#I’ve always been fond of that shot from the season 3 opening

[cheridraws]

Does this count as self-reflection…?

[ID: Mob Psycho 100 fanart redrawing a frame from OP 3. Reigen sits below a tall window with moss growing along its frame, holding a smoking cigarette and looking up. His silhouette stands on the other side of the window in an orange glow and looks back down at him. End ID]

Credit for the ID

[age-of-greta]

Season Of The Witch

Author’s note: hi!! Saved the best for last, here is week 4/ the finale of our spooky series!! Hope you guys have enjoyed reading them as much as I did writing them. HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! Stay spooky I’ll see you guys back soon with tarot series #3 ;) vibes!!

Pairing: Jake x reader

Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, angst, lots of sexual content, minors DNI

Word count: 8k (oops)

Rain lightly drizzled as you stared out the window of your Uber. Orange and red luminescent glow lit up the pavement and the streets were lined with fall leaves. Despite approximately two shots of tequila coursing through your stomach you still felt odd about tonight.

“You okay babe?”

That sounded foreign coming from his mouth. You forced a small smile and nodded.

“Yes Matty. I’m good.”

He smiled back and placed his hand on your thigh. You had been seeing Matt for 2 weeks now, give or take a few days.

“Who’s party is this again?” He asked, turning his head to look at you.

“A friend’s. I’ve known him for what feels like forever.” You respond, smiling back on fleeting fond memories.

“Ah.” Matt starts. “Does this friend have a name?”

You nod and laugh. “He does. It’s Josh.”

“Josh.” Matt says slowly. “Well I’m glad he allowed me to come. I’m excited to be your date.”

“Me too.” You say with faux confidence.

A part of you felt bad. You already knew how this night was going to go, but Matt didn’t. There wasn’t anything wrong with Matt. He was conventionally very attractive. Dark curly hair, blue eyes, firm build, tall- god he hated when you went out with tall guys. Matt was a doctor. He was kind, smart, and funny. But there was one problem: he wasn’t him.

You and Jake had just broken up again around a month ago. But you hadn’t seen him in 3 weeks, since you last hooked up. You see, you and Jake were always on and off. Hot and cold. Burning passion with freezing intensity. At first things were fine. You met a few years ago and a drunken hookup in a bar flourished into a relationship. It was great for almost two years. Completely head over heels. Then one day it all went to shit. No real rhyme or reason, just a giant fight that you can’t even remember. The problem was neither one of you could let go of the other. Tethered to each other like an eternal curse. Ever since you have bounced in and out of each other’s lives like ping pong balls. Tonight was no exception. A Halloween party thrown by Josh. You had been invited before but Josh had texted you last week confirming you would still be there. Despite the shit with you and Jake the others felt like family to you.

“I believe we’re here.” The Uber driver says, putting the car in park.

“Thanks man. Happy Halloween.” Matt says, pulling out his wallet and handing the guy a twenty.

Matt gets out of the car and rushes to open your door. He reaches in and grabs your hand, helping you out of the car. Your outfit was relentless. It was definitely the sluttiest outfit you had ever put on your body. That was done intentionally. You wore a black latex bodycon dress, skin tight with your breasts pushed up and spilling out of the top. The material barely hit your mid thigh. You wore matching latex black platform calf boots with it. Your hair was full and blown out with loose curls and glitter hairspray. You had on a full face of sultry makeup, heavy on the eyelashes, bronzer, and lipgloss. You were calling yourself a witch, though the only indication of that would be the small black pentagram choker you had on with matching earrings. Your whole body was shimmering with glowy body oil and your nails were black almond shaped. You almost suffocated yourself with the amount of perfume you applied. It was the most extra you had ever been, but Halloween was your favorite holiday and seeing Jake’s face would be priceless. When Matt had come over to your apartment he had to adjust his pants after a mere hug in this get up. Matt was dressed as a zombie doctor. He had just tattered up a pair of his old scrubs, but he did look good. You saw their house illuminated with lit pumpkins and purple lights. Soft thuds lit up the house as you heard Voodoo Child by Jimi Hendrix get louder with every step. The rain had stopped and Matt had his arm linked with yours to balance you up the driveway. When you finally got up to the porch you adjusted your dress before opening the door, you were beyond knocking. The smell of fog machines, marijuana, various liquors, and sweat assaulted your senses as you entered the house. It was dark, only lit by soft automatic candle lights or fluorescent orange string lights. It was loud as Hendrix continued to billow out of the speakers.

“Oh shit!”

You heard from across the room, your eyes darted to see Sam beelining towards you. You grinned and embraced him in a hug.

“Fuck look at you.” He said, giving you a twirl. “So spooky.”

You let out a laugh. “Thanks Sammy. I dig your costume too. Eh- what exactly is it?”

He stares at you blankly. “I’m obviously a Niagara Falls tourist… that fell in.”

He points towards his outfit, cargo shorts, a white “I <3 Niagara Falls” t-shirt with blood smeared, a broken camera around his neck, a yellow tattered poncho also blood stained, and a fake bloody nose.

“I fucking love it.” You said with a laugh. “Very original.”

“There you are!”

You see Josh heading towards you, he’s dressed up as Elvis. “I was starting to think you had bailed on me.”

You smile and hug him. “Never.”

“Ooh you look hot.” Josh compliments, then looks to the side of you. “Oh sorry. Who’s this?”

You had almost forgotten Matt was standing there for a moment. “Josh, Sam, -this is Matt. He’s my date.” You say with a smile.

Sam smirks as Josh throws his hand out to introduce himself.

“Hey man, thanks for letting me come. I’m excited to get to meet all of her friends.” Matt announces politely, shaking hands with Josh.

Sam snickers. “Oh yeah. You’ll enjoy meeting everyone. Listen hot stuff, I’ve got to refill the fog machines and find Daniel. I’ll catch up with you later.” He quickly pecks the top of your head and scurries off to the crowd.

Josh smiles at Matt. “He’s a little shit, pay him no mind. You guys should hit the bar and grab some drinks. If the good shit is gone you know where to find the stash. Have fun you crazy kids.” Josh says, patting your back and starting to walk off yelling at someone to put a vase down.

“Shall we?” You ask Matt, taking his hand.

“Lead the way.” He replies with a smile.

You were only at the entrance of the house, so you tried to keep it cool and not scan around for Jake. You knew he’d be slinking around here somewhere with a drink in hand. You pushed past bodies and smiled when you saw Danny in the kitchen making drinks. As you headed that direction you saw him out of the corner of your eye. You only caught a brief glimpse of him in your peripheral, but you could feel his eyes searing into you. He was standing by the bathroom door, arms folded, and drink in hand just as you had predicted. You felt emboldened by that.

“Hey Matty?” You fluttered your lashes at him and got closer to his ear. “I’m going to run to the bathroom and fix my lipgloss. Would you mind getting us drinks? See the guy with the long curly hair? His name is Danny, he’s a friend. Tell him you’re with me and he’ll hook us up.”

He looked down at you focusing on your lips and placed his hand on the small of your back. “Yeah of course. I’ll meet you over there.”

You smiled up at him and nodded, before parting ways. You knew Jake was still watching you. You headed straight for the bathroom, not even bothering to glance at him. He beat you to the bathroom door.

“Sorry doll. Out of order. You can go use mine though.” That cocky grin spread on his face.

You scoffed and looked at him. “They made you bathroom police tonight? That’s quite a fitting job for you Jake.”

He smiled briefly at your banter. “Funny. What exactly are you wearing?”

“Did you get confused again? It’s Halloween, this is a costume.” You said, in a patronizing tone.

Jake’s eyes raked all over your body as he bit his lip. “A costume huh? I think dental floss would have been less revealing.”

“Oh please. As if you have room to talk. What are you? A half assed pirate again?”

He flicked his eyes up to you. “What is your costume? A whore?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes Jake, I’m a whore. That’s my costume. You’ve cracked the code with that big brain yet again.”

He looks straight in your eyes, somewhat of a playful tone creeps out. “Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Ha.” You state blankly. “Actually I’m a witch.”

You point to your pentagram necklace and Jake chuckles.

“I said, tell me something I don’t know, doll.”

He reaches up and lightly touches your necklace. That was enough to send goosebumps up your spine, but you would never give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

He took a step closer to you. “Wanna just skip all of this and go upstairs?”

You felt something bubble inside of you. But before you could retort someone came up right next to Jake, putting her hand on his arm and handing him a cup.

He smirked at you and glanced back at her. “Thanks Mere.” Then he wrapped his arm around her. Fucker.

She was short and petite with a blonde bob and fair skin, dressed up as Alice from Alice in Wonderland in a store bought costume.

This was one of the sick and twisted games you would play. Dangling other people in front of each other. You had only done it two other times and it drove Jake crazy. The first, all you had done was flirt with a guy in a bar and Jake snatched you up and brought you home to remind you who you belonged to. The second, you had gone on a date with someone right next to their studio. It didn’t take long for Jake to see your car and catch on to your antics. Jake had done this on countless occasions. Flirting, using his undeniable charm on poor women he had no intentions with. These things never went really far. Just enough to piss you off before he inevitably took you home. You tried to pretend that it didn’t bother you, but he knew how bad it did.

You tried not to glare at her.

“You’re welcome. The beer by the fire is so much better than what’s in the kitchen.” She beams at him. Gross.

Then she turns towards you, absolutely judging what you’re wearing. She made a reactionary face that she quickly tried to hide. But you saw it. Before any words could be exchanged Matt is by your side again.

“Here you go babe.”

He hands you a cup full of something that Danny had made and you smile up at him.

“Thank you Matty.” You put a little bit of a show on, but not too much. Yet.

You glance back over at Jake who is visibly scowling at you.

“Oh sorry. Matt this is Jake and- Mere is it?”

The blonde extends her hand. “Meredith.”

“Meredith.” You say with a smile. “How long have you known Jake?”

She seems a little taken aback by the question, you could care less.

“Well I guess only a few days.” She admits with a laugh. “We met through some mutual friends. How do you know each other?”

You smiled at her. “Oh same!” Then you look directly into Jake’s eyes. “Mutual friends.”

Meredith glances oddly between you and Jake. She clears her throat and looks at Matt. “And how long have you two been together?” She asks, trying to change the subject.

Matt smiles and wraps his hand around your waist. “Almost three weeks now. I’ve got to say, no complaints. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

Shit had it been three weeks? You glanced over at Jake who was shooting daggers at you. You snapped yourself out of your thoughts and smiled up at Jake and Meredith.

“Well it was lovely to meet you. We’ll get out of your hair. Don’t want to intrude. Have a good night Jake.”

He makes a face at you as you grab Matt’s hand and lead him away. Matt looks at you slightly confused once you find a spot.

“What?” You ask with a shrug.

He smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing. I take it you’re not a fan of them?”

You breathe out a laugh. “Now why would you say something like that?”

He grins at you. “So mischievous. What am I going to do with you?”

You step closer to him and put your hand on his chest. “Hopefully something inappropriate.”

His eyes were filled with lust as he took you in. This is the most forward you had ever been with him, but you knew Jake’s eyes were still on you. You leaned in and placed a small kiss on his cheek. His hands wrapped around your waist, but you pulled away quickly, shooting him a smile. His cheeks had dusted a light shade of pink as he bashfully grinned back at you. You saw Jake already heading towards you, but you took Matt’s hand and led him outside.

“Let’s see the fire!” You half yelled over the music.

“I’ll follow you anywhere.” He responded in a giddy tone.

You lead him outside, quick to evade Jake’s interruption. There were only a few people standing outside, Danny being one of them.

“Hi stranger.” You said, coming up behind him.

He spun around on his heels and gave you a knowing smile. “There she is. I take it, you liked your drink?”

You nodded. “Best damn bartender at every event.”

He bows at you. “I aim to please. I’ve already met Matt here. Seems like a stand up guy.”

Matt chuckles at him as Danny gives him a glance.

“You’re right.” You respond. “Hey you wanna make s’mores?”

“I’ll get them. You guys finish your conversation.” Matt offers, rubbing your back and heading to the fire.

Danny looks down at you.

“What?” You ask.

“He seems nice.” Danny offers.

“He is.” You say, glancing at Matt dipping three marshmallows in fire.

“Uh-huh.” Danny pauses. “And how does Jake feel about that?”

You shift your eyes back to Danny. “It doesn’t matter how he feels about it.”

Danny sucks in his cheeks and lets out a laugh. “Right. You two are trouble, you know that?”

“Oh I’m well aware.” You retort. “Did Sam ever find you?”

Danny sips his beer. “I haven’t seen him in- I dunno an hour maybe?”

“Oh. Well when I arrived he was looking for you. Something about fog machines?”

Danny cuts his eyes. “Oh hell no. I am not doing that shit again. That was his job.”

You chuckle. “Sounds like Sam.”

“Fuck. There he is. I’m dipping before he catches a whiff that I’m out here. Don’t rat on me.” Danny says, holding his finger up playfully at you.

You salute him. “Scout’s honor.”

“Good luck with that.” Danny points towards Matt.

You wave him off and he quickly walks the other way toward the house.

Sam catches your sight and approaches you. “You seen Daniel?”

You purse your lips at him. “Nope.”

“Slippery fucker.” He says, barely above a whisper.

You cackle.

“Oh by the way Jake’s pissed. He’s slamming shit in the kitchen. Want a beer?”

You let out a breath. “Most definitely.”

Sam heads towards the keg just as Matt is making his way back to you with three s’mores.

“Where did Danny go?”

“Bartender emergency.” You lie, taking the s’more he made for you. “Thank you.”

Sam came back over and handed you a cup of beer before patting your back and heading back to the house. If you had to guess he saw Danny in a window.

Matt knitted his brows together and gave you a strange smile. “Your friends are weird.”

You chuckled. “You don’t know the half of it.”

You and Matt spent around thirty more minutes outside enjoying the fire, s’mores, and beer. Before long you had gotten chilly and wanted to go back inside. The drink Danny had made you along with the beer had started to make you feel a little fuzzy. Once back inside you spotted Jake at the beer pong table with Meredith. He had just sunk a shot and she jumped for joy when he did. Gross again.

“Hey I’m going to go pee! I’ll be right back.” You say, giving Matt a heads up.

He nods and you head for the original bathroom you had gone to. Once inside you peed, washed your hands, and stared at yourself in the mirror. A part of you wished you had just stayed home. As much as the thrill of being with Jake excited you, seeing him with Meredith made you feel like shit. You hated that it was this way. When you two were good, you were great. The highest highs and in turn, the lowest lows. Neither one of you were effective communicators, putting your pride above all else. You fluffed your hair and went to open the door, but to your surprise someone had barged in. Jake, with a wicked smile on his lips.

“Need some help in here?”

You crossed your arms. “Certainly not from you.”

“Oh tough girl, are we?” He steps closer to you and puts his face inches from yours. “I know what shit you’re trying to pull. Cut it out.”

You glare at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He backed you up to the sink and put both arms out next to you, propping himself on the vanity while sinking closer towards you. “Yes you do. Tell your friend to fucking leave.”

You smirk at him. “No. I don’t think I will.”

He slides his hand down to your thigh and you feel like you could explode.

“Don’t start with me.” He warns, gripping at your flesh.

You swallow hard and look at him. “We’re not together Jake. I can do whatever or should I say whoever I want.”

That renders him speechless as his eyes bore into yours.

You remove his hand and get out from under him heading to the door. You turn back around and laugh.

“Oh and you should get Mere to do something about… that.” You tease, motioning to the beginning of an erection bulging in his pants.

Before he can respond you walk out and close the door. You take a deep breath and adjust your dress before returning to your date.

“Tequila shot?”

Matt smiles and nods. Then you’re heading off into the kitchen. You spot Josh and yell “tequila!” It doesn’t take him long to reach you.

“Let me get the whole gang, start pouring the good shit!” Josh yells, before diving back into the crowd.

You smiled and headed to their pantry, bending down to find a liquor cabinet with a keypad on it. You type in the four digit code and grab a brand new bottle of Casamigos. It was your favorite. Then you shut the cabinet and head back to the island, reaching for the shot glasses. Danny and Sam arrive and begin to start on the shots.

“We need seven right?” Danny asks.

“Yeah. I assume when Josh finds Jake he’ll bring blondie with him.” Sam answers, digging the pre-cut limes from the refrigerator.

Sure enough Sam was right. Josh brought back Jake and Meredith, his hand was guiding her on her back.

