a girlfriend” he was quick to go straight to the point, informing her what he knew for a fact she was well aware of, for it was not unusual for you to go wait outside that particular class for him to come out of, since it was right next to yours and you always seemed to be done before him — meeting him with a sweet peck on the lips every single time as everyone else came out of the classroom, her included. “And she’ll be here anytime now, so…”

His classmate had seemed to take a hint as he eyed the chair she was sitting down on, silently asking her to leave. Nevertheless, she did not stand up. “I could really use the help in this class, though…” she pushed it. “Maybe you could give me your number then?”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t be needing my boyfriend’s number” your voice had both of their heads snapping up in your direction, right as you set two coffee cups on the other side of the table and eyed both the girl next to him and the taken seat you knew was supposed to be yours. “Especially when it comes to something you can so easily ask your teacher about”.

Your cynical smile as you said those words and sat down in front of them, was all it took for the girl to send a glare your way before standing up, sweetly saying goodbye to a quite stunned Jeongguk and then taking off without even looking your way again.

Scoffing at her audacity, you shook your head, not even bothering to look at your boyfriend before you started taking your laptop out of your bag and placed it on the table.

“What took you so long?” he quietly wondered, feeling like he was tiptoeing when it came to finding the right words to say, given your displeased expression.

“Coffee run” you replied simply, staring at your laptop’s screen like your life depended on it as you turned it on.

He bit down on his bottom lip, not being able to ignore the tension in the air, yet having no idea what to do about it either.

It was funny, how before dating you he never had other people approaching him like this, yet now that he was in an established relationship, girls had apparently started to notice him out of a sudden. He was not used to it. He was not used to you being jealous. And although he knew it was not entirely his fault —since he had kept his distance from said girl— and a part of him couldn’t help but feel good about the fact that you were being jealous over him, another part of him did not feel quite as good, for he knew what you were feeling. He had been in your place multiple times when other guys flirted with you, after all, and although you turned down every single one of them, it was still upsetting all the same.

So, not knowing whether he should bring the topic up or not, he had his eyes going to the cups from your go-to coffee shop placed by your side. It was your guys’ usual, he could tell — an iced americano for you and hot chocolate for him.

“Is that one for me?” he pointed at the carton cup that was used for hot beverages.

That had seemed to catch your attention, eyes fixing on the cup he was pointing at and staring at it as you thought about it for a second. And although both of you knew the answer was positive, you shook your head no.

“Couldn’t decide, so I got both for me”.

Jeongguk couldn’t help but let an amused smile curve up the corners of his lips, knowing well enough that was your way of punishing him for letting another girl hit on him. “Oh, so you simultaneously went for a hot and an ice cold drink?”

“Mhm…” you nodded.

“Yah,” he called you out when you still wouldn’t look at him, reaching for your hands and holding them over the table. “Come sit next to me”.

“I’m good”.

“Come onnnn,” he whined with a small pout, pulling on your hands and leaving you no choice but to stand up and go over to him. “I was saving this seat for my favourite girl”.

You couldn’t help but smile at the way he had cooed those words as you sat down next to him, biting on your bottom lip not to let him see, yet being too late as a smile of his own was already taking over his mouth at the sight of yours. Loosely wrapping one of his arms over your shoulders, he pulled you closer to him, laughing under his breath when you could no longer hide your smile after his lips had pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“I thought I was your only girl” you pushed it nevertheless, earning another chuckle from him.

“You are my only girl” he said the obvious. “Plus, my favourite person in the world. There’s nothing to be jealous about”.

You rolled your eyes, focusing them somewhere else as you snorted. “Wasn’t jealous” your bitter words told him otherwise. “She’s pretty, though…”

Jeongguk sighed, cupping your face in his hands and resting his forehead on yours. “I’ve had eyes for no one else but you ever since I first saw you in high school, petal. You know that” his thumbs drew tender circles on your cheeks. “I didn’t even look at her”.

“You didn’t turn her down when she asked for your number, though”.

“Did I even get the chance to?” he pointed out softly with a breathy laugh, bringing heat to your face as you were reminded of the fact you had answered for him the second the question had left that girl’s mouth. “I told her I got a girlfriend before you arrived, okay?” his mouth pressed a brief kiss to your nose. “Don’t be silly now, you know I love you”.

You smiled softly, nodding your head to let him know it was alright, and then giggling when the loving peck he had just pressed to your mouth was followed by another kiss — a much longer, slower one, as he tilted your head slightly back and sucked on your bottom lip.

“We’re in the library” you reminded him in a whisper, voice coming out muffled as you spoke against his lips.

“And you’re the only one I want” he cheesily answered, smiling at your amused reaction and pressing another kiss to your mouth before pulling away. “Now that we’ve established the facts, shall we get started on the project?”

Shaking your head in amusement, you reached for your laptop on the other side of the table and brought it up to you — then reaching for the carton cup as well and sliding it in front of him. “You’ve earned your lame hot chocolate, you sweet bastard”.

A light laugh escaped his mouth at what you had just called him, leaning in closer to you once again. “And a little smooch?” he puckered up his lips.

Getting a laugh out of you at the way he was picking up on the things you usually said, you couldn’t deny him of his petition, placing your hand behind his neck and pulling him towards you so you could press two chaste kisses to his smiling mouth.

“And an ‘I love you, bun’?” he pushed it.

“Yah,” you were the one to call him out this time with a small laugh. “All the attention has really boosted your confidence, hasn’t it?”

He giggled, saying nothing as he instead grabbed his cup and took a sip of the drink you had gotten him. You were right though, for the attention, love and praise you had given him for the past year had indeed helped one hell of a lot when it came to boosting his previous nonexistent confidence.

“Will you say it, though?”

Shaking your head no, you laughed under your breath and leaned closer to the table as you started typing down on your laptop instead. “I love you, bun”.

Although you had not even looked at him as you gave in —embarrasingly fast— and mumbled the words he had been waiting for, he smiled the brightest, knowing he had managed to lift your mood and gotten some love from you altogether.

Funny how you had came to the library so you could focus on the project, yet all he wanted and could think about right then was kissing you over and over — until the last bit of jealousy you had felt that day abandoned your body.

#bts #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #kpop #kpop fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts reactions #jungkook reactions #bts x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook #bts imagine #jungkook imagine

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 24 - Post Break Up [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Break ups are never easy.

Series Masterlist

A real spy, a good spy didn’t get scared.

That was one of the most important things they had taught you back at the academy. Being scared got you killed, so you always had to look for weapons or something you could use to save yourself.

Save yourself, take the target down if you can, and if you can’t; get out of there as soon as possible.

For some reason, none of those options felt like they would work against the most feared assassin in the world. Bucky tilted his head, his gaze bored into yours and you stole a look at the counter from the corner of your eye to see what you could use against him.

“Oh come on, do we really have to do that?”

You grabbed the knife on the counter, flipping it in your hand.

“What kind of an assassin would I be if I didn’t fight back?”

He pulled his brows together.

“Fight back?” he asked but before he could say anything else, you had already lunged at him. He dodged the knife way too easily and grabbed to twist your arm, but you went under his arm and jumped to wrap your legs around his neck, using the momentum to make him lose his balance before you both fell to the ground.

“Brings back the memories,” you grunted and he got out of your tight grip quite easily to grab at you, but you had already jumped on your feet. You darted at him and he sent you back, your back hitting the wall hard. You fell on your knees and snatched the knife off the floor but as soon as you got on your feet again, he let out a breath.

“I’m not going to hurt you, okay?”

A hysterical laughter escaped from your lips, “You do realize that it’s not my first day, right?”

“Do you seriously think I’d hurt you?”

“I think if somebody crossed me the way I crossed you, I wouldn’t let them live.”

“Yeah well, good thing I’m not you.”

You frowned slightly, trying to catch your breath as you held the knife tighter.

“Then what the fuck is this?” you asked, “Closure?”

“Oh no I think we’ve had closure,” he said, anger dripping off his voice, “This is a transaction.”

You stared at him and he reached into his pocket to pull out a thumb drive.

Well.

Okay. It was clear that you had misread this situation.

You put the knife on the table and crossed your arms, leaning back, “What is that?”

“This is the information of everyone I hurt on my Winter Soldier days,” he said, “Dates, names, occupations…. Your father’s name isn’t on it.”

Your stomach did a painful flip, “I know,” you rasped out, “I… um- I found out after I left that night.”

“HYDRA doesn’t have anything on your father, as far as I’ve seen.”

You nodded slowly, “And you’re helping me why?”

“I’m not helping you,” he stated, “I just know how it feels to be manipulated into doing something. Everyone deserves answers, no matter how terrible people they are.”

Well, you deserved that and much more.

“I see,” you said, “Well, for what it’s worth, thank you.”

He eyed you up and down silently.

“Why did you try to get me out of the country?” he asked after a beat, “That night? Why did you try to help?”

