#and now showing up to an ice show held a week after the season ended in a new fit

[sc0tters]

Distance Apart | Nico Hischier

summary: sometimes all you need is your boyfriend, even if that means he has to put his family above his team.

request: yes/no

warnings: swearing, like one mention of blood.

word count: 2.78K

authors note: we are back with the Rosie universe! I miss writing for dad Nico and when I asked you guys said you wanted it in this universe so here it is! we have a bit of angst in it but I like how it got to in the end.

pt 1

You were tired. 

Rosie had decided that she wanted nothing to do with you after you started showing. You were now seven months pregnant with your baby boy and Rosie was hating it. The poor season that the devils were having, left Rosie and you walking on eggshells around Nico who was constantly stressed out. What made it all that much worse was the fact that Nico hadn’t seen you in weeks and now he was on a road trip with the team.

Nico tried everything to convince you to come with him on the trip but as you couldn’t sleep through the night as your back was killing you. To make matters even worse, Rosie was now feeling your nightly pain as she was having nightmares every night. You were running on mere minutes of sleep which was only going to grow less as Rosie started running a fever. 

Yet, still that wasn’t your biggest problem. You were in his cabin in Bern with Rosie as you prepped for the arrival of your new addition. It had been a month since you saw Nico as he came to see you, not hesitating to come during the all star break. But now you were counting down the days until you were no longer a single parent “I know Rosie.” You sighed getting up to hear the sounds of her sobs echoed in the baby monitor. 

Her new favorite thing to do was cry for her father “papa!” Rosie wailed as her lights turned on looking for her father’s face “you know he is home my love.” You ran your hands through your greasy hair that you couldn’t remember when you last got the chance to wash it as it seemed that you had been rocking the messy bun for days.

She continued to cry as her red cheeks meant she wasn’t getting any better “let’s go sit outside.” You offered hoping that her play mat would be enough to calm her down whilst she sucked on one of her old frozen teething toys. The 15 month old clung to your shirt hanging to the faint scent of her father that the shirt still had. You attacked what remained of his closet as nothing from your own seemed to fit anymore “I know I miss him too.” You nodded as you sat her on her mat seeing the picture of her and Nico that sat on the table ahead of you both.

It seemed that the world was on your side as your phone began to ring, causing your gaze to snap from the picture “I will be right back. You announced getting up to grab your phone from the kitchen where you’d get her a teether, hoping it would act like a popsicle. Your phone screen was lit up by Nico’s contact just like he promised to call when he got to Las Vegas. You took less than a second to grip your phone to answer the call “hey schatzi!” Nico shut his door smiling as he got to see your face again. 

You wanted to tell Nico all about the day you had but instead when Rosie let out a cheer you were reminded of who really needed to see him “Rosie I have your dad!” You announced coming back into the living room with both your phone and the frozen toy.

Nico was full of concern seeing how you never even took the chance to speak to him “hi maus.” He cooed sending her a wave as she sucked on the ice piece “papa!” She sent him a toothy smile whilst you held the phone. All the medicine that Rosie needed was her father’s attention. The duo continued this conversation which was primarily just Nico talking to his daughter ass she nodded along like she understood what he said. 

You began to take the moment to shut your eyes falling asleep with your head on the couch as you yawned “maus why don’t you let me talk to your momma?” Nico’s voice combined with Rosie tugging on your shirt it made you look up “hi Nico.” You forced a smile onto your lips.

Being with him for years though Nico knew that you were hiding something “think we should talk about Glasgow.” The Scottish city was in fact where you guys learnt that you were pregnant with Rosie. It was a reminder of the joyous memory, that you now both now used as a code word. Rosie was beginning to want to listen to every single conversation that you guys had, and now used it when you needed to talk about something in private. 

He watched you sit there as you tried to ignore his gaze “schatzi please.” He pleaded as he grew worried for what was going on with you in that moment “play with your toys and I’ll be right back.” You kissed Rosies head as she now seemed content with her practical popsicle.

You made the short walk back to the kitchen wanting to keep Rosie in your sights “how are you?” Nico wanted to drop the team and all of his responsibilities to be with you, as guilt consumed him that he wasn’t with you “and don’t lie to me because I will get my mother to move in there if you do.” The offer was something you then responded with being met with a break up. You did love his parents, but you weren’t going to lose your independence. 

Now though you were a fraction of that strong woman “I miss my sleep.” You began gripping your hand on your stomach as you let out a grunt “schatzi what is it?” Nico was ready to get out soon the next flight to see you.

You raised your hand to wave off his concern “Rosie can’t sleep and my body is killing me.” Your boobs throbbed under your touch as you groaned “you missing our favorite cure for that?” The captain teased, only to quickly realize that you weren’t in the right mood to hear him joke around. 

It was the glare that made him go quiet, opting to regret his sex offer. When you were close to having Rosie you only wanted to climb him like a tree and Nico wasn’t going to stop you as it made you feel comfortable. You groaned again as you were too tired to stay mad at him “I just need this baby out.” Your confession had two meanings, you were done with being pregnant and on top of that you needed your boyfriend back.

Rosie’s rattle echoed as she hit it on the floor “let me talk to my coach.” He could see how drained you looked with the stains on your (his) shirt “absolutely not.” You shook your head refusing to be the reason why he would leave his team “we can survive for the next month without you.” It was clear you were lying and it took Nico everything to keep his mouth shut as he sent you a look of concern.

He wanted to argue but knew that you’d just hang up “there is no harm in wanting a bit of help y/n.” He felt horrible that he couldn’t be there for you, but with your boy coming at the end of the season you both agreed it was best for you to be in Bern. His words made your gaze sharpen “I’m fine.” You snapped making him run his fingers through his hair as he let out a sigh.

The captain hated it when you got all closed up and refused to let him help “just let me in.” Nico pleaded as he watched you shake your head “it is hard to do that when you aren’t here!” You grumbled reminding him of the fact that you were practically alone. Your tone made Rosie cry, causing your head to snap in her direction.

Your fingers rubbed your temples as you groaned “look I need to go get that.” It was the last thing either of you needed as you hung up letting Nico see his reflection in the screen “fuck!” He groaned throwing his phone across his room in frustration.

This time you were lucky that all Rosie wanted was company “papa!” She cried gripping her hands out to hold you “I know honey.” You sighed pulling her into your arms as you began to rock her trying to soothe your upset toddler “I miss him too.” Yelling at him was the first time you felt like you had any kind of control over something in days and now here you were feeling like an ass.

On the other side of the world after sleeping on it Nico was shoving his things back into his suitcase “what are you doing?” Timo furrowed his eyebrows as he walked in to see a disheveled Nico rummaging around his room “I need m-my passport and I can’t.” Nico sat on his bed not knowing much of what to do.

He was grateful that you made him bring it all of his roadies now in case you gave birth when he was gone “but can you breathe for me?” Timo crouched in front of his captain wondering what could have pushed him to this as Nico nodded “then I’m pretty sure you need this if you want to meet your baby boy.” The blonde fiddled with the passport in his hand as he waved it in front of his teammate.

Nico felt his eyes go wide seeing the book he tried so hard to find “it was on the table when I walked in.” Timo explained as he watched the captain get up “my girls need me.” Nico reminded himself of the reason why he was leaving this team “go get ‘em then.” Timo sent the boy a salute as he watched him run out of his room. 

After an argument you and Nico usually didn’t talk until you both calmed down, but now you were sat staring at your phone as you reread the headline Nico Hischier will be taking a leave of absence for personal reasons. Nina sensed your worry as she handed you a cup of tea “I’m sure he is coming here because he wants to check on you both.” You called his sister in tears when you realized you had gone too far in getting mad at him.

You nodded hoping she was right “but what if he just goes back to his apartment instead?” You asked watching Rosie smile at Nina “and it seems like I am the only person she cries around.” You mumbled pushing your head into the pillow behind you.

Nina pulled her niece onto her lap “Nico is in love with you and Rosie loves you too.” She reminded you as she placed her hand on your knee “you are a great mom and don’t forget it.” As you stared at the garden in front of you Nina knew you had every worst case scenario run through your mind as you were a mess. The calmest girl she had ever met was now focused on everything that wasn’t her.

You forced a smile onto your lips as you tried to act receptive to the compliment “look I have to get to work but don’t forget you call if you need anything.” Nina kissed Rosie’s head as she didn’t want to leave you two alone “I will.’ You nodded watching her leave.

After she left you couldn’t shake the fact that you were failing, as a partner, a mother, and even a pregnant woman. So as Rosie went down for a nap you opted for a shower, forcing yourself out of your clothes as you went to shower. As the warm water hit your skin you forgot how great it felt to let the lavender scent of your shower gel invade your nostrils. But not even that soothing scent could calm you down from the pain you felt in your stomach “ahhh.” You moaned running your hand under your belly as something felt off, the water turned a shade of crimson red only making you panic.

Each moment faded into the next as you got out of the shower and grabbed whatever clothing you could find rushing to the door as you picked up Rosie and your delivery bag from the front door. Tears clouded your eyes as you drove yourself to the hospital feeling as alone as ever.

Nico was surprised to see Nina stood at the airport waiting for him, but when he saw the fear in her eyes he knew something was wrong “the baby is coming.” His mom had come to the hospital after she was called with Rosie needing supervision “no we still have over a month.” Nico felt his mouth go dry as he shook his head

Nina nodded as she shrugged “I know but he is coming and has been for two hours now so hurry up.” She clasped her hands together taking his duffle as the siblings pushed out of the airport running to get to you.

The hospital room was quiet as you felt numb, by the time you had woken up again you were no longer pregnant and couldn’t even hold him as he was in ICU “schatzi.” Nico gasped seeing you look up at him “I’m so sorry.” You apologized feeling your eyes fill with tears as you shook your head thinking about how the last thing you did was yell at him.

Nico couldn’t let you continue as he wrapped his arms around you “no baby don’t say that.” He kissed your head as his thumb wiped away your tears from your cheek “I didn’t even get to see him.” All you got was a nurses description of your baby.

It killed him hearing the pain in your voice “been told he is okay and strong.” Nico squeezed your shoulders as he watched you nod trying to calm down “really?” It made you feel like you really did get to see him.

He moved to sit in front of you taking up the side of your bed as he nodded “I really am sorry for everything I said though.” You reached out for his hand honestly glad to see that he really was there “can we agree to never fight over the phone again.”He announced making you quickly nod “it’s far more enjoyable making you sleep on the couch when I see it happen.” Your joke made him suck at his teeth only causing your grin to grow wider.

There was a moment where the two of you were able to just enjoy each others company “I really have missed you.” You mumbled watching him move closer to you “then it is a good thing I have the next three weeks off.” Nico kissed your lips as you furrowed your eyebrow.

As you cocked your head you wanted to point out that he only had two weeks nobody needs to know that you are no longer pregnant.” He shrugged resting his forehead against yours “I love you so much.” You mumbled kissing his lips once more.

Hours had passed and you had taken a nap and were now clear and ready to see your boy “you better not crash me Hischier.” You warned placing your feet on your footrests “would be a funny way to end this date.” He teased making you giggle before you winced “don’t make me laugh you ass.” You groaned gripping at your stomach trying to avoid the stitches from the c-section wound.

He squeezed your shoulder as an apology “you ready to see our boy?” There was a hopefulness in his voice as he looked to the room number in the NICU “you know it.” You nodded failing to hide the grin on your face as he pushed you into the room.

You let out a gasp seeing him laying in his crib “he’s so sweet.”  You pressed your hand against your chest as you cooed “c’mon mama let’s see him.” Nico held his hand out to yours.

The captain helped you up looking around to make sure you guys weren’t caught by any nurses “he is perfect.” You felt your voice break as you smiled “little Elias is all ours too.” Nico watched how your eyes couldn’t leave him.

It was the happiest he had seen you in weeks “so how long until you’re clear for our favorite activity?” Nico smirked as he ran his fingers along your back “I just got the last one out, you are celibate for the foreseeable.” You warned sending him a glare as he laughed kissing your temple.

“There’s my girl.”

#nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #hockey imagines #imagines #oneshots #hockey imagine #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #amber writes fics #ambers love moments

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Coldness is my love for you

Loki x fem!reader

warning : obsession, kiss, Loki using is powers, wounds, hurt/comfort kinda, kidnapping

Summary : What was supposed to be a simple meeting between the representatives of the twelve worlds. But an attack not only changes everything, the King of Jotunheim also strikes and finally takes what is rightfully his.

Info : The first Marvel work here wow finally a little motivation for Marvel eventho I'm not really anymore watching the latest movies and shows and stopped after Loki Season 1. I still wanna write for it so here we are plus the Fandom is still in me somewhere ;) Have fun reading.

Ps : Favorite movies : Thor.1 & Blade

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

She had never seen him as cold. She never had. Ever since she had met him, the prince no the king of Jotunheim at a gathering of the worlds.

She, as a human representative of Mitgard, was also present, together with the Avengers, only as a legal representation, even if this seemed almost superfluous in the face of the gods. But then what? Right, the attack by someone unknown, something or someone who did not belong to the twelve worlds, someone from outside.

But the attack, even if the gods could defend them well, she still felt the fear as she faced these hideous figures. Herself without weapons, without strength and without a plan of battle.

She was a human, not a god or a super-trained assassin. She was just a damned substitute. She had seen Black Widow stand in front of her as the Avengers protected her agent and fought the creatures.

She could do nothing but clutch the pen in her hand tightly and hide behind one of the already overturned tables. Clutching her "weapon" tightly, she felt the floor vibrate as the powers of the gods and fighters seemed to break the room.

Her heartbeat was almost chewing the drones inside her as the battle went down. In her trembling hands the pen that had almost made her cry as she realized she should have stabbed the monsters with a pen. But in her fear she let out a scream as suddenly the wooden table was torn away. It wasn't one of the Avengers or well-meaning gods.

These creatures had found her in the turmoil of battle and made her the new target for death. Fear was in her eyes as she looked up and backed away, staggering and barely standing on her feet.

The pen in her hand all the more ridiculous as she held it in front of her. What was she supposed to do? But before she could even use the pen, something else reached her. Ice. Light and dark shimmering solid ice that had placed itself between her and the creature like a wall.

Her breath escaped in a cloud due to the rapid drop in temperature. ,,No monster should hurt a lady in my presence," she heard that voice, the silver tongue, the serpent, the god and king of Jotunheim. She saw the green eyes looking at her with amusement. This god of mischief was having fun with all this chaos as the scriptures and books always said.

His words at that time were still full of goodness, so disturbing that she didn't recognize the lie. But she should have seen it. She was only half aware of the brutal, almost joyful act of killing the creature.

She saw exactly how the warm red blood ran down the ice, steaming slightly, but it was a minor matter in the sight of the god. Because the only thing that mattered was his beautiful eyes, the green that attracted her and slowly turned red, the red of his true form.

The red of the ice giant's true form before she felt his cool hand and her vision blurred. The last thing she saw before he took her in his arms and disappeared was her friends, the end of the fight and the feeling that she would never see them again.

A feeling she was to prove right.