“Alright, gather around everyone!” Josh announced. “To the original crew and a couple of new friends. Happy Halloween you fuckers! I love you all!”

You giggle and yell back, “Cheers!” in unison with everyone else. You slam the shot down on the island before shooting the liquid down. It burns but in the best way possible. Meredith chokes hers down, spilling it down her chin. Amateur. Then Jake does something that catches even you off guard. He looks down at her and swipes his thumb over her bottom lip cleaning up the spilled tequila. Then he cuts his eyes over to you. You chew on your cheek and lock eyes back with him. Sam must have noticed because he let out a small laugh.

One thing about Sam? He loved to start shit. It was one of the reasons you loved him so much.

“Hey sexy witch!” Sam called over to you. “How about one of your specialties tonight? I mean it’s only right that the newbies get to bare witness.”

Jake’s expression stiffened, but you softened and smiled.

“Pour it up Sammy.”

Josh and Danny collectively “oooooh’d” and slapped the island. Sam began to grab a shot of birthday cake vodka, topping it with whipped cream. Then he sets it down before you.

“You know the rules mama, no hands.” Josh reminds, while you nod.

You tuck your hair behind your ears and place your hands behind your back, holding your wrists. Matt looks down at you with his eyebrows slightly raised, you just wink at him and part your lips. You wrap your lips around the rim of the shot glass and just for a split second lock eyes with Jake before sucking your cheeks in. You propel the shot glass back and stand up while the sweet liquid pours down your throat. You take the shot glass out of your mouth while the guys around you, minus Jake, erupt cheer. You can feel a tinge of whipped cream on the corner of your mouth, you start to wipe it but Matt beats you to it.

“Let me.” Matt says, taking his pointer finger and wiping the small white spot.

Without thinking you take his finger into your mouth and suck the remnants off.

Matt takes a sharp inhale.

Josh clears his throat and mutters “Oh fuck.” Before turning his boisterous self back on. “The talent! Thank you for blessing us with such a sight. Sam, Danny, come with me really quick. I need help with these speakers back here.”

You glance over and Sam makes wide eyes at you while smiling. Then all three of them trudge off, just leaving the four of you in silence.

“Wanna go dance?” You ask Matt, pulling on his arm.

“Lead the way babe.”

You take him in the crowd where everyone is dancing. If you were sober maybe you would have been embarrassed with your forward actions, but as the liquor sloshed around in your stomach you couldn’t care less. You two were close, really close. Swaying on each other. Matt leaned down and placed a kiss on your neck. Then his hands trailed further down your body until they met your ass, giving it a light squeeze. You looked up in surprise at him. He leaned forward and whispered into your neck, “Wanna get out of here?”

Before you could respond you felt a firm grip on your arm. You spun around and there was Jake, seething.

“Let’s fucking go.” He growled as he pulled you away.

Matt furrowed his brows and went to grab your other wrist. You stopped and Jake turned around with a death stare. “Get your fucking hands off of her. Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to touch things that don’t belong to you?”

Matt let go and continued to stare at you in disbelief. Your feet continued to move with Jake as you mouthed “sorry.”

Jake didn’t let go or loosen his grip as he continued to drag you through the crowded house. He took you upstairs and towards a familiar door. Once inside he slammed his door and locked it before turning his attention towards you. He was mad. Furious even. Possibly the most upset you had ever seen him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He yells with a scowl plastered on his face.

“Oh fuck off.” You say, completely disinterested.

“You’re going to bring some random fuck to my house and then rub all up against him blatantly in front of me?”

You laugh. “What about your little Meredith? You wanna put your hands all over her and when I am enjoying myself with another person it’s a problem?”

Jake scoffs. “I wasn’t letting her kiss all over me and feel me up!”

“So what? Let her.” You spit.

Jake looks at you pointedly. “You need to learn who you belong to.”

You let out a maniacal laugh. “Inform me Jake? Who do I belong to? Because it sure as hell isn’t you!”

You see his face clouding with darkness. “That’s where you’re wrong. You do belong to me.” He steps up closer to you. “You’re mine.”

That causes warmness to swell in your stomach, but you wouldn’t let him know that.

“Not anymore.” You say with as much confidence as you can muster.

“Don’t say that.” He says taking a step towards you. “It’s a lie. We don’t lie to each other. Remember?”

You scoff. “I don’t think we have ever followed through with that promise to one another. Are we done here? I’m getting bored.”

Jake half smirks at you. “Bored?”

You glare back at him unimpressed. “Yeah, bored. I didn’t stutter.”

“Bored… That’s funny. Don’t act like you didn’t wear this little.. outfit to get my attention. You know you could wear a trash bag and my eyes would be on you.”

You roll your eyes trying to keep a blank stare on your face, but internally you’re on fire.

“It turns you on that I’m jealous, doesn’t it?” He asks.

You suck in your cheeks.

“You knew exactly what would happen when you brought him here. You knew exactly where you would end up tonight regardless, but you still brought him here.”

You crack a smile at him. “I brought a tall hot guy on a date and then you cockblocked me. That’s what happened.”

Jake steps closer to you until his body is touching yours. He lightly grabs your wrists and pins them to the wall. His eyes scan your face for some sort of reaction. You’re falling apart trying to remain unaffected. You can feel your heart thudding as his breath fans over your neck. “Let’s see how long it takes for this little confidence facade to crack. Shall we?”

“Fuck yo-“

Then his lips crash onto yours. Slow and warm, which is the exact opposite of how you expected. Suddenly that hardened exterior has cracked entirely as you kiss him back with every ounce of passion in your body. Fuck, you missed his lips on you.

He takes his mouth off of yours and stares down into your eyes. Neither one of you dare say a word. Then he goes back in, kissing you feverishly. His hands grab at your waist and pulls you closer into him. Your tongues meet and you swear you could feel fireworks throughout your whole body. The truth is, no one could ever make you feel the way that you felt with Jake. This was just further proof. Jake’s calloused hands begin to rub up your thigh as you take in sharp breaths from his mouth. He fumbles around with the hem of your very short and very tight dress. Finally he makes his way up your dress spreading your legs apart. He takes two fingers and swipes them over your drenched clothed center and you shutter at the feeling. You can feel that smirk on his face while your lips are still connected. He bites your bottom lip and pulls away.

“Look at you. Already making a mess of yourself.”

You take a breath. “Yeah, Matt did a number on me on the dance floor.”

You see Jake let out a small laugh at your boldness while he also clenched his jaw. He was right, jealousy did turn you on.

“Just when I thought you were going to be sweet.” He says, popping the two fingers in his mouth. “Strip.”

You cross your arms at him.

“Strip. Now. I’m not asking again.”

He backs away from you and you give him a glare. You’re going to do exactly what he says because you’re weak for him and beyond turned on.

His eyes stare intensely at you while you reach back and grab the small zipper. You tug it down and begin to peel yourself out of the dress. You see him take a noticeably deeper breath when your breasts are freed. You grab the material from around your waist and shimmy out of it, dropping it to the floor. Only in your boots and black silky thongs, you step out of the dress and look at Jake.

“Goddamn.” He says lowly, raking his eyes up and down your body.

You reach down to begin removing your boots when Jake speaks up. “No. Leave them. You wanna dress up like a whore tonight so I’m going to fuck you like one. Knees.”

You swallow the excitement that draws up your throat from that statement while you take a few steps closer to him. You sink to your knees and Jake reaches down and softly runs his finger through your hair. He reaches down and hooks your chin under his pointer finger.

“So pretty and this makeup looks so good. Unfortunately it’s about to get ruined.”

He unbuckles his pants and lets them hit the floor, he’s already hard. You look up at him waiting for instruction. His hand returns to your face running his thumb along your lips.

“You know the rules mama. No hands.” He spits, referencing earlier.

You look up at him and nod, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. He slightly twitches at your action. The way you affected him always turned you on even more. His cock grazes your tongue and he already lets out a breath. You lick a hot stripe up his length then swirl your tongue around the tip and his hand finds the back of your head.

“Quit teasing.”

You take him into your mouth, rolling your tongue around as he travels further back into your mouth.

“Fuck.” He lets out through gritted teeth.

He sinks your head further until you gag lightly, then he pulls you back. You begin to bob up and down around him while his grip in your hair tightens. You glance up and make eye contact with him through your lashes while hollowing your cheeks around him. He looked so fucking hot. Brows furrowed, a sheen amount of sweat broke out on his skin, face pinched in concentration and bewilderment. But when your eyes meet his he lets out a groan and pulls you off of him so he doesn’t finish already. You let out a small laugh and he looks down at you still on your knees.

You start to wipe the corner of your mouth. “What’s wrong Jakey? Made a mess of yourself already?”

He smirks at you. “That mouth is going to get you into trouble. On the bed. Ass up.”

You get to your feet and make your way to the bed, propping your ass up like you were told. You’re already throbbing with anticipation, you know when he gets like this he fucks you mericilessly. You feel him step up behind you and widen your legs. He runs his hands all up and down your ass before giving it a swift smack. You let out a whimper. Then, he quickly rips your panties down to your knees. You’re expecting him to ease himself into you, but to your surprise you hear him get down on his knees. He uses both of his arms to pull your ass back straight to his face. He begins kissing the inside of the back of your thighs and you’re already worked up. He flattens his tongue and licks up your center, popping his tongue at your most sensitive spot. He continues to lick and suck until you’re gripping his sheets for dear life. When he adds two fingers, you’re done for. You can feel that heat burning in your core coming to a high, you clench your eyes shut as your legs begin to shake.

“Fuck-“ you moan.

Just as that feeling is about to bubble into euphoria, Jake stops. You whip your head around and he stands up and wipes the slick off his face.

“Jake!”

“Shhh. You know I always take care of you.” He smirks. “Come here pretty girl.”

He flips you over and climbs on top of you. He leans down and kisses down your neck while his erection presses on your stomach. Slowly but surely he makes his way down to your breasts, kissing and nipping at your nipples. You indulge in the sensation and your hands quickly wrap into his long hair. He reaches down and rubs himself all over you, you both let out breathy moans. He finally sinks into, slowly, letting you adjust. You can feel your eyes roll into the back of your head as he picks up the pace. His mouth sloppily meets yours. You’re both moaning into each other's mouth as you wrap your knees around him. You lace your fingers into his hair giving it a light tug. This causes him to lift his head slightly and he groans while diving back down to kiss your neck.

“Oh god- fuck.” You whine, as his mouth and tongue roughly suck at your throat.

“Nothing compares to you. Nothing ever will.” Jake pants into your ear. “You’re like a drug to me. I’ll swallow you every night for the rest of my life baby.”

He knows when he’s vocal like that it sends you into oblivion. And here you are right on the edge.

“Jake-“ you whine.

“I know, baby. I know. I’m right there with you. Ah fuck.”

Jake slams one of your hands down onto the bed, lacing his fingers with yours. Your other hand is gripping his shoulder for dear life. His hair is tickling your face and shoulders adding to the sensation. That familiar burn is back and you know this time that flame will spread to every orifice of your body. Jake is also rapidly becoming undone as his strokes become faster but more sloppy. You throw your head back into the pillow and let go as you feel yourself leave your body for a moment. Jake finishes just as you’re beginning to recover, he’s a mess of curse words and heavy breathing. He stays on you, as you can feel both of your hearts beating rapidly. You both stay like this for a few minutes, just trying to recover.

Finally he gives your forehead a kiss and then rolls off staring up at the ceiling for a moment. It’s quiet, but then Jake sits up and grabs a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his nightstand. He lights up a Camel and takes a puff before passing it to you. You let out a small laugh and accept it, inhaling the minty flavor. Jake tilts his head to the side and stares at you. It seems as if he is studying every characteristic about you. Like he had forgotten how beautiful you looked after he ruined you.

You exhale and turn to him. “What?”

He shrugs. “I like looking at you.”

You scoff a little.

“I do.” He insists. “I’ve missed you.”

“Funny way of showing it.” You retort.

“I don’t want to do this tonight. But I would like to have a conversation in the morning about it. Would you like to go back down or stay up here and watch scary movies?”

You think about continuing the harshness with him, but truthfully you don’t want to. “Up to you.”

Jake sucks in a breath. “Okay, can we go back down there and cook a pizza? I’ll start kicking the randoms out and then we can come back up here and put on a movie. There’s a new slasher film on Netflix, I thought you might like it.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you had already seen it, so you just smiled and said: “Yeah, okay.”

Jake matches your smile then leans over and plants a kiss lightly on your mouth before rolling off the bed. He threw you a t-shirt before heading to his bathroom. You finally peel your boots off and pad into the bathroom with him. He opens up his medicine cabinet and grabs a pack of your feminine wipes. He kept them here, which means that all of your things would still be in that cabinet. You try not to smile as he sets them down on the counter and leaves to give you privacy. You stare at yourself in the mirror and try to fix your makeup. You weren’t sure if you were buzzed off of the alcohol or something else entirely. After fixing yourself, you exit the bathroom to see Jake plopping a pair of his slippers on the floor for you.

“Probably don’t wanna walk out there barefoot.”

You nod and accept the slippers. “What about-“

Jake cuts you off before you can finish. “He’s gone. They’re both gone. Sam escorted them out.”

“Oh.” You say plainly.

Jake narrows his eyes at you. “Try not to sound so disappointed.”

That elicits a giggle from you and Jake playfully rolls his eyes, then grabs your hand. He laces his fingers with yours and leads you out of his room.

To your surprise, the party had thinned out significantly. How long were you two up there? It seemed like maybe thirty minutes but it looked as if hours had passed. Music still bumped as you made your way downstairs in nothing but Jake’s shirt and shoes. You scanned the room and didn’t see Matt or Meredith. That gave you a sigh of relief. Eventually you would have to speak with Matt and apologize. You felt a little bad as he was nice, but he wasn’t Jake. That would always be a flaw in any potential partner you could ever have. One that you weren’t sure you could ever get past.

Jake took you to the kitchen and preheated the oven yelling at a few people to “fuck off and get out” along the way.

You heard a familiar voice echo towards you. “Jake are you telling my guests to fuck off and get out? It’s only 2am what’s wrong with y-“ Josh pauses when he sees you standing there in his twin’s shirt and a smile spreads across his face. “So you two have worked things out I assume.”

You blush a little feeling silly for the show earlier in front of everyone. You see Sam and Danny approaching Josh.

“Well well. What do we have here?” Sam asks, glancing between you and Jake.

“I’m shocked- truly.” Danny adds, facetiously.

“Mhm.” Jake answers only to Josh, taking your hand back in his. “Also yeah it’s 2am it’s time to wrap this shit up.”

“Yeah which is why we need to keep this party going all night because you two have weeks of sexual frustration to let out!” Sam exclaimed.

“To be fair Sam, by the look of it, they already have.” Danny snickers.

Sam erupts with laughter. “That won’t be the last of it. Remember that last cabin trip we took? They’re like bunnies-“

“Okay fuck enough! Keep drinking, it’s obviously making you all more intelligent. Just keep everyone down here.” Jake concedes, shaking his head.

Josh laughs. “Well you heard the man! Party stays down stairs everyone!” He shouts, although no one pays him hardly any mind.

Sam slinks by you and wraps his arm around you while Jake throws the pizza in the oven. “Feel better?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Hush.”

He gives you shoulder a squeeze. “I’m just teasing. I’m glad you’re back around. They’re all so dreadfully boring.”

Jake huffs at him. “Don’t you all have a party to get back to or something?”

“Good point.” Danny says. “Have fun you two. Be safe!” Then he heads off to the crowd with Sam close behind shouting: “What he said! Daniel, wait! The fog machines!”

Josh chuckles at them and walks over to you. He wraps you in a hug and kisses your forehead. “We have missed you mama.”

“Watch it.” Jake warns half heartedly.

Josh scoffs. “Oh please. Also let it be known that Jake has done nothing but sulk around for the past few weeks! He made me text you to remind you about this party tonight!”

Jake grins at him and playfully shoves him along. “Get out of here.”

Josh throws his hands up and winks at you before diving back into the party.

Jake shakes his head and looks at you.

You grin back up at him. “Is that true?”

He blushes and takes your hand. “Ask me about it in the morning.”