You bit inside your cheek, commanding yourself to stay strong.

“Does it matter after this point?” you asked back and he let out a breath, shaking his head.

“I guess not,” he mumbled and walked to the window, making you take a step towards him.

“Can I—“ you spoke before he could jump out, making him turn around to look at you, “Can I ask you something?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Why would you not want revenge?” you asked, “It’s assassin 101. Why not come after me for all these months?”

Why didn’t you try to find me?

That was what you wanted to ask. As twisted as it was, you would’ve taken him coming after you over him forgetting about you.

Well, as it turned out, no one could say assassins were reasonable people when it came to romance.

“I’m not that person anymore,” he said, “And honestly? You’re not worth it.”

Ah. That.

You could swear your heart was cracking but you pursed your lips together, forcing yourself to look unaffected.

“Fair enough,” you rasped out and took a deep breath. “Goodbye Bucky.”

He swallowed thickly, his gaze fixed on you.

“Goodbye Shrike,” he murmured and jumped out of the window, leaving you all alone, standing there in the middle of your apartment. You blinked back the tears, then ran a hand over your face.

“Get your shit together,” you murmured to yourself, then grabbed the wine glass to down it.

                                             *

The next day you were so busy with the HYDRA files Bucky had given you that you barely noticed Keith pulling a seat to plop down beside you.

“Hi there.”

“Hey,” you said without pulling your gaze off the screen as Keith put a cup of coffee on the table. “Thanks man.”

“No problem. What’re you working on?”

“Oh just some old files.”

“Old files? Where did you get them?”

“Bucky gave them to me last night.”

Keith sputtered out his coffee, causing you to make a face and grab the napkins to wipe the screen.

“Is this your first time they let you out into the real world or something?” you asked him, “Like, what is this? Were you raised in a barn? I don’t want your fucking germs—“

“Screw you. You met Barnes last night?” he lowered his voice, looking around and you shrugged.

“Met is the wrong word.”

“Y/N, what the fuck?”

“It’s not like I texted him to meet!” you whispered, “He just showed up!”

“Okay, we need to give you some protection—“

“No, and you’re not telling anyone.”

“You’re not safe!” he whispered and you shook her head.

“He’s not gonna hurt me.”

“Y/N-“

“He’s not,” you cut him off, “If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead. I talk big talk, but trust me if he came after me, I wouldn’t stand a chance. I actually saw that last night.”

“Why was he there?”

“To give me this thumb drive,” you said, “I’m just going through this HYDRA stuff to see whether they had something on my father, whether— I don’t know, whether I missed something on our files.”

“We checked everything we had on HYDRA.”

“I’m just making sure.”

“What did he say?”

“Hm?”

“What did you talk about last night, when he showed up?”

“You know, typical break up stuff,” you murmured before peeling your eyes off the screen. “He broke into my apartment, gave me a thumb drive with top secret information and oh—before I forget, he said I wasn’t worth going after.”

He blinked a couple of times, staring at you.

“I’m sorry?”

“So much for civil exes huh?”

“More like evil exes,” he commented, “You know he’s being a jerk to you because you tore his heart out, right?”

“I can’t really blame him,” you muttered, “He’s right to be upset.”

“But are you okay?”

You scoffed a laugh, “I betrayed the one person who I could see a future with,” you admitted, “And six months apparently wasn’t enough to get over him. So no, Keith, I’m really not okay.”

He pressed his lips together.

“What if we got you out there? You know, maybe you can’t get over someone without getting under someone.”

“I’ve had sex in the last six months, that’s not working.”

“Barnes hasn’t.”

That was enough to make you turn your head, your whole attention on him.

“What?”

“We’ve um… we’ve kept an eye on Barnes and Wilson, you know, what they have been doing. Barnes isn’t even meeting people.”

“Maybe he is and you don’t know.”

“Nope,” he said, “He and Captain America have been going on their own missions, but since Accords 2.0 didn’t pass, we can’t touch them.”

You tilted your head, “Hold on, what missions?”

A big grin pulled at Keith’s lips.

“Y/N, are you asking me to share classified information with you?”

You arched a brow and eyed you up and down, then steered your office chair a little to the left.

“I’m glad you came back,” he said, dragging his fingers on the touchpad to find the files, “Things were getting a little boring here.”

                                                    *

As a spy, finding targets wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with. In fact, since coming back here you were beginning to feel less like a professional spy and more like a rookie in training. You were growing restless every minute you weren’t working, and maybe that was why you were dying to keep yourself busy with something.

Even if that something was completely forbidden by your agency and you would probably be sent to another country again if they ever found that out.

So searching for where Bucky and Sam were using the agency’s resources was probably a bad idea, yet there you were.

You took a deep breath, then approached their table and plopped down to the seat next to Bucky’s.

“You’re going after HYDRA’s leader?”

Bucky’s head whipped up and Sam gawked at you for a second before pulling his brows together.

“What the…”

“Who’s your source?”

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked through his teeth and you crossed your arms.

“Paying back the favor.”

“Well don’t. I don’t want you here.”

“How did you even know-“

“I’m a spy, Sam,” you stated, “And the agency has been watching you, do you guys seriously think we've left you alone?”

“I was actually hoping you’d leave me alone, yeah.” Bucky growled through his teeth and your heart dropped to your stomach, but you managed to shake your head.

“I don’t—“

“Your agency has been keeping tracks on us?”

You nibbled on your lip, “Just because Accords 2.0 was a failure…” you trailed off and Bucky scoffed, drumming his metal fingers on the table.

“Why are you here?”

“Listen I get it, you hate me,” you said, “Fine. Not a big deal, I can live with that. But I just- I can help.”

Bucky stared at you as if he was waiting for you to say you were joking, but when you didn’t, he let out a bitter laugh.

“You’re not serious, right?”

“Bucky,” Sam said warningly and he threw his hands up.

“You can’t possibly be entertaining this.”

“I’m just asking what the agency knows, that’s all.”

You heaved a deep sigh, trying your hardest not to show your disappointment on your face. It wasn’t like you expected Bucky to welcome you, but you were at least hoping—

Well.

It didn’t matter what you were hoping, it was very obvious that Bucky would never forgive you.

“They’ve just been keeping tracks on you,” you said, “I don’t think any of them put the clues together, and they can’t touch you even if they did, you’d have to do something first. Especially after the last fail—“

“Oh you mean when they took me in after you lied to me about everything and leashed them on me?” Bucky asked you, “That fail?”

You clicked your tongue, “Yeah. That one.”

“Un-fucking-believable.”

“Bucky.”

“But I’ve been going after different HYDRA officials for the last couple of years, and I’ve spent the last 6 months going over everything we had on them, I know some of their locations. So going after HYDRA leader then? Or his super secret location? Why?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, “Forgive me if I’m not in a sharing mood after learning about what a liar you are. As far as you’re concerned, we’re not doing anything.”

“But I’m trying to make amends—“

“Not interested.” Bucky cut you off and you swallowed thickly.

“You’ve seen me fight,” you insisted, “You’ve— you’ve seen how good I am at my job, okay? I just— I swear I won’t say anything to the agency, just let me help.”

Sam looked between you two and turned to Bucky.

“That’s not such a—“

“Don’t say it.”

“Even you have to admit, that’s not a terrible idea.”

“You’d have to be crazy to think you can trust her,” Bucky argued back, “I get that you always want to see the best in people, but you can’t, not with her.”

“I’m sitting right here,” you reminded him and Bucky shrugged his shoulders.

���I know, feel free to leave.”

“Don’t,” Sam told you and Bucky frowned.

“You’re joking.”

“Bucky, she could help.”

“And then turn us in.”

“The agency lied to me about my father, I’m not going to turn you in or do anything to have me manipulated by them again. Whatever the mission is, they won’t know about it, you have my word.”

“Because your word holds any value for me?” Bucky asked you, his voice way too calm and you clenched your jaw.

“The mission doesn’t require a honey trap,” he said when you didn’t answer his rhetorical question, “Thanks for the offer though, Y/N. Go to hell.”

With that, he walked out of the café and you just sat there completely frozen. You could swear your heart weighed a ton in your chest, and your eyes were burning but you quickly blinked the tears back, then shrugged your shoulders.

“That went well.”

“Do you really want to help?” Sam asked after a couple of seconds of silence and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

You scoffed a bitter laugh, “Other than apparently signing my own death warrant?” you asked, “I owe him. He doesn’t want to go after me for using him, fine. He still deserves justice. HYDRA destroyed his life, the least I can do is help him get back at them, make them pay.”

Sam raised his brows, “You feel that guilty huh?”

You didn’t have any answer to that, and he took a deep breath.

“Can I trust you?”

“You can,” you murmured, “I want you to, but… I wouldn’t.”

“Okay. Let me rephrase the question, will you betray his trust again?”