Because even now, weeks later, they had never seen their homeland, the earth, the avengers, their friends or family again. The only thing she saw in this cold great palace was the ice, the green of magic, when she tried to get out his spell simply created a new door, wall or end.

As well as finding him sitting on his golden throne. ,,The throne that belongs to me" she heard his voice in her head, a painful memory as his hand gripped hers so tightly that his ice threatened to pass to her and she was reminded every day by the freezing burn of what that meant.

He was a god and a king of this ice planet, but she was sure he couldn't feel love, he was simply obsessed with her. ,,My dear, you quickly understand that here on this ground... you are my property" he had said to her after a few days when she still thought the Avenegrs would come or he would take her home.

But no. It was more her fear and questioning that annoyed him when he told her this. A fact she knew to be true. For he presented her with a room of considerable size with bookshelves, a bed and although not made of ice it seemed freezing cold.

The walls and floor, though barely visible, were covered by a sheet of ice that he could see. When she moved, walked around or just breathed, he saw everything. Like a bird in a cage. Like his property as he placed more and more precious jewelry on her body.

The gold rings, the dark red gemstones, the green of her rings or the blue on her necklace. No matter what he gave, it wasn't for her, it was for him to make his property even more beautiful. ,,I've brought you something pet," she heard, as she did every day, if you could call it a day on this planet. She was almost grateful for every moment she didn't spend sleeping when he let her sleep in peace. She didn't have his attention.

But even this was only at first. ,,Thank you" came from her lips, a word she had said too often recently. She did almost nothing else but thank him, thank him. Being grateful to him was the only important thing for him.

Because that meant her love it was not a question for him she had no choice and the sooner his darling would accept this the easier he would become for her in the long run. His steps came closer, his magic passed through the ice and a chair formed beside her.

His form, though now human, she knew that when the light of the other worlds shone through the ice, his emotions came out or when he frightened her. Which he did with every second. Ever since he had "saved" her.

She barely felt the cold of the jewelry because nothing could be colder than his love. The love he gave her, she tried to lie to him when he didn't care. But she knew she would be lying if she didn't respond to him. The beginning of the beginning that still made her heart beat.

His touch was warm and not cold, his love in the form of tenderness and understanding was attractive and there was even a moment when she had loved him. But now she was his pretty jewel. Feeling his cold blue hand on hers, she looked up and gazed into those mesmerizing eyes.

He licked around her jewelry, his touch gentle, and yet she felt the warning chill he could freeze her into a sculpture, and yet he didn't. ,,Fear doesn't suit you dear," he said and something stirred in her eyes and she came back from her aversion, her thoughts.

She was with him again and saw from his grin that he knew. ,,I'm-I'm not afraid," she said to him, but she knew that he didn't even hear it, on the contrary. His hand wandered further up her warm body, searching for her warmth, something he didn't have.

She knew she was tense, knew he still needed her as leverage for the other worlds, or at least her earth. His kisses, which seemed nothing but cold, were full of love. ,,Of course you didn't," he smirked, the green of his eyes returning as she saw his true form recede.

He knew that although it fascinated her, it was like an escape reflex. You could burn yourself on any fire and you could also get freezer burn on a cold blue flame like his heart of ice. But despite everything, despite everything, she leaned into his arms, let him hold her, let him kiss her, let him tell her stories.

Because something inside her was afraid that something worse than this would happen if he stopped loving her one day. ,,You know all this coldness is my love for you," he reminded her as he felt the goosebumps shivering a normal stupid human reaction he hated it made him realize they weren't right.

But it didn't matter, it didn't matter that she knew she didn't love him. Once he had the Infiniy Stone, she would be his one way or the other, then everything would be his forever.

He gave her one last kiss knowing that it was all just a game, a trick at the cost of time. But he was the god of mischief, he could play this game for a long time to come.

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

#thor movies #thor 1 #marvel cinematic universe #mcu loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x you #loki marvel #tom hiddleston

[hockeywriterrowan]

Maple Syrup || Matthew Knies

author's note: I'm back kinda??? This is based on the song "Maple Syrup" by The Back Seat Lovers. My friend introduced this song to me this week, and I had to write something with it.

summary: Maple Syrup by The Backseat Lovers

pairing: Matthew Knies x reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: drinking, breakup, idk what else

---------

“I still have your picture on the wall; I still have the nightmares where I would have to call you to calm down.”

Your bedroom walls echoed with the mosaic of memories, each photograph a point in the outline of your love story with Matthew. The snapshots were once a collection of shared moments, you and Matt both wanting to remember the small moments, but now hung as silent witnesses to the love that had encapsulated the first two years of your college experience. The pictures had been a gift from Matthew before he left for his first full season in the NHL.

In the top left corner, a photo showed your second interaction with Matthew while at Mariucci, an argument that marked the early days of your connection. While the two of you had met once before, this was the first time you truly talked. The argument was simple: Matthew was confused about his Captain’s skate time and thought the ice was his at the wrong time. The humor of the two of you arguing—just once—so early on became a cherished joke between the men’s and women’s hockey teams. The spark ignited the flame, leading to Matthew asking for your number. The humor of the photo echoed through the years, turning into the prologue of a love story told through hundreds and hundreds of photographs.

At the bottom right, a Facetime screenshot held the weight of the first goodbye. Matthew’s beginnings in Toronto marked the first time in two years that your worlds existed apart. The photo captured your smiling face with slightly reddened eyes, containing the concealed vulnerability that Matthew had comforted after a grueling physical therapy session. A session that stemmed from a knee injury, a scar from a season-ending fall into the boards that seemed to write the turning point in your and Matthew’s lives.

“I still think about you all the time. When I step out of the shower, I’m reminded of the night when we slept in the back of your car, and you left me with a pretty cool scar.” 

Exiting the shower, droplets of water traced the contours of your body; the refreshing cleanse momentarily erased your thoughts of your ex-boyfriend. Yet, as you stared at the misty mirror, your mind wandered, drawing back to the night of intimacy shared after winning the conference tournament. The details of that night during your freshman years played in your mind like a melody, lingering long after the water had evaporated.

Taylor knocked on the bathroom door when she heard your harsh breaths. Taylor had become a pillar of support in the aftermath of your breakup. When you became the overly confident freshman that everyone on the team chirped, she immediately took you under her wing, both on and off the ice, as you became linemates for the next two years of your friendship. 

You were probably somewhere with Taylor when you weren’t with Matthew for the past two years. When she stayed in Minnesota after getting drafted, the two of you made sure to have nearby apartments. She mainly stayed at your and your teammate’s apartment for two weeks, ensuring you stayed alive through the breakup. 

After discovering the breakup, your teammates blamed Matthew, something you didn’t want to happen. You and Matthew broke up because of separation. They still blamed him.

After Taylor pushed you into your bathroom to shower, you hadn’t expected it to be so refreshing. During the shower, you hadn’t thought of Matthew even once. 

“Your purple sweater’s sitting in my room. I tried to wear it, but I knew that it would smell like you.”

“Let’s burn it,” your teammate Emily said. The purple sweater was a silent witness to your struggle. The garment, once a reminder for Matt of his Tri-City team, now held the scent of bittersweet nostalgia, a sure reminder of Matthew.

Everything else was given to Jimmy. You wanted to return the sweatshirt, but your teammate Emily wanted you to seek revenge. You stood up, grabbed it, and threw it back into your closet. 

“I saw you dancing at the show tonight. I stood in the back, and I think that we both know why.”

Entering the lively party at the men’s hockey house, the air was charged with excitement and familiar faces. Jimmy’s gaze from across the room hinted at the hockey game on the T.V., bringing Toronto Maple Leaf’s shutout into focus. The T.V. was quickly turned off, probably by one of the boys you were closer to. 

“We both know Kniesy wouldn’t want you being stuck up in the relationship,” Jimmy’s whispered advice floated to your ear, offering the perspective of a close friend of Matthew’s.

“But…” you started, “He’s Matt. He’s unforgettable.”

“I’m not saying you need to forget him,” Jimmy grabbed your wrist, bringing you to the kitchen, “But you still need to live your life.”

You stared at your feet, knowing he was probably right. As you turned to grab a drink, Jimmy typed on his phone, the phone lighting up his face. You could only guess who he was talking to. But as you approached and he quickly threw his phone back in his pocket, you knew exactly who.

You returned to the central part of the party, smiling with your friends. You hadn’t checked your phone, but you felt it vibrating. 

You walked outside, under the moon's glow, and put your phone to your ear without checking the contact name, “Hello?”

“Hiiiii,” he slurred.

“Matthew,” you sat on the stairs, “Is something wrong? Are you with JT or Joe?”

“No… They’re inside,” you heard shuffling, “But there is a problem… You aren’t here.”

“Oh, Matt,” you breathed, “I’m not there because we broke up.”

“Did it hurt? When we broke up,” he sniffled, “Now I’m all alone; I guess I’ll never learn.”

“It wouldn’t work. I couldn’t date you when I worried you were interested in her. And I voiced my concern. And all you said was I shouldn’t be worried. No reassurance. And you have people; you have your teammates.”

The pause was deafening. You still heard Matt’s shuffling.

“And I lied, when I took you on a drive,” he admitted, “And I said I’d never speak to her. I wish I would have kept my word."

You sighed. You had already known he kept talking to who he claimed was a friend, but hearing him admit to lying about simply talking to her—even after you broke up—hurt so much more than you expected.

“I need to apologize to you in person. You know we never did anything, and you can ask JT, or Mints, or Joe. But I still regret lying,” Matthew slurred.

Amidst the haze of intoxication, confusion clouding your senses, you chuckled at his desperate plea, a symphony of emotions playing, “And how would you do that now that you’re gone?”

“I would fly you out here for a weekend when you don’t have practice.”

You laughed. He was obviously drunker than you, and it seemed he was going insane.

“I need you out here. So bad. Please just let me apologize to you in person."

#matty knies #matthew knies #toronto maple leafs #maple leafs #matthew knies x reader #matthew knies imagine #hockey fic #minnesota hockey #minnesota golden gophers #hockey

[holylulusworld]

Nrfth (8) - Leave it all behind

Summary: Betrayal cuts deep. If your heart and trust get damaged. Can you find a way back?

Pairing: Chris Evans x fem!Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, we stan Tracey in this house, Tracey is the best friend ever, hurt & comfort (not Chris), unplanned pregnancy, language 

A/N: Please consider I changed the timeline (timespan between the movies) a little to match my story. We are now in 2013, two years after they met.

No rest for the heartbroken masterlist

<< Part 7

Three months later, …

“Babe, you need to eat something. Anything. Let me order food.” Tracey sits next to you on your couch. “I know, Y/N. I know it feels like your whole body is sore.”

“He didn’t just end things with me for some other girl, Trace.” You wipe your face. “He cut me out of his life.”

She glances at the muted TV, sighing deeply. “Y/N let’s get out of here for a while. We can just…” She drops her eyes to your middle, sighing once again. “Why did you never tell him?”

“Did you not see the news? I bet the bitch taking over the role in the Avengers movie is the one he chose over me. She didn’t do just a cameo. She has at least five scenes with the Avengers. And, they have the audacity to resurrect my character at the show.”

“What?” Tracey gapes at you like she got punched in the face. “But they let you die, Y/N.”

“Yep,” you pop the ‘p’. “They resurrect my character and surprise,” you chuckle humorlessly, “that bitch will take over my role at the show too.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I wish,” you choke on your tears once again. “I can’t take a job because of my circumstances while Chris parades his bitch around town, or rather he shows her off in every interview as his new sidekick. They gave her my role, Tracey! MY ROLE!”

“That’s so fucked up,” she grunts. “Breaking up with you was one thing but this is…like he’s not the same person. Maybe this is a serious case of body snatching.”

“Body snatching?” You laugh for the first time in weeks. “Really?”

“Like in the old movie,” she mutters. “Don’t you remember? We watched it when we were kids. You got scared and I had to hold your hand the whole night.”

“Invasion of the Body Snatchers, I remember,” you say with a smile. Tracey was always there for you. Even when she was scared too, she held your hand. “I wish they exchanged Chris, but this is all him. I don’t know how I could not see he’s like that.”

“Hmmm…I don’t understand him. Out of the blue, he breaks up with you and ruins your career.” Tracey knits her brows together. “This is too fishy. Maybe you should try to talk to him one last time. He owes you an explanation.”

“Men are pigs,” you scrunch up your nose. “Please make sure that I never fall for one of them ever again. From now on, I’m cured of men…”

You’re restless tonight. 

No wonder. Tomorrow you should’ve been on set again to film the new season of your show. Now someone else will play your role and you are stuck at your apartment.

“Babe, did you listen? That fandom guy messaged you again on Twitter. He wants to know why you left the show,” Tracey sighs as you look at her. “Why don’t you tell him what happened? Maybe if the fans of the show get to know about the shit Evans and the studio pulled they’ll cancel the show.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Trace.” You give her a sad smile. “He made his decision. The studio too. I got to move on. It sucks but there is nothing I can do about it.”

“That bitch stole your role in the movie and the show!” Tracey mutters. She throws her hands up as you turn around to stare out of the window. “Make them pay, Y/N.”

“No.”

“Let me at least scratch his car or use my baseball bat to remodel his face.”

“I thought he loves me too,” you sniff. “Love, such a stupid word for something breaking you down to nothing.”

“Y/N,” Tracey softly says. “Let’s go for a walk or eat ice cream. Just stop hiding at your apartment.”

“He didn’t even try to contact me. I realized a few days ago, that he never gave a shit about me.” You shrug. “I wanted to call Chris to tell him about…”

“Babe, you don’t need that asshole. We’ve got this. If you want me to, I’ll be your baby daddy.”

You snort, and then, you start laughing and crying. “Thank you,” you wrap her in a hug, “Daddy.”

Now Tracey laughs too as you hold each other. “Do you remember the guy giving me STDs? I was so in love that I got a tattoo with his name. I let them tattoo my ass, babe. I’m one stupid bitch too.”

“What’s with men these days? Why are they all assholes?”

Another month later, New Zealand, …

“I like it. What do you say?” Tracey watches you look around the new apartment. You decided to leave Hollywood and turn your back on the film industry in your country. 

This means you have to move out of your old apartment as fast as possible and leave the world you believed you know so well behind.

“I like it too.” You should have a look around the apartment you want to rent, but you can’t focus. You are miles away, still wound tight as you saw an interview with Chris and his new sidekick last night. “I think this is it, Trace.”

“Babe, are you sure? This is going to be your new home.” You can hear the worry in her voice.

Tracey was, once again, your rock. She’s so much more than a friend. 

How would you call the one dragging you out of your bed to make sure you eat? The only person who understands how you function and feel. 

Friend. Ally. Sister. Soulmate. 

“Hmmm…” you take a deep breath. “You’re right.” It’s time to focus on taking your life back in your hands. For almost four months you let the decisions someone else made dictate your life. “Let’s have a closer look, shall we?” 

You hold out your hand for Tracey. She smiles and takes it. “We will get you through this too, Y/N. No man is worth your tears or that you stop living the life you built for yourself.”

You grin as Tracey props her feet onto the coffee table. She just finished carrying one of the last moving boxes into your new home and now, she’s chewing on a slice of pizza. 