**

Sunlight bathed in through the splits in the curtains. You half opened one eye, still trying to recover from your slumber. You turned your head to catch a glimpse of Jake’s alarm clock. It read: OCT. 31ST 10:42am. Jake was still asleep, softly snoring next to you as his arm draped over your side. Last night had ended quite perfectly. You had taken your pizza upstairs, watched that movie, and fucked two more times. It was almost 6am when you both had finally dozed off. You smiled a little when you thought of it, but that smile faded when you realized how full your bladder was. You attempted to wiggle out from under Jake’s arm, but he just pulled you in closer to him.

“Morning.” He says with his eyes still closed and a grin on his face.

“Good morning Jake. I really need to pee.”

He pulled you even closer and started kissing all over your face and neck. “C’mon stay in bed.”

You giggled. “Jake!”

He groaned. “Okay, off you go.”

You bolted up as soon as he released you and he laughed. After peeing you washed your hands and had yourself a glance in the mirror. There were purplish love bites all over your neck and collarbone. They wouldn’t be fun to cover up. You grabbed your toothbrush and started brushing your teeth. Jake opened the door, illuminated in sunlight with a smile on his face. He stepped in and hugged you from behind, giving you a peck on the cheek. This seemed a little unlike him, but you went with it. He grabbed his toothbrush and said “Breakfast?”

You hummed and nodded.

After you had made yourself somewhat presentable you went through the clothes on the floor to try and find your dress from the night before.

“What are you doing?” Jake asked with knitted brows.

“Looking for my clothes.” You replied.

He sucked in his cheeks. “I’ll give you a pair of my sweatpants and a hoodie. You can wear my slippers too.”

“Jake I’ll look homeless.” You say with a laugh.

“No you won’t. I like it when you wear my clothes.” He offers with a smile.

You playfully roll your eyes and accept his offer.

To your surprise you come downstairs to a somewhat clean house. Josh is poking about the kitchen, wiping down counters and softly humming to himself.

“Good morning you two- ugh! Fuck!”

You make a face at him. “What?”

“What happened to your neck? It looks like you were attacked by an octopus. Holy shit.” He states, dumbfoundedly staring at you.

“Gotta mark your territory. Right?” Jake interjects with a smirk.

Josh makes a fake gagging sound as Jake grabs your arm and leads you to the door.

“Sam was right! God that’s something I never thought I would say.” Josh yells after you two head for the door.

**

You crunched the leaves beneath your feet into a 24 hour breakfast diner that you and Jake had frequented before. There were little spider webs and skeletons hung up everywhere. Jake had ordered you both the Halloween special that had consisted of some sort of pumpkin coffee, witchy waffles, and batty bacon.

“So.” Jake said as he sipped his coffee.

“So?” You answered.

He lets out a huff. “You make me nervous.”

You laughed at him. “No I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

Before you can speak he continues. “Okay fuck it here it goes. So yes I asked Josh to text you. In fact, I bugged the piss out of him about it for days. I did sulk for those three weeks. And when I saw you walk in yesterday with that fuck I felt a feeling that I never want to feel again.”

You swallow and glance up at him. “Oh…”

He huffs again and pushes his hair back. “What I’m trying to say here is- I want you. I want you in every way all of the time. I don’t want to keep fueling the stupid fights and breakups. I’m done with that. I’ve done a lot of reflecting and… well, I love you. I’ve loved you for years and I want to keep on loving you for years. I want us to be together and actually give it a shot. A permanent shot. You and me.”

You blink and stare at him, entirely unsure what to even say. You and Jake had technically been together for years and this was the first time you had heard him say he loved you stone cold sober. You felt like you could vomit, but in a good way?

“Please say something.” He spits out, slightly anxious.

“Jake- I…” You take a breath and swallow. “I love you too.”

A visible sigh leaves his body as that perfect smile creeps over his face.

“But I’m scared. I’m scared that you’re going to hurt me. That we’re going to hurt each other.”

He grabs your hand and laces it with his. “I know. A big part of that is my own fault. But I’m serious. I want to try. I want to communicate with you. I want to make it work. I want you.”

You chew on your lip, still unsure of his words. It felt surreal, like you were in a dream. You had been waiting for years to hear this come out of his mouth. Slowly, you nod your head and muster up a very small “Okay.” With a smile.

Jake jolts up and leans across the table grabbing your jaw and pulling you in for a kiss. Then he puts his forehead up against yours and mutters a “thank you.” Before sitting down like all eyes weren’t on you two.

“How’s your coffee?” He asks you nonchalantly.

You look up at him and laugh. He does the same.

“It’s perfect. How’s yours?”

He smiles at you with those beautiful white teeth that you rarely see.

“Perfect.” He answers back.

Your waitress brings your Halloween specials and you both eat and giggle at one another. When you’re finished, Jake takes your hand and leads you outside. The crisp air raises goosebumps on your skin, yet you had never felt more warm.

“Can I take you back to your place to get changed then we go have a spooky day? I still think we have time to pick out a pumpkin and carve it. We just need to be back before dark because I shelled out on Halloween candy this year.”

You laugh in a surprised way. “Jake Kiszka are you getting soft on me? Handing out candy to children?”

He rolls his eyes. “No. It’s a competition. The best costumes get the most candy.”

You throw your head back. “That’s sort of fucked up.”

“But you’re going to do it with me. Aren’t you?” He asks with a smirk.

“Obviously.”

He kisses your cheek and laughs. “That’s my girl.”

****

[duskholland]

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. What happened?”

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

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

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

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

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom gulps nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

Tom follows you…?

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute.

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

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

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

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

Y/N: hey x

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

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, is it a home game?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me a spin, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

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

“Dutchy?” you question.

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

You coo. “That’s cute.”

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

And Tom… Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

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

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

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

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, darling.”

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

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

“What, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What— Tom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Penalty.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

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

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

“Funnier than me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

A smile breaks out across your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Overnight?”

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

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

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

“You can open them now.”

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

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

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

SURPRISE VALENTINE’S DAY UPDATE!

PART FIVE

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: flirting, alcohol, mentions of smoking  Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: This chapter is so cute to me. Pajama party anyone?  As always, thanks to the actual best editor alive today, @lantern-inthenight​ 

MASTER POST

taglist: @valleyd0ll​ @satingrass-maidensfair​ @guitarfingers​ @thebohemianpenguin​ @peaceisouranthem​ @oblvions​ @hansonobsessed​

@bigblack-catattack​ @myownparadise96​ @lara-gvf​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies​

It was undeniable that winter was on its way. The weekend brought predictions for temps in the lower 40’s and, even in the warmth of the apartment, you felt perpetually chilled.

Kate had messaged you late on Friday asking if you wanted to get coffee Saturday morning, and you had excitedly agreed to meet her at the local cafe called The Daily Grind (which, admittedly, you chose because of the cute name).

She had seen you bundled up like a burrito in two sweatshirts and a long-sleeved tee underneath and laughed, but you explained to her how you had never really been in temps this cold before.

Your fingers were wrapped as tight as they could go around your mocha as you watched her sip her black coffee, her maroon-painted lips leaving a mark on the white mug.

“When we’re done here, would you want to go with me to a thrift store? My mom sent some money for me to buy warmer clothes when she saw the weather for this area,” you said with an excited tone. “She’s afraid I’m going to get pneumonia.”

She hummed in an interested tone. “That sounds like fun. Which one do you wanna check out first?”

“You’ve been around here longer, so I’ll let you pick.”

“The one on Maple is the one where all the rich sorority girls go, so I bet you’d find some good stuff there,” she informed, tapping her nails against the ceramic.

You beamed a smile, relishing in the sunny feeling that only spending time with other girls gave you. “You wanna drive or me?”

+++

“Do you think if I buy a pair of jeans a size too big I could get away with wearing leggings under them?” you asked, flicking through the hangers. “I feel like the wind here cuts right through my denim.”

“Maybe two sizes bigger so you can wear sweatpants.” You knew she was teasing you by her playful tone, but that was actually kind of brilliant, you thought. “You should try this one.”

You had to get onto your tippy toes to see her over the long rack. She was holding up a soft-looking sweater, multicolored horizontal stripes running across the fabric. The color pattern reminded you of Twiggy from the ’60s.

“It’s cute,” you agreed, taking it as she handed it to you. By the time you were ready for a fitting room, you had a pile of things and the employee on duty looked not very excited to have to put them back when you were done, but luckily she wouldn’t have to. Pretty much everything fit perfectly.

You were shocked to see the total - where you were from, all of that would have been well over $60, even second hand, but you ended up forking over a measly $35, and you figured most of that total was from the nearly new jacket you had found.

As she was driving you back to the coffee shop, you exclaimed giddily, “I’m so excited to have warm clothes. Now Josh can finally have his sweatshirts back.”

She looked over at you surprisedly. “That’s Josh’s?”

“Yeah, he gave me three and I’ve been alternating between them.” You reached forward to turn her radio up a notch, Janet Jackson’s “All For You” perking your ears.

“Are you sure he wants them back?” she asked, giving you a coy smile that you didn’t understand.

You adopted a puzzled look. If she was alluding to something, it was lost on you. “Why wouldn’t he? They’re still perfectly fine - I was even careful not to get my perfume on them.”

Now stopped at a red light, she turned to give you a squinty look until she seemed to realize you were serious. “Nevermind,” she relented, smirking forward at the road.

When you got back home, Josh was gone. You shot him a message inquiring as to his whereabouts and started snipping the tags off of your new clothes with a pair of pruning shears. You were exponentially grateful for the fact that the washing machine in your building had been repaired - and with a shocking amount of haste too.

The smell of the laundry room down the hall was pleasant. It reminded you of the times when your mom would wash all the towels and blankets in the house, and that was a job that either required a laundromat, or an entire day switching loads.

At the end of your shopping day, you made out with three new sweaters, two pairs of thicker jeans, a new coat, a winter hat, and an actual pajama set, which would be infinitely warmer than the shorts and tank top you’d moved in with.

You cheerily popped your new clothes into the washer, along with a tide pod, some of your bras and underwear, and closed the lid.

Around 1 pm, Josh still wasn’t back and hadn’t replied, so you decided it was a perfect time to work on some self-care. The yoga mat you had packed had yet to see the light of day in Michigan, so you dug it out, unrolled it in your room, changed into some easy clothing, and pulled up a beginner’s tutorial on your phone. By the thirty-minute mark, you were sweating and tired, but the stretch in your muscles was oddly pleasant on top of the discomfort, so you pushed yourself to keep going until the video was done. The cute blonde running the tutorial suggested you take some time in your cool down to look inward, as she thought that was a big part of yoga. So, you laid there on the mat, staring up at your ceiling for a good, long while, just taking time to reflect and enjoying it.

Your room, and the whole apartment really, had become home so quickly. You hadn’t ever had the opportunity to test the theory before, but you had always imagined that leaving home would make you feel out of place.

But you didn’t.

Sure, you missed home in the way that any human that came from a loving and supporting family would, but you were expecting to ache for it. You had taken a long time in your backyard and in your favorite spot back home, just so you could have a final fix, but all that was to you now was a fond memory.

After a few moments of being alone with your thoughts, you were going to get up and take a shower, but you had decided to postpone it. While you were staring up at the ceiling, you realized that there was a lot of unused space that the sun hit toward the top of the room. Wasted sun was a felony in your book. You spent about an hour pulling down your curtain rod, removing the fabric, and replacing it with hanging pots of all sizes and lengths.

Your string of hearts, your pearls, your golden pothos - the thought of them being the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes in the morning was one that made you feel sentimental. You’d just have to be careful with watering.

Once you were satisfied with the placements, you made your way to the bathroom. As you waited for the shower to heat up to a tolerable temperature, you took some time to pluck any stray hairs around your eyebrows and gently brush the knots out of your hair. Self-care had always felt like a long term investment to you - one well worth it.

The warm spray of the shower felt amazing on your tired muscles, so you took your sweet time getting clean and enjoying it, then blow-drying your hair on low heat when you were finished. After, you excitedly got out your new pajama set, clipped the tags, and put it on.

Shortly thereafter, you heard a key slip into the lock on the front door. You were cuddled up on the couch, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric on your freshly scrubbed skin as you watched through the complete second season of the Simpsons, popcorn in your lap.

When he stepped into the house, he raised his eyebrows at you, surveying the area.

“What?” you asked, giving him a confused look.

“Just looking for the books and the homework.” You rolled your eyes at him before he continued on with, “I just always assumed that when I wasn’t around, you were doing boring, adult things.”

You gave him a playful shrug as you gestured to the noticeably book free space around you.

He squinted at you suddenly. “Are you in your pajamas? You know it’s like 3:30 in the afternoon, right?”

“They’re new!” you quipped. “And I was excited to wear them. You don’t have to be jealous, you could go get yours on and join me.”

The offer seemed to be tempting him. “I have a better idea. How about you go change, and we’re going to go to a party tonight.”

You scowled at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you crazy? I’m already in my pajamas. I’ve already taken my bra off! Once it’s off, it doesn’t go back on.”

He laughed, loud and unabashed, showing you all of his teeth. The sound made your cheeks flush.

“C’mon, I bet Kate will be there,” he reasoned. “And I obviously will be. And I’m positive Jake will be too. This might be your chance to get them to hook up.”

You bit your bottom lip in consideration. “The timing would be kinda perfect; she could have the whole day tomorrow to process it and then tell me about it on Monday.”

He was smirking at you when you looked back up at him, making you tuck your hair behind your ear anxiously. “If I come, do you promise not to leave me alone?”

He nodded at you confidently. “I will not leave you.”

The very first thing you did was message Kate. It was vital that she was there, just in case Josh got too drunk to remember his promise. You didn’t have a hard time socializing, per-say. You were just nervous about your first real social event here.

Josh was right though - it wouldn’t kill you to make some more friends.

When you were in the bathroom brushing your teeth, Kate messaged back saying that she would never miss getting to see you drunk, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her you had to drive, so you opted to leave that part out. You worked on picking out a good, sensible outfit and took your time to put on makeup again. Admittedly, it felt kind of nice - you used to wear a full beat all the time, but somewhere along the line it started to feel tedious, which is something you never wanted any of your favorite things to feel, so you put the whole idea of it on the shelf for a while.

When you finally emerged from your room around 8, Josh was sitting on the kitchen counter, phone in his hands as he furiously typed out a message. You listened to the pleasant sound of his fingers tapping on the glass screen for a moment before speaking.

“Who are you messaging?” you asked, but it didn’t grab his full attention right away.

“Just one of the other theater guys,” he said through a near sneer. The only time you ever saw him looking distressed was when it came to his production. “Trying to tell me what I can and can’t do with my own production-”

When he looked up at you the rest of his thoughts seemed to escape him, all the emotion in his face and posture crumbling away.

You folded your hands together, giving him a concerned look. “Are you okay?”

He tucked his phone into the pocket of his pants, abandoning whatever he had been so intent on doing just seconds ago.

“Yeah, I just haven’t ever seen you dressed up before.”

The extra attention made you slump back against the hallway wall, giving him a nervous grimace. Through pursed lips, you asked, “Is it too much?”

His eyes popped open, along with his mouth. It took him a moment to speak actual words - like he wanted to say a lot all at once. “What? No! I’m just stupid,” he assured, running his fingers through his curls. “It took my brain a moment to process.”

You gave him a forgiving smile, opening the fridge and grabbing out a carton of juice. He watched as you took a swig, letting you swallow before asking, “Do you want me to drive?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, finger swiping away a stray droplet. “Can you?”

“Drive?” he laughed. “Yes. I can drive.”

“Legally?” you pressed, handing over the carton to him when you caught him eyeing it. He took a drink right from the spout as well, giving you a wink that made you lovingly roll your eyes.

+++

You two seemed to unintentionally match. He was in a pair of khaki pants, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a denim jacket on top. You were positive he was going to freeze solid one of these days because he always seemed to be way underdressed for the weather.

As you went to get out of the car, he stopped you with a touch to your knee. “You should take off your jacket and hat and leave them in here; I wouldn’t ever trust leaving them unattended at a party.” He paused before speaking again. “Not that anyone would necessarily steal them, just that people get drunk and think stuff is theirs.”

“Like you did with the wallet?” you teased, making him rub at the back of his neck.

“Yes,” he said pointedly through a grin. “Like that.”

He held the sleeve of your jacket as you shrugged out of it, abandoning it into the back seat. You took just a second to mourn the fact that it would be cold when you went to put it back on.