There was no hesitation in your voice when you spoke, “I’d rather die.”

Sam held your gaze as if trying to see whether you were sincere or not, then cleared his throat.

“Let me think about it,” he said, “I’m not saying no, okay? Let me think about it and talk with him.”

You nodded slowly, “Thank you.”

He shot you a small smile, then walked out of the café, leaving you alone there. You shut your eyes, leaning your head back and letting out a breath.

“Great,” you muttered, “This should be fun.”

Chapter 25

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines

[spencersawkward]

omg I’m so excited you’re on here and taking requests!! do you think you could do something like baby Spence losing his virginity to a close friend & it’s like adorable, goofy, fluffy smut bc he cannot get over the fact that he’s actually having sex with someone

I’VE BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE-- TURN IT UP!!!

on a serious note, i'm so glad you asked for this one bc i really wanna add a scene like this in the fic i'm working on rn. i'm v excited.

summary: when the secret of Spencer's virginity gets accidentally spilled in front of the whole team, reader goes to check on him.

word count: 5.6k

relationship: Fem!Reader/Spencer Reid

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, fluff.

masterlist

hanging out with the team is easily the best part of the week. after spending days in Arizona with our focus entirely on the most recent case, my mind is practically ready to snap. I feel like I've been running on fumes, and when Penelope suggested we take the evening to hit our favorite bar, I was practically already out the door.

so now I'm sandwiched between JJ and Emily as we throw back our first shots of the night. my skin is already flushed with the elation of laughter, the pleasant thrum of conversation that surrounds us.

"that's bitter." JJ makes a face when she slams the empty glass on the table. I screw up my nose.

"why did we pick vodka?" I hate vodka.

"it gets the job done." Emily laughs. I shudder at the aftertaste that sits on my tongue.

Morgan wanders over, Pen on his arm while she totes a brightly colored pink alcohol. they're flirting as usual, but she pauses in her witticisms to grab my arm.

"we're playing truth or shot in that booth over there." she says to me, then gets the attention of the other two women. I let out a disbelieving laugh.

"truth or shot? like truth or dare but without the dare?"

"Reid, is that you?" Morgan says sarcastically. I slug him in the arm with a pout.

"be nice." but I'm giggling. he loops his arm through mine and we head back to the table, Penelope already starting a new conversation with JJ and Prentiss as they follow. Spencer is sitting in the booth with an Arnold Palmer, sipping from the straw like it's his job. I slide into the spot next to him.

"hi, you." I smile. "I haven't seen you at all tonight."

he holds up his glass. "I don't really drink."

"that's fine," I wave it off. "I just meant I wanted to hang out with you."

"oh." he smiles a little. "sorry."

"no big deal. you're here now." I shrug and turn to Pen as she calls my name.

"I'm gonna order a bottle. that okay?" she points to the bar with a mischievous smile. glancing once at Spencer and his slightly awkward position between Morgan and me, I make a snap decision.

"you know what? I think I'll just have a lemonade."

"you sure? Jayge said you spent the whole plane ride back talking about getting wasted--" Penelope's words cause a blush to spread over my face. I cut her off.

"I'm sure. thanks, Penny."

she nods. "of course, sweet cheeks."

I focus back on Reid, who is looking at me gratefully. he would never say it out loud, but I know he feels a little out-of-place sometimes. it's hard enough for him to come out with us to bars; the least I can do is be a sober friend. I open my mouth to start a conversation about an article I read the other day when Prentiss speaks.

"okay, so... who's ready?" her voice, always so certain, carries over the table. all of us make enthusiastic noises of assent, and she grins as Penelope returns with an armful of glasses. Derek gets up to grab the actual alcohol, and then when we're all settled in, the game begins.

"the rules are simple: you tell the truth, or you drink!" the tech analyst explains. the stakes for Spencer and me are lower, but that doesn't really matter. I'm excited to hear the team divulge their secrets.

"I'll start." Prentiss doesn't even hesitate before she looks at Morgan. "Derek, are you still sleeping with that one woman from sex crimes?"

Morgan raises his eyebrows at the question, irises flitting between Emily and the rim of his drink. there's a slight smirk on his face; he knows what a player he is and he's okay with flaunting it.

"Ally? no." he sighs. "things didn't end well between us."

"what? why?" I ask, eyes widening before I look around at everyone. "who is this woman?"

"cool your jets, sparky." Morgan teases me. "only one question per round."

"I'll tell you later." Prentiss raises her drink in my direction and winks.

"uh, no no." Morgan attempts to stop her, but JJ interrupts him.

"speaking of things not ending well," she says loudly. "Pen, why did you and Sam break up?"

"well," Penelope sticks her tongue between her teeth as she thinks it over with a devilish smile. her lips are a ruby red tonight, bright against her pale skin and big eyes. "to be completely honest, he just wasn't... doin' it for me. you know?"

"like--?" Emily glances down at her lap. Pen nods quickly and I snicker. JJ looks awestruck.

"I thought it was going so well."

"it was, but..." Penelope seems to genuinely think this over before she speaks. "if it's right, it just clicks. and it never clicked with Sam."

"profound." I compliment, high-fiving the high-energy blonde. we giggle before she turns to me with a glint in her eye.

"oh, do I have a plan for you," she smirks. "tell me, Y/N: if you had to sleep with one person on our team, who would it be?"

"women included?" I clarify, my cheeks suddenly on fire. how come everyone got easy questions except for me? I'm really just biding time.

"of course." she nudges my shoulder. I mull this over for a minute. I could say the truth, but I don't think that would be the right thing to do. however ironic that is. given the situation, I do something which I have never been good at and which I don't enjoy doing: I lie.

"although all of you are catches," I preface. "I think I would probably pick Emily."

Prentiss almost chokes on her own spit as her head snaps to see my face.

"me?" she asks.

"low-pressure fun." I shrug, the stress of the moment rolling off my shoulders with the ensuing laughter of my team members. Spencer takes a sip of his drink and peeks at me from his spot before I focus my attention to JJ.

we go on like this for a while, our original plan of "truth or drink" really just turning into a game of "truth and drink." as our laughter gets progressively louder, our questions and answers get progressively more provocative. we get into risky territory towards the fourth round, and I can practically feel Spencer's discomfort radiating off of him. thank god everyone has been taking it easier on him with their questions.

that is, until Morgan hits about five shots and decides to throw him to the wolves.

"so, Reid," he asks. there's no malice in his tone and I'm sure he's not meaning to embarrass the boy genius, but the question makes me wince anyways. "have we made any progress on the virginity front?"

it's like a fucking pall over the table. Reid goes rigid in his spot, and JJ's protective eyes dart between him and Morgan. Penelope's jaw drops.

"wait, Reid, you're a--?" her voice is tender, not judgmental, but Spencer's cheeks turn pink and he looks at Derek with a hurt expression.

"not cool." he says, body shifting in my direction. his eyes communicate everything; without a word, I know what he wants. I scoot out of the booth, letting him slip by me to walk outside.

truly, I'm speechless. we all stare at his lanky frame push through the door, but nobody talks until at least fifteen seconds pass.

"what the hell was that, Morgan?" JJ asks.

"I thought everyone knew--" he throws his hands up. "I swear I wouldn't have said anything if--"

"why would everyone know that?" I feel myself get angry for Spencer's sake. "that's an incredibly personal thing, especially to him."

"that wasn't you, my love." Penelope's voice is soft, sobered by the incident that just occurred. the playful air at the table is officially ruined, and we keep glancing at the doorway like Reid will come back in and everything will be fine. he doesn't.

"I'm gonna go apologize." Morgan starts to get up, seemingly beginning to realize the weight of his words. it's one thing to ask about Reid's sex life in general; it's another to point out specifically the entire absence of it. Spencer doesn't seem to be bothered by most things, but this is different. my heart hurts.

we watch Morgan go, the women all looking at each other with worried expressions.

"I feel bad." Penelope says.

"y'know, Spence never told me that." JJ observes.

"he really trusts Morgan." Prentiss says what we're all thinking. Morgan has always been like a big brother to him, and being embarrassed in front of your co-workers like that can't be a pleasant feeling.

we sit in a relative silence for about five minutes until Morgan walks back into the bar. he pulls out his wallet and pays for the drinks, then walks over to us.

"I'm gonna go for a walk. do you need me to call you all cabs?" he asks. those dramatic brows are drawn low over his face, emphasizing his regret. I look between my friends and clear my throat.

"it's okay. I only had one shot about an hour and a half ago. I can drive everyone home."

"okay," Morgan sighs, his head turning briefly to the door before focusing back on us. "drive safe, ladies."

and then he's gone.

"you guys ready?" I start to shrug my jacket on. they all nod and we get ready to go.

...

sitting in my apartment later that night, my head is swimming. even though it's none of my business what happens in Spencer's sex life, I wish I could tell him that it's okay. nobody cares at all if he's a virgin or not. but I know it's still embarrassing.