“I like it,” you say more to yourself than your friend. “My new job is great too. I always loved working behind the scenes, and this is my chance to do so.”

“How’s the bean today?” She drops her eyes to your swollen belly. “Does the bean want more pizza?”

“Can you not call them bean all the time?” Tracey snorts at your angry expression. “Even though their father is an asshole, I love them.”

“I love them too,” she coos and places her hand on your belly. “Good thing Aunt Tracey will buy them all the things you won’t. I’ll hang out with them and teach them how to mess with bitches.”

Smiling you look at your friend. She moved heaven and hell to help you get where you are now. Tracey even quit her job and moved to New Zealand to help you buy a house which you couldn’t have effort otherwise.

“They will love you too, babe.”

“I know.” She shrugs. “How could they not love me?”

At the other end of the world, Chris stares at a picture of you on his phone. He took it while you were asleep. He sighs and shuts off his phone.

For days he tried to reach out to you. It took him almost five months, but he found the strength to face you after what he did to you only to find you gone.

He missed the chance to tell you the truth, and it breaks his heart…

>> Part 9

Tags in reblog.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #marvel rpf #Nrfth (8) - Leave it all behind #chris x reader #angst #chris evans fanfiction

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

Drabble prompt-

“You dumbass. Don’t do that. Ever again.”

I think I did it! I think I actually wrote a drabble. And crossed off another @badthingshappenbingo square!

UPDATE: I did not do it lmao

UPDATE2: Now on ao3 so I can have everything together.

Jamie Tartt was going to be the death of him.

“You dumbass. Don’t do that. Ever again.”

Roy pressed his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply.

“What was I supposed to do?” Jamie scoffed.

“Not that!” Roy said, trying to keep his voice down but failing.

“You were going to fucking fall!”

“Your fucking point?” Roy asked, psychotic eyebrows shooting nearly to his hairline.

“Didn’t want you to get hurt,” Jamie pouted.

“So you got hurt instead?”

“Didn’t think that part through, did I?”

“No fucking shit.”

“Well, innit better me than you and your old man bones? They’re probably just dust in there held together by anger and stubbornness. My bones are young and strong.”

“Jamie your wrist is broken.”

“I told you I didn’t think it through, alright?”

Jamie adjusted the ice pack on his wrist. The pair had been having a similar conversation on and off since they arrived at A&E. All the trouble started on a bike ride. They were nearing the coffee shop by Keeley’s office, intent on bringing her and Barbara coffee and pastries while they worked on their latest campaign.

They were bike riding when Roy’s tire caught a divot. He started to tip and Jamie lept off his bike to try to catch Roy before he landed on his bad knee. And it worked. Roy didn’t land on his bad knee, unfortunately, all Roy’s weight landed on Jamie’s outstretched wrist instead. Ice packs and x-rays replaced coffees and scones.

So much for an uneventful off-season.

“Next time, maybe wrist guards, knee and elbow pads for everyone. And helmets. Definitely helmets,” Ruth said, pulling back the curtain where the pair sat waiting. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“Fuck.”

“That is my diagnosis. Yes.”

“Fucking professional. Is it really broken?”

Ruth turned her ipad to show the pair the x-ray and pointed. “Unfortunately, yes. You can see the break right there.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” Roy and Jamie said simultaneously.

“Told you.”

“Fuck off.”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “There’s minor displacement, so I can reduce it and then we’ll get you in a cast and get you out of here a soon as we can.”

True to her word, Jamie and Roy are waiting for Ruth an hour later, Jamie’s broken wrist secured in a cast and sling.

“You’re such a dumbass,” Roy said again.

“Stop calling me that,” Jamie said and Roy began to feel badly.

The situation seemed to sink in for Jamie once the cast was applied. The nerve block meant he wasn’t in too much pain but that wouldn’t last and right now the lad just looked uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry. I just, I hate seeing you hurt and especially when it was my fault.”

“How was it your fault?” Jamie asked skeptically.

“You were trying to catch me. Did you hit your fucking head too?”

“It were an accident, Roy. If anyone’s to blame it’s the fucking pot hole you drove through. Thinking of writing a strongly worded letter to our boy Sadiq Khan about the maintenance of London’s roads.”

“I’m impressed you know who the Mayor is.”

“Fuck off. Met him at one of the England matches couple of weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Roy said again then motioned vaguely at Jamie. ”About all this.”

“I told. you, it were an accident,” Jamie shrugged then winced as it jostled his injured wrist.

“Ready lads?” Ruth appeared holding a bag with pain medication she handed to Roy.

“We picking Phoebe up?” Jamie asked.

“I can drive you home first if you want?”

The bikes were abandoned after the incident and they’d taken a taxi to the hospital, thankful Ruth’s shift ended as they were ready to leave.

“Let’s get Phoebe and then Roy said he’d buy us all kebabs, didn’t you, Royo?”

“When the fuck did I say that?”

“You did. Felt bad on account of landing on me and all.”

“Right, yeah,” Roy said as he helped Jamie into Ruth’s Range Rover and buckled him in, careful of his sling. “But seriously, don’t do that again, yeah?”

“No promises, mate.”

One way or another, Jamie Tartt was going to be the death of him.

#thank you friend! #i wrote about a thousand words as a follow up to my first drabble #but that seemed a bit harsh since in it jamie just woke from a (spoiler alert) coma #so i wrote this instead! #whump #whump prompt #jamie tartt #roy kent #bad things happen bingo #accidentally hurt by a friend #ted lasso fanfic #writing prompt #drabble #i think #ao3

[multific]

Movie Date

Vincent Sinclair x Reader

Summary: Vincent takes you on a date.

He was always working, perfecting the town as their mother envisioned, he was so busy he couldn’t even spend quality time with you for a couple weeks now, the only time he saw you was when he went to bed and you were already there, sleeping.

So, today, he had an idea.

As soon as he heard you enter the house you two shared, he was heading up from the basement.

“I’m home, Honey.” you said with a quiet voice, knowing he wasn’t there and even if he heard you he would be more focused on his work.

But then you heard the footsteps. 

“Oh,” you turned and found him standing there, a wax rose in his hand. “Thank you, Vincent.” you smiled as you took the rose and placed it into the vase on the table, it was really nice.

You looked back at him, finding him standing in the same position as if he had something to say.

“Vincent?” you asked and he didn’t move. “Are you ill, Hon?” he shook his head. 

You always found it strange how shy he was still. After all, you two were married now, you told him many many times that you love him and that he didn’t have to worry around you and yet here he was all shy. 

He pulled out a piece of paper and showed it to you,

Will you go on a date with me? 

You smiled, you wanted to laugh but you were afraid he might misunderstand.

“Of course, where should we go? Bowling? Movies?”

He pointed at the paper and you turned it.

Theatre?

You nodded. “Can I change quickly? I’ll wear something nice for our special date.”

It was his turn to nod and you rushed upstairs to wear something nice.

Not long after you emerged wearing a nice short dress to match the weather and with locked arms you two walked to the theatre. 

“I wonder what they are playing today.” you said jokingly to Vincent as he nodded to the options, allowing you to pick.

“We could go for the action movie.”

And with that you made your way inside, seeing all the ‘figures’ around the place you played along as if they were real, you even got some popcorn from the nice man.

The movie was interesting it was one you haven’t seen before, you knew Bo liked to change the movies from time to time, depending on the season or his mood.

But this was a rather nice action movie. And you really did enjoy it.

You failed to notice but Vincent was mainly looking at you, staring actually. He continued to look from you at your hands as he held yours. He couldn’t help but think just how truly lucky he was to have you. You were his everything.

You and this town he and his brother’s built.

You smiled as the movie ended. 

“That was really good. Do you want to make out? I don’t think anyone here would mind.” you said but you could tell he didn’t want to, so you just decided to let it go. “I crave some ice cream, can we get some?”

He nodded and you two walked to the store. It was closed but he opened the door for you.

The ice cream machine was new. You craved it one day and Bo had to go and get you one while Lester kept on teasing him that he had a soft spot for you, and it was true all of them did.

Bo and Lester saw you as a sister while Vincent fell in love. 

You made your own ice cream before turning to Vincent if he needed one, to your surprise he said yes. You two ate your ice cream as you walked back home, hand in hand.

“I really enjoyed myself, thank you. I know you are busy with your work, but it’s okay really. I know your mother’s vision is important to you, but it is nice to get out from time to time.”

He nodded, completely agreeing with you. When you arrived home, he was ready to just go to bed, you took a shower and changed into your pyjamas. 

You headed to bed only to find him sitting against the headboard, his mask on the nightstand.

“Hello there handsome, can I sit?” he tilted his head, not really understanding but then he nodded. You moved to his lap, taking a sit with your crotch right against his. “And now, I’ll talk you nicely for the date, if you let me.” you started to kiss his neck as his hands began to wander.

Yes, Vincent Sinclair knew he was married to a vixen. And he surely loved every second of it.

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart​​ @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports  @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa   @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow @crazzyter  @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79  @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​​ @paola-carter​​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

#vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair imagine #vincent sinclair imagines #vincent sinclair x fem reader #vincent sinclair x female reader #vincent sinclair x wife reader #house of wax #house of wax x reader #house of wax imagine #house of wax imagines #house of wax fanfiction #house of wax fanfic #x reader #fluff #slasher #slasher short #slasher x y/n #slasher x #slasher x reader #slasher imagines #slasher imagine

[gaffney]

your portrayal of adam banks is my favorite portrayal of him i think ever… what are your other thoughts about him?

OH MAN. thank you so much 😭 i sort of talked about him here kinda recentish! as for other stuff… i will say that i feel like i’ve seen a lot of takes recently about adam’s relationship with his dad that i don’t really vibe with. 🤔 implying that he doesn’t care about adam’s wants/needs, or that adam’s scared of his dad, which i don’t think is the case at all…

like, if you think about it. to adam and his dad, bombay is the villain of d1. the movie framed adam’s switch to the ducks as something positive for bombay, the ducks, and, eventually, adam. and–while this may be true–reverse the situation and you end up with a father who is told that his kid can no longer play on the team that he wants to play on. the team where he has his friends, the team his big brother (who adam most likely admires) used to play for. like!!! IMAGINE. some jackass coach from the worst team in the league coming up to gleefully tell you that your son–who is not only incredibly talented but loves the game–can’t play for the rest of the season or his team will have to forfeit. i would’ve socked bombay right there in the face lmao. THE AUDACITY!!! 

so, phillip banks tries to do what any involved father would do: find a way around it. possibily throw a bunch of money at it, because he’s in a position that he can. again, bombay refuses. not because he wants to give adam a place where he’d be treated better. no. he doesn’t know that kid. bombay says no because he’s a petty bitch, knows that adam is a great player, and does not want to give reilly the advantage. then he leaves the office quacking like an asshole. if i had been phillip banks, i would’ve been questioning that man’s sanity.

ANYWAY. we know phillip’s opinion: according to him, adam would rather not play than play for the ducks. except! adam shows up in the locker room anyway, which means that his choice was different: he just wants to play hockey, no matter where it is. and, rather than telling him no (especially after witnessing how much of a quack his new coach is), phillip agreed. 

this shows us two things: 1) phillip cares enough about adam that he’s willing to let him go to a team that he (phillip) may not like, as long as it means his son gets what he wants (aka to play hockey). and 2) adam does not cower around phillip. he was able to tell him that he wanted to play and “win” whatever argument there might’ve been. it was adam’s choice. i think this is a very important distinction to make.

“but tumblr user gaffney,” i hear someone cry in the distance, “what about that time adam’s dad wore a hawks jacket to the finals?” WELL, random shout in the void, it’s like i said: to adam and his dad, bombay’s the villain. we don’t see phillip ever interact with bombay again prior to adam’s injury. now add the fact that adam wasn’t exactly welcomed to the team and most likely returned home from practice every week with another story of how jesse hall glared at him from across the rink (with good reason but that’s another story). it’s very likely that adam himself thought he’d be going back to the hawks after this season. he was still embarrassed/uncomfortable/trying to hide his face when he saw mcgill & larson, and this was after they’d made the playoffs. basically, phillip had no damn reason to support the ducks, even if his son was on the team. and even despite that, he cheered adam on. he left his seat immediately once adam was injured. they held hands when adam was rolled off the ice. 

then there’s d2. in flashbacks, we see bombay’s dad, who appeared to be a really good guy before his death. bombay then draws parallels between his dad and adam’s dad, which is something he probably would not do if he (still) hated adam’s dad or (still) thought he was an awful human being. to quote bombay, “(bombay’s dad) didn’t need me to score a hundred goals for him. he was proud of me because i was his son, and i did my best. i’m sure that’s how your dad feels. i know it is.” 

tldr; #letphillipbankslive2k23. there’s no need to woobify adam into a poor abused little rich boy tbh, but that’s just my Hot Take.

#bashbabe #the mighty ducks #adam banks #me: i can't focus on writing #me when i defend phillip banks who i don't even really care about: 100k #honestly it's really just the fact that i wish people would give adam more credit #and not write off his (past) behavior as 'it's bc his dad doesn't love him boohoo :(' #he was a little shithead #until he realized he was a shithead #and chose not to be a shithead #it's called GROWTH! #until d3 where he was yet again kind of a shithead #he just WANTS TO PLAY HOCKEY #tune in next week for my rant on how jesse hall made the most impact on adam's life and ppl need to stop erasing it!!!

[2amandas]

Summer in Vatican remained as hot as Alessandra dreadfully remembered, her will to live the day decreasing the more she kept walking. The jacket she held for when they were supposed to enter the Sistine Chapel for the 30th time in her life seemed to laugh at her, but there was nothing she could do about it now, and if she was to play the game, no risks should be taken.

She had successfully skipped the annual family vacation to Vatican the last two years, ironically assigning that to the little bit of faith she had. If God and the saints wanted her to go, they wouldn’t have had the admission exam for her desired masters degree dated for the middle of the week, and then they wouldn’t have made the hottest guy she had met at that point ask her to spend the Spring holiday with him somewhere. In some way, those were God’s plans for her. How could she go against that?

All that luck had been spent in those two years. When her mother demanded her presence on the vacation, penniless-afraid she wouldn’t be able to finish her thesis-striken by a perpetually unstable love life-Alessandra had no choice but to say yes, mama, I look forward to it, hoping it would make asking for some money easier and less humiliating. Showing up at the house drunk and miserable difficulted her act, though. If anything, she felt as the main character in a season of The White Lotus, and also the one who was murdered in the end.

Facing it was the only choice, and so she would do. High temperatures and awkward breakfast aside, it was a nice day. Her parents were too busy with her sister’s husband to give her attention, it was too hot for her to try ruining the day, her brother was being strangely quiet, and at the first opportunity her sister pulled her to go back to being awful teenagers and ditch the family to explore for themselves. Just another usual Mori family vacation, and as she hadn’t be in one lately, she couldn’t really complain.