In the rearview mirror, you fixed your hair, having been mussed by the removal of your hat, and then stepped out. He ushered you along first, reaching past you and pushing the door open for you when you had reached it. The music hit you like a wall, loud and energetic - followed quickly by the smell of alcohol. A cloud of smoke hung subtly near the ceiling, giving the room an air of mystery. You realized you hadn’t made a move to enter the house when you felt his hand on the middle of your back.

“Everything okay?” he asked, just above the volume of the music. You nodded, feeling silly for holding him up, and stepped inside.

People were moving to the music like blood reacting to a heartbeat, swaying around to the rhythms all in a pleasant unison. The scene was oddly hypnotic as the colors danced around.

The second that people could see Josh behind you, they started calling his name. Your stomach lurched for a second, scared that he was either going to leave you or drag you to a group that you didn’t know, but he waved them off instead.

“I’ll catch you guys in a minute,” he shouted through a grin so charming they couldn’t seem to muster up a shred of annoyance toward him. Then, he spoke the next part right against your ear. “You want a drink?”

“Just one,” you agreed with a nod, shivering ever so slightly as his breath hit your cheek.

In the kitchen, huddled around an island covered by bottles, was a group of people, all very visibly drunk. One of those people was Kate, dressed in a crisp looking pair of jeans, a white crop top, and a red checkered flannel shirt, left open to expose her midriff.

When she caught sight of you, she gave you a big, toothy smile. The sharp fringe of her bob moved just enough to sometimes expose a pair of gold disk earrings.

“Need a drink?” she asked as she broke away from the rest of the crowd. “I’ll make it for you.”

You put your hands up, laughing at her enthusiasm. “I’m going to let Josh make it for me,” you informed, knowing full well that she would make it strong enough to get you drunk and keep you in that state for the whole evening.

The one that Josh ended up making for you was, undeniably, a rum and Coke. Not your most favorite thing ever, but then again, this one was mostly just Coke. You made a mental note to thank him for being so considerate.

The three of you ended up in the living room, right in the throws of all the action. You’d been to a few parties back home, but this felt kind of different. Back home, it was always hot, so the parties usually spilled out into the yard in all directions. Come to think of it, you’d never been to a party where the guests weren’t making prominent use of the pool. But here everyone was packed in tightly, making a large house feel tiny.

Kate found you all a nice little corner with a love seat and some kind of weird puff you think you were meant to put your feet on. Settling in there meant you’d have to share the space with a couple of other people, but it felt worth it to not be standing in the middle of the room. Being out in the open made you feel nervous - like you were being circled by sharks.

The songs changed, but the beat seemed to stay pretty much the same, making it easy for the time to slip by without your acknowledgment. By the time you checked your watch, it was nearly eleven.

True to his word, Josh didn’t leave your side the whole night. People kept popping in and out to get a word with him. You couldn’t hear them well because he was sat across from you, but he was laughing quite a bit. Some of it looked kind of forced, but most of it seemed genuine - like he was actually having a nice time.

It wasn’t until you were close to getting ready to leave that you saw Jake making his way down the stairs, one hand on the wooden railing to steady himself and the other wrapped around a red cup. You flashed him a smile when his eyes landed on you, and he gave you one back, giving you a feather-light punch to your shoulder when he reached you.

“Move over,” he demanded in Josh’s direction, sitting nearly on top of him on the couch, with only light complaints from his twin.

“You smell like sex,” Josh said through a fake grimace, pressing his elbow into Jake’s ribs.

“Can’t imagine why,” Jake responded with a smirk, lifting the cup to his lips as you giggled at him.

The realization struck you as his eyes landed on Kate next. “Oh, Jake, this is my friend Kate. Kate, Jake Kiszka.”

She reached out and took his hand to shake and at the same moment, Josh laid his hand on your leg and through a grin, asked, “Should we take off?”

You laughed, giving him a nod.

“Kathrine, Jacob,” Josh started, clapping his hands together in front of him. “We are leaving. See you guys soon?”

“We should actually get tacos,” Kate stated seriously to the group as a whole, and then just to Josh said, “And my name is Kathleen.”

[give-grian-rights]

CHAPTER TWO HOUR. CHAPTER TWO HOUR. I AM SO TIRED. IT IS 6AM. TELL ME IF HTERE’S TYPOS AND THAT NORMAL STUFF

Bets Against The Void, Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Whitelist au from @petrichormeraki

Crossposted on AO3

Tubbo quietly chuckled, smiling fondly as their friend squawked indignantly. “Tubbo! I’m serious, explain some shit, fuckin’ nerd!” Tommy scoffed, prodding at their side with his elbow. Tubbo hushed him, their smirk still lingering.

  “Hermitcraft is a super crazy popular server. If you’ve ever searched for examples of builds on your tablet, chances are, they’re from one of the Hermits. Or if you looked up something about redstone! Anything! You’ll find one of their instructions. They’re geniuses- just, complete geniuses. Grian’s one of them-”

  “Grian’s one of them!?” Tommy exclaimed, his eyes shooting open. Tubbo’s grin widened, nodding vigorously. “Yes! He’s the newest Hermit, last I heard.. Most of the guys he’s teammates with every MCC, they’re usually other Hermits!” They’d continue explaining to the best of their ability.

  “Should’ve fuckin’ started with the fact that Grian’s here! That fuckin’ dude! He killed Dream three times! Three times, Tubbo!” The blond continued with his excited shouting. Well, that certainly fixed the situation, Tubbo mused.

  The brunett nodded along, chuckling. “Yeah! He, and most of the others, really- post all that much right now. The new World Client, with the axolotls and caves ‘n stuff? They’ve started posting and sharing discoveries about that.  I know Grian did, at least. But considering they call themselves the ‘Hermits’ it makes sense to be a bit inactive, yeah?” Tubbo shrugged, tapping the chilly cool sandstone beneath them.

  Tommy nodded dumbly, glancing around the room for a moment. Tubbo, meanwhile, had pulled their tablet up. The holographic comm system was displayed infront of them, everything on the screen they touched being read aloud to them.

  Launching an accessibility app, the tablet began describing aloud the block palette, dimensions, and colors. As the tablet’s robotic voice played in his com system, reading aloud the details of his surrounding, Tubbo nodded along to an incoherent rant from Tommy.

Tubbo wasn’t too sure what Tommy was ranting about- likely MCC, and Grian. Grian got a kill on Tommy, last MCC, if they remember correctly.  The brunnett wouldn’t be surprised if that was the target of the blond’s current tangent. Tommy hadn’t even been able to get a word out, when Grian began shouting vigorous apologises between matches.

  The descriptions from the tablet were long, and boring. The robotic voice drawing on and on, as it attempted to describe the intricate room. Shutting down the program, Tubbo tuned back into Tommy. 

  “Fuckin’ am..So fucking tired. Of course we ended up here. It’d be to easy if we’d just be let back into Dream SMP, huh? Think Dream even knew we were out? I bet not. Even if he does, probably didn’t even care, fuckin’ dick. Bet that green asshole’s just sitting over his code and shit, simping over Gogy-” The blond ranted heatedly. The blind teen could hear the shifting and chustling of fabric, before the boy’s voice became muffled.

  With his head pressed against his knees, legs drawn to his chest, Tommy sat there practically panting. His chest heaved, the rage draining from him. “Why is all- all of this, always so complicated, Tubbo?” Blue eyes turned to meet the scarred, burnt front of the other.

  Tubbo picked at faded and torn tennis shoes, tentatively listening. The rymnatic pattern of the boy’s breathing, and the crashing overhead, offered some vague comfort. “All of what?” They’d tilt their head.

  The younger of the two quietly sighed, his mouth pressed in a thin line. His hand clutched the bottom of his torn, tan cargo pants, fidgetting with the frayed ends. “Us. Shit with us, it always gets so fuckin’ complicated. Big Man, you’re president. You’re- you’re the fucking president, now, Tubbo.”

  The bunnett’s brows furrowed together, as they inched closer to their friend. “Yeah. But it’s- it’s still us, y’know? If- if life was easy, then we’d be missing out on a lot of things. What if we had just never met-”

“We’d always meet eachother, Tubbo. There’s no fuckin’ getting rid of me, even in your fantasy world.” The blond nudged the teen’s shoulder, a wolfish grin evident in his tone.

  That made the other crack a smile, shaking their head. “I hope so, Tommy.” They’d chuckle, shaking their head. The weight of the day came crashing down all again. Before the rushing thoughts could boggle down their mind, Tubbo slumped against Tommy’s side sigh an exhausted sigh.

  “This is just, livin’ the fucking life, huh?” Tommy remarked, looking over his friend. The tall boy already shifted himself, his long legs sprawled out on the floor with his back leaned against sandstone walls.

  His head leaned against that of his compaignian, half-lidded blue eyes giving one last surveillance of the room. “We’ll figure this shit out tomorrow..” Tommy mumbled, glancing down at the brunette.

  Tubbo was already asleep, their expression finally one of peace. Tommy wasn’t given a moment more to appreciate the serenity of the quiet room, before he’d be pulled into slumber as well.

  Both of the teens were stirred awake by the whirring noises of an active portal- the Netherportal beside them, with particles flying, gaveway to two players. Tommy kicked himself up to his feet, defensively. Tubbo stumbled along with him, pulling back away from the strangers.

Though two stepped out, only one immediately caught Tommy’s eyes.

  “W- Holy shit!  You’re Grian!” Tommy squawked indignantly.

  Tubbo’s head immediately shot up, excitably breaking into a grin. Any exhaustion the two held was wiped away- neither was sure how long their unrestful sleep had been, but it was far more than other nights. 

  The target of the excitement, Grian, sheepishly stood there, nodding. “Uh, yeah! You guys are Tommy and Tubbo, yeah?  I’ve seen you at most of the MCC’s I’ve been to. You both did really good last time, by the way! I’m really looking forward to the next one!” 

This was easily the closest they probably ever were to the dirty blond. He also looked far more at ease, on this server. The iconic figure, ever-present in the community, had his wild mop of a fringe frazzled and framing his face.

  Poking under the bangs, Tommy could now see faint, ragged lines from a scar, along with other various healed-over wounds. Another contrary to how either of them had seen Grian, at MCC, was the large circular glasses loosely sat on his face.

Seeing one of his heroes like this (The only one that hadn’t betrayed, killed him, turned against him, despised him-) in such a..Domestic state, was bizarre. Tommy was scrambling for words, starting and giving up on getting his tongue around what to say.

  “This is so cool! Hi! I used to watch and- and listen, to a lot of your old build tutorials! A lot of people on our server would always say how we learned building from you!” Tubbo would blurt out, practically bouncing on their heel. Grian turned to the teen, slightly shocked but amused. 

  “Oh! I- well thank you! I’m glad I could be any help at all- my builds are nothing compared to some of what the other Hermits have going on..Speaking of others- this is Stress!” He’d take the opportunity to escape the small spotlight, glancing towards the brunette woman next to him sheepishly.

  The woman- Stress, apparently, quietly chuckled. A fond smile grazed her face, as she looked over towards the two teenagers. “Ello there, Loves! Sorry to interrupt your fan meetup,” She teased, side-eyeing the dirty blond beside her.  “We just wanted to come and check in, is all! X told us two to come visit, yeah?”

  Tommy quietly hummed skeptically,  surveying her. Short brown hair hung barely as low as her shoulder, a neat, white, blue, and pink flower-crown sat upon her head. The colors must’ve been very purposeful, considering they matched with her colorful outfit of the same color.

  “Fine, sure..Well, we’re still fuckin’ breathing, and we’re here. So you don’t really need to be here any longer, yeah?” Tommy scoffed, slumping back against the wall. Tubbo was already standing, nudging at his side. 

  “Thank you, for checking in. I- I’m sure this is a bit of a strange situation. That- Yeah, that’s my bad.” They chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of their neck. This caught Stress’ attention, turning towards the tene.

  “Oh, no! This isn’t a problem at all. Dear, this happens all the time. Grian just- just appeared, one day, in our previous server. We walk out the portal for the first time- and boom! There that weirdo is!” Stress chuckled, her grin unwavering as she gave a playful nudge to the dirty blond beside her.

  Grian scoffed, a smirk edging at his lips as he rolled his eyes. “Okay, but I’m not the only example of that happening- you didn’t have to pick me out specifically!”

  “Sure I do, Love! You’re the first new Hermit to join, after me and Zed! I get to bully you, lovingly!” She cheered. Stress’ energy was absolutely efficacious, Tubbo couldn’t help but smile and cackle at her and Grian’s banter.

“Uh huh,” Grian scoffed, dramatically crossing his arms. “Last I checked, that was Iskall’s job to bully newcomers- oh, Gord, when you all walked out of the portal and they just decked me ? I mean, it didn’t really hurt all that bad, but it’s a matter of the principle!”

  Stress seemed like she was almost gonna break down with laughter, clutching her stomach. “I forgot they did that with you, too! Iskall certainly is one that needs work with their introduction, that absolute weirdo!” She chostled, shaking her head fondly.

  She then turned towards the two teens, reassuringly smiling. “They won’t give you any hard time, they’re just like that sometimes, especially in the beginning of a new season..They’re usually just incomprehensible in the beginning, I learnt!” She giggled, covering her mouth.

  Tubbo awkwardly laughed, nodding. “Yeah- they, they sound like something.” It was..A strange environment, to be sure.

  Sure, they knew of the Hermits, their reputation impossible to avoid- but most outsiders didn’t know much about the actual Hermits. They went by that title for a reason.

  Tommy was having similar thoughts, he felt as if he was completely imposing on, everything. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care- it frankly was..Warming, almost, to see this. He missed being able to have that, on Dream’s server. 

  The blond in particular seemed to have tuned out, because by the time he snapped out of those thoughts, Grian was speaking again.

  “We’re glad to see you’re both alright, but, I don’t think we’ve been exactly great hosts. You both have gotta be hungry- I know the last thing you two seem to want is help, but..We’d be happy to help you however we can.  We can go get you fresh, real food. Or- you both come with us, and we take you to our central area, the Cowmercial district.”

  Tommy stared blankly at Grian for a moment, brows knitted together in bewilderment. “The… Cow..merical district?” He’d repeat, squinting.

  Grian snickered, nodding. “Yeah! The name just stuck. It’s our shopping district. We have a bakery- it’s never, ever too early for cake. There’s Doc’s shop, but that’s all villager-bought, if it’s the rare occasion that it’s stocked at all- so the Bakery may be the only option, for today.” He glanced back at Stress, who nodded in agreement.

  “Only if you’d want to,” Stress would interject. “Either of us could come bring you food here- but, we figured you might want to just..Get out. You’re allowed to leave here whenever you want- but, navigating our server by yourself, for the first time? Not the easiest.”

  The two teens glanced towards eachother. Tubbo looked like they were practically buzzing in place, at the idea of exploring the Hermits’ world. Tommy watched them for a moment, before quietly scoffing.

  “..Yeah, okay, sure- how the hell do we even get out of here though, for starters?” Tommy crossed his arms, inching closer towards Tubbo. He, for one, was really not a fan of having to fly out.

  Stress cheered excitably, pulling open her inventory. The woman promptly dropped a stack each to the two teens. “I came prepared, just in-case!” She grinned. With a swipe of her arm, the digital screen dissipated.

  “If you know how to use elytras, X already said he’s more than happy to lend out two from the back-up system. I have some to spare, as well.  But- you two never seemed the most comfortable in the air, during flight-based games.” Grian would add awkwardly, adjusting his own wings behind him. 

  Tommy didn’t pay much attention to the words- instead, he promptly threw open his inventory, gawking at the full stack of pearls. “What! I don’t think i’ve ever had this many pearls! Holy shit!” He pulled out the stack of sixteen.

  One pearl manifested in his hand, while a holographic icon hovered beside him. The pixel-image of an enderpearl, with a large 15x in the corner in white font was projected for only his vision. The blond couldn’t remember a time he had so many enderpearls.

  “Thank you! Wow- yeah, pearls aren’t really common in our server!  This- this is really nice!” They felt giddy, as they pulled their’s out as well, the action muscle-memory.

  “Well, I’m glad you two can put them to good-use, then!” She chuckled. The idle question of how can a server lack pearls skimming through her head for a moment.

  Within seconds of her saying that, Tommy had already blindly tossed one of his pearls- promptly falling down from the ceiling, and landing on the floor with a short shriek. Tubbo straightened up from the sidelines, tilting their head.

  “Tommy! What did you do?” Tubbo called out accusatorily, as they quickly popped their surrounding descriptor back on.