I hate that I lied earlier tonight, too. I wanted to say Spencer's name when they asked who I wanted, because I meant it. we're close, and I will always love him as a friend. but I've also always wanted more.

nobody, not even any of the other BAU women, know about my crush. I didn't want it to get in the way, or for it to come out and ruin my friendship with Reid. he doesn't like me like that, and that's fine, but what's not fine is not having him as my friend.

he was the first person I really connected with when I came here, and I feel a little protective over him, too.

once the clock hits eleven, I consider calling. he’s definitely not asleep yet. Spencer is a night owl. normally at this time he'd be curled up with a huge book, reading impossibly fast.

when he picks up on the third ring, the air leaves my lungs.

"Y/N?" he asks, more surprised than anything else.

"hey, Spence--" I hesitate, suddenly not sure what to say. sorry Morgan told everyone you're a fucking virgin? “do you wanna come over?"

maybe if I see him face-to-face, I'll be able to collect my thoughts better. the words hang in the air, festering over the line until I'm just about to take them back, before he replies.

"y-yeah. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

my hands are shaking at my side when I open the door for the tall genius. he's still wearing his outfit from earlier, hair slicked back like normal. I've settled for my usual sweatpants and t-shirt winning combo. it's not like he cares.

"hey." I smile, trying to read his micro expressions. there are two possible outcomes here, knowing him: either he's going to be totally, completely over it, or he'll be able to write a War-and-Peace-length book on why he's upset.

"hi." he gives a wan smile and I let him into my apartment, closing the door behind him and gesturing to the couch.

"I missed this place." he says absently, looking around at the mess of decor and case files. I snort as I recall the last time he was here. he wanted to borrow a book that I had, and we ended up watching an entire docu-series about homing pigeons. it was surprisingly interesting; mostly because his commentary is both informative and funny.

"it missed you." I anthropomorphize my living space, but the phrase hangs heavy. I'm worried about him. I'm always worried about Spencer. he turns to look at me, opening his mouth to say something. I brush past him and walk into the kitchen. "coffee?"

"sure." he follows me like a lost puppy, leaning against the counter while I pull out two mugs and get to work.

"hey," I pause for a moment to look him in the eyes. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry-- about what happened... tonight."

"oh, that?" he scoffs, waves it off unconvincingly. "it's fine."

I raise my brows the slightest bit, never breaking eye contact. he wouldn’t have come if he didn’t want to talk about it. he cracks easily.

"it's just embarrassing, you know?" he says, staring out my kitchen window to alleviate his own nerves. I gesture for him to follow me back into the living room and I sit down criss-cross applesauce on the couch. he mirrors me, kicking off those cute black Converse.

"I don't think the fact itself is embarrassing, but I totally get why it feels that way. he shouldn't have said anything." I nod.

"like, that's personal. a-and--" he hesitates a moment, gesticulating wildly now. "and it's not like he's got any right! at least I don't go around with so many girls that I forget their names."

the thought of Reid sleeping with that many women is a little bit funny, but it also makes my stomach twist with jealousy.

"did he apologize?"

"yeah, he did. and he was drunk, I know." he rolls his eyes. "I'm overreacting."

"no, really, you're not." without thinking, I scoot closer to him and place my hand over his, which is sitting on his knee. I remember that Spencer is usually pretty averse to touch, but when I move it back to my lap, he seems a little disappointed. I wonder if he gets lonely.

"is it weird?" the question sounds raw, like he's mustering a lot to hear my response. I shake my head immediately.

"well, for one, Spence, I would never judge anyone based on their sex life, period." I chuckle. "and two, no way! if you aren't into having sex at this point in your life-- or ever-- that's totally your choice and you're entitled to it."

his eyes meet mine, pools of honeyed hazel that swim with a slightly amber shade. his face is so pretty, it's sometimes unbelievable to me that he doesn't get more action. bone structure that would make a sculpture envious.

"that's the thing," he licks his lips nervously before averting his gaze again. "I am interested-- I just don't-- well, I don't--"

"don't have someone to do it with?" I suggest with a slight smile. he nods, then clarifies.

"girls don't really seem to be interested in me."

I let out a laugh, unable to contain myself. his head jerks up to frown in confusion. I’m quick to amend myself.

"Spence, that's not true at all. you're such a catch! you're sweet and funny and way smarter than anyone I know. not to mention that you're adorable." I compliment, letting some of the thoughts I've been keeping to myself bubble to the surface. "any girl would be beyond lucky to be with you, sexually or not." Spencer blushes at my words, but the squirming in his spot tells me that it makes him feel warm inside. he smiles a little.

"you think?" it's genuine. he appreciates being praised, and it makes my heart flutter when he gives me that expression like I've made his night.

"I know." more of what I want to say rolls around my mind, unsure of whether or not I should admit it. but I think that right now, it'll only serve to make him feel better. "actually, I should tell you something."

"what?" he's curious now.

"when we were at the bar and Penelope asked who I'd be with... on the team... I lied."

"okay." he nods, somehow not connecting the dots. I guess it doesn't matter if they've got enormous IQs; boys are still clueless.

"I was gonna say you." the truth presses from the inside out, lifting a weight off my chest now that it's out there. even if he doesn't return that feeling, I'm suddenly glad that I told him.

"me?" he gestures to his narrow chest. I nod.

"yeah. I didn't wanna make you uncomfortable or embarrass you in front of our friends." I explain. he breaks into a grin.

"thanks." like I've given him something. I feel myself smiling as well, and then we're just looking at each other. tension that neither of us is willing to break. as much as I'd like to take him right here right now, he hasn't said anything about actually having sex or even about being attracted to me. for all I know, he could be completely indifferent.

"listen, Spence--"

"would you be willing to--" we speak at the same time, both of us stopping and laughing awkwardly.

"sorry, you go first." I offer, and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

"would you want to... um..." he scratches the back of his neck before his eyes meet mine. "try it?"

"sex?" I raise my eyebrows. he nods. I try to find the right response. that’s more assertive than I expected. my pulse is fast, daring me to tell the truth. "I mean-- yes, I would love to-- but are you sure you want it to be with me, Spence? what about a girl that you like?"

"you are a girl that I like." he says this like it's matter-of-fact, like it's obvious. my heart stops in my chest before it starts to hammer.

"really?" a smile makes its way onto my face.

"I thought you knew."

"no." I laugh. my chest is full of sunlight.

"well, you are."

there's a brief silence where I try to get myself back on track. he likes me, too.

"are you sure you want to do this?" I glance at the space between our bodies, which has grown steadily smaller over the course of our conversation. Spencer is watching my every move with an intensity that tells me he's nervous.

"yes." he's unwavering.

"okay, well, you've kissed girls, right?" I inch closer. he nods.

"one."

"oh, Spencer," I sigh contentedly. "I have so much to teach you."

right after I say this, Spencer shifts uncomfortably in his seat. it's only then that I notice his hand covering his lap, the erection that's forming beneath his pants. my eyes flick up to his hungrily.

"sorry." he apologizes.

"don't be." our faces are inches apart and he's practically holding his breath. "I'm gonna kiss you. is that okay?"

"yes." he replies immediately. I place my hands gently on the side of his face, admiring the softness and sharpness of his jaw when I pull him to me, kissing him with a suppressed desire. his mouth is soft against mine, a little anxious to move. after a moment, he starts to relax.

his lips part and I deepen our contact, tilting my head and keeping it mostly mild at first. I don't want to shove my tongue down his throat. our knees are touching and his hand hesitantly finds my waist, the other going to run through my hair. I sigh into him, his fingertips a new sensation that I adore.

Spencer begins to give in a bit more to himself, asserting himself in the kiss and slipping his tongue over my bottom lip. I almost laugh at how quickly he gets the hang of it. he reads my body language effortlessly, not even skipping a beat when I climb into his lap and lace my arms around his neck.

"is this okay?" I pull away momentarily. he nods.

"you're so pretty." an unrelated response, but appreciated nonetheless. I laugh and peck his nose.

"thanks." and then we're back to making out, his hands resting on the small of my back. it's nice. I could stay like this forever, just pressed against Spencer while my fingers thread through his soft hair. he's cautious with me, and it's innocent.

I can feel his boner, can feel from the eagerness of his kisses that he's trying not to bring up the fact that he's literally just throbbing in his pants right now. in order to give him a little of what he wants, I start to rock my hips against his.

Spencer whimpers into my mouth. I stop and look down at him.

"do you want me to stop?"

"no, god, no— never stop." he's mindless in his reply, already grabbing my hips greedily and trying to regain that friction. I shake my head with a chuckle, then resume my actions. he starts to rut up against me, groaning into our embrace while his hands get more adventurous.

I withdraw, breaking the kiss to straighten up. he doesn't stop the microscopic pushes of his hips. I bite back a smile, enjoying the friction, too.