As they loved to do in the simpler times, the first thing they did was looking for boys. Not actively, since her sister was married, but just strolling and laughing everytime they passed by a guy they thought was hot. They weren’t known for having a particularly good relationship, so it was nice to just go and have a bit of fun before returning to the schedule. No harm in having ice cream while analyzing the most recent edition of the great calendario romano and saying I wouldn’t mind confessing with him to every single priest showcased in the pages. They’d finish their desserts and go back, Alessandra hiding the calendar on her purse so her sister could have it later.

Until they stumbled upon a photo of a priest so gorgeous Alessandra had to take a break, even more shocked by the information that it was the priest of the same church they visited and frequented every year during the trip. The old priest she knew since childhood had passed away, and great Father Domenico had been there since then. Oh, she clearly had to make up for her absence in the last two years.

No amounts of no, Alessia, stop whatever you’re thinking would be enough to distract her. Suddenly, Alessandra was ready to go, chuckling to herself while her sister pretended to not understand her new behavior. Showing up with her deranged family wouldn’t be attractive at all, but debating whether it was okay to even think like that also wasn’t good.

She didn’t even want to do something bad, for Christ’s sake! Taking a look at a handsome man wasn’t a sin, even if he was a priest. Just taking a look, that was it. It would be a nice thing to think about for the next days. After checking herself on the phone camera, reapplying her lipstick and assuring her mother she would be on her best behavior for the visit (not even her mother wanted to look bad in front of the hot priest, apparently), Alessandra was ready for the tour, letting her family members go ahead.

“Oh, I actually missed being here,” it’s not a lie. Her mother was christened there, her parents’ ceremony was held there, her siblings and Alessandra herself had been christened been there more times they could count. Some jewels and mental illness aside, if was the closest thing they had to a family heirloom, and she could see that now, all thanks to the hot priest who seemed to be hiding himself. “Where is Father Severino? I gotta apologize for my recent absence.” She references the old priest, ignoring her sister’s dirty looks. She can only hope Father Domenico hasn’t heard much about her already.

[ledenews]

How a Canadian Hockey Player Found True Love in Wheeling

“You don’t think you’re taking her to Canada, do you?” That was the question local businessman Tom Fato immediately posed to Brock Woods after the former pro hockey player asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage. “It’s a true story,” confirmed Brock, a native of Belleville, Ontario who is the director of local operations of US Xpress. “That is exactly what Cari’s Dad asked. It was a simple conversation, really. I came into the kitchen and I still had my winter coat on because it was November, but I was sweating bullets because of how nervous I was. I sat down with him, and I popped the question. And that was his first response … ‘Well, you don’t think you’re taking her to Canada, do you?’ “I immediately told him that wasn’t our plan at all, and then he wanted to know what my plan was as far as making a living and things like that,” he said with a chuckle. “I told him my family was in the trucking business and that I planned to get into that business, too. And the rest is history.” Well, according to Cari, there’s a little more to the story. It only took Brock six months before he proposed marriage to Cari Fato. See, Woods moved to the Friendly City one season after the Wheeling Thunderbirds had transplanted from North Carolina and into the Wheeling Civic Center in 1992, now known as Wesbanco Arena. According to the Nailers’ history book, “Brock played three seasons for the Thunderbirds from 1993-96, and finished with 37 goals, 85 assists, 122 points, 639 penalty minutes, and a +34 rating in 193 games. He is one of six defensemen in team history to record at least 10 goals and at least 100 penalty minutes in the same season and is the only blueliner to achieve that feat in three different seasons. Woods also served as the team's captain during the 1994-95 season.” IN fact, a little more than a year ago, Woods joined former head coach Peter Laviolette in the Nailers’ Hall of Fame. “But I wasn’t a hockey fan back then. Not at all. I didn’t meet him because he was a hockey player, either,” Cari insisted with a smile. “I met him because I went to Wheeling College and there was a bar called Mac’s down the street from the school. Brock and his friends would come there and take all of the seats,” Cari recalled. “That’s where I kind of met him, at Mac’s, but then I didn’t talk to him again for a year or so. “It wasn’t until a year later when I really met him at TJ’s (Sportsgarten). I would be there playing pool with some friends, and he would come in after games with his teammates,” she recalled. “He would send a guy named Louis Dumont down to me with a drink every time. I’d look up and say thanks, and he’d wave, and then he started to come down to talk, and then we realized we liked each other. A lot.” And then the non-hockey fan laced up skates for a first date. “We actually did go ice skating on our first date, and yes, I showed up,” giggled Cari, the insurance specialist for the Fato family’s Straub Automotive at The Highlands. “Of course, all of the kids who were there knew who he was and that was pretty fun. And, of course, we held hands while we skated. It was our first date. “And then I think he took me to Bob Evans after that,” she said with a grin. “Believe it or not, yes, Bob Evans. But hey, we did have a lot of money back then, and it wasn’t about the food anyway.” Brock was inducted into the Wheeling Nailers Hall of Fame last March. Believe The Hype That is him. The Hall of Famer. Starring in the Nailers’ “Why Not Us” video released this past week as Wheeling heads into the ECHL’s Kelly Cup Playoffs against the Indy Fuel. The Nailers struggled toward the end of the season but finished in third place with a 38-28-4-1 record and 81 points. Indy, which captured Game 1 by a 5-2 margin at Indiana Farmers Coliseum, will play host Wheeling again this evening at 7p.m. before the series heads home. “They’ve had a lot of very good players this year, but it’s a development league and we’re affiliated (with the Pittsburgh Penguins) so that’s what happens. We lose our best players because they move up,” Brock explained. “I go to a lot of games and I’m really happy the team is still here in town. I think it’s great. https://youtu.be/ClRVOVBUojU?si=N36KJSQuhkWqMIb1 “The improvements to the arena have made the rink a great place to play, so that part of the game has changed quite a bit. And I get it. There’s got to be more than just the game these days for people to go, and that’s across the board with sports,” he said. “It’s really impressive that the franchise has stayed here in Wheeling. That doesn’t happen very often on this (ECHL) level, but the city loves it’s sports teams.”   That has included, in fact, the girl’s basketball team at Wheeling Park High and the hockey club team at Wheeling Central Catholic. Cari and Brock’s three children, Shanley, Tommy, and Lala, each have excelled in athletics. Shanley and Lala both are 1,000 scorers for the Lady Patriots and the eldest is playing college ball at W.Va. State, and the youngest is only a junior and already committed to play at the University of Maine come 2025. The Woods kids - Stanley, Lala, and Tommy. Their son? Hockey, of course. “One thing I know now is you have to love the sport because it’s an every-day thing these days if you are going to be dedicated, you do it,” Cari said. “Our two girls absolutely love basketball and Shanley has played on the college level and now Lala has committed to do the same, and that’s going to be a great adventure for her. That’s going to be the dream come true. “And Tommy has been so dedicated to hockey,” she said. “He’s still playing juniors, and his goal is to go to college at some point. He’s been doing well and I know the (Juniors Tier 3) Rochester Grizzlies want him back for another season, so we’ll see. But it’s all about working hard, and all three of them certainly do that on a daily basis. We’re so proud of them.” Oh, and yes, indeed, the Woods family have taken several trips above the border and into Brock’s native land of Canucks. “That’s the funny thing about how my Dad reacted to Brock when he asked to marry me – I love Canada and I love it when we make those trips,” Cari said with a broad smile. “And ya know, Brock wanted to ask my Dad after only three months of dating, and I told him there was no way my Dad would go for it after just three months. “So, he waited until it was six months, and here we are today.” Read the full article

[beneaththetangles]

Review: Kaguya-sama: Love Is War -The First Kiss That Never Ends-

What does a kiss mean? It is an admission of love? Does it have the power to change a relationship into something new and more meaningful? Or is it, at the end of the day, just a kiss?

Kaguya-sama: Love Is War -The First Kiss That Never Ends- picks up immediately from the ending of season 3, after the moment when Shuchiin Academy Vice President Shinomiya kissed President Shirogane on a rooftop during the Hoshin Festival as hundreds of balloons filled the air. This moment, otherwise unthinkable for the two student council officers who have struggled so diligently to each pressure the other into admitting their feelings first, should have opened up a new path before the pair—one in which they become an official couple. But this is Shinomiya and Shirogane we’re talking about, and it may take more than just a kiss—as passionate as it was—to finally discover that love is not war.

Showing in theaters just yesterday and today, this is the first movie for the franchise, adapting the manga arc of the same name. It’s no filler film: The First Kiss That Never Ends takes the leads through pivotal character development and sees the series complete a subtle, but meaningful shift in genre as it moves away from straight-up romcom toward more heartfelt, meaningful fare, all while continuing with the uproarious overreactions, surrealist animation, and deadpan dialogue that that the series is known for.

Director Mamoru Hatakeyama cleverly chooses to have some fun with the characters’ flaws first though. Shinomiya isn’t sure at all what to do now that she’s taken the initiative and kissed Shirogane. She is literally divided over the situation, alternating inside between the immature and huggable “Kaguya-chan” and the “ice queen” version of herself, who ultimately takes control, deciding that she will indeed win this “war” by forcing Shirogane to make the next move. Meanwhile, Shirogane moves from a place of confidence to one of confusion and second-guessing—and almost all those second guesses are wrong.

Shirogane encounters the adorable Kaguya-chan (Kaichou! Kaichou!)

The countdown is on. The festival has concluded mere days before Christmas, and now that holiday—with all its romantic implications for the Japanese—is just sitting there, a half-week away. Talk about pressure! Not one, but two Christmas parties are being held for the student council members to attend! Will Shinomiya and Shirogane be able to sort out their relationship in time for a storybook romantic Christmas ending?

Or is that even the point?

The movie isn’t about Christmas, but it makes use of the holiday in a way I haven’t seen in anime before—and this is coming from a viewer who’s watched (and written about) at least four dozen Christmas anime episodes and movies over the years. Notably, this Kaguya-sama Christmas isn’t white. It isn’t overly decorated, and there are no sky-high Christmas trees or holiday melodies gracing the air. But most distinctively, this Christmas is very specifically not filled with romantic gifts. Instead, this is a stripped-down version of Christmas, and one that conveys perfectly the unornamented romance the two leads are pursuing. It gets at the heart of what Christmas is really all about: the genuine love beneath all the sentimentality of the holiday and the “ultra-romantic” scene that concludes season three. Christmas is meant to be authentic.

While the first half of the film is heavy on humor (and very heavy indeed—my jaw hurt from all the laugh-out-loud moments!), the second half turns the story to the complex task of transforming two characters who are jokes in and of themselves, into real people with backstories, dreams, desires, anxieties, and fears. Shinomiya takes center stage in all this as the movie strips away her facade, pulling away her symbolic mask more than at any point to date. We learn why she is the way she is. And there’s subtle but powerful growth happening within her. Shinomiya’s inner monologue and actions are not played for laughs as the story progresses; instead, they are used to develop her into a more fully realized character, much like the second season arc did for Ishigami.

Ishigami gets some surprising story advancement in the movie as well!

The result is something quite special. While the movie begins with Shinomiya talking about adulthood in terms of French kisses and sex, it ends with her and Shirogane expressing adulthood through their decisions regarding the masks they wear, the effort they put toward being “perfect,” and their relationship with one another. These decisions are intertwined, and they push the story into “coming of age” territory in addition to its established grounding in romance and comedy. It’s a good film no matter which of those three categories you place it in.

But alas, with all that’s going on here, The First Kiss That Never Ends is a little overstuffed. Although there is an attempt to pace it well, ultimately, the sharp turn in genre in this 90-minute film is the stuff of whiplash. The shift from the comedic to the serious was handled more effectively in the TV series, where it could unfold more gradually. Along with the appearance of so many characters and the aforementioned big laughs, the tonal shift results in a bit of head-spinning. The movie has a pacing problem generally, as there were times when I began to nod off. At some points, there’s too much energy, and at others, not enough.

I was grateful for lots of Chika, but she and a few others served little function in the film.

Those problems are admittedly nit-picky though, and ultimately the pacing issues don’t prevent the movie from serving as a new high point for a franchise that’s already taken its place as a classic among anime romcoms. The First Kiss That Never Ends delivers the laughs and engaging animation of the TV series while inserting a romantic and thoughtful story, making it big enough and, like its leads, brave enough to deserve the grander stage of a theatrical film release. It’s destined to be a particularly memorable part of a franchise that will be a model for the next generation of romantic comedies.

And at the end of the day, as we near the conclusion of the series, this movie makes me wish that, like Shinomiya and Shirogane’s first kiss, it would never end. - @animepopheart​

#Anime #Kaguya sama wa Kokurasetai: Tensaitachi no Renai Zunousen #Kaguya sama: Love is War #Kaguya sama: Love is War: The First Kiss Never Ends #Kaguya sama wa Kokurasetai: First Kiss wa Owaranai #Anime Movies #Reviews #Anime Reviews #Anime Article #Anime Blog #Christian Anime #Christian Otaku #Articles #Author: TWWK

[your-dietician]

Micah Parsons calls out NFL referees after day of questionable roughing the passer calls

New Post has been published on https://medianwire.com/micah-parsons-calls-out-nfl-referees-after-day-of-questionable-roughing-the-passer-calls/

Micah Parsons calls out NFL referees after day of questionable roughing the passer calls

Dallas Cowboys defensive end Micah Parsons has a bone to pick with NFL referees. 

On a day filled with questionable calls, or no calls at all, around the NFL, Parsons took to Twitter showing a picture of him being held by a Los Angeles Rams offensive lineman with a message. 

“We won’t call this but we’ll call a roughing the passer lol! Can we focus in and protect defensive players?” Parsons wrote. 

Parsons was likely referring to his teammate, Dante Fowler Jr., getting called for a roughing the passer on Rams quarterback Matthew Stafford, though a replay of the situation didn’t seem to be too egregious. 

Fowler did go up high to try and disrupt Stafford’s pass, but he didn’t make contact with the quarterback’s head and didn’t finish his tackle. Still, the refs threw a flag and moved the Rams’ offense up 15 yards.

But Parson could also be speaking to a situation in another game, one that had the NFL world in an uproar on social media. 

TOM BRADY, BUCS BENEFIT FROM CONTROVERSIAL ROUGHING-THE-PASSER CALL; NFL FANS TAKE ISSUE

Tampa Bay Buccaneers quarterback Tom Brady was driving to seal a win against the Atlanta Falcons, who were threatening late in the game at Raymond James Stadium. But defensive lineman Grady Jarrett got into the Bucs’ backfield and sacked Brady, twisting him down to the turf, which may have set up a potential game-winning drive for Atlanta, as it was fourth down and long for the Bucs to get a first down. 

Instead, a flag was thrown against Jarrett for roughing the passer. A few players later, Brady found wide receiver Mike Evans for another first down that iced the win. 

Social media went berserk, with some calling it “the worst call of this young NFL season,” while another said that “someone should lose their job like right now.”

EZEKIEL ELLIOTT’S EXPLICIT TAKE ON COWBOYS’ QUARTERBACK CONTROVERSY: ‘WE’RE USED TO THE DISRESPECT’

Referee Jerome Boger told Greg Auman, a pool reporter, about that specific Brady call. 