  “Nothing!” Tommy quickly yelled back, lunging to their feet with a stumble as they dusted themselves off.

  At the sidelines, Stress and Grian cackled, watching in lighthearted amusement. Tommy could feel his face flushed red with brief embarrassment, quickly attempting to play it off.

  “Truer answer; I was being awesome. That was what, Tubbo. Are we eating or what? I want to throw pearls and go places. And eat, that too.” He quickly turned towards the two Hermits expectantly, narrowing his eyes at them.

  Grian grinned, nodding. “Yes, yes we are! I have boats. Go ahead and pop up with your pearls, and we’ll fly out to you.” He explained briefly, pulling the boats from his inventory. The thin, digitized object manifesting in his hand. 

  Tommy turned expectantly to Tubbo. “You got this, Toob?” He tilted his head, watching his friend. Tubbo had immediately nodded vigoriously, running over towards the center of the room, the ceiling above open to the water. 

  “Yeah! I’ve got this, Big Man! No sweat!” They gave a toothy grin, shifting the enderpearl in their hand. Arching their arm back, the teen cautiously stepped back.

  Their communicator had continued reading off the details of the room into their thin earpiece,  primarily the dimensions. All they had to do was hit the wall leading up to the surface to get out. They could do that, surely.

  With a huff of effort, they chucked the pearl. They heard it  break through the under-surface of the water, and then they were submerged. Breaching the surface, they gasped for a moment. The ocean rippled, clothes heavy and soaked. They were certainly glad they had been in their casual clothes, rather than their presidential outfit.

  Within a moment, Tommy was up beside them, quietly gasping as well. The blond pushed his hair back, lightly nudging Tubbo away from the gaping hole in the water beneath them- and then Grian and Stress flew out.

  The sound from the rockets were deafened from beneath the ocean, thankfully. Only a thin trail of smoke followed them, the sight certainly unfamiliar to the fireworks the two teens had been accustomed to.

  Both Hermits had dived straight into the shallow water with a splash, before the dirty-blond dropped down two boats.

“I want to drive! Tommy, i’m driving us!” Tubbo cried out, at the sound of the wood hitting the water. Beside them, Tommy scoffed.

“Tubbo! I’m not gettin’ motion sickness! We just woke up, no way. Your idea of ‘driving’ is no one elses, my friend.” He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he pulled himself into the boat. Beside him, Tubbo whined.

  “C’mon, man! Nothing like a bit of motion-sickness to get the day started!” They playfully remarked. Despite that, they had already accepted their defeat, pulling up into the boat.

  Stress and Grian watched the teens carefully, with Stress laughing lightheartedly at the banter between them as she pulled herself into the boat, behind Grian.

  Grian, on the otherhand, was mostly quiet. A thin wisp of a smile was present, conveying one of bemusement. Tommy didn’t get a good look, but, he couldn’t quite pinpoint the look from Grian. He didn’t like it.

  “Alright,” The older Brit at hand started. “We’re real close. No one should be at Looky Looky At My Cookie- and it should be early enough that there aren’t any real occupants at the Cowmerical District.” He explained, turning the boat as he got a small start ahead of the teens.

  “Sure, then! That sounds g- wait, what’s that name?”

“C’mon, then!” Grian wouldn't answer Tubbo’s valid question, before boating off. Tommy quickly following behind, shouting indignantly after them.

  It certainly was odd. It felt..Comforting, here. Certainly not relaxing. The opposite of cf relaxing- Tubbo had nothing but the craving to do something. But it was..Welcoming. It was strange. They hadn’t felt so- so unbothered, since..Ever, really. They liked it.

  Tubbo wondered if it could stay this way.

  Tommy wondered what the hell they were about to get themselves into.

[solinarimoon]

A Place in This World

A/N:  This is my entry for @mrsalwayswrite 350 follower challenge.  Congratulations on your 350 followers!  You desreve them and so many more! My prompt was for the sense of sight and old books.  I focused on an OC I created that could potentially mold into a larger story.  This one shot takes place during season 3 of The Last Kingdom at the nunnery in Wincelcumb. 

Warnings: angsty, bastard, and abandonment.

Word count: 2219ish

A Place in This World

The rustling of Edlyn’s steps echoed along the corridor.  She tried to keep her feet light and gentle as she walked, but the bare walls and cold floors captured all sounds.

Evening meal would not be served for another hour or more.  Instead of waiting to be roped into helping prepare the food, Edlyn had taken her first opportunity to explore the new convent she was thrust upon.

Rounding the corner, Edlyn came up short when she saw a door ajar at the end of the hallway.  Peering into the room, she saw a warm glow from the fireplace illuminating a small chamber.  Lining the walls on one side, across from the fire so their spines danced in the flickering light, were shelves of books.  

Without thinking, Edlyn crossed the room and ran her fingers across the dusty volumes.  Slowly, her eyes rose taking in the sight of so many new stories to read.  One book in particular caught her eye, near the top shelf.  Edlyn glanced around to her side and saw a short stepping stool.

Carefully, she moved the stool before the shelf and climbed to reach towards the volume.

“It would be polite to inquire for permission before taking a book from our meager library, young lady.”

The sudden shock of hearing a voice, startled Edlyn.  She lost her footing and stumbled off of the stool to thump into the wall, somehow managing to refrain from knocking any of the books off in the ordeal.

“I’m sorry?” she questioned once she regained her footing.  She turned to face the other side of the room obscured by the open door.

“I was suggesting you ask if it is alright for you to take a book from our library.”

An elderly nun sat in a cushioned chair next to a round table.  There was a large collection of pages in front of her.

Edlyn cautiously approached the woman and squinted at the writing on the pages.

The nun settled herself back into the chair and folded her rheumatic hands into her lap, allowing Edlyn to view the pages properly.

Reverently, Edlyn slid several of the pages towards herself and picked them up to bring them nearer to the firelight.  

“You must be Edlyn.”

The young woman nodded wordlessly.  

“And what has brought you to our convent, young Edlyn?”

Shifting her eyes to meet the nuns and then back to the papers, Edlyn replied, “I believe you already know the answer to your question.”

“I know what my abyss has told us.  But despite my youthful appearance,” the crone chuckled wryly, “I am old enough to know that there is usually more than one side to stories like yours.”

Frowning, Edlyn brought the pages back to place on the table.  Contemplating how best to answer, she wandered back towards the bookshelf.

“Were you told of my parentage?”

“I was,” replied the old woman.

“Well being the bastard daughter of a king does not allow for a large selection of lifestyle choices.”

“Your brother found a path that did not include confinement in a monastery.”

Shocked, Edlyn quickly turned her head to meet the woman’s sharp, birdlike eyes.  Those eyes bore into Edlyn daring her to refute her words.

“Yes, he did.”

Edlyn had not expected to hear her brother mentioned, but in truth it was the second reminder of him she had since entering the room.

“Tell me,” the woman compelled Edlyn.

Edlyn sensed this particular nun was not to be ignored or contended with.  Sighing, she stepped back onto the stool and reached for the book on the high shelf.

“When we were children, after our mother died, my uncle paid the church to house us and to keep us together.  I’ve no doubt that he was largely influenced in this decision by our father as well.”

Edlyn stepped off the stool.  Glancing around the room and seeing no other chair, she picked up the foot stool and brought it to rest beside the fire. 

Taking a seat, she continued, “Osferth was always the more studious child.  Being twins, you might think we would favor one another, but we could not have been more different.  Even our looks did not favor each other. He is light.  Light brown hair and gentle, blue eyes.  And you see me before you.  Hair the color of raven’s feathers and eyes stormy like the sea.  He enjoyed our lessons, was courteous, respectful.  He was devout and the apple of the eyes of many of the nuns.”

“And I am guessing you, young Edlyn, were not those things.” 

Chuckling mildly to herself, Edlyn shook her head in reply.

“Abyss Bethylda was constantly recalling my attention back to our lessons.  I have a sharp tongue and a questioning and goading nature… Or so I am told,” she shrugged.

“So I ask again, how is it I find you here, in my library at this convent? It does not seem like the life that you would choose for yourself.  If I may make such a judgement after only meeting you a moment ago.”

Edlyn stared down at the book in her lap.

“This book contains stories of the viking raiders and their plunder of Northumbria?”

“It does,” answered the woman with a ponderance in her voice.

“As children, the one thing my brother and I had in common was a love for books.  For stories, really.  Our Uncle Leofric would visit us often.  We always listened to his war stories with rapt attention.  And we always found ourselves most fervently reading accounts of the northmen.  Particularly the attack at Lindisfarne.”