"do you wanna take my clothes off, Spence?" I ask softly.

"y-yes." he replies, gingerly taking the hem of my top and beginning to lift it over my head. when he places it on the couch beside me, his eyes immediately fall to my bra. slender fingers run up my bare waist, his watch glinting in the candlelight. when he doesn't immediately reach to unclasp my bra, I grab his wrist and guide it to the clasps myself. he moves with a surprising ease, unsnapping the thing and grazing over my skin as he slides the straps down my shoulders. I can tell that he’s shaking a tad, but it doesn’t hinder him.

the second that he's discarded the lingerie, he looks up at me with moony eyes.

"can I... kiss you?" he looks at my bare chest. "here?"

"of course, Spence." I nod. he presses his lips to the space between my ribs, drags them up to the valley between my breasts. lingers, then attaches himself to one of my nipples. I sigh, throwing my head back at the way he moves intuitively, sucking and running his tongue over the peak. he squeezes the other breast, plays with the nipple and starts to acquaint himself with the curves of my body.

the whole time, he's straining against my core, rutting helplessly in pleasure. it feels heavenly, with that sweet face of his so devoted to making me feel good, that I nearly stray from the purpose of the experience.

"Spencer..." I breathe. he moans at the sound of his name, then looks up at me from his place sucking on my tits. his teeth graze of my skin and I buck into his lap, causing him to groan appreciatively. my fingers tangle in his soft hair.

"Y/N," he pulls away from my chest, his lips making a soft popping sound. I gaze down at him, a bit lost in the fantasies running through my head. he's a natural. "can we, um-- like, expedite this process a little?"

"expedite the process?” I repeat back to him, giggling at his formality.

"what?" his voice goes up an octave, but he's smiling. "you know what I mean."

"I really do." I lean down, pressing my thumb into his jaw and angling his face up to mine to kiss. while his hands curiously move over my body, I start to push down the waistband of my sweatpants. I break contact just for a moment to peel them off, and he releases a quiet whine. it's cute.

"come back." he says softly, watching as I slide the bottoms down my legs, leaving me in my panties.

"I'm back." I peck his cheek, climb into his lap again. "can we take off your clothes, too?"

"mhmm." he nods. his lips part when my fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with a torturous slowness. I can feel his eyes on my face the whole time.

"what?" I chuckle, peeking up at him for a moment before I pull his shirt open and run my palms up his chest, over his shoulders. he nearly shudders at the sheer touch.

"I just can't believe this is actually happening." he smiles in that way of his, like he's suppressing the depth of his emotions, with his brows slightly raised. I take the opportunity to enjoy the sight of him before me, his rapidly rising and falling chest, the smoothness of his skin.

"honestly?" I start to unbutton his pants, and he jerks up into my hand, blushing once he realizes the earnestness of his actions. I smirk encouragingly. "me, neither."

before I pull down his boxers, my eyes flick to his. "is this still okay?"

"Y/N," he groans. "if you don't do something, I'm gonna cum too early." he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment when my hand moves over his clothed erection, like he's holding on. "please."

"sorry." I release him from the confines. it hits his stomach and he waits for my reaction, as if he's afraid that I'll change my mind right now. but I'm definitely not going to. "holy fuck, Spencer."

"what?" he panics slightly, sitting up more. "is it not enough?"

"not enou--" I stutter, almost laugh. "no, it's plenty. I had no idea..."

"oh." he hides the pleased smile on his face, blush spreading over his pretty throat. in the interest of "expediting the process," I wrap my hand around the base of his cock and gently pump him.

Spencer's stomach tenses and he grabs onto the cushion of the couch with a tight fist, sighing.

"mmm..." he doesn't try to word his emotions, but I know. and I like that I'm making him feel this way, sharing this experience. Spencer and I are such close friends, I never thought we'd actually have sex. my assumption was that I'd watch him grow into himself, find a nice girl and treat her like a queen.

but here I am, spitting into my hand before jerking him off to prepare for what’s next. he’s throbbing, sounds coming from his throat.

"I'm gonna sit on it, okay?" I lean down to whisper in his ear. he touches my waist, my neck, kisses a random spot on my chest in the waves of pleasure that I'm giving him.

"o-okay." he mumbles, waiting for me to actually do it. and there's a moment of tense anticipation between both of us, when I sit up and pull my panties to the side. Spencer watches like I'm the only thing in the world, saving the memory of my body on top of his for later.

I run the head of his cock along my entrance, soaking him in the wetness between my thighs. I didn't realize how turned on I'd already gotten, and he lets out a quiet whine when he feels the evidence of how much I want him.

our eyes lock when I sink down. it's a new feeling for him, and the shape of his member as it stretches my walls causes me to bite my lip to withhold moaning too loudly. he whimpers, neck tensing and fingertips digging into my hips.

"o-oh." he sucks in a breath as I reach the halfway point. he's so big, I have to go slow in order not to overwhelm myself. but it feels good, too. like... unbelievably good. I grip onto his shoulders and my head falls forward into his shoulder.

"Spencer, holy shit." I moan.

"does it feel nice?" he asks, concerned for my own pleasure. I feel my chest flutter at the thoughtfulness of the boy wonder even when he's in the midst of losing his virginity, and I lower myself onto the rest of him.

"mhmm," I rest for a moment. "how do you feel?"

"like--" his breath hitches when I begin to rock back and forth on him. "like I've been missing out."

I can't help the giggle that slips past my lips, but then it quickly turns into a longing moan when he starts to thrust up into me like a helpless thing. Spencer is brilliant, but his brain cells go out the window when he throws his head back and begs me to move more.

I nod, raising and lowering myself until we reach a special pace. it's not fast or slow, just the two of us trying to stay in the moment while we hold on tightly to each other. I can feel the cool metal of his watch when he splays his hand out over my spine, the warmth of his breath while he pants against my shoulder.

he hits my g-spot over and over. my moans are torn from my throat by the burning of my lungs. it's like I can't breathe because I'm so focused on chasing the orgasm building in my stomach. and Spencer... I can tell he's almost finished.

the erratic nature of his jerking body tells me.

"I'm gonna cum..." he moans into my neck. "do- do you want me to pull out?"

"no." I arch my back and throw myself into the friction of our bodies. he stares up at me while I ride him, the merciless grinding of my hips because I just can't help myself. "oh my god, Spencer."

he notices how close I am and, in a surprisingly deft move, slides two fingers over my pussy to find my clit. the ensuing noise from me tells him that he's found it, and he begins to rub in quick circles. it's rough and hard, but that's exactly what I need right now.

"cum for me, Spence." I breathe. his free hand grips onto my thigh and pulls me over him, his own words unintelligible within the sounds of absolute pleasure.

"please." he begs for something I don't know, spills his seed inside of my pussy and holds onto me like I'm an anchor to this world while he peers into the next. the feeling of him spreading through my stomach, along with the reckless movements of his limbs and the way he looks at me while he rides out his orgasm, sends me over the edge.

"oh my fuck!" I collapse, grabbing his shoulders tightly and rolling myself down while he removes his fingers from my body. it's jarring, the intensity, like my normal functions can't respond correctly. all I can process is the tightening of my stomach, the pleasure between my legs, vision going slightly fuzzy at the edges. he moans when my cunt flutters around him, the muscles trying desperately to hold him here with me forever. I take deep breaths and slow down, my forehead dropping again while I start to remember my own name.

neither of us speaks. I think I'm still too in shock about what just happened, but in the best way. he keeps running his hands over my skin, then wraps his arms around my torso so that I'm pulled against his chest. I smile, kissing his ear before I finally break the silence.

"hi."

"hi." he's got a satisfied tone.

"do you need anything? water?" I ask, exhausted but realizing that this is still new for Spencer and it's my job to make sure he's as comfortable as possible. he nuzzles his nose into my clavicle and squeezes me tighter.

"stay here with me." there's a slight edge to his words. he's afraid of me leaving. I snuggle down, perfectly happy to remain. heat radiates from his skin, and I like the way it feels.

"of course."

we linger in each other’s arms, both of us coming back into the real world and holding on in an attempt to soften the blow. I just had sex with Spencer.

"thank you." he whispers into my hair.

"for what?" the smile on my face is lazy.

"for doing this."

"well, I really wanted to." I laugh. "so, I guess, thank you, too."

"you're quite welcome." his response is cheerful and then we're both laughing, the sound rumbling from his chest. "can we do it again at some point?"

"I would be happy to." I beam. the contented sigh that leaves his lips, followed by a slight sinking of our bodies down the couch in collective exhaustion, fills me with a joy that's quiet but obvious.

“I���ll last longer next time, I promise.” he says. I can practically hear the blush in his cheeks.

“you did amazing, Spence. don’t worry about it.” I press a few stray kisses to him.