“What I had was the defender grabbed the quarterback while he was still in the pocket, and unnecessarily throwing him to the ground. That is what I was making my decision based upon.”

Boger added that his call wasn’t based off Tua Tagovailoa’s head injury that happened on a similar sack last week between the Miami Dolphins and Cincinnati Bengals. 

Back to Parsons, his Cowboys didn’t suffer from that call against Fowler, as they defeated the Rams 22-10 to secure their fourth win of the year. Parsons had two sacks on the day, bringing his 2022-23 total to six already through five weeks. 

Read the full article here

[rabidline]

Shoma Uno at the 2021 Stars on Ice: Yokohama at April 22, 2021 (x)

#shoma uno #figure skating #fs #the extent of how this man spoils me is ridiculous sometimes #where to start? #his announcement that he'll skate his new free a day before he skates it #his youtube premiere of practice snippets dropping an hour before the show starts #and now showing up to an ice show held a week after the season ended in a new fit #(that i'm pretty sure is stairway's backup but also... gorgeous) #i do not share the animosity people have for bolero #i'm a digimon adventure fan: it's a special piece that is very dear to my heart #anyway shoma's programs usually thrive better when people hate them so everything is proceeding according to plan rn #also i have known this since october 2020 so reading the insults and complaints have been entertaining #season: 2021 2022

[sl-ut]

cake

pairing: maddy perez x fem!reader

description: y/n had done so much for maddy, now she just wanted to make her birthday extra special to show her how much she appreciates her. 

warnings: SMUT, mentions of drinking, swearing, reference to euphoria season two

words: 1.7K

date posted: 17/04/22

Maddy smiled to herself as she ran her soft palms over the intricate lace details that decorated the curves of her figure. Her dark eyes admired the one-piece that just barely provided any modesty for her, not that it mattered anyways; Only one person would be seeing her in it, and it was no less conservative than her usual ‘around the house’ attire. She carefully made a few touch-ups to her hair, ensuring that her long ponytail wasn’t becoming frizzy, then applied one more layer of glittery gloss to her lips before shrugging on a matching robe and rushing into the kitchen.

A few candles had been lit around the apartment, creating a warm ambiance that she hoped would help fuel the evening’s festivities. The table held two mis-matched wine glasses and a bottle of the fanciest wine that Maddy could afford, only outshone by the small homemade cake that had been set in front of it. 

Maddy was genuinely impressed with herself for pulling the cake together. She hadn’t ever been a baker by any means, but after two trials and an in-depth tutorial from YouTube, the chocolate heart-shaped cake was messily smeared with a thick layer of blue icing and inscribed with ‘Happy Birthday Y/n.’

Just peering at her name written in icing made Maddy’s face break into a warm grin, thoughts and memories of the past months filling her brain. Maddy hadn’t expected to meet someone quite like her when she left East Highland, especially when she’d had her entire life planned out since sophomore year. Then, after ending things with Nate and her friendship-breakup with Cassie, Maddy knew she needed a fresh start. She moved to New York with Jules, who was attending fashion school, and began taking a few courses at a local community college while she figured out what she wanted to do with her life. Jules takes great pride in having introduced the two girls, as Y/n was a classmate of hers at Parsons, and she and Maddy were very clearly attracted to one another the instant that they locked eyes. Within weeks, the two of them could be considered ‘more than friends,’ and by the time that Christmas had rolled around, Y/n had her own drawer in Maddy’s bedroom. 

Just peering at her name written in icing made Maddy’s face break into a warm grin, thoughts and memories of the past months filling her brain. Maddy hadn’t expected to meet someone quite like her when she left East Highland, especially when she’d had her entire life planned out since sophomore year. Then, after ending things with Nate and her friendship-breakup with Cassie, Maddy knew she needed a fresh start. She moved to New York with Jules, who was attending fashion school, and began taking a few courses at a local community college while she figured out what she wanted to do with her life. Jules takes great pride in having introduced the two girls, as Y/n was a classmate of hers at Parsons, and she and Maddy were very clearly attracted to one another the instant that they locked eyes. Within weeks, the two of them could be considered ‘more than friends,’ and by the time that Christmas had rolled around, Y/n had her own drawer in Maddy’s bedroom. 

Just peering at her name written in icing made Maddy’s face break into a warm grin, thoughts and memories of the past months filling her brain. Maddy hadn’t expected to meet someone quite like her when she left East Highland, especially when she’d had her entire life planned out since sophomore year. Then, after ending things with Nate and her friendship-breakup with Cassie, Maddy knew she needed a fresh start. She moved to New York with Jules, who was attending fashion school, and began taking a few courses at a local community college while she figured out what she wanted to do with her life. Jules takes great pride in having introduced the two girls, as Y/n was a classmate of hers at Parsons, and she and Maddy were very clearly attracted to one another the instant that they locked eyes. Within weeks, the two of them could be considered ‘more than friends,’ and by the time that Christmas had rolled around, Y/n had her own drawer in Maddy’s bedroom. 

“Babe?” 

Maddy jumped up from her chair, leaning sensually against the countertop as she opened the robe to expose the lingerie. 

“Hey baby,” She smirked, “I missed you.”

Y/n’s brows raised in surprise at Maddy’s appearance, her eyes glittering in the candle-light. She stepped closer, taking Maddy’s hand as she scanned her from head to toe. 

“Wow… just wow.”

“Happy birthday, baby,” Maddy tugged her closer, pressing the length of her body against her own as she captured her in a long kiss, “Do you like?”

“I don’t know, I think I need some convincing…” Y/n nipped at Maddy’s bottom lip playfully, giggling at the spark that appeared in her eye.

“Oh shit… sorry,” Jules shielded her eyes as she caught sight of her friend.

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna be here tonight,” Maddy sneered at the blonde, who stifled a giggle as she disappeared into her bedroom.

“Don’t worry,” She called, “You guys can start fucking in a minute, I just forgot my phone charger.”

“You couldn’t borrow one?”

Jules appeared in the doorway of her bedroom with the long white chord in her hand, “No, Molly has a fucking Android.”

“It’s okay, Mads,” Y/n assured her, tucking herself tighter into her embrace.

Jules fled the apartment as quickly as she arrived, announcing her departure loudly as she slammed the door, signalling for the two girls that they were completely safe to continue on with their activities. 

“Come here,” Y/n kissed her once more, “I wanna unwrap my present already.”

“Uh-uh,” Maddy untangled herself from her girlfriend’s arms, snickering at her moans of protest, “Cake first, I spent all morning baking it.”

Y/n stared at her incredulously, “You were baking? And you didn’t burn the entire building down?”

“Shut up, bitch,” Maddy pouted, “Now come over here and eat this cake, or you’re not getting the rest of your present.”

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully, but took a seat at the small table and accepted the slice of cake from Maddy. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the cake, despite its disarrayed appearance, was rather moist and had a decent flavour considering that Maddy had scarcely attempted to make anything beyond sandwiches or pasta in her life. Y/n closed her eyes as she chewed, forcing out an exaggerated moan as she swallowed the last bite.

Maddy’s laughter caught her attention, “You sound like a bad porno.”

“Can’t help it, you’re just that good at baking, baby. Maybe I should let you start making dinner from now on, heh?”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Maddy scoffed, “Besides, we both play equal parts in this relationship; You cook and clean, and I keep you company while you do it.”

Y/n snorted, “Oh yeah? Well if that’s how this is gonna work, then I’m really gonna have to savour whatever you’ve got planned for tonight, yeah?”

Maddy rounded the table, reaching one leg over Y/n’s lap so that she could sit and level their faces before catching her in another long kiss, “We’ll see.”

Y/n’s hand ran up the lacy bodice of Maddy’s bodysuit, fingernail tickling her side as her fingers settled around her waist. Maddy slowly began to force her tongue past Y/n’s lips, caressing the inside of her mouth gently as her hips began to roll. A small whimper grumbled from Y/n’s throat at the movement, and Maddy took that as a signal to continue. 

Her fingers hooked into the robe, pushing it off of her shoulders and onto the grungy tiled floor below, then began work on slipping beneath the fabric of her girlfriend’s blouse. Y/n pulled back far enough so that Maddy could lift the shirt over her head, chest heaving in anticipation. Maddy flushed as her eyes came in contact with her bare chest, grinning as her nipples visibly hardened at the sudden removal of their only heat source. Her fingers quickly found their place, kneading the flesh and rolling the dark buds until they felt like pebbles under her touch before she finally slid off of Y/n’s lap.

Y/n whined at the loss of contact, but quickly stood as allowed Maddy to drag her into the small living room and push her onto the couch. Maddy fell to her knees in front of her, tongue immediately touching her skin as she left a trail of hot saliva between her breasts, finally moving to begin her assault on her chest. 

“Oh, baby,” Y/n sighed, “Please, more.”

Maddy smirked, fingers moving to play with the fastenings of her jeans before she finally pulled the button from its clasp. Y/n eagerly lifted her hips to allow her to pull the fabric from her body, sighing as she watched both her jeans and panties fall away so easily, leaving her bare to the world. 

Maddy’s thumb made immediate contact with her clit, massaging slow circles into the bundle of nerves to accustom her to the intensity she had planned on building. Y/n hissed, parting her thighs wider for her as she shifted in her seat, pushing for more. Maddy grinned at her, but shook her head as she continued rubbing slow circles into her, quickly shifting her thumb to dip between her lips and collect some of her wetness before returning to continue administering the small amount of pressure on her clitoris.

“You’re so fucking wet, babygirl.”

“Mhm,” Was all that Y/n could muster in response, nearly dying from the torturous pleasure.

“You want me to eat your pussy, baby?”

Y/n nodded quickly, placing each of her feet on the couch cushions on either side of her, spreading herself out and submitting to Maddy’s every desire.

A small gust of cool air left Maddy’s puckered lips, breaching the heat in front of her as she moved closer before finally extending her tongue to trail from her perineum all the way to her clit, smoothing it along her folds to taste her wetness. Y/n’s jaw fell open, head dipping back against the couch as a relieved moan slipped out of her. One of her hands reached up to begin massaging her own breast, while the other smoothed over Maddy’s long ponytail before settling on the top of her head to encourage her to continue.

Maddy sucked the bundle of nerves into her mouth, scraping it lightly with her teeth before she released it with a wet Pop! The bud was beginning to appear swollen from the assault, peeking through the hood eagerly as Maddy continued to lick and suck at it, occasionally dipping her tongue through her tight hole to massage the inside. 

“Maddy, babe–” A loud gasp left Y/n’s mouth, interrupting her own sentence as her stomach began to knot, “Baby I think I’m gonna– Oh!”

“Go ahead,” Maddy mumbled into her, “Let me taste you, make it loud baby.”

And Y/n did exactly that. Loud sighs and gasps fell out of her mouth, accompanied by a string of curses and heavy breaths. She began to rock her hips, holding Maddy’s head in place as she began to fuck her face, sobs of pleasure bouncing from the plaster walls as her juices released onto Maddy’s tongue. 

Maddy grinned wolfishly at her as she pulled away, makeup smudged from her nose, cheeks, and chin from Y/n’s wetness. 

“Fuck,” Y/n chuckled breathily, “That was so good, baby.”

Maddy trailed kisses up her body, finding her way up to her lips as she giggled, “I would hope so. You’ve let me get lots of practice.”

“My beautiful girlfriend and her magic tongue,” Y/n played with the straps of her bodysuit, tugging them down to release her breasts to her, “Now come here. My final birthday wish is for you to sit on my face.”

MY WORK IS, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE, TO BE REPOSTED OR SHARED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. I HAVE NEVER GIVEN CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING SHARED, SO IF YOU SEE ANOTHER ACCOUNT POSTING MY CONTENT PLS LET ME KNOW.

#maddy perez fanfiction #female reader #reader insert #x reader #imagines #euphoria #hbo euphoria #euphoria imagine #maddy perez imagine #euphoria hbo #euphoria season 2 #maddy perez x you #maddy perez #maddy perez x reader #oneshot #maddy perez smut #euphoria fanfiction

[myhockeyworld87]

Let’s Play Pretend - Matthew Tkachuk - Part 5

Word Count: 10,016 

Warnings: Language, Smut, NSFW

Notes: Ugh! We are nearing the end of this series and I’m kind of sad about it. Just one more part after this. When last we saw these two, (Y/N) had been made an indecent proposal by her editor Mason. Now it’s time for Matthew to find out.

As always I hope you guys enjoy this. If you do, hit me with some feedback. It’s always welcome. Happy Reading!!!

Let’s Play Pretend Masterlist

Matthew expected that he'd have a message from you after he got off the ice in Detriot. He was looking forward to talking about how your first day went with the production studio. When he looked at his phone though, there was nothing; not a text message, missed call, or even a voicemail. Once he was at the hotel, he rang your number, but there was no answer. He left a message for you to call. To his surprise, there was no message when he woke up in the morning. It seemed completely out of the ordinary for you.

His mind started to go in all different directions. Did this Mason character come in and sweep you off your feet? Matt could tell Mason was into you, even without meeting the man, and he hated it. Knowing you were alone with him just set him on edge. He tried to tell himself that you were probably in meetings all day. Hopefully, he'd hear from you today, since he had the day off. However, all Matt got, most of the week was a text here and there. There were a couple quick conversations, but they were always right before the bus was heading out and Matt couldn't talk long.

By the time Friday came, Matt was itching to not only see you but talk to you as well. He wasn't sure what time you were getting in, as you didn't tell him in the two or three-minute conversations that he had with you. He wasn't surprised to see your car in the garage when he got home as he assumed you took an Uber to the airport. He was shocked to find you in the kitchen cleaning up from lunch though. "Princess, you're home."

You smiled softly at Matt as he walked through the door. It wasn't the full-on bright ones that Matt was always greeted with, so he knew something was wrong. Dropping his bag, he sauntered over and dropped a chaste kiss on your lips. "Everything ok?"

When you went to respond, Noah came over. "Honey, we're home," he laughed then swiftly kissed you on the cheek.

"Alright, Hanny. That'll be enough of that." Matthew swatted his friend away from you sensing that something was off.

"How was the trip? You guys really put on a show." The Flames had thrown all W's on the board during their first long road trip of the season and were hoping that it would continue throughout.

"Marky made some awesome saves in that shutout against the Pens," Dube commented slapping the aforementioned Markstrom on the back.

"Tell me all about it. I want to hear everything."

"As soon as we put our stuff away," Matt said off-handedly hoping that he'd get a few minutes alone with you to talk. He squeezed your hip, before saying. "Come help me?" You nodded and followed him up the stairs. As soon as Matt closed the door to the bedroom, he started. "Ok out with it, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, (Y/N). You barely called or text me while you were in LA and I saw the look on your face when I walked through the door. What happened? Did they back out of the movie deal? Was it not the kind of money you were looking for?" What he really wanted to ask was if you were in love with your editor, and wanted out of your deal with him, but he held his tongue.

You sighed heavily, knowing that you had to tell Matt the truth. You'd promised Keith that you would and you knew that even though he'd come to your rescue, he would tell Matt if you didn't. "LA didn't exactly go as planned." Matt quirked a brow at you in question. You searched the recesses of your brain for the right words, ones that wouldn't send him off the deep end like they did Brady. Unfortunately, there was no easy way to say it. "I only ended up meeting with one of the studios. They offered what I thought seemed pretty fair, but Mason…well, he wanted to talk it over."