Gazing down at the bound pages, Edlyn traced the words and found her mind returned to a moment many years past.

~~~~~~~ 10 years earlier ~~~~~~~~

“Edlyn, don’t!” Osferth exclaimed as his sister climbed on top of the table.

“Hush, you’re meant to be guarding the door, Osferth.  And it’s fine.  I just need to step here and then I can reach it,” Edlyn whispered harshly. The ten year old placed a foot onto the shelving encased on the wall beside the table she was currently standing on.

Osferth turned back from peering out the door and down the hallway.  

“There is no one coming.  Did you reach it yet?”

“Not...yet….almost,” Edlyn spoke while straining to reach her arm up higher.

“Edlyn!” Osferth whined while approaching the table. “Why don’t we just ask someone to get the book down for us?”

“Yes, why don’t you?” A deep, rumbling voice came from the doorway. 

With a gasp, the young girl and her twin both turned to see who had caught them in their plot. Edlyn’s foot slipped and she shrieked as she felt herself begin to fall.

With two large strides, the man crossed the distance with the speed of a cat to snatch Edlyn before she hit the floor. 

“Uncle Leofric!” Edlyn exclaimed while throwing her arms around the man's neck.

He let out a hearty laugh. 

“I have missed you too, little Eadlyn.”

He placed the young girl onto her feet. 

“Keeping up with your studies, Osferth?” He asked while stretching his arm out to grasp the boy's shoulder with a fond smile. 

“Of course, Uncle. Abyss Bythilda suggests I should pursue becoming a scholarly priest.”

Quickly, Edlyn cut her brother off, “why would you want to do that Osferth?”

The boy turned his face down to the floor and shuffled his feet, mumbling “I never said it was what I would want. Only what the abyss suggests, Edlyn.”

“Stop giving your brother a hard time, young lady,” Leofric commanded. “Now, children, what was it you were willing to risk such daring behavior to access?” He asked while approaching the shelves. 

Osferth was quick to reply, “it was the accounts of the Northmen’s raid on Lindisfarne!” 

“This one up here,” Leofric asked while sliding the volume off the shelf and bringing it over to the window.  He opened the tome and turned to have a seat on the bench resting underneath the window’s ledge.

The children nestled next to him as he began reading the account aloud to them. 

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

Edlyn broke from her reverie to look back up at the nun.  She found the woman’s own eyes studying her.

“If you had met Osferth when we were ten, you would have seen him as the one pursuing a life of God fearing obedience and prayer. Abyss Bythilda certainly thought so.  But we all realized much too late that he did not want that life any more than I did, than I do. He ran away in order to pursue a different life.  He left me behind.”

Edlyn spoke these final words softly, while bringing her eyes back to the book in her lap. 

“And what stopped you from also leaving the safety of the church?  You have a reputation for being strong and independent, young one.  And it is no secret that you have refused to take the vows, becoming one of our Order.  It is what has sent you to our doors from your previous nunnery.  Do you intend to continue to take advantage of the church’s generosity for the rest of your life? Being a bastard but still using your royal lineage to garner room and board”

Edlyn jerked her head to meet the older woman’s gaze once more. 

“You do not hold back your questions, do you old woman?”

Chuckling, the nun replied, “No I do not.  I am Sister Agatha. And I would not see a soul such as yours crushed under the obedience and piety that our lord demands of his disciples. Why is it that you stay? Truly?”

Edlyn stared at the old woman, not daring to trust herself to speak.  The woman’s questions cut to the core of the inner demons that Edlyn felt warring inside her head daily.  Her spirit longed to follow in her twin’s footsteps.  Osferth had left her.  He had struck out to forge his own life.  And Edlyn could not dismiss his betrayal. 

She longed to lead a life that was more.  More than what the church could offer.  More than prayer and obedience. More than quiet contemplation and reflection.  Just… more.  But the truth was that Edlyn was scared.  From her very birth, she had been forced to face adversity.  The life of a bastard daughter of a king.  She had endured the abandonment.  The rejection of her father.  Then the loss of her mother and being thrust upon the church. Then when her uncle was lost in battle.  And finally the abandonment.  Waking up to find Osferth gone.  

When he left, he had placed the account of the northmen’s attack on Lindisfarne on her bedside table along with a short note.  

“I can not remain here any longer.  

I must make my own destiny and find my own way. 

 It is where God is leading me.  I will miss you dear sister.

All my love,

Osferth”

Edlyn could barely make out the words in Osferths scratchy hand through the tears overwhelming her eyes.  With all of the loss in her life, all of the hardship, Osferth had been hers to rely on.  The twin piece of her soul that she could cling to when the rest of the world was dark and desolate.

And he had left her.

In the deepest and most secret part of her heart, Edlyn knew she was terrified to be abandoned again.  It was what kept her tethered to the church.  The church, despite her nature to rebel and push back on the strict and stingy rules, had always been there for Edlyn. 

“You ask why I stay, Sister Agatha? Truly?”

The sister answered with an unwavering stare.

“I stay because I fear to lose myself out there.  The church is my safe harbor in a world that I fear would drown me. But despite your blunt words, they ring true.  I am not made to be wedded to God.”

Edlyn frowned at her hands gripping the pages of the book in her lap.

Sister Agatha considered the young woman before her for some time.  

“We will see about that, young one.  We have had many young women come to our halls seeking refuge and protection.  And I have seen the lord call to some of them and seen him deliver many from peril.  I have also seen women find their courage and forge their paths.  Paths that do not lead to a life of nunnery.  I realize I have just met you, young one, but your eyes speak to me of great things.  We just need to find your mettle.”

Edlyn gazed at the old woman, thinking over her words.

Before she could formulate a response, Sister Agatha rose and held out her arm to the young woman.

Standing and replacing the book on its shelf, Edlyn took the older woman’s arm and the two retraced Edlyn’s previous paths to the kitchens to check on dinner.

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

Aethelflaed rode fast and hard towards Wincelcumb nunnery.  Eadlyn did not know it, but the arrival of her half-sister would bring about immense upheaval in her world.  And Sister Agatha’s predictions were soon to bear fruit.  Eadlyn would find her courage. And she would find her family and place in this world along the way.

Tagging my usuals (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my list):

@maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @morosemagick @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @obipoelover @ecarroll1978 @93xdiagonxalley @nobodys-business-world

If you would like to read more of my works, you may do so here

[matchasprouts]

The Walls - Chapter 3

[ couldn't write for a while but [ hands you a glimpse into Felix's gay brain ] come and get your juice ]

First || Next || Previous || Last

It took a while after getting upstairs for Felix to grab everything he needed (literally just the clothes he was going to change into, he was just easily distracted), but finally he was in the bathroom.

He didn’t shower in the mansion bathroom very often, since he lived in the cabin on the property, so he was immediately worried about the thing in the walls.

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to check.

Slowly, he made his way over to the most uncluttered wall that would have the crawl space attached to it. He knew it wasn’t omniscient, so if it were far enough away, it wouldn’t hear him. Hopefully it would be attached enough to Greta that it would be downstairs.

He paused for a moment, let out a breath, and lightly knocked three times on the wall. Three knocks was a greeting, or a goodbye between them. The thing usually only took a few seconds to respond.

…

Silence. Felix let out a sigh of relief, making his way over to the shower and turning it on. It was an old shower, but comfortable. He really did enjoy any chance he could use it without worry.

After a few seconds of making sure the water was at the right temperature, he started getting undressed. The overalls were off first, followed by the sweater he wore in the colder seasons. And then there was his binder.

He used to struggle a lot more with taking it off when he first started wearing it, but now he pulled it over his head without a fight. He draped it over the sink, away from his dirtied clothes, since he only really washed it when he absolutely needed to.

The water was almost scalding when Felix stepped into it, but that was on purpose. He’d basically shot his nerves when it came to hot water, barely feeling it if it wasn’t hot enough to leave marks on his skin.

He’d been told multiple times to go to therapy because of this. He assumed his nerves were so fucked because of the arson. Who fucking knows, he refused to go to a doctor.

The shower didn’t last very long, Felix just took as long as he needed to get the dirt off him and be done. The longest part was his hair, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he’d even gotten all the soap out of his hair by the time he stepped out of the shower.

It was while he was drying off his hair that he noticed the change in the room. Next to the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d laid out to change into sat a dark green, and very large, cardigan.

Felix knew for a damn fact that he hadn’t put that there. He didn’t even own cardigans- just an assload of sweaters. So where did this come from? It was too large to belong to Greta, too tattered too.

After a few seconds, it clicked. It belonged to the thing in the walls. The thing that always heard him complaining about the cold, or how it was hard to hide when he wasn’t wearing a binder.

And, it seemed, it finally did something about it.

Theoretically, he enjoyed the gesture. He was definitely going to wear it, the warmth was worth it, but still… this meant that it had come in while he was showering, and he hadn’t heard it. That didn’t imply good things.

He got dressed quickly, pausing before pulling on the cardigan. It was huge on him, even though he was average height and pretty well built. It smelled like wood, and smoke. It was… incredibly comfortable too.

After quickly glancing in the mirror, the green of the cardigan making the green of his eyes really pop. It probably helped that he was extra pale from the blast of hot water, bringing his freckles out as well.

He didn’t look too long. Felix didn’t like his face, and staring at it would make him shut down.

---

Greta had already started on dinner when he made it to the kitchen, and he was pleased to find Brahms sitting at the kitchen table.

“Hey. Sorry if you’ve been waiting long,” he said, rolling up the cardigan sleeves and jumping right into helping. She was making a soup apparently, probably because they didn’t have much at the moment. Malcolm was supposed to deliver some groceries tomorrow.

“Don’t worry about it,” Greta replied, handing him a knife and some vegetables to cut. He didn’t hesitate before getting into it, making quick work of them. “I hope soup is okay. We really need groceries.”

Felix hummed in response, keeping most of his focus on what he was doing. “Soup is always good, I’m just glad we could make something at all.”

Silence fell after that. They weren’t friends, they really didn’t have all that much to talk about. So they worked. At least it made the cooking go faster.

---

“So, where’d this come from?” Greta asked after they were finished and sitting down to eat, gesturing to the cardigan. He was surprised she could tell that it wasn’t his, especially because she knew next to nothing about him. Maybe it was because it was so big, or because of it being a dark colour.

Felix shrugged at the question, not willing to scare her off when Brahms clearly liked her. “It just kind of showed up. I’ve probably had it for years without realizing it. I can be forgetful like that sometimes.” No, he couldn’t. Distractible? Sure. Forgetful? Unfortunately, his memory was near photographic.

But Greta accepted it without question, just like he thought she would. It seemed like she was doing everything she possibly could to not question anything about this house. He vaguely wondered if she had seen Brahms move yet, but he doubted it.

When they were finished, it was Brahms’s bedtime. After making Greta promise she would follow the bedtime rules properly, he let her go to put the doll to bed, cleaning up the kitchen for her.

He heard rustling in the walls as Greta headed upstairs and smiled slightly to himself, knowing that the wall thing was making sure that she followed the rules.

The thought made him pull the cardigan tighter against himself, surprised at his own fondness toward the thing. Six years was a long time to grow attached to something, and he was honestly fine with being attached to it. After all, he never truly interacted with it. It probably wouldn’t hurt him.

Probably.

He shook those thoughts away, finished cleaning, and headed upstairs for bed. Greta’s door was already closed, Brahms was in bed, and the walls were quiet. Felix inspected his temporary bedroom once arriving at it, only laying down when he was satisfied that it was empty.

For once, sleep came easy.

---

The next morning, Felix woke up before Greta, and about an hour before Brahms needed to be woken up. Happy for the chance to get something done without Greta in the way, or needing to look out for Brahms, he wasted no time in getting up and dressed. He laid the cardigan out neatly on his bed for the thing to take back, making sure to close the door when he left the room.

Once downstairs he did some cleaning to take a bit of the workload off of Greta. Before heading out to do his gardening, he paused, glancing around the kitchen. They really needed that grocery delivery today, but he figured he could make breakfast before becoming the garden cryptid again.

So, he made something simple and wouldn’t need to be warm, put it in the fridge, and left a note for Greta. Once satisfied, he grabbed his gloves and headed outside. He’d probably come back in when Malcolm got there, just because there was something he’d need for later that he needed to ask him to grab.

It was time for Brahms to be woken up by the time Felix had started his gardening, a small smile crossing his lips when he looked up at the window and saw the light click on, followed by Greta opening up the curtains.

Well, maybe she was finally taking him seriously. He hoped so. He would sure hate to hate someone like her. She was nice and all, and really the only off thing that she’d done so far was not take care of Brahms right.

How unfortunate that that would change.

Felix happened to walk in during a conversation between Greta and Malcolm, relieved he hadn’t missed the man. He only caught part of the conversation, something about going out tonight. He didn’t hear Greta’s response, so he wasn’t annoyed yet, but it was getting there.

“Hey Malcolm,” he said as he grabbed a bottle of water, taking a sip before continuing, “could you grab something for me next time you go out? Nothing time sensitive or anything, it would just make my life a little easier.

Malcolm, sensing the change in conversation, replied without hesitation. “Sure man, what do you need?”

“A new pair of garden gloves, mine are falling apart. I’d get them myself but I don’t have a car and you know I don’t like leaving the grounds.” Felix was a little surprised when Malcolm nodded and wrote it down, but relieved. He really did need those gloves.

“I can grab ‘em for you today, I’ll be coming back tonight anyway,” Malcolm said as he tucked the small notepad back into his jacket. Felix immediately narrowed his eyes at him, his expression asking the “why” that he didn’t vocalize.

That’s when Greta cleared her throat and stepped in. “Malcolm offered to take me out to see the town tonight, and I accepted,” she explained, cringing at the harsh glare Felix sent her way. Before he could say anything, she continued, “Brahms will already be in bed by the time I leave! So there’s nothing to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about? She was breaking the rules! And it would know!! It was significantly more dangerous than Felix was!!!

He let out a sigh that bordered dangerously on a growl, before running a hand through his short hair and deciding that this was a battle he shouldn’t fight. “Whatever. Don’t say shit to me when something bad happens because you chose to break the rules.”

“Oh, come on man, she shouldn’t be cooped up in here-” Malcolm tried to step in, only to be cut off by Felix’s shears hitting the table hard enough that it shook.

“Don’t try to tell me what should or should not be happening here!” he snapped, the rage bubbling over before he could stop it. It was his fatal flaw- shortest temper in the Shaw family. “All I know is that she’s breaking the damn rules, and we’re all gonna get hell because of it!”

He hated arguing. He did. So, with that, before they could continue, he stormed off. Before he knew it, he had slammed his bedroom door and fallen heavily onto his bed. It took a godly amount of self control to not break anything, but he managed.

This was slowly but surely turning into a fucking nightmare.

[deeneee]

Crazy Fool [Eren x Reader] smut

Note: Here is a _**smut **_that i did for Eren because I felt like it :)

Warning: contains spoilers after season 3 part 2, so if you are not caught up with the manga, do not read!

** **

There he was again. He stood in front of you, different and cold. The basket in your hands fell to the ground and the fruits rolled away. His eyes, the same turquoise colored eyes remained the same, but it was dull, the spark gone. His hair was long and framed his face, and the stub along his chin and upper lip had grown. He was taller, and his vibe felt different. It was as if he was a new man— someone else. “[Name],” he said your name, and you could feel your eyes begin to burn. His hands were tied behind his back and you could see the Corps soldiers behind him. “You’re not in the Survey Corps anymore.” His voice was monotone, and you swallowed your saliva that had somehow grown thick. You were too shocked to speak, and so you took a step forward, eyebrows furrowed. Did he really do what he told you before he left? You gazed into his eyes, pleading for answers, but he averted his gaze. You closed your eyes, exhaling as the tears began to stroll down your cheeks. 

"Do you know what you've done?" Your voice cracked as you opened your eyes. His eyes stayed averted, and he didn't look at you. You sniffled and wiped your tears and then looked over at Mikasa, who walked up to you and saluted.

"Eren insisted on spending the day with you, [Name]," Mikasa said. 

"As a prisoner?" you narrowed your eyes. 

"No. . .as your friend," Eren spoke, and you looked up at him. 

"Captain Levi allowed this?" You questioned, your eyes never leaving him. 

"Yes, he did. We'll be nearby in case he tries to escape." You let out a shaky sigh and then walked over to him. Eren turned around immediately and you grabbed your knife from your apron and cut the rope on his wrist. 

--

You took Eren on a small hike towards a small lake, a mile away from your little cottage. Mikasa and the others followed a couple meters behind, while the both of you walked side by side. The sun was up and high, but in a hour or two, the sun was bound to set. The sound of twigs and leaves being crunched filled the heavy silence, and the occasional chirps of various birds. Your white blouse flowed and your light brown skirt swayed and lightly bumped against your ankles every step you took, while your [h/c] hair swayed side to side. ". . .You seem comfortable," Eren spoke up and you sighed, looking up at the trees that hung above you. 

"I wish I were," you replied. "You look like shit." 

"That's nice to know," Eren muttered, "but, you. . .look beautiful as ever." You laughed bitterly and ran a hand through your tresses. Who does he think he is? He disappears for awhile and thinks he can just try to butter me up? You bit your lip and kept your thoughts to yourself. Instead, you decided to talk about yourself to forget about what had happened. 

"I've been living in my cottage for a couple of months now. Farming isn't my thing, but I've grown a bit fond of it. The chickens and pigs that I own are actually pretty cute, despite them being smelly. Every evening, I lay down outside and watch the stars, praying that everyone in the Survey Corps remain safe," you went on and on, telling him everything that you've been doing since he had disappeared. Eventually, you both made it to the lake. The lake was nice and relaxing as you continued with your little stories. The both of you sat down on a rock, sitting with your backs together. Eren was very interested in it, you could tell. Even if the others thought he looked uninterested, you could tell by how his fingers twiddled near yours. You knew Eren, but not like how Mikasa and Armin knew him. Maybe it was because you and Eren loved each other at one point. Maybe that's why. Eren barely spoke, but that was okay. You knew he was going through something worse than everyone else, and it didn't need to be announced. You’d always have his back and you trusted him completely. "Yeah, and that's what I've been through so far." You looked up and didn't even realize the sun was already beginning to set. You quickly stood up and looked at his back, only realizing how big his back had gotten. Your heart squeezed tightly and you sighed, "Let's get going." 

--

You all finally made it back to your home, and Eren stood in front of you as if he was expecting something. "Invite me in." You could see Mikasa behind Eren furrow her brows in confusion. You stared at him, and you sighed, then nodded. 