I'll need to go clean up, soon, but it can wait a few more minutes. this is my favorite place on earth.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #virgin spencer #reader x spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid one shot #baby spencer reid

[lexosaurus]

The Illusionist

Dannymay2021 prompt: Illusion

My Hero Academia x Danny Phantom crossover  Word Count: 5262 Read on: [ao3]

---

“A kid?” Shouta asked. 

The muffled sound of an explosion echoed from the other side of the phone line.

“He can’t be older than sixteen.” Kamui Woods' voice crackled through the receiver. “Eraserhead, this is going to sound crazy, but the kid has multiple quirks. We can’t get near him. He keeps...shit, he just flew through another wall!”

Shouta shifted his cell between his shoulder and ear, launching himself up a wall and onto the roof of a low building. He surveyed the distance and saw a bright green light flash from across the city.

That must have been them.

“We need you to nullify the quirks so we can contain him till the Illusionment wears off.”

“Alright,” Shouta said, jumping off the roof. “Send me your location. I’m on my way.”

It was a new villain, one that the public had dubbed ‘the Illusionist.’ His quirk was simple, yet effective. If he touched someone, he could make them hallucinate their worst fear. 

So far, the heroes and detectives on the case hadn’t been able to figure out much about the Illusionist himself. He never struck the same victim twice, and he didn’t seem to stick around long enough for pro heroes to find him. Not to mention, the majority of his attacks happened in dark alleyways to the local homeless population, far from any cameras that would have been able to pick up his face.

And that fact made Aizawa’s blood boil. Because these weren’t attacks of revenge. No, they were attacks from someone who thought it was fun to mess with the disenfranchised. Someone who enjoyed exerting their powers over those they perceived to be less than, like some kid on a playground squishing ants beneath their sneakers.

The Illusionist’s influence was powerful, and each victim reacted differently. For some, they just froze up, lying motionless until they were found. For others, they lashed out at anyone who dared get close. 

And in a society filled with countless unknown quirks, those of his targets who did lash out—though victims themselves—still needed to be dealt with.

The good news was, the quirk’s effects weren’t permanent, and he seemed to require a fairly long recharge time in between each attack. So the pro heroes never had to deal with more than one victim at a time.

So far, the heroes and police force had figured out two ways of dealing with the Illusionists’ victims. Either the victims were knocked out or put to sleep in some way, which seemed to instantly nullify the hallucination, or the victims were captured and taken to the police station to allow the quirk’s effects to naturally run their course.

Considering the heroes really wanted the victims brought in as peacefully as possible, it had been no surprise to Shouta when the other heroes started calling him in for assistance. Especially when the victims’ hallucinations caused them to fight back.

Such as, apparently, this one.

Shouta sprinted around a corner, panting. The cool night air brushed against his face, chilling his skin. He glanced down at his phone, only to see that Wood’s location had moved once again.

Which meant that the unstable, overpowered victim was on the move. 

Wonderful.

Just then, his phone lit up.

Shouta didn’t wait to see who it was. “What is it?”

“Eraserhead,” Kamui Woods said. “We’re going to lead him to you. Meet us over by the abandoned antique warehouse. And keep your phone on you, he’s a flight risk. Literally.”

“Understood. Any injuries?”

“A few civilians, but medics are already on it. Nothing serious.”

“Good.”

Shouta hung up and changed his course. He weaved between buildings, kicking up water as puddles splashed at his feet. 

If the heroes needed to lure the kid so far away from people, then things weren’t looking good. 

Which meant that he needed to end this. Now. 

But he didn’t make it to the warehouse. Not before a flying, glowing figure appeared through the wall, crashing into him first.

On instinct, Shouta activated his quirk and sent his capture weapon to the glowing figure, but his quirk had no effect. As soon as the scarf landed on the boy, he jerked away, phasing the scarf through his body.

Shouta blinked, deactivating and reactivating the quirk again. But just like the before, nothing happened. The figure—the boy—just continued to float in the air, his glowing green eyes staring wildly into the hero as if Shouta were the most terrifying human on Earth. He raised his hand, and a neon green swirling ball began to form around his fist.

“Watch out!” a voice behind him yelled.

Aizawa ducked just in time. The green blast hit the wall just above him, burning into the bricks like acid.

“Eraserhead, hurry!” Best Jeanist yelled.

Shouta tried again to activate his quirk, but it was no use.

The boy screamed, powering up an even bigger blast than last time.

“Eraserhead!”

Tree roots shot out in front of Shouta just in time. The blast hit Kamui Woods’ shield, splintering the roots and sending pieces flying through the air.

“Shit!” Shouta deactivated his quirk and jumped back, falling in line with the heros. “He’s resistant to my quirk!” 

“We need to get him away from the residential area,” Best Jeanist said. “Force him to the industrial complex.”

“You’re not forcing me anywhere,” the teen roared back in a thick accent. His white glow ebbed and flowed around him as if he were drunk. “I won’t let you get me!”

“What is he seeing?” Shouta asked the three heroes behind him.

“A kidnapping of some sort,” Hound Dog replied.

“He keeps referring to us as ‘Operatives’. We’re unsure what that means.”

Apparently their talking only angered the glowing teen further. He raised a fist and his eyes brightened, changing from green to blue. “You’re not taking me!”

“Go!” Best Jeanist shouted.

The heroes jumped out of the alley just as the teen released the glowing blue energy ball, coating the pavement in a shockwave of jagged ice.

“How many quirks does this kid have?” Kumai Woods exclaimed.

Aizawa landed on the roof and released his capture weapon. “Doesn’t matter. Get him to the warehouse. I have a plan, but I have to make a call first.”

“Got it!”

The heroes jumped off the roof, chasing the kid out the alley and through another building.

“Don’t lose him!” Hound Dog yelled, running around the corner after him.

Shouta stayed back, pulling out his phone and pressing one of his emergency contacts. He watched as another blue beam glowed from a few blocks over, followed by a burst of green.

What the hell is that kid? 

He couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed. The kid could talk, could communicate, and yet he had multiple quirks? In the ten seconds Shouta had seen him, he was witness to flight, phase-shifting, glowing, cryokinesis, a green energy beam, and immunity to Shouta’s quirk. 

And yet, the kid wasn’t a nomu. He had intelligence. He seemed like he could have been a regular teen. A glowing one, sure, but a regular teen nonetheless.

So how did he end up with multiple quirks? And how did he become the Illusionist’s latest target? The Illusionist had only ever targeted homeless adults before. How did this teen get caught up in the mix?

Unless he was homeless himself.

The ringing stopped, and a tentative voice picked up from the other line. “Sensei?” 

Shouta breathed a sigh of relief. “Shinso, I need you to come to the field. I’ll send you a location. We need your quirk.”

“My quirk?” Shinso asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

One day Shouta would crack through that massive layer of insecurity Shinso still clung onto about his quirk.

“Illusionist hit a kid with multiple quirks. We can’t get near him and he’s resistant to my quirk. We need you to subdue him. Put him to sleep.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

“Sending a location now.”

Shouta hung up and forwarded his location before darting over to the scene, using the sound of the kid’s frantic attacks as his GPS. 

His feet pounded on the concrete. His quirk and capture weapon may have been useless against the kid, but that was fine. All he had to do was stall for time before Shinso could subdue him.

There was a loud bang, followed by a crash. Shouta skidded around the block and, using his weapon, launched himself onto a nearby roof.

There was a large hole in the side of a building that thankfully appeared to be empty. Dust clouded the air, but through it Shouta could see the kid backing into the building like a cornered animal, his arms raised and glowing a threatening acid green.

Kumai woods stepped forward slowly, his arms raised above his head. “We don’t want to hurt you!

“Don’t—don’t come another step!” The teen growled, stumbling to the side. His voice had an odd, echoing quality to it. “I’ve escaped your stupid compound once, and I’ll do it again!”

Shouta jumped down from the roof, landing in front of the heroes. He crouched down, trying to appear as non threatening as possible. “What compound?” 

The kid let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t act stupid! You were gloating enough last time!”

“We’re not going to take you to a compound,” Kumai Woods tried.

But reasoning with someone under the Illusionist’s influence was futile. Heroes and police officers had attempted it before, and it never worked.

“I’m not an idiot! I know what you do to people like me!”

Shouta froze, alarm bells going off in his head. Something was just... wrong. On a fundamental level, something wrong had happened to this kid. And based on the way his eyes darted around the empty room, he looked about a second away from making an escape.

Okay, Shouta had to stall. If the kid thought that the heroes were kidnappers, then maybe he could draw this out.

He tilted his head questioningly. “Sorry, I’m new here.” He felt his coworkers’ eyes burning against the back of his skull. “I wasn’t here for the last time.”

The kid’s distorted eyes locked onto him. “I’m sure you’ve read the reports.”

“Haven’t had time, actually. This is my first day.”