"That seems reasonable," Matt offered by way of comment. He'd been through enough negotiations to know that you didn't really accept the first offer given.

"Yeah, I guess. Only when we were talking about it in his hotel room…" This was it, Matt thought. This was the part where you would tell him that Mason held your heart and you could no longer pretend to be Matt's fiancé, and while it would suck for his career; he wasn't quite sure how his heart was going to stand it here without you. "He made a pass at me."

Matt inhaled deeply, not really knowing what to say. "I see."

You raised your head to the ceiling, not really knowing how to handle the next part. "He told me that if I didn't sleep with him, he'd tell the world we were faking our relationship." You spit that all out in one huge breath, eyes glued on anything but Matt.

"HE WHAT?" Matt's brain was trying to play catchup. He was so sure that you were going to say that you fell for Mason he never saw the sleazeball making this kind of lewd offer. Now his mind was reeling at the thought that you slept with the scumbag just to protect him. "You didn't…" He didn't quite know how to ask the rest, so he started pacing the room waiting for you to answer.

"NO," you shouted with a shutter. "I would never. I wanted the throw up when he kissed me."

"HE KISSED YOU!" Matt stopped dead in his track. His actions carrying him directly in front of you. "He didn't…because I swear…I'll kill him…"

"No," you shook your head. "No, I was able to leave the room. That's when I called your dad."

"My dad knows about this?" Why hadn't he told him, Matt wondered. His dad should've called him right away.

"He does, and Brady, but only because he answered his phone." You were starting to shake then, thinking back on that night. You were so scared and hadn't known what to do. Thank god Keith had handled things. "Not about us, just that Mason hit on me." You quickly added.

Matt could see how much just telling him this had visibly shaken you. "Hey, I don't care about that." His hands started to rub your arms up and down in a soothing manner. "I just need to know if you're ok?" He held you at arm's length while every instinct in his body told him to wrap you up in them, but he needed to see your answer in your eyes. Know that there wasn't anything more, and that you were well and truly ok.

A lone single tear fell from your eye, as you gazed into Matt's. It was only then that you realized how much of a toll the last few days had taken on you, and that you only now felt safe with Matthew here. "I'm fine."

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, Matthew crushed you to him. His one hand cradled your head, while the other made slow circles on your back. He felt you choke back a sob, while tears fell from his own eyes. "I got you…" he whispered into your hair. "You're safe….I won't ever let him near you." Matt had never felt such rage and hatred for one person in his entire life. He knew at that moment, that if this Mason had been there; that he would've ripped his limbs off with his bare hands. He pushed that feeling aside though, as that wasn't what you needed right now. How he could go from such hatred in one second to such tenderness the next, he wasn't sure, though he knew it had to be you and the love he had for you. But was it love, when he'd essentially put you in this situation? If he hadn't made you agree to be his fake fiancé this would never have happened. "I'm so sorry, (Y/N). I should've never…"

You pulled back from Matthew then, though you didn't get far as he still held you in his embrace. "You have nothing to be sorry about Matty."

"But I do." His hands went to your upper arms forcing you to look at him. "You would've never been in that situation if I hadn't forced you into this engagement…thing." He let you go then, feeling that he was not only unworthy of your love but your friendship as well. "This is all my fault."

You grabbed his wrist before he could move too far away from you. "This is NOT your fault, Matty. Do you hear me?" He hung his head, hearing your words but to him, they rang hollow. "Matthew Tkachuk, look at me." The authoritative tone in your voice left him no choice but to meet your gaze. "This engagement thing, as you called it, was the only thing that saved me." Matthew could only look at you, a million questions in his head as your words registered in his brain. "He only let me walk out that door because he thought he'd scared me enough with that threat, that I wouldn't leave. That'd I'd just willingly sleep with him. If we hadn't been engaged…" you shuddered. "He would've…he would've forced me."

Matthew literally felt nauseous. The rage that he felt moments ago, returning with full force. Coursing through his veins, till his blood felt like it would boil the skin right off him. He wanted to kill this man, not just hit him. He was going to find him and beat him to within an inch of his life, make him beg for his last breath and then take it away from him. "Matty," you called bringing him out of his blinding rage. "I'm ok." It was only when you squeezed his hand back, did he realize how hard of a grip he had on you. The last thing he wanted to do was cause you more pain, so he eased the tightening hold he had on you.

"Thank god," he breathed out hauling you close to him again. Needing to know, that yes you were ok. You were here. You were safe. And he would never let anyone harm you again. After a few minutes, he released you. "You said you talked to Dad?"

"Yeah…He made me realize that there was no way Mason could know the truth. I think I was just too stunned by what had happened to even register that." Matthew could understand why you hadn't. "He took care of everything. He got me on the last plane back here. He wanted me to go to Ottawa or St. Louis, but I just wanted to come home." That thought made Matthew smile. That you'd actually want to come to the place that the two of you had picked out, and truly built into something that you considered home, made his heart swell with pride and love. "I know he called Mason, but I don't know what was said. He refused to tell me…and to be honest, I'm not sure I want to know." Matt had already planned on having a long chat with his dad, but knowing that words were exchanged with this Mason character, it was going to be a longer conversation than he'd originally planned. "Your dad's been amazing Matty, your mom, and Brady too." Everyone but him, Matthew thought. "Your mom volunteered to fly out here, but I told her it wasn't necessary. I'm still not sure what will happen with the publishing company. Your dad has lawyers going through everything with a fine-tooth comb. He wants me out of that place."

"So do I," Matthew added, then felt you sigh. "What?"

"I don't blame the company…just Mason. I mean they've been good to me these last couple of years. And what if I lose my book deal or worse, what if I lose my rights for the books I've already written. That production company was offering a lot of money."

Matt could see how upset you were and rightly so. Mason, the asshole, had put your entire future in jeopardy for a little roll in the hay. It made him wonder, how many other writers he'd done the same thing too. "Well, if anyone can fix it; it's dad."

"I know. I just feel so guilty taking so much of his time."

"I'm sure he's fine, (Y/N). My dad lives for contract negotiations. Look at what he got Brady. I'm sure he can do the same for you, though they could offer the whole publishing company to you and I still don't think it would be enough." Matt wiped away the remnants of tears on your face with the pads of his thumb. "How about I run you a bath and then we can binge something on Netflix all day."

"As appealing as that sounds, we have guests."

Matt had completely forgotten about his teammates that were downstairs probably wondering where you both were. Scratch that, they probably assumed that you were properly greeting your fiancé after a long road trip. Which is what Matt had originally wanted to do. Well, after a long talk. Now, it was the furthest thing from his mind. All he wanted to do was hold you and keep you safe, for the last thing that you needed was him ravishing you as he had originally planned. "I can send them to a hotel. Their complex is supposed to be ready the day after tomorrow. It won't kill them."

"They're fine, Matty. I'm fine. As much as I want to curl up and watch Yellowstone with you, I'm kind of starved for human interaction as well." You chuckled lightly. You'd kept your conversations with Matt brief over the long road trip not wanting him to know anything was wrong so that he could concentrate on playing hockey. Now that there was someone here with you, you were dying to talk. "Give me a few minutes to fix my makeup and I'll be right down. Ok?"

"You're sure."

"Positive."

Matt finally released you allowing you to go into the ensuite, while he stepped outside of the bedroom. He immediately ran into Noah. "Is everything ok?"

Matt closed his eyes trying to process the last twenty minutes. "Yeah…no. Fuck I don't know. Can you just maybe not mention the movie deal to (Y/N)?"

"Uh…sure." Matt went to walk down the stairs, but Hanny stopped him. "Chucky, is she ok? Is there someone we need to…you know…send down the tunnel and never come back? Cause we all got your back."

"How did you…?"

"Your walls aren't as thick as you think. Don't worry I didn't hear much." They both started walking down the stairs then. "Just you yelling about someone kissing her."

Matt groaned, at least he hadn't heard anything about your fake engagement. Not that Matt cared anymore. He'd tell the whole world the truth if it meant keeping you safe. "It was her editor. And trust me, if I ever see the man, I'm going to tear him to shreds."

"All that because of a kiss?" Matt glared at his friend, the kind of stare that had Noah stopping in his tracks while his gut churned, not only for his friend but for you as well. "Fuck," Hanny said in a hushed tone. "Never mind the tunnel, the man needs to be taken out on a stretcher." Matt simply nodded while Noah went and told both Marky and Dube not to mention your trip to LA.

By the time you walked down the stairs, the guys were practically normal. That was until you walked into the room and all conversation stopped. Obviously, Matthew had told them something but you weren't sure what. Not really wanting to get into things with his teammates you politely started asking about their road trip, to which they happily agreed to talk about. Most of the afternoon was spent laughing and joking about the antics that went on during their first roadie.

You made everyone a nice dinner, then the rest of the night was spent in front of the television watching hockey and talking about the upcoming Halloween party. You and Matt still hadn't decided on a costume that you both wanted and time was running out, but you were sure that you'd be able to pull something off. Before you knew it, everyone was calling it a night and heading to bed. Matt let you have the ensuite first, while he unpacked his suitcase, having not done it earlier. You crawled under the covers, happy to have Matty back sharing a bed with you. It was going to be nice to have the guys back at their own apartment, but you were kind of dreading going back to your own room again.

When Matt finished brushing his teeth, he stood there contemplating his next move. When he left, he thought he'd be coming home and confessing his feelings for you, especially after everything that happened the morning he left. Now, he wasn't even sure if you'd want him in bed with you. Not that you blamed him for anything that had transpired between you and the slime bucket that was hopefully your former editor. He just didn't know if you needed more time or space for that matter. He finally walked out of the bathroom, still not knowing what to do. "I can sleep on the floor." He offered, making a move to grab a couple pillows off the bed.

"Oh!" Matt's statement threw you off. You'd been craving his presence the last few days. Now he was here and it seemed he wanted nothing to do with you at all. You should've never given in to those baser desires the morning he left. This whole friends with benefits thing was never going to work out. You scooted over to your side of the bed more, instead of the middle where you had been sleeping. "You don't have to."

"As long as you're comfortable with me being here. I just don't want to trigger…"

"Wait," you said halting Matt's words. "Trigger what?"

Matt waved his hand in the air searching for words. "The whole thing with…well…you know…that asshole Mason."

It dawned on you then that Matt hadn't been thinking about your last time together at all. He was just trying to be sweet and give you space. Which was honestly the last thing you wanted. "It's not going to trigger anything Matt. I'd very much like my best friend to cuddle with though."

Matt smiled, for he very much just wanted you to spend the night in his arms. He lifted the covers and then slipped into bed. "As long as you're sure."

"I am."

He adjusted his pillows, then laid back against them. "Hard to cuddle when you're so far away," he teased, and you laughed lowly at his remark, before scooting closer to him. The moment you were in his arms, Matt felt like everything in his world was right. He kissed the top of your head as you settled against him, both of you finding a spot you were comfortable with for the night. "Can I say, I missed this when I was gone?" His hand idly ran up and down your back, as he was too afraid to look at you as he said more. "I know this isn't something that we do all the time, but I'm getting used to this."

"Me too," you sighed out totally content in the moment. It was something you could get used to for the rest of your life.

"It's been a long day. We should sleep."

You knew Matt was right, it had been a long and emotionally exhausting day. The last few days you'd barely slept, as you waited to tell Matt everything. Now, being here with him, your mind and body were finally at peace. The slow steady stroke of his fingers against your spine lulled you into sleep in no time.

Matt lay there not only listening to but feeling your breathing even out. The slow deep breaths you were taking told him that you'd fallen to sleep in almost record time. He on the other hand had other thoughts racing through his mind. He hated that he'd essentially been the last to know what had happened with Mason. For some reason, he felt as though he should be the first. He wanted to be the one that you ran to. The one you confided in. Shared your hopes and dreams with. He thought he was that person until today. He honestly thought that the two of you were on your way to sharing everything in your life. Now, he was unsure, at least about your feelings for him. His were even stronger than before. He'd known for a while now that he was in love with you, but when you had told him what almost happened to you his heart actually felt like it was laying outside of his chest; it hurt so bad for you. It was something he'd never felt before. If there was a feeling beyond love, Matthew felt it for you.

You snuggled a bit deeper into his chest, and he held you tighter. Matt knew one thing for sure, he was going to lay everything out on the line. Tell you he loved you and no longer wanted to play pretend. That he wanted a real relationship with you. He looked down at your laying there sleeping next to him and smiled. Yes, this is what he wanted for the rest of his life. He kissed your forehead one last time, and whispered a soft, "I love you, (Y/N)," before letting his eyelids drift shut.

The following morning Matt opted to take his own vehicle for morning skate. He needed to speak to his dad in private and knew that wouldn't happen if he did that at home or traveling with the guys. "Hey, dad."

"I can tell from the tone of your voice (Y/N) told you what happened," his dad answered.

"She did. Why didn't you call me? I would've taken the first flight home."

"That's exactly why no one told you, Matthew. (Y/N) didn't want you dropping everything. Besides I had everything well in hand."

"About that…" Matthew prompted hoping that his father would tell him what was said between himself and Mason without directly asking.

Keith blew out a breath and Matt prepared himself for what he was about to hear. "I suppose you want to know what I said to the dirtbag." Matt let his silence speak for him. "I basically just called his bluff. Told him there was nothing he could say or do about your engagement, considering that it was real. Which obviously was a lie." Matt hoped that someday soon it wouldn't be, but there were other things more important at the moment. "He tried to say he had evidence, but when I told him to go to the press with it, that we were fine with that. He seemed to back down. I told him we'd be filing sexual assault charges against him, to which he just laughed."

"Fucking bastard."

"Agreed. The only problem is, apparently he never explicitly mentioned sex, though it was most definitely implied. Which is the problem I'm running into with the publishing company. While they've agreed to put (Y/N) back with her old editor, there's not enough evidence to have this Mason guy fired or get her out of the contract. I'm not giving up though."

"There's got to be something dad."

"Believe me, I'm looking. Though if I'm being honest, I think it's the man, not the company he works for. They seemed stunned and are really trying to do everything they can. He'll be under a microscope and any wrong move; they promised to dismiss him."

"Pfft," Matthew sputtered. "That's nothing. He should be shot and hung in my opinion."

"I can't disagree with you son."

"If I'd have known…"

"I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Brady. The best thing that we could do for (Y/N), was to get her out of that situation that night, and that's what we did."

"But I'm not Brady, dad." Matt's voice was laced with resentment.

"Aren't you? You're what to her Matthew? Her best friend? I believe Brady is as well."

Matt hated the way his dad categorized him as only a friend. Especially when it was so much more to him. "We're more than that, dad."

Keith stayed silent but only for a moment as he let Matt contemplate his feelings. "What are you saying, son?"

"I love her, dad, and not in a friend kind of way." It was the first time he'd said the words out loud and god it felt good. "I love her like you love mom. I think I have my whole life. I've just been too damn stupid to see it."