“Alright, I’ll show you inside,” you muttered and went for your front door, unlocking it. 

“Eren, Captain Levi didn’t grant you permission for this,” you heard Mikasa whisper. You turned to Mikasa.

”It’s alright, Mikasa. I’ll hold responsible if anything happens,” you said and she reluctantly backed away, while Eren walked pass you and inside. The others behind Mikasa seemed skeptical, besides Armin, who nodded at you. You walked inside and closed the door behind you. 

“You think this is a good idea?” Jean questioned and Armin sighed. 

“Eren would never hurt [Name], so it’s fine,” Armin answered. 

--

You sat across from Eren and stared at his figure. He sat on the cushioned chair, while you sat on the wooden two seated chair. It was small inside, but it was homey. His big figure slightly relaxed into the chair and you sat up straight. You knew what he was going to tell you, and that scared you. He looked straight into your eyes and began telling you what he did. “I killed people from Marley. A lot of them,” he started. “They cried, screamed, and cursed.” You couldn’t look at him anymore and instead opted to stare at his knees. Your fingers clutched your skirt and you let out a shaky breath. “I obtained the War Hammer Titan and got Sasha killed.” Your head shot up and your eyes widened. Sasha? She’s. . .gone? You could feel the tears forming and your eyes burned as you brought a hand to your mouth. 

“Eren. . .what have you done?” You whispered. Your view was blurry as you looked at him, and so you wiped your eyes, only to be shocked at what was before you. A tear slid down his cheek, and down to his neck. Tears began to rapidly fall down his cheeks, sorrow etched all over his face. You didn’t know what to think, but you quickly stood up and kneeled in front of him, looking up into his face. Then, you realized now. You grabbed his big hands and held them tightly. No words needed to be exchanged. He’s always been scared. He’s always been alone. You were the only one he could show his emotions to. You knew that his actions had a deep meaning behind them, but it still hurt to know that he had done something so out of line. He had left you all when you were in Marley, and you could never forget that day. You caught him slipping out and demanded answers, and he did tell you. You loosened your hands around his and analyzed them. They had gotten so big. His fingers were thick and short, and his palm big. The hands of the man you loved so much. The green veins were visible on his wrists and palm, and you looked up, only to see him staring at you, eyes a little red. “I. . .I don’t know what you plan on doing, but—,” you took in a breath and squeezed your hands in his again, “I know you’re doing it for us and your home.” He stayed quiet and you opened your mouth, but he quickly stole your lips, engulfing you in a kiss. Your eyes closed immediately as if you had expected it, but then the warmth of his lips left, making you slowly open your eyes. His eyes were shut tight and he shook his head, his hair swaying side to side. Your right hand grabbed his left hand and he opened his eyes, wavering turquoise orbs staring into your loving [e/c] eyes. Then, you guided his hand to your right breast, his eyes watching as you made his fingers squeeze the soft flesh. You wanted this. 

“I can’t,” he croaked, “I’ll break you.” You shrugged and got up to sit in his lap, pulling off your white blouse, exposing your beige bra and [s/c] skin. 

“Break me,” you whispered, “as many times as you want, Eren.” His hands caressed your breasts softly and you let out small breaths, holding onto his shoulders. Your hands slid up to his jaw and you pressed a small kiss to his cheek. He stared at you with such longing and you stared back, your hands caressing his jaw. Then, you both leaned towards each other and lips pressed against together as his hands kneaded your breasts. It had nearly been a year since you had been touched like this by Eren. The last time was probably before you all left to visit Marley. You fixed your legs and instead straddled his hips, your crotch on top his growing bulge. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you as close as he could, while you rolled your hips into his. Your lips stayed connected, heads turning different angles to feel closer and closer. Your core began to ache and you could feel the familiar substance staining your underwear already. His cock was fully hard now and you brought a hand down, grasping it. He pulled back and looked down at your hands, then back at you, his eyes amorous. 

"You still make me go crazy," he groaned as your hands slowly pumped his cock up and down, the foreskin sliding over the head. Your thumb rubbed over his wet slit and he hissed, his turquoise orbs gleaming. It was quiet in the house, despite the sound of chickens clucking outside. The sun was already setting down, and the living room was filled with a warm orange, while the both of you were starting to get hot and heavy. The quiet groans from Eren made your stomach flutter and you leaned in, pressing a small kiss to his jaw. I love you. You quickly got off of him and spread his legs to settle between them. Your hands quickly worked to lower his pants and underwear, finally showing you what you've been missing. It stood tall, the girth thick, and the green veins showed along the side of his shaft. "Did you miss me?" Your pussy quivered at his husky tone, and you looked him in the eyes as you leaned forward and took the head into your mouth, tongue swirling over his slit. Eren inhaled shakily and tangled a hand into your [h/c] tresses. Then, your laid you tongue flatly on the underside of his shaft as you went down on him, the tip of his member hitting the back of your throat--- just how he liked it. You came back up and slightly kissed the side before engulfing him again. He let out a few audible groans here and there as you continued with your ministrations. Eren grabbed your arms and turned you around, forcing you to kneel onto the wooden floor in front of the cushioned chair. You wiped your mouth with your wrist and looked behind you, seeing him breathing heavily as he bunched up your skirt and pulled down your underwear. "You're so wet," Eren's fingers probed at your opening, "you're a filthy woman." Your hips bucked a little when his pointer finger began to circle on your clit. A small moan escaped your lips and you pushed your ass to him, telling him you wanted him. You could feel him slide his finger inside you and shivers ran down your spine in delight. Eren removed his finger and watched as your slick covered it completely, and he readied his cock, slowly pumping his shaft. He brought a hand to your mouth and you spit into it, staring into his eyes. He quickly spread your saliva over his girth and then probed your entrance, a small groan escaping his lips. "I won't be able to stop," he whispered and you twisted your body to the right to look at him as you brought your hand to his wet cock. Then, you pushed yourself into him, his length fully inside you. You closed your eyes and let out a hiss as your inside began to sting from discomfort. It had been too long since you've had this, and it stung. Eren leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your temple, while his shaking hands rested on your hips. After a few more seconds, the stinging sensation eventually disappeared and you nodded at Eren. 

"I'm good now," you murmured and Eren began to pump out of you slowly. His left hand stayed on your hip as his right hand wandered to your breasts to play with your nipples. "Eren," you gasped, "faster." You brought your right arm over his neck to feel closer to the brunette, and you pressed your forehead to his left cheek, hearing his uneven breathing. Eren didn't comply with your words, but he brought his right hand back to your hip, and began to ram into you harder, but slowly. Your mouth opened as you yelped, your eyes closing in pleasure, and your breasts moving as he began to thrust. Every time he rammed into you, you pushed your ass towards him, moaning every time as the pleasurable feeling waved in. "Why are you g-going so slow?" you questioned as he once again rammed roughly into you, a small yelp escaping your lips. Eren turned his head to kiss your forehead and you felt his breath. 

"I'm taking," he groaned, "my time." You could feel your heart warm up and you looked up at him, only to see his gentle orbs looking straight back at you. "I won't be able to last if I go fast," he whispered, voice strained. You snorted and he raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked as he rammed into you and you jolted, letting out a gasp. His hips began to thrust faster and you moaned, removing your arm from his neck as you leaned into the chair that Eren sat in. Small moans escaped your lips as he became vicious and you brought a hand to hold onto his wrist. 

"O-oh, fuck," you mewled, feeling something coiling inside you. Eren continued with his vicious thrusts as he leaned forward his hands going towards your clit and rubbing intensely, leaving you a moaning mess. The feeling was becoming stronger now and your hips began to twitch away from his fingers, but he followed relentlessly. "E-Eren," you breathed, feeling his breath on your shoulder. He was being so rough, but you did not mind. In fact, you loved it. At last, you became undone and you let out a small, long moan as did Eren. You could feel his semen filling your insides as his cock twitched, and you turned around, eyes wide. "You didn't pull out, Eren," you whispered and he leaned in and enveloped your lips into a kiss. Then, he pulled away and pressed a kiss to you cheek. 

"I know," he responded, and you could feel your eyes begin to well up with tears. Hearing his response made you realize why he had done that, and you began to cry. He pulled down your skirt and fixed your underwear for you before fixing his pants and pulled you to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his torso and cried your eyes out, while you both sat there in each others presence. "I love you, [Name]." You looked up at him, tears still running down your cheeks. 

"We. . .love you, too," you cried. He slightly smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind your ears. 

"Yeah, I know." 

Eren Yeager. You crazy fool. 

[taetaespeaches]

YES i want the explanations of the songs if u don't mind 🥺

I don’t mind at all, lovely. I spent way too much time on this but it combines the couples and music so I had fun with it haha. It’s long so I put a keep reading tab. Enjoy my novel <3 

This is in reference to this ask by @jenjensworld, in which I list songs that remind the boys of their longterm girlfriends. 

Oh and here’s a playlist with all the songs. 

Jin:

↬ Song 6; George Ezra — It’s really romantic and the first time he heard it he thought it sounded just like Poopsie. It incorporates that whole idea that while everyone else is out there searching for something, he’s just always looking for Poopsie.

The raindrops keep falling, searching for a home My televisions gasping for air And everybody's searching, searching for a reason But I'm, woah I'm, searching for you

↬ Feels Right; Carly Rae Jepsen — This song incorporates the idea of being friends plus mores, and kind of waiting for the right moment to take that step into the “more”. Plus it’s just really fun and Jin sees/hears Poopsie and their relationship in the sound of the song.

True fact Baby, I love you back, don't ask Nothing I want to say We know timing isn't right (Maybe one day) 'Til then, steal me a free weekend You're my complicated friend I'm just keeping the dream alive

Yoongi:

↬ Sanctuary; Joji — Once Yoongi realizes that there’s definitely no not loving Kid, he finds that she’s his sanctuary and that he wants to be that for her. And he’s all in. It’s just that feeling of wanting to be each other’s piece of peace.

Not anyone, you're the one More than fun, you're the sanctuary 'Cause what you want is what I want Sincerity

↬ Finally// beautiful stranger; Halsey — Yoongi is guarded at first and it takes him a bit (as we know) to allow him and Kid to just be together. Even though he’s scared, he knows he only wants Kids and he soon realizes that she’s the one person he knows he can fully trust- in terms of both trusting himself in a relationship as well as trusting someone else with his heart.

And I wonder if it goes too far to say I've never recognized a purer face You stopped me in my tracks and put me right in my place Used to think that loving meant a painful chase But you're right here now and I think you'll stay

Hobi:

↬ Outta My Head; Khalid (with John Mayer) —  Considering Petal wasn’t keen on Hobi at first and had to warm up to him (though she did so fairly easily because… it’s Hobi) he had this whole experience of feeling like “I can’t get you out of my head, I’m very fond of you and I will wait forever until you’re ready”. They had their “probationary friends” period that he was always kind of like yeah ok, but when can I just wife you up?

You locked the door and it’s raining  But baby, I’m not complaining, no We hit the road and we're racin’ yeah You make me super impatient Can you feel the tension? You've got my attention I know we're just friends, but I'd rather be together instead, yeah

↬ Home; Surfaces — It’s such a simple song and I think Hobi thinks it sounds like Petal. She’s pretty straight forward but she makes him feel light and grounded all at once. The lyrics talk about making a home out of a person which is definitely how Hobi feels about Petal, but the musicality is very airy, which resembles how he feels like he’s floating in her presence. I just imagine him hearing this song for the first time and thinking, “yeah, that’s Petal in a song”

And I don't ever have to go far Because home is wherever you are

And if I said forever, do you think that would be alright? Cause if I say I love you, then I could never love you not

Namjoon:

↬ Spin With You; Emma Sameth (feat. Jeremy Zucker) — The whole song is all about not knowing exactly what direction the relationship is going, but you’re in it together wherever it leads, and that’s really how Joon and Daisy started.

In bed with the bottle open Give me that sweet shot of lovin' No, I don't know where we're going But I wanna be alone with you

↬ Every Kind Of Way; H.E.R. — Joon is just very soft for Daisy and this song, sound and lyrics, make him think of her. It doesn’t get better than her and Namjoon wants to give her all of him.

Give you all, give you all of me When you need it 'Cause I need it I wanna fall like your favorite season I'll never get up Stay here forever, babe It don't get no better than this Your kiss

Jimin:

↬ Love You For A Long Time; Maggie Rogers — Right away, Jimin knew Dear was going to be a special person in his life, and being a sentimental cutie, he’s always thinking back on their relationship. The one thing he knew from the very start was that he wanted her in his life forever. He also just thinks this song sounds like Dear.

I saw your face, and I knew it was a sign And I still think about that moment All of the time

And in the mornin' when you wrap me up I know that forever could never be enough I feel it in my body Know it in my mind, oh I I'm gonna love you for a long time

↬ Let’s Fall in Love for the Night; FINNEAS — Again, Jimin and Dear knew they were into each other from the start, but they played the game and waited until they were both ready. As Dear was going back to her ex time and time again, Jimin was always there being the perfect gentleman, reminding her of what she deserved. So this song makes him think of their flirty and longing friendship.

You need a pick me up? I'll be there in twenty-five I like to push my luck So take my hand, let's take a drive I've been livin' in the future Hopin' I might see you sooner I want you riding shotgun I knew when I got one right

Taehyung:

↬ Easily; Bruno Major — Years of pining, denying feelings, and watching Peaches date other people, this song never fails to make Tae think of her. It’s a reminder to him and her that just because they’ve been through their trials and tribulations, it doesn’t mean they’re not worth it. The song sounds like Peaches, and the lyrics resemble their relationship in that they’ve never been perfect or had their shit together when it came to each other, but Peaches was always worth the effort for Tae.

Coming and going Inside out and back to front All tangled and messy That's how we've been and we'll always be And that's alright with me

↬ You Send Me; Sam Cooke — This song has always been the embodiment of Peaches in Tae’s eyes. The slow swing, the soul, and the lyrics. Tae has never found anyone quite as interesting as Peaches, and as feelings developed and became more prominent, he realized this was the one person he wanted forever.

At first I thought it was infatuation But wooh, it's lasted so long Now I find myself wanting To marry you and take you home, woah

Jungkook:

↬ by my side; HONNE — Once Jungkook realizes he can be open and vulnerable with Holly, she becomes his rock and this song is just all about that. It’s just such an appreciation for this person who is always by your side, especially when you need someone, and that’s Holly for him.

You pick me up Any time that I start sinking lower And I think to myself What would life be if I didn’t know ya? You were the spark That lit the path To carry on

↬ Easy Silence; The Chicks — Again, Holly is Jungkook’s peace, his home, his strength when he can’t find his own, and this song makes him think of her because of that. When the world is loud and he’s struggling to navigate his way through it, Holly is always there to provide him with comfort and peace. Also, yeehaw, Country Boi Guk rise!!!

And I've got all the world to lose But I just want to hold on to the Easy silence that you make for me It's okay when there's nothing more to say to me And the peaceful quiet you create for me And the way you keep the world at bay for me

[drmazel]

certified maria tma speculation (TM) (lazy version)

this turned out way longer than i thought it would. it’s a collection of snippets from tma transcripts just barely hinting at a speculation i have so if you don’t care then scroll fast!

i don’t feel like spending a bunch of time coming up with some speculation and theory when 1) i could be wrong and 2) i just wanna have fun but! for no reason whatsoever here are just some fun and cute quotes from s5 that i haven’t been able to get out of my head that don’t seem to have really been addressed much if at all in the narrative yet and i definitely don’t think are just pressing at the edges to come back and smack us in the face as the finale approaches <3

not that i think they’re all necessarily tied together but mmm a few of these taste of Essence of Foreshadowing yummy! a.k.a. (jonny voice) martin is not going to be okay

MAG167

Jon: W-Without trust. W-Without a reason. Gertrude needed both the purpose her mission gave her and the control her position allowed. To be here, like us, without a – a reason, without someone to ground her? She – She’d have power, but – no control. No real purpose. Perhaps she’d have dedicated herself to a doomed quest like us but – No. I think this would have broken her. And she’d have resigned herself to – ruling her domain.

...

Martin: So. If you say Gertrude wouldn’t have been able to go on without a reason –

Jon: Yes, Martin, you are my reason.

MAG170

(sudden lucid moment amongst a cloud of forgetfulness) Martin: Why. The Eye has won. It can already see everything; it wouldn’t need a – w-wouldn’t need a –

MAG171

Martin: Don’t do that.

Jon: What?

Martin: Don’t use me as an excuse.

MAG172

Martin: If you look, and I was – influenced, then how can I trust anything else? How can I believe any of my thoughts and feelings are really mine?

MAG176

Jon: I don’t like betraying someone’s trust like this.

Martin: It’s not a betrayal if you’re doing it to help.

Jon: I’m not so sure.

Martin: Look, if it was me in her shoes, I’m sure I’d forgive you. It-It’s for the best!

MAG177

Basira: And if I killed you now?

Jon: You couldn’t. And even if you could, it wouldn’t be enough to undo what’s happened to the world.

MAG178

Jon: No-one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most. Even me. [personal note: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm bark snarl bark bark bark bite bite snarl grrrrr!!!!! bite!!!]

MAG179

Jon: Hmmm. Apparently. I mean, I know it sounds strange, but it… it felt right for Daisy to be able to hurt me.

Martin: Dream logic again?

Jon: Mmm. The… resonances from our relationship before the change carried over and –

MAG181

Annabelle: Don’t worry, Martin. We’ll meet again. Hopefully when you’re feeling a little bit more… open-minded. [personal note: SNARL GROWL BITE BITE GROWL SNARL wife GRRRR BITE!!!!!!!!!]

MAG183

Jon: Well, you’re a watcher, Martin. You worked for the Institute, you read statements. The Eye is… fond of you.

MAG184

Jon: What was I supposed to do? I owed you. Didn’t want to just watch you suffer.

Martin: It’s what you’ve been doing for everyone else. It’s what you’re expecting him to do.

MAG185

Jon: Either way, even if I wasn’t here, I don’t think you’d be in any danger. Not anymore. I wasn’t sure when we first started out, I hadn’t properly, er… looked into it, as it were. But now I’m certain.

...

Martin: Even though I didn’t ask for it? Did nothing to deserve it?

Jon: ‘Deserve’. Huh. Now there’s a word that always causes trouble.

Martin: Don’t be patronising.

Jon: I just mean that nobody here deserves the position they’ve found themselves in, not really. I suppose a few may have asked for it, sought it out even, but far more didn’t. They just made the wrong choices for the right reasons. Or even the right choices. But ones that still led them here in the end.

...

Martin: I guess we should get used to it. Knowing that all these awful things are happening for our benefit.

MAG186 (this is a big one that ties a lot of my scattered thoughts together)

Martin: So, this price. What do you think? Are we going to have to kill John?

Also Martin: I don’t know because you don’t know. But it seems like something we should at least consider.

Martin: I… have thought about it. And… I won’t. I don’t think I could. But anything else? Any other price? I’ll pay it.

Also Martin: Even dying?

Martin: Yeah!

Also Martin: Jon’s as bad as we are. He wouldn’t let it happen.