“You’re still wearing the suit. You’re still with them.”

Shouta stared at him for a moment. The kid’s stark white hair floated as if defying gravity, and the glow around him had almost an ethereal presence. But what stood out the most to him was his clothing. He was dressed like something out of a laboratory. His suit was thin and rubbery, with rubber gloves and boots to match.

He was definitely the product of a science experiment. There was no doubt about it. Likely a trafficked kid taken from another country and transported here for human experimentation.

Aizawa felt sick.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“You know where.”

“I told you, this is my first day. I just moved here. I don’t know you yet.”

Apparently, that wasn’t good enough for the teen. “I’m not saying anything. You can ask Operative K over there.” He nodded towards Best Jeanist.

“What sorts of things did they do to you? Last time?” 

“I—I don’t—” the teen stuttered, the green glow flickering out from his fists. He clamped his hands over his ears. “Shut up!”

“I don’t want to do those things,” Shouta continued. “I don’t want to...use you like that.”

“It doesn’t matter. If you’re with them, you’re here to take me. And I can’t, I can’t do that again. I’ll never let you take me. I’m smarter than your whole organization and you know it.” His eyes brightened with a frantic energy, warping until one eye was green and the other blue. “I’ve escaped from your stupid white compound once, and I’ll do it again.”

Aizawa rose slowly. 

This wasn’t looking good.

Hurry up, Shinsho. 

The kid raised his arms, and a swirling mass of green and blue encased his fist, traveling up his forearms and swallowing his elbows. It pulsated and grew, casting a shadow over the teen’s face.

“Eraserhead!” Hound Dog warned.

“I’m not going quietly.”

Shouta readied himself to dodge when a flash of purple caught his eye.

“Hey kid!” Shinso called out.

Glowing green and blue snapped over to the source of the new voice. “What?” he hissed.

Shouta could almost see the satisfied smirk under Shinso’s mask. 

“Go to sleep.”

The effect was immediate. The mass of energy faded from the kid’s hands, leaving only his natural white glow. He lowered himself to the ground until his toes were touching the cement, then his knees, and finally his head. Then, just when his eyes fluttered close, a white ring appeared at his waist, traveling up his body replacing the glowing, ethereal teen with a small European looking boy. 

“Whoa,” Shinso breathed.

Despite the protests behind him, Shouta slowly made his way over to the teen. His white hair had changed to black, and his skin had lost its glow completely. His laboratory clothes had been replaced with ripped jeans and a dirty white and red shirt. 

He looked...plain. Boring and scrawny. If Shouta hadn’t witnessed the terrifying figure just moments ago, he could have passed the boy off as just a quirkless kid.

Whatever he was, he was asleep.

“Good job, Hitoshi,” he said, turning back around to face the heroes. Not to his surprise, his husband and other child were among the group. “Present Mic, Todoroki,” he greeted.

Hizashi—ever the optimist—gave Shouta a cheerful wave along with a chipper, “Hello!” while Shouto stood quietly behind the heroes.

“Who is he?” Shinso asked, eyeing the sleeping teen warily. 

Best Jeanist made his way over to the group. “Some kid with multiple quirks. Likely from experimentation. With his amount of quirks, we have no idea what he’s like mentally. We need to get him to the police.”

“We sent them your location already. They should be here soon,” Hizashi said.

“Good.” 

Shouta gave the kid one last glance. 

What happened to him?

---

It didn’t take long before the police, led by Detective Tsukauchi, arrived at the scene. They were able to get the kid into quirk inhibitors, load him into the back of a car, and bring him into the station before he woke up.

Yamada brought the boys back home before meeting him at the station. Shouta made a mental note to grab Shinsho his favorite take-out meal tomorrow for his immaculate quirk usage.

When they arrived at the station, they brought a couch into one of the interrogation rooms, put the kid on it, and waited.

Shouta almost felt bad for him. It would have been scary for anyone to wake up after a traumatic hallucination wearing quirk inhibitors in a cold, unfeeling room. But unfortunately, nobody had known the extent of his quirks. Victim or not, he was still unstable.

Aside from sitting upright, the kid hadn’t moved an inch, and he couldn’t seem to be able to pass the inhibitors through his body like he had with Shouta’s capture weapon.

Which was good. That meant that the quirk inhibitors were doing their job.

Shouta stared at him through the one-way mirror. He’d been half expecting the same frantic energy from the teen boy as before, but the teen just sat there quietly. His slumped body language screamed resigned, while his eyes were slowly shifting around the room as if to memorize every speck of dust in the air.

“You would never suspect that kid would have multiple quirks,” Yamada said next to him. “He just looks so...tiny.”

Aizawa took a large gulp of his much-needed coffee. “And yet, he does.”

The door behind them opened, and a woman stepped through. She stopped in front of Detective Tsukauchi. “He’s not registered. We scanned the database and found no record of anyone with multiple quirks that fit his description. In addition, we ran the sample of the green substance from his projection quirk and couldn’t find any matches to any known compounds on record. We’ve sent the samples out for further testing.”

“No matches?” Shouta asked. 

“Interesting.” Detective Tsukauchi said. He turned towards the interrogation room’s door. “I believe it’s time to talk to our victim. Suzuki, I want you to stay outside. I think having more than one adult in the room may scare him off. Use your quirk, though. I have a feeling our victim may be a bit wary.”

The woman nodded and stationed herself next to Shouta. She stared at the boy, blinked, and then her eyes began to glow.

“It’s showtime.”

The moment the doorknob moved, the black haired teen’s body language shifted to something more alert, more guarded. His blue eyes tracked Tsukauchi’s movements until the detective had sat down in his metal chair.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Detective Tsukauchi. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble today. Would you like some water?”

The teen didn’t respond.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Based on previous victims’ responses, they had always been able to remember the hallucinations, but they couldn’t recall their actions or where they were during those times.

“It’s okay if you don’t. Again, you’re not in trouble.”

But the kid wasn’t relaxing. If anything, he looked more guarded than before. “If I’m not in trouble, then why am I here?”

“You were hit by a quirk,” he explained. “Have you heard of the Illusionist?”

The teen shifted. “Maybe.”

“He’s a villain who makes people experience their worst fears.”

A spark of recognition hit the boy’s eyes, but it was quickly masked by the previous reserved expression. “So I got hit.”

“Yes. So far his targets have all been random attacks.” Tsukauchi opened his manila folder, pulling out photographs and handing them to the teen. “This was from earlier tonight. Do you remember any of this?”

He scanned the photographs, and Aizawa watched as the color drained from the teen’s face. He stared at the folder in silence for a moment before his shaky voice said, “If I’m not in trouble, I’d like to leave.”

“We just have a few questions we’d like to ask in order to help us catch him.”

“I want to leave.”

Detective Tsukauchi seemed unphased by the kid’s request. “Alright, can I get your name? We can call your parents to come pick you up.”

As expected, the teen didn’t like this. He shoved the photographs back into Tsukauchi’s hands, leaned back against the couch, and crossed his arms. “I’m eighteen. Can I go now?”

“He’s lying,” Detective Suzuki whispered next to them.

Recognition sparked in Shouta’s brain. He remembered her, she had a Lie Detection quirk. It was quite useful for police work.

“In that case, we were unable to obtain any record of any adult with your quirk combinations. Japanese law dictates that every citizen must be registered in our quirk database. So if you are unregistered, then we’d need to go through the registration process before we can release you.”

“I’m not a Japanese citizen.”

“You here on vacation?”

The kid glared to the wall. “Something like that.”

“American?”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you been visiting?”

The teen shrugged.

Tsukauchi jotted something down in his notebook. “Then I’d need to see your passport and visitor’s documentation for the official record, since you are now a victim in an ongoing investigation.”

The teen’s eyes narrowed, and he slumped down further into the cushion. “I don’t have any.”

“What happened to it?”

The teen shrugged.

Yamada leaned into Shouta’s ear. “He’s backed into a corner.”

“Yup,” Shouta took another swig at his coffee. “He can’t get out of this one.”

The teen huffed, frustration and a tint of fear strewn across his features. He ran a hand through his messy black hair. “Listen, can I just go? I don’t remember anything, okay? I was just sleeping and then all of the sudden I...I...he got me. But I swear I wasn’t doing anything, and I didn’t see his face.”

Detective Tsukauchi nodded compassionately. “I’m very sorry that this happened to you. It’s a very vivid and traumatic experience to go through. Unfortunately, we’re in a bit of a bind currently seeing as you are either an unregistered quirk user, or you have no proof that you’re in this country legally. Now if it’s true that you’re eighteen, we can’t let you leave without contacting the US embassy to get your identification.”

Any color left in the teen’s face vanished. “What if...what if they can’t identify me?”

“Can’t identify you? For what reason?”

The teen stood suddenly and walked over to the wall. His hands trembled, and he looked downright terrified.

Who was he scared of?