Keith smiled into the phone as he listened to his son profess his feelings. "Well, it's about time you realized it. But what are you going to do about it, Matthew?"

"I'm gonna tell her. I've just been waiting for the right moment."

"Can I offer you a bit of advice?" Matt hummed a yes. "Every day you wait to tell her is a day you don't get to love her. And while it may not feel like it, we only have so much time on this earth. Why would you want to waste any more of it?"

Matt let his father's words sink in. His dad was right, he didn't want to spend another day without letting you know his feelings. "I'm gonna tell her dad. I swear. As soon as the guys leave. I just hope to god she feels the same way."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that Matthew.  Any woman willing to pretend to be married to you has got to have some kind of feelings for you." His dad laughed, though deep down Matt hoped he was right. While he knew the two of you had chemistry, he still wasn't quite sure if your feelings were as deep as his were. He talked about a bit more to his dad before hanging up and feeling somewhat better about the direction his life was headed.

The next two days were sheer torture for Matt, as every bone in his body wanted to tell you his true feelings. He channeled all of that energy onto the ice, scoring goals in each of his next two games. He was ecstatic though when the day finally came that the guys moved back into the apartment complex. Matt decided to go all out, hiring a private chef to cook you both dinner, under the pretense that it was a thank you for putting up with his teammates. He made sure everything was perfect. Buying a beautiful bouquet of roses for the table, as well as having candles all over the room to cast an intimate glow.

"Wow," you breathed out when you saw the dining room all set up. "You really went all out."

Matt simply shrugged as if it was nothing. The chef left everything warming in the oven, as Matt didn't need the man there when he declared his feelings for you. "I hope you're hungry because this food looks incredible."

"Are you kidding? I'm starving. I was afraid to go in the kitchen to get lunch." You both laughed as the chef had taken over the room to prepare the meal.

"Sit, I'll go grab everything."

Matt came back with plates full of your favorites. You had no idea what was being made but now your mouth watered as you took in the meal. "It smells amazing," you told him as he took his seat beside you. The meal tasted even better than it smelled, as you and Matt talked about everything while you ate the gourmet dinner. Though at times, there were periods where Matt was oddly quiet. Curious about what was going through his mind, you decided to wade into the waters and see what was going on. "What's going on in that head of yours, Matty?"

Matt's palms started to sweat, as nerves got the best of him. His heart was racing like a thousand thundering horses. "(Y/N), I've been wanting to talk to you about this for a while," Matt started, and you looked at him curiously. "You see…I've been feeling this way…" Matt's phone buzzed interrupting the moment. He thought about not answering the text but then yours started to ring, so he picked his up, right as he heard you say, "Hey Brady." There on his phone was a message from his mom telling him that Brady had been named captain of the Senators. He heard you congratulating Brady, and Matt had to wonder why Brady didn't call him.

It felt odd, talking to Brady about his captaincy while Matthew was sitting across from you. You knew it was something that he wanted badly and here was his younger brother achieving that goal. You weren't sure how he was going to feel and were hesitant to put the phone on speaker when Matt mouthed over to you to do so. "Congrats Brother. I'm so fucking proud of you man." You breathed a sigh of relief. Part of you knew that Matt would never resent his brother's accomplishments but still, it had to sting for him a bit.

"Thanks, man. I'm sure you're going to be next."

The three of you chatted for a few minutes before Brady hung up to call Taryn. As soon as you hung up the phone, you reached over and grabbed Matt's hand. "That was really gracious of you."

He squeezed your hand back, before answering. "I'm happy for him. He's my brother and I only want the best for him."

"I know," you whispered back.

"Besides there are other things in my life right now…" Matt started to say before his phone interrupted him once again. He rolled his eyes to the heavens, turning it on silent so it wouldn't disrupt him again. It was as if some mystical force didn't want him to say those three little words to you tonight. "It's probably Taryn, I'll get it later." You could only nod, as Matt pulled your laced hands closer to him, drawing you closer to him. "As I was saying…" This time it was your phone going off.

"She's really persistent," you laughed getting ready to reach for your phone when both yours and Matt's vibrated again. "I'm guessing that's not Taryn. We better see who's texting." When you first looked at your screen your jaw dropped. There was a message from Meredith, Johnny's wife, and one from Sarah Gudbranson as well. Something was definitely up with the Flames. When you read Sarah's message first, you felt as if your heart had fallen out of your chest. According to both women, it was leaked to the press that the Flames were interested in trading Matthew to Buffalo for Jack Eichel. One look at Matt's face and you could see he was reading the news for the first time as well. Shit. You had no idea what you were going to say to him to make this better. "Oh, Matty."

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." He slammed the phone onto the table dropping your joined hands in the process. "What the fuck!" He was pacing the room just as he had the night you'd found out about the videotape.

"It's not that bad, Matty." Attempting to put a positive spin on the situation was all that you could do at this point.

"Not that bad," he yelled and you jumped at the sound of his voice. "It's fucking horrible. It would be one thing if they were just trading me, but me and a first-round pick and two additional prospects. It looks as if I have no value to our team."

"You know that's not true Matty…"

"I thought I did," Matt sputtered cutting you off. "I thought they weren't going to trade me, that I was safe, but apparently that's a lie." You went to say something more but he continued. "And to Buffalo for god sake. The fucking shittiest team in the whole league. I mean look what Eichel had to do to get out of there." His hands were tugging on his curls so hard you thought he was going to rip every hair out of his head.

"If it happens, we'll just make the best of it." He looked at you as if you were clearly insane. "You always said I could write anywhere, and Buffalo is so much closer to New York when I need to go into the company for meetings…and…"

"Please, stop," Matthew shouted at you. "It's not like we'd have to keep this ruse up if they send me there. You can go move to New York or hell better yet, maybe you should move to Ottawa and be with Brady, after all, he got the big contract and the captaincy. He's a hell of a lot better for you than I ever would be."

"Brady? Why would I go live with him?"

"He's always been the better Tkachuk, and quite frankly you deserve someone a whole lot better than me. I should've pushed my feelings for you aside and let him tell you he loved you years ago like he wanted to. You'd probably be announcing that you're pregnant if I would have."

"Matthew, what are you talking about?" You'd gotten up out of the chair you'd been in, forcing him to stop his pacing. You'd thought this whole conversation was going to be about him possibly being traded to Buffalo and suddenly he was telling you he had feelings for you while at the same time throwing you into Brady's arms.

Matt took a deep breath; his emotions were all over the place. "I'm talking about you being with my brother instead of me. But then you're not really with me, are you? We're just pretending. But there's no reason for that if they ship me off to the Sabres. I should've just given Brady the go-ahead years ago to tell you that he loves you, but I was too damn selfish. You could be totally happy with him instead of being stuck in some fake relationship with a guy no one wants."

Your head was spinning with everything that Matt had been saying, but he was totally wrong, and you needed to tell him. "You're wrong, Matty." He crossed his arms in defiance. "Brady did come to me. He poured his whole heart out…" you took a deep breath remembering that day and all the pain you saw in one of your best friend's eyes; it had been one of the reasons why you'd never told Matthew that you love him. "He told me he loved me and how perfect we'd be together."

"He did?"

"Yes, Matty he did. And when he finally let me speak, I told him that while I loved him very much as a friend. He wasn't the Tkachuk I had feelings for." Your eyes burrowed into Matt's imploring him to see all the love you had for him. "You say no one wants you, Matty, but I'm here. I'm always going to be here and I'm always going to pick you. It doesn't matter if we're in Calgary or Buffalo or Timbuktu; it's always going to be you."

Matt was in front of you in less than two steps. He crushed his lips to yours before another word could be said. The kiss was bruising and demanding and one that spoke of need. You could tell in that one kiss alone that Matt needed you more than anything else in the world at that moment, and you met him every step of the way. His hands cupped your cheeks holding you to him, as one kiss melted into another and then another until you were grasping at his shoulders to keep yourself upright while not wanting this to stop.

When you finally clutched onto him, Matthew realized you weren't going anywhere. That, in fact, you wanted him as much as he wanted you. He let his hands slowly glide down from your face to your body. He needed to feel you. Hold you. Burn your skin with his touch. His hands fisted the cotton of your oversized sweater; bunching it up to your waist where he could finally feel your soft downy skin. It was only then he realized he'd have to break the kiss in order to get the garment off of you. He pulled back from your lips, watching your eyes glass over as you took breath after breath of air, just as he was. He wanted to just rip the sweater right off, but he needed to know if you wanted this as much as he did. He needed to know if you were willing to go all the way, for he knew that if things continued from here, he couldn't turn back. "I…do you…" God, he didn't know how to ask you. It had been easy with every woman before you. A simple, do you want to fuck, was all it took, but you were special. You were so much more than a night in his bed. You were his future, and those words just didn't seem to match what he wanted to do with you.

You saved him from saying any more. "Yes, Matty," you breathed out. "Yes."

It was all the verbal confirmation Matt needed. He threw the sweater over your head, tossing it somewhere in the dining room, and then his hands were back on your flesh. Soft and warm, his hands twitched as they tried to caress your exposed skin. It wasn't enough he needed more. He wanted your hands on him as well, touching and stroking his body everywhere. As if you sensed his need, your hands moved this his waistband, untucking the dress shirt he'd donned for the occasion.

Your hands shook as they undid the first button. Yes, you and Matthew had fooled around. Even gone as far as to make each other cum, but tonight was different. Everything changed the moment you realized that he too had feelings for you. Sure, there were no declarations of love, but none were needed at the moment. What you did need was him. Your fingers raced as fast as they could unfastening one button after another until you could finally peel the fine linen shirt off him, though that meant his hands were no longer on you. That only last for a second though, for as soon as the shirt pooled down at his feet, his fingers were back on you; grabbing your waist and pulling you ever closer to him.

Matthew couldn't think straight as your hands glided over his chest. Your nails against him causing gooseflesh to rise everywhere. Somewhere in his lust filled brain, it finally registered that he needed you out of the dining room and in his bed. He took one step back, clutching you to him as he eased out until you were both in the living room. When his legs bumped into the back of the sofa he stopped, breaking the kiss once again. "God, I want you," he panted as he gazed at your red and swollen lips, bruised from his kisses. He couldn't control himself as his lips once again sought your flesh, this time sucking gently at the nape of your neck.  

You threw your head back, giving him greater access to your body, and his mouth traveled down across your collarbone. His kiss skimmed along the lace of your bralette causing you to moan out loud. It was then that your fingers sought purchase in his curls, raking through his locks like they'd itched to do for so many years. His lips encircled your nipple and you cried out, loving the feel of him even through the lace. He tugged with teeth and then lavished the bud with his tongue, making you weak in the knees. His every move was setting your body on fire.

Matthew tortured one hard peak and then turned his attention to the other before letting his hands drift to your midsection. His fingers searched for the buttons and the flap of your jeans all while his lips were attached to your breast. However, he couldn't find them. "Where's the…"

"They're leggings, Matty." Your sweet little laugh went straight to Matthew's groin, making him even harder than he already was. He supposed that he hadn't been paying that much attention to whether they were leggings or pants up until the moment he wanted them off of you, but it was something he would definitely pay attention to in the future. Right now, though, he wanted you to burn as much as he did. His hands which had been fumbling for your buttons, slid down to cup your core. The heel of it pressing into your clit and mons, rubbing you gently until a whimper left your throat.

"Still think it's funny?" Matthew growled at your earlobe before taking it between his teeth.

"Fuck, Matty," you hissed out. Thankfully, he ceased his torture as he opted for pushing your legging down. He was practically on his knees getting them off of you and when he looked up from his position, the smirk on his face told you of his intentions.

"Upstairs…now…we can't do this here." His voice bordered on desperate as he gave the command. You knew if you didn't move, he'd take you right there, not that either of you were opposed to that. But it wasn't how you envisioned your first time together. His intense stare burrowed deep into your eyes, and even though you knew that you should be moving towards the staircase; you couldn't look away.

In one swift motion, Matthew rose from the ground, never breaking eye contact with you. His hands slowly glided up your bare skin. Caressing you from your waist then running along your back. He toyed with the elastic of your bra. "We need to…" You knew exactly what he meant. That if you didn't head upstairs to the bedroom now, there would be no turning back and he'd take you right there against the back of the couch. You half turned, before his arms locked around you, pulling you close to him as his mouth came down hard on yours. All the heat of moments ago, he threw into the kiss. His tongue diving into you and drinking you whole. This was it, you thought vaguely as moments of clarity would make it to your brain. Your first time with Matthew would be right here on this couch and damn you didn't care one bit. But then he moved. Maneuvering both of your bodies to the stairs. How he managed such a feat you had no idea.

Hands were everywhere as you both made your way to the staircase. Yours deftly unbuckling his belt, then moving to the flap of his jeans before pushing them off his hips. He stepped out of them, before grabbing your hips and lifting you onto him. You had no choice but to wrap your legs around his waist as he started up the stairs. Halfway up, he unclasped your bra and you marveled at his swiftness in how he was able to unhook it in one shot. Once you reached the top of the stairs, he set you down breaking the kiss for the first time since you'd left the sofa. "I need this off now." He pulled the straps down and tossed the garment down the stairs. It would've been almost comical except for Matthew's intense heated gaze, which sent a shot of wetness pooling at your core. "God, you're beautiful." No sooner were the words out of his lips than his mouth was back on yours. Kissing you with a passion that had your head spinning. As his lips worshiped your mouth, his hands kneaded your flesh in a most unholy manner. Pinching and tweaking each nipple, until finally he couldn't take it anymore and had to have his mouth on there. There in the hallway of his home, he sucked and nibbled each globe. You threw your head back when his teeth gently bit down causing a feral moan to leave your lips.

"Matty," you whimpered as he lavished attention on your other breast.

Whether it was you calling out his name or his own desire to have you naked in his bed, Matt was unsure, but he trailed his mouth back up to yours and then skated you both down the hallway and into the bedroom. He kicked the door shut, not knowing why, when the house was empty, yet needing a way to keep the outside world away. He wanted nothing and no one to stop what was about to happen. The moment where he would finally make you his. One that he'd been dreaming of for some time now. He pushed the duvet back, before following your body down onto the mattress.

The two of you were a mess of tangled limbs, as you explored each other's bodies. Matt cupped your sex, the wetness there evidence of the desire you had for him. It spurred him on and he shimmied your panties down and off your legs. His fingers traveled up the length of your inner thighs to the juncture between, where he slipped a digit between your folds. God, you were wet he thought, and all for him. He wanted to say that, wanted to tell you how much he wanted you but he was driven by primal lust and couldn't seem to remove his lips from your body long enough to articulate it all. There would be other times though. Many more if Matt had his way.

That single finger slithering back and forth against your pussy was driving you insane, but when his thumb brushed against your clit you gasped into his mouth as pure ecstasy shot through your body. You arched your back into his hand craving more of his touch. Matt didn't disappoint as he slide that same digit inside you, working you into a frenzy that you'd never known before. You couldn't stay still, squirming against him as he continued his assault on your pussy. When he added another finger, you broke the kiss with a gasp, as the exquisite feel of him inside you stole your breath away. You knew that he'd carry you over the edge if he continued this way but you wanted more. You wanted him buried deep inside you. "Matty," you whined and it sounded more like you wanted him to continue. "I need…need you inside me."