He picked at the ragged hem of his shirt. “I don’t—I’m not exactly…they—they just don’t know I exist.”

Shouta glanced at Suzuki, who seemed perplexed. 

“Is he telling the truth?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Suzuki said. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but he at least believes that he doesn’t have citizenship in Japan or the United States.”

“Even though he’s American.”

“Exactly.”

Aizawa’s brows furrowed, and he looked back at the teen, who was pressed up against the wall wringing his wrists with his fingers.

“Can you give me your name?” Detective Tsukauchi asked.

The teen bit his lip. “Uh it’s—it’s…” His voice was strangled. “It’s Danny Fenton.”

“He’s telling the truth.”

Detective Tsukauchi gave him a comforting smile. “Okay, Danny. And do you know where you were born?”

“Uh…The United States.”

“But, and correct me if I’m wrong, you have no birth certificate? And no documentation to show legal entry to Japan?”

“I—yeah.”

“And you’re here in Japan now. Where have you been staying exactly?”

Danny’s eyes darted around the room. “I don’t know...around?”

“Okay,” Detective Tsukauchi shut his manila folder and stood. “Again, you’re not in trouble. You were a victim of a very serious crime, and we’re here to help you. I’m going to make a quick call, and I’ll be right back. The door’s unlocked if you need anything.”

If anything, that only made Danny look more anxious than before. He nodded, his face sheet white, and he tugged at the inhibitors on his wrists.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Yamada asked quietly. He was dressed in his civilian clothes, and his hair was thrown up into a messy low bun. Without his uniform, his compassion towards the child shined out like a beacon. 

It was one of the many qualities that Shouta loved about him. His strong sense to protect the innocent, his caring nature to kids and those who were vulnerable in society, and the kindness he radiating from his being were qualities that were rare even among heroes. 

“We’ll contact the US embassy, but if the boy’s telling the truth and he doesn’t have a social security number or birth certificate, then he’ll get picked up by Musutafu’s social services and he’ll be put into the system.”

Yamada stared sadly at the child through the mirror. “He’ll just run away again.”

“He will,” Shouta agreed.

“I wish we could help him.”

Shouta sighed. “We can’t save everyone.”

“But you see it, don’t you?” Yamada asked. “There’s something going on that the kid’s not telling us. How else could he have gotten multiple quirks? Do you think it has anything to do with the League?”

Shouta glanced back at Danny, who was currently crouched against the wall with his head in his hands. He looked so small, so fragile. Aizawa could only wonder what events had led him here.

Just who was Danny Fenton? 

“Shouta, we can’t let him out on his own. We just can’t.”

Shouta sighed, running his thumb along the side of his coffee cup. “I know,” he said.

And he meant it.

---

“So…” Shouta started. 

Danny just looked tired. 

It had been a long night. Detective Tsukauchi got a hold of the US embassy’s emergency line, but they didn’t have any records of a Danny Fenton that had left the United States, nor did they have a single missing children’s report of a Danny Fenton, nor could they supposedly dig up any information of a Danny Fenton based on the information that Danny himself supplied, specifically that he was born in Illinois in a city called Amity Park.

It was as if he didn’t exist.

Detective Suzuki’s quirk was powerful, and it didn’t seem like Danny was able to fool it. After he met her and she explained her quirk to him, he finally admitted he was only fifteen. So then who was this kid? If he was from Amity Park, why did the United States have no record of him?

The heroes knew he had parents, but apparently—and Suzuki confirmed this—they’d disowned him, giving him to some shady organization. Danny wouldn’t say to who ended up with custody of him, but from what they’d been able to piece together, it hadn’t been good.

And any further digging just resulted in Danny clamming up.

So Danny was a runaway, one that apparently didn’t exist in either country he had lived in. And there was something out there that had terrified him into escaping to Musutafu and hiding here.

But he wouldn’t say what.

Regardless, the Musutafu police department now had a case of a minor in Japan who didn’t have any parents, guardians, or any known relatives in the country, nor did he have any record of housing at any point.

It was as if this kid were a ghost or something.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” Danny asked, hugging himself in his chair.

He seemed smaller up close. Too small.

“Well, social services will take you and place you in foster care,” Shouta responded.

“Oh…” Danny looked down. “You know...you’ve seen my powers. I’ll just disappear the moment we leave this building.”

Shouta raised his brows.

Of course, they all knew it. But the kid certainly had guts for admitting it out loud.

“Who are you running from?” Shouta asked.

Danny blinked at his bluntness. “No one.”

Shouta leaned in. “Is it the League of Villains? Are you connected with them?”

Danny’s arms shot out from his sides, waving frantically in front of his face. “No! No, I swear! I’m not a villain!”

“I didn’t say that.” 

“I…” Danny looked lost. 

“You have multiple quirks. That’s something the league’s been experimenting with. And they’re not shy about using real people to do so.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never met them.”

“But you weren’t born with multiple quirks,” Shouta said. “Something happened that made you this way.”

He could see as all the pieces slowly crumbled inside Danny. The kid went from looking confused, to downright terrified. 

Bingo.

Aizawa’s instincts never failed him.

“Please, just let me go,” Danny begged. “I promise I won’t do anything. Please don’t hurt me.”

Shouta’s eyes widened. “Kid, slow down. I’m not here to hurt you. Okay? I’m on your side.”

That didn’t seem to help Danny at all.

Shouta set his arms on the table where Danny could see them. “You know, one of my foster kids has multiple quirks.” It was a half lie, but he didn’t think that Shouto would mind.

Sure enough, that seemed to pique Danny’s interests. “Really?”

“Yeah. Great kid, about your age. His father was experimenting with creating children who could house multiple quirks to offset his own quirk’s disadvantages, and my foster son came out of it. Just like you, he spent a lot of his life hiding too. He was alone, and scared. He didn’t know what to do or who he could trust, so he just hid.”

“What changed?” Danny asked.

“He asked for help,” Shouta said. “And we were able to bring him into a stable home.”

Danny’s eyes clouded over, and his face transformed into one of longing. As if he were visiting a memory that had long since abandoned him.

“We can get you that help too if you ask for it.”

“I...I can’t…”

Shouta sighed. “How long are you going to keep hiding? Running? Are you really okay with spending the rest of your life out on the streets?”

Danny ducked his head down. “It’s not so bad,” he muttered.

“But kid, you deserve so much more than that.”

The teen’s shoulders shuddered. He sniffed, and his hand shot up to wipe his eye.

Shouta refused to look away from him. “I don’t know how you got here, I have no idea what you’ve been through, but I know that you didn’t deserve it, and that regardless of what you think, you deserve a safe place to go home to.”

“I...I…” he croaked, curling into himself. Tears splashed onto his cheeks. 

“You’re strong, you’ve done so much alone. Now we can help you.”

“I can’t…”

“You can, Danny.”

At that, Danny broke. He squeezed his eyes shut, twisting his hoodie in his hands. Shouta watched as he tried to muffle his sobs, but he couldn’t. His body shook as his emotions poured into the open.

Shouta didn’t know how long this kid had been holding it all in. Just how many days, weeks, months had he been shoving everything down, too focused on surviving each day to be able to stop and feel?

Pain stabbed Shouta’s heart. He remembered that torment all too well, one of homelessness, of abuse, of not knowing where his next meal was coming from and fighting for the bare necessities. Although he wasn’t so much of a soft, touchy-feely guy himself, right now he wanted nothing more than to reach over and hug the crying teen.

When it seemed like Danny was finally able to pull himself together, Shouta leaned in and asked, “Will you let me help you, Danny?”

Danny scrubbed at his eyes and nodded.

“If you want,” he said, making sure to articulate each word clearly. “I can assist you in getting placed in a good home. There’s another option too.”

“Yeah?”

“The other option is you can stay with me.”

Danny stilled, his eyes shooting open and his lips dropping to form a small ‘o’.

“My husband and I have a city approved foster home, and we also happen to have an open bed at the moment. Given your unique situation, I have the option of housing you if you’ll let me.”

Danny didn’t respond. He just continued to stare at Shouta in shock.

“Of course,” Shouta said quickly. “If you are uncomfortable with that, and it’s okay if you are, there are other good foster homes out there that I personally know and can get you placed in. It’s whatever you prefer.”

The teen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he finally looked back at Shouta, he had that same longing expression as before. “If it’s alright...could I stay with you? At least for a little while?”

The corners of his lips tugged up. He remembered all too well when Yamada turned to him just before Shouta was about to age out of the foster system and asked him if he wanted to move in together. He remembered the shock, the surprise that anyone could possibly care that much about him, that anyone would want to live with him.

And now, he had a family. One that was about to become a little bigger.

“Of course. I’d love to have you.”

---

Thanks for reading!

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#danny phantom #dannymay2021 #bnha #my hero academia #my writing #aka danny has A Bad Time #but it's ok because dadzawa