Matthew's hand stilled at your words. Fuck, if he didn't want to be balls deep in you as well. He took a second to look deep into your eyes, to make sure you knew what you were asking for. There was no denying that you wanted him. He desired you just as much, if not more. Slowly, he extracted his fingers from inside you. The whimper you moaned, had him questioning if he shouldn't have gone with his initial thought and given you the pleasure he so badly wanted to see wash over you, instead of giving in to the lustful desires you both craved. Quickly, he shed his boxer briefs. Pumping himself a few times before spreading your legs a little wider.

He hovered above you. His cock just nudging at your entrance. "You're sure?"

It was a question he didn't need to ask. You'd been waiting for what seemed like your whole life for this moment. "Yes," you breathed out.

Matt painstakingly inched forward. The head of his cock just barely inside the warm haven that was you. He sucked in a breath of air, willing his body to calm down and not explode before he made this good for you, as well as him. His cock slid in another inch and he shut his eyes this time taking a few deep breaths to control himself.

Matthew was barely in you and yet you felt full, stretched, but also like you were in the best kind of heaven. When he finally bottomed out, you moaned out in pleasure. The sound causing Matt's eyes to shoot open. A primal groan left his lips as well. You wrapped your legs around him and pulled him that fraction of an inch closer. "Fuck, (Y/N)," he hissed out before he started to move.

Which each rock of his body into you, your hips thrust up to meet him. The two of you moved as one as if you'd done this a million times before today. Maybe it was because you knew each other so well, or maybe it was just because you two belonged together, but you'd never felt so at one with someone as you did right now. You moaned or maybe it was Matthew, either way, it echoed off the walls of the bedroom along with the slapping of your bodies joining together. It was primal, lust driven but also filled with so much passion that it made your heart long for this feeling every day for the rest of your life.

Matthew felt his heart constrict as he gazed down at you. He'd never in his life felt such love for someone as he did at this moment. Sure, he loved his family, but this, this was something completely different. One minute all he could think about was ripping your clothes off and now he just wanted to make love to you all night long. It was no longer about sex to him, not that it ever was. He knew you were his forever, his everything, and after tonight he planned on never letting you go. He wanted to tell you he loved you but declarations at this time could be easily dismissed and so Matthew lowered his mouth to yours, kissing your sweet tender lips as his body slid so perfectly into yours.

The kiss was perfect in every way possible. You felt cherished, wanted, and loved all with the touch of his lips, but it was more than that as his cock slid in and out of you. It was this pure euphoric feeling that you never wanted to end, and at that moment, as you felt your body starting to tremble, you realized that everything was going to change and god you hoped it was for the best. You clutched Matthew's back as your orgasm started to wash over you. "Oh God, Mattthhheeewww," you screamed out as wave after wave crashed over you.

Matt watched you fall apart underneath him, and never in his life had he seen something as beautiful as you cuming. Knowing that he brought you such pleasure, had him reaching for his own as your pussy clenched him. His thrusts grew erratic and his balls tightened, right before he exploded inside you. Your name on his lips as he came.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing heavily as you came down off your highs. Only you weren't sure you wanted it to end. You wanted your lives to continue this way, to share his bed every night, to wake up with him every morning, and to love him every day for the rest of your lives; but even after everything you'd just shared you were scared to tell him all that. So instead, you buried Matthew's head in the crook of your neck, clutching onto him hoping that he wouldn't let you go. It was minutes before he finally made to move out of your embrace and your body. A small whimper escaped your lips when his cock slipped out of you. You felt the loss keenly, wanting to be part of him once again and hoping that he wasn't pulling away; regretting what the two of you had just shared.

As soon as Matthew pulled out of you, his cock started to stir back to life, wanting, no needing, to be part of you again. But it was too soon for that. So, he rolled onto his side, taking you with him, for he still needed to touch you, hold you, feel you close to him. So many thoughts were running through his head. Should he tell you now, how much he loved you? How he'd been in love with you for some time, if not forever? Or should he wait and not do it in the afterglow of the passion you'd just shared?

His hand immediately went to your hip, where he drew slow circles there. Matthew tended to do that a lot lately, or so you noticed. It sort of became his new thing with you and you loved every second of it. It was so comforting and intimate, but also a huge turn on. Though you tamped that thought down not knowing what was going through Matthew's head at the moment. But you needed to find out. Resting your chin on top of your hands, which were now laying on Matthew, you looked over at him. "Matty, we should…" you started only to be stopped by him.

"I know we should…but can we just save it…only until morning." Matthew wanted to linger in this feeling of love before he heard you say that the two of you shouldn't have done that or that it would never happen again. He wanted to let his mind wander to times where he made love to you every night, not talk about it never happening. Not that Matthew wasn't ready to plead his case by admitting he was in love with you.

"Ok," you answered, giving in and laying your head back down on his chest.

"Thank you, princess." His hands went back to drawing circles at first on your hips and then slightly lower. Matt knew he should get out of bed and have a conversation with you about not only what just happened but what he wanted your future to be. He should also be the gentleman and get you a cloth to clean up. Instead, he was a being selfish bastard who didn't want you to leave his arms. It occurred to him then that you may try and head to your own room and that was the last thing that he wanted. His arms tightened around you, while at the same time he tangled his legs with yours making it harder if you sought to escape.

You laid there tangled with Matthew's body and couldn't have been happier. This was exactly how you wanted to fall asleep every night for the rest of your life. You were so sated, so content, and you felt so loved, that you could feel sleep begin to take over. You yawned, which Matty caught of course. "Sleep Princess." He leaned down and kissed your forehead, those lazy circles beginning again on your hip and then moving to your back and then finally further down to your ass. The light and tender touch lulling you to sleep. You felt Matthew yawn more than heard it and knew he felt the same contentedness as you. Soon sleep took you both.

You weren't sure if it was the incessant ring of the doorbell or the extremely loud pounding on the door that woke both you and Matthew up. "Jesus, who the fuck is here at this hour?" Matthew mumbled looking at the time.  He stretched before getting out of the bed and grabbing a pair of sweats. "I'll be right back."

Matthew made his way down the stairs through the strewn clothes you'd both shed last night. He found your bra hanging off the railing of the steps and thought about moving it, but then the damn knocking started again and he kept heading toward the door. He opened it, surprised by who was on the other side. "Johnny, what are you doing here? I didn't miss practice or something did I?"

"No," Johnny answered walking through the open door into the house. "You're not answering your phone and your dad called me when (Y/N) didn't answer either. He's afraid you went off the deep end after that rumor came out last night."

Matthew had freaked out when he saw the text message from his agent, but then things with you had just…well they had escalated on a level Matt never wanted to end but at the same time, he wasn't sorry that they had. He looked over at the dining room, there on the table amidst the empty plates lay both of your phones. "Yeah, I turned off the ringer last night."

"And apparently turned on your fiancé." It was then that Matthew noticed Johnny looking around the house, taking in all the clothes that lay all over the place. Johnny chuckled as Matthew turned crimson. "Relax Chucky, it's not anything Mere and I haven't done." The men laughed as Matt headed over to look at his phone. "So, I take it you haven't heard the news then?" Johnny continued when Matt knitted his brows together. "Eichel went to Vegas. The whole Flames trading you was definitely a rumor."

Matthew thought he'd be relieved when found out the trade really was nothing but a farce, but he found he wasn't really worried anymore. That he hadn't been concerned with it ever since you'd told him last night that you'd always pick him. It honestly didn't matter to him what team he was on, as long as you were by his side. As if he summoned you, he looked up and saw you walking down the stairs. Clad in a short robe, you took his breath away and made him smile.

"Hey (Y/N)," Johnny greeted you with a knowing smile.

"Hi, Johnny."

"Sorry for waking you both, but you weren't answering your phones."

That reminded Matthew to grab his. There were several calls from family and friends, including one from Treliving. He listened to that message first. "Shit. Treliving wants to meet with me…" Matt glanced at the clock and noted the time. "as soon as I can get there."

"Well, I'll see myself out. Make sure you call Walt. Can't have the big guy mad at me." With that Johnny left.

Matthew was in front of you in two strides. His hands going to your arms, rubbing them up and down in a soothing motion. "I know I said we'd talk…but…"

You held up your hand to stop him. "Go, we can talk later."

The side of Matthew's mouth turned up in a crooked smile. "This was not how I saw our morning going." He leaned in and kissed your forehead, making you smile. "I promise we'll talk when I get home." You nodded, as he stepped back, yet his hands didn't release their grip on your upper arms. "Oh hell…" He crushed you to him in one swift move, his mouth coming down hard to kiss your lips. It wasn't long, but it was enough to steal not only your breath but your senses away as well. "I'll be back soon."

You shook yourself as Matthew headed upstairs to shower quickly. Last night replayed in your brain. You knew that Matt had some kind of feelings for you. What they were, you weren't a hundred percent sure. It was definitely more than lust, but was it the love that you felt for him; you couldn't be sure. One thing you were sure of was that time was going to tick by way too slow until Matthew got home.  

#matthew tkachuk #let's play pretend series #Matthew Tkachuk smut #Matthew Tkachuk imagine #Matthew Tkachuk imagines #nhl fanfiction #nhl smut #nhl imagine #Nhl imagines #hockey fanfic #hockey fanfiction #hockey smut #hockey lemon #nhl lemon #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #lemons

[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.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

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

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom gulps nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

Tom follows you…?

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute.

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

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

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

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

Y/N: hey x

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

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, is it a home game?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me a spin, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

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

“Dutchy?” you question.

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

You coo. “That’s cute.”

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

And Tom… Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

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

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

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

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, darling.”

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

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

“What, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What— Tom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Penalty.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

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

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

“Funnier than me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

A smile breaks out across your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Overnight?”

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

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

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

“You can open them now.”

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

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

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

[lesbian-deadpool]

oooh! maybe r takes a photo of pregnant!nat holding her belly every month (unbeknownst to her) and then after the baby comes takes one of her holding them, gifting her a small album on the baby’s one month?

Okay, yes. This is so fucking cute.

First Month:

There's no chance to Natasha's body. Like you can't tell she's pregnant.

But you still snap a pic of her holding her belly, and smiling down at where she knows her child is growing insider of her, as she lounges on the couch.

Second Month:

Right. Now, there's more change here.

This picture is of Natasha resting in bed (dealing with morning sickness), hands encasing her, barely there, baby bump. All the while dozing off.

Third Month:

Now, Natasha's bump is way more noticeable than it was before. Not like, sticking out through her shirt noticeable, but still way more than the previous month.

You manage to take this picture one day without her noticing, as your sat at the kitchen island, and she is stood talking to Steve. Not even releasing that her hands were upon her stomach, and was caressing herself, and hopefully your child.

Fourth Month:

Okay, now we're getting somewhere!

It was like during the past month she had just popped, with how much of a change there was.

Natasha had her feet up on the coffee table, watching tv, all the while she stroked her bump with one hand, the other placed underneath it.

Fifth Month:

She just keeps getting bigger and bigger, just exploding over the months. And neither of you can deny how much you love watching your child grow.

This time the picture is of her at a team get together, not to be confused with a Stark party.

It was just turning summer, and the team decided to spend the day at the park.

Peter was distracting her, by showing her a new flip-trick while catching a Frisbee, he had just made up.

A bright smile upon the red-heads face as she watched the boy, hands still clasped protectively over her showing bump.

Sixth Month:

Natasha was is a shirt stolen from you in this photograph, which was really baggy on her. So baggy, in fact, that you could hardly tell she was pregnant.

But luckily she was laid on her side, across the bed, one hand on her stomach, the other flicking through the TV. Head resting upon your sleeping dogs back, using them as a pillow.

Seventh Month:

Summer was coming to an end, and on one of the last hot days of the season, everyone decided to chill out at the Stark's lake house.

Natasha was in a white bikini, sitting on the pier with her legs submerged into the water. Eyes closed and head thrown back, basking in the sun. One hand bracing herself behind her back, the other on top of her swollen belly.

Eighth Month:

"My mom wants an update picture." Was the half-lie you told. You still sent it to your mother. But she never asked for it, and it wasn't taken purely for her.

Natasha was smiling brightly into the camera. Two braids coming down either side of her neck, one hand underneath her belly, the other on the side. All while a half-eaten bowl of ice cream sat upon her stomach, as if it was a table.

Ninth Month:

Okay, this is the big one.

The final month.

It was bittersweet, to say the least.

Natasha was sad that she wouldn't be pregnant anymore, absolutely loving carrying your baby, watching- And hell feeling them grow inside of her. And happy, because she would be able to finally meet them... and also not be pregnant anymore.

There wasn't much that Natasha could do in her condition, at that time.

One thing she could do, was bake.

Over the past nine months, Natasha had been working hard on her baking skills. Now don't get me wrong, her cooking was still atrocious. But her baking? That was great.

The final picture of her pregnancy, was of her in a flour-covered apron, the white powder on the tip of her nose and wiped across her cheekbone. Having just managed to slide the tray of cookies into the oven. Taking a deep breath as she rose to her full height, hands on either side of her bump.

Thor bouncing behind you at the aspect of freshly baked sugary treats.

The Birth:

There were tears in her eyes as she looked down at her newborn child, an adoring smile on her face. All directed at the gunk covered baby, that was not even a minute old yet.

Mother and child, skin to skin, peering at each other.

One showing pure love.

The other showing 'Who-the-fuck-are-you?' confusion.

The First Week:

The first week was exhausting, but that much you were expecting anyway.

So, when you could, you took naps.

Which is how you snapped the photo of Natasha sleeping in bed, with your daughter by her side, also fast asleep.

One of Natasha's arms above the child, and the other resting on the baby's belly, indicating that, that was how she soothed the child to sleep.

The Second Week:

This picture was of your daughter laying on her lap, looking up at her red-headed mother.

Natasha smiling down at her baby, tiny hands wrapped around her fingers. Caressing the back of her child's hands with her thumbs.

The Third Week:

This was just basically a picture of her breastfeeding your daughter.

Their eyes connected as she rocked them both back and forth in the seat. Once again, holding her tiny hand.

The Fourth Week:

Clint had gifted you a set of hand puppets to entertain your child with, just randomly, a while ago. Where he got them? Nobody knows... where did he come from? Cotton Eyed Joe.

Natasha had one of them on and was talking to your child in a voice you would hear off of Sesame Street.

The baby wiggling excitedly, enjoying playtime with their mommy. The starts of a smile forming at the corners of her lips.

The Gift:

She cried.

From the moment she had opened the album, to the last picture inside, she had tears pouring from her eyes.

Natasha had no idea you had anything like this planned. She wouldn't let you go for hours after she had received the gift, flipping through it the whole time. Playfully grilling you on how you had managed to take these pictures without her knowledge. While you held your daughter, the three of you enjoying spending time together.

#anon #ask me some things #i answer some things #ldspeaks #pregnant!nat #mom!natasha #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #marvel #MCU