Martin: It’s not his decision.

Also Martin: Fine. So flip that round, then. What are you going to do when he tries to sacrifice himself, because you know he’s going to try?

Martin: I don’t know, all right? I don’t know.

Also Martin: And that’s okay for now, but I just want us to have thought about this stuff properly before it comes up. Because even if that’s not it, chances are it’ll be something else you don’t want to do, and we need to make a proper choice. We can’t just react out of shame or fear or whatever.

Martin: What, like with Peter and Elias?

Also Martin: Yes.

Martin: That was a proper choice?! I chose wrong!

Also Martin: But you made a decision. Your own decision. Regardless of the outcome.

...

Martin: But I can’t keep existing like this at their expense. It’s not… it’s not right. Whatever happens with Elias, W-with the rest of the world… I can’t live on the misery of others.

Also Martin: They’ll suffer either way.

Martin: I get it, okay? I can’t decide what happens to them. But… I just might be able to decide what happens to me. And… And if it comes down to it… I’ll get John to destroy me like the others.

Also Martin: You don’t really believe he’d do it?

Martin: I don’t know. Maybe?

Also Martin: This took a dark turn.

Martin: Yeah. But… this time, it doesn’t feel like despair. It feels like resolve.

MAG188

Jon (statement): She looked at the eye, and the eye looked back. Carmen’s arm shot out, thrusting the tip of the blade right into the pupil. But it did not cut anything, for there was nothing but empty blackness. Carmen’s knife, then her hand, then her forearm passed into the void of that pupil, her skin bristling with the cold. And then the iris closed around her arm, the thin flesh of the tightening muscle clenching with astonishing strength as it held her in place. Then, inch by inch by inch, it began to pull her in. But her flatmate simply shushed her. Her terror was pointed and crimson, and tomorrow she will wake up hating London and worrying about how many characters there are.

MAG189

Jon: No, Martin, listen, what I’m saying is that whichever way you cut it, ultimately it just comes down to who The Eye chooses. [personal note: MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM]

...

Jon (statement): They can all hear him now. Any words he speaks will ring out through the chamber. He wants to talk of the people outside, the bruised and abandoned ones that suffer and die to slake their appetites. He wants to cry for restitution, for justice, for a future, for anything. But all eyes are on him and he falters. He remembers the cold, the hunger, the ache of concrete beneath him. He is afraid. And his chair is so very comfortable. The minister coughs, once, uncomfortably, and sits down. [personal note: wow if only there was a character that had a thing about comfortable chairs this season? anyway,]

Act III trailer

please go read the rime of the ancient mariner or the wikipedia synopsis or something. for real. like for real for real oh my god i can’t believe i didn’t think of this of course jonny chose that shit on PURPOSE

MAG191 (of course)

Martin: And you have to promise me you’re going to do everything in your power to live. That you’re not going to sacrifice yourself at the first opportunity, just because you feel guilty about what happened. [personal note: see MAG186. Jon isn’t the only one that feels guilty that this happened, and I can’t stop thinking about how this promise did not go both ways.]

MAG193

Jonah: Enough. Tell me, why are you here?

Jon (statement): I… I don’t know.

Jonah: Were you drawn here?

Jon (statement): Yes. I was.

Jonah: Against your will?

Jon (statement):No.

Jonah: Then why did you heed the call?

Jon (statement): Because… this is the place I know I should be.

Jonah: Good. The job is yours.

[personal note: OBVIOUS parallels with jon and being promoted to archivist then being promoted to Archivist, but my “martin is not going to be okay” brain is very guilty of reaching for connections and i do see this parallel with the conversation between jon and martin in MAG039 about why martin hadn’t quit. inch resting.]

anyway i said i don’t have the mental energy to come up with some long speculation and i DEFINITELY don’t now after pulling all this out of the transcripts. i could be wrong i could be right i could be somewhere in the middle, but i think it’s very possible that jon tries to accept the eye’s “offer” to take jonah’s place, martin doesn’t let him, martin does it instead then something i don’t even want to think about happens because he does NOT want to feed off of people’s suffering as has been repeated over and over. i’m probably way off but i’ve just been thinking about it and needed to get it down somewhere. maybe i’ll reblog this on thursday after the release of 194 with an update, who knows! whether i’m right or wrong both martin and jon will be fine tho <3

[chrismho]

Lakmé

Summary: Is this not the closest I’ve ever been to living?  The Kurosaki Family invites Rukia along with them to the Opera. Ichiruki/Rukia-centric one-shot inspired by the opera scene in Moonstruck. Set a little bit after FB arc.

PS: It’s a pretty famous song but if you haven’t heard Flower Duet  before, I highly rec you give this rendition a listen, it’s breathtaking! : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M9NK-EbUAao

“ICHIGOOOOOOO! RUKI-CHAAAAAN!” 

SMACK!

A day in the Kurosaki household was not complete without at least one collision between Isshin’s face and either Ichigo’s foot or fist. 

“I don't know how many times I have to tell you, old man: QUIT DOING THAT!” Ichigo roared, swiftly kicking his father back to the other side of the living room.

Rukia waited patiently for Isshin to complete this strange ritual, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, Masaki!” Isshin sobbed, throwing himself upon his poster. “H-how cruel, how unloving our son has become! And Rukia at his side, so pure and lovely! W-we truly have here a beauty and the beast!”

“SHUT IT!”

 The dark-haired shinigami watched them butt heads and felt a vague sense of nostalgia swirl inside her. I didn’t realize how much I…missed this, she silently admitted to herself. Seventeen months had passed and Rukia kept herself busy with work--very busy. Too busy to stop and realize just how much she missed life in Karakura. But now that she was back, the realization was sudden and overwhelming; she missed late night hollow-hunting, the bustling hallways at Karakura High, she missed Keigo, Mizuiro, Tatsuki, she missed indulging in her schoolgirl act, pretending that she was human and truly one of them. But most of all, she missed him. That was a realization that had set Rukia very much on edge. Ichigo was a comrade, a partner, a friend. A friend she found herself pining for in those seventeen months. She recalled a saying she learned in the human world, something along the lines of “absence makes the heart grow fonder”. 

Absence had only made Rukia’s heart confused as hell. 

Though almost two years had passed, her relationship with Ichigo picked up almost right where they left off. They bickered, laughed, they understood each other without need for words. But…now there was something new. No, not new; it had always been there. But now....now it was loud. And hard to ignore. It was something that Rukia couldn’t quite name, but its presence was undeniable. It wasn’t uncomfortable...but… but it was there. 

“What do you say, Rukia-chan? Oh, please say you’ll be joining us?”

Isshin’s question snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Eh? I-I’m sorry?” she asked, startled. 

“THE OPERA! An old buddy and colleague of mine has season tickets to the opera house here in Karakura. He’s away on a business trip so he gave me tickets to tomorrow’s show. We haven’t seen you in so long, the girls would just love if you came! SAY YOU’LL JOIN US!” 

“Don’t push her, Dad!” Ichigo said irritably. He turned to Rukia but didn’t meet her gaze. “Seriously, y-you don’t have to go. It’s really boring, the last time I went I wanted to die-”

“OH, BUT THAT’S NOT TRUE,” Isshin cut off gleefully, shoving Ichigo out of the way and putting an arm around Rukia. “The last time we went, Ichigo was but a boy. Though only eight at the time, he was so moved by the performance that he wept and blubbered all night long--” 

“HEY! N-NO I DIDN’T!”

“Yes, you did!” Karin called boredly from the kitchen. 

Ichigo hunched up his shoulders and scowled, his ears and cheeks an angry shade of red. 

“I’d be delighted to attend this...this ‘op-ohr-a’, Mr. Kurosaki!” Rukia declared, a cheerful and sparkly smile on her face. “Excellent! Come tomorrow evening at 7, and dress your very best, my dear! The opera is a most formal event,” Isshin beamed. 

“Whatever. And get your arm off her!” Ichigo grumbled, yanking Rukia away from his father and up the stairs to his room. 

“Ah, young love,” Isshin sighed after them.  “Eager to get her to your bedroom, I see? Yes, yes, I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do, if you catch my drift--” 

“SHUT UP!” Ichigo screamed over his shoulder. He hurried Rukia inside his room and slammed the door shut. 

“Nice to see the family dynamic hasn’t changed,” Rukia said, a sly smile on her face. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall alongside his bed. 

“1000 Yen says my dad’s got an ear pressed up to the door right now,” Ichigo replied. He sounded annoyed but there was a humorous glint in his eye. He looked up and met her gaze. They both dissolved into a quiet, gentle chuckle. 

“Feel free to sit, you know,” Ichigo said, gesturing towards the bed. “I know it’s been a while but time’s never stopped you from acting like you own this place.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m fine here,” Rukia responded, cursing herself for answering him a little too vehemently. Ichigo looked at her questioningly, and Rukia could have sworn she saw a very, very faint blush creep on his cheeks. A moment of silence passed. 

Tension. That’s what it was. 

“So what is this opera thing, anyway? I just realized I agreed to something I know nothing about,” Rukia asked, eager to change the subject and genuinely curious about this “most formal event” that moved a young Ichigo to tears. 

“It’s, uh, like a play. But with only singing. Really loud, annoying singing. And fancy costumes. And they usually end in tragedy.” Ichigo said, scratching the back of his head. 

Her amusement at his fumbling explanation made Rukia forget her discomfort earlier. She smirked and flopped onto his bed. “Sounds like fun. So this loud, annoying play moved you to tears, eh?”

“IT DID NOT-Hmph, *ahem*, It did not move me to tears, I told you already that I found it boring. And I SAID YOU COULD SIT ON MY BED, NOT LIE ON IT!” 

“Oh, Daddy, th-they’re on his bed already! They certainly are fast, aren’t they?” a muffled voice that sounded suspiciously like Yuzu’s could be heard saying from the other side of the door. 

Ichigo’s left eye twitched. 

He swung the door open and Isshin and Yuzu tumbled onto the floor. “SCRAM!” He roared, shaking his fist as they hurriedly fled the scene. 

_____

Giant, crystal chandeliers hung over the U-shaped hall, twinkling prettily in the warm, golden light. The house was packed with many well-dressed and well-to-do people. The euphony of various conversations and chatter rang pleasantly in the air. If Ichigo had been moved to tears by the place alone, Rukia would understand; it was truly, truly beautiful. She tilted her head back, taking in the glittering chandeliers and intricate paintings of flowers and stars on the ceiling. She must have looked visibly awestruck, for she turned to her side to find Ichigo looking back at her, an odd, almost tender smile on his face. She gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs. “What? What’s with that dumb look?” She snapped. 

“AGH! What the hell, Rukia?” He glared, letting out a sharp exhale before putting on another smile, this one more teasing. “N-nothing, I was just thinking...the last time I was here as a kid, I remember looking up at the paintings on the ceiling and counting all the stars as a way to pass the time. I guess I was just wondering if you were doing the same.” 

Rukia blinked. It was rare for Ichigo to divulge….well, really anything about his past and his memories. To share this random little anecdote felt oddly intimate. She felt her cheeks warm slightly and turned away. “Heh, no I wasn’t counting, I was just...admiring. She looked back up and couldn’t help but laugh. “Ichigo, there are hundreds of stars, up there! Did you really count them all?” He looked up too and smiled wryly, shaking his head. “Nah, the show always started and the lights would go off before I ever finished. But...I like that I don’t know. It’s this weird, unfinished mystery that just...stays up there on the ceiling, y’know?”

His amber eyes and fiery-orange hair glowed in the warm light of the hall. He glowed. Does he even know how handsome he looks in that stupid tux? Rukia thought, torn between feeling endeared and annoyed. And spewing out weird, lovely musings like that, too. What an idiot. 

She looked down at the program in her lap. In intricate, gold cursive, the words Lakmé: Opera en 3 Actes shone smack dab in the middle. “Is...is this in French?” she asked. “Yeah, but it���s okay; you see those black screens above the curtains up there? They’ll have translations…”

The lights began to dim. 

Quickly, stealthily, Ichigo stole one last look at Rukia in full light. She was already a beautiful woman but tonight she practically glowed. With the help of Yuzu and Karin, she had parted her cropped hair to one side and teased it into elegant waves. She had reluctantly let them put makeup on her, too, and Ichigo had a hard time keeping his eyes away from her lips, soft and painted red like a pomegranate. She was wearing a dress that Ishida had surprised her with a few weeks ago, a wine-colored sleeveless piece that gently hugged her form and flowed past her knees. Yeah. She glowed. It was annoying. 

Y’know, I bet she knows exactly how good she looks and is only pretending to be oblivious. He thought. What an idiot.

The red velvet curtains pulled back to reveal what looked like a stone courtyard on stage, adorned with all sorts of plants and exotic flowers. But the set was nothing compared to the music that emanated from the pit in front of the stage. She’d never heard anything like this. Not on the streets of Rukongai, nor in the banquets and gatherings in Seireitei. What was it Ichigo had called them? An orchestra. An orchestra, an orchestra, an orchestra. She had to remember that word. How so many voices, so many different strange and wonderful-looking instruments, could come together and create a sound so unified and sweet amazed her. 

A procession of people dressed in long, unstitched garments came onto the stage, singing words Rukia could not understand. A big man, clad in a costume beard and yellow robe, opened his mouth and began to sing a solo.

Rukia froze. 

It was obvious what he was doing required much skill, but….he sounded...funny? Rukia narrowed her eyes and fought a smile, trying to reason with this deep voice that shook with such a fervent vibrato. 

She heard a snicker two chairs away from her, and turned to see Karin in the dim light, her face contorted humorously. Rukia was about to join her before Isshin turned to his daughter with a glare so scary and dangerous that any humor at all in both Karin and Rukia was effectively vanquished. 

So entranced was she by the costumes and lights and flutes and cellos that the dark-haired shinigami found herself forgetting to glance up at the translations above the stage. She looked just enough times to gather that this was set in a temple in which rites were being performed. The ritual ended, and as smoothly as they glided in, the singers drifted back off the stage, leaving behind two women. 

The women, arm in arm, walked down to the “river” on stage to gather flowers. The one dressed in red turned to her companion and began to sing:

Viens, Mallika, les lianes en fleurs

Jettent déjà leur ombre

Sur le ruisseau sacré

qui coule, calme et sombre,

Eveillé par le chant des oiseaux tapageurs.

Rukia froze once more. This time, there was no urge to laugh. Goosebumps rose on her arms. Her ears tingled. What, Rukia thought shakily. What is this?

The other, dressed in a simpler, sun-colored dress answered her friend in a voice just as haunting and sweet:

Oh! maîtresse, c'est l'heure

où je te vois sourire,

L'heure bénie où je puis lire

Dans le coeur toujours fermé

De Lakmé!

 Rukia clenched her teeth, maintaining a stone-cold Kuchiki expression while her soul inside shook and quaked. 

What is this?

                                                 Dôme épais le jasmin

                        Sous le dôme épais où le blanc jasmin

Like flowers landing on the surface of a pond, their voices floated, glided, rippled through the hall, lighter than air. 

                                                    À la rose s'assemble

                                        À la rose s'assemble

The melody seemed to follow some invisible wave that drifted down, then up, then down, and down again. It was elegantly unpredictable, like the path a feather takes on the way to the ground.

Rukia’s throat caught. The swelling in her chest bewildered and almost angered her. This...this beauty was almost cruel. Her eyes felt hot. Her face remained expressionless.

                                                 Rive en fleurs, frais matin,

                             Sur la rive en fleurs, riant au matin,

I never did get the chance to understand what it is to live, Rukia thought. She had, in fact, died when she was only a baby. 

I....could see traces of what life was in the youth and excitement of Ichigo and his friends...the sound of their laughter, their chatter about the future.

                                                 Nous appellent ensemble.

                                       Viens, descendons ensemble.

With each rise and fall of their voices, Rukia felt as though her soul was expanding. The singers’ figures became blurry behind the tears that began to well in her eyes.

But this…this swelling in my chest, and the goosebumps on my skin. My throat...feels tight. 

A tear broke free and began to trickle down her cheek. 

Is this not the closest I’ve ever been to living?

Ichigo gazed steadily at the stage, letting himself float and drift with the melody. It was no wonder the Flower Duet was such a famous song, even to those unfamiliar with opera. He cleared his throat as quietly as he could and turned to check on Rukia. His jaw clenched. 

                                               Ah! glissons en suivant

                           Doucement glissons; De son flot charmant

She stood absolutely still, upright, her small, pale hands clenched into fists on her lap. She did not look at him. He watched with well-hidden astonishment as a single tear rolled down her cheek. She stared solemnly at the women on stage, blinking slowly. Her amethyst eyes glistened with the water and salt that filled them. 

                                                         Le courant fuyant

                                  Suivons le courant fuyant

A lump began to form in Ichigo’s throat. He turned away, back to the stage. He couldn’t put into words what she was feeling, but he felt he understood it. He didn’t want to intrude on her moment, but he also wanted to let her know that she was not alone. Even when they were worlds apart, he’d find a way to reach her. Slowly, his hand moved towards hers. 

His fingertips lightly brushed her wrist, and traveled up towards the back of her hand. 

Rukia kept her eyes fixed on the singers. She gave no indication that she even noticed his hand on hers. A twinge of disappointment and embarrassment stung him. I...probably ruined her moment. I shouldn’t have-

His heart stopped. Silently, suddenly, the slender, cold hand seized his own. She intertwined her fingers with his and squeezed lightly. She did not look at him. 

                                                     Dans l'onde frémissante,

                                      Dans l’onde frémissante

To this day Ichigo couldn’t say what the hell compelled him to do what he did next. Maybe it was the nearly two years of separation, or the swelling music and stupid, glittering, chandeliers messing with his head, or the way she gripped his fingers with such a quiet and loving intensity, or a mix of all of those things. Slowly, he raised her hand up, off her lap. 

                                                   D'une main nonchalante,

                                      D’une main nonchalante,

Rukia stirred, tilting her head slightly towards him. He brought her hand up to his face and slowly, gently, firmly, pressed his lips against her knuckles. Rukia’s eyes flashed wide open, and now she turned to look at him. Another tear rolled silently down her otherwise stoic face. Ichigo opened his eyes and looked back at her. 

                                            Dôme épais, blanc jasmin,

                             Sous le dôme épais, Sous le blanc jasmin,

Nothing was said, but a thousand words were exchanged between them. Ichigo lowered her hand but did not let go. They held their gaze for a moment longer, then turned their heads back towards the stage. 

                                                      Nous appellent ensemble!

                                    Ah! descendons ensemble!

[iffeelscouldkill]

Adjusting [Part 4: Arkady]

A/N: Hey! In honour of us getting a confirmed release date for TSCOSI Season 2, here’s a fic update! (No I was not planning to post this anyway tonight, what are you talking about)

This one’s another long chapter, so strap in, folks! As always, a big THANK YOU to @dragonsthough101 for beta reading and for all the encouragement and enthusiasm! <3

CW: This fic contains a fairly brief description of a panic attack, from the POV of the character experiencing the panic attack. If you want to skip it, stop reading at the line “Everything is very still.” and skip to “They gravitate over to the kitchen table...”

---

The sound of gunfire echoes around purple-tinged sand and silver rocks, the alien landscape of a desert planet that sinks, spongy under RJ’s feet as they run for their life, head down to present less of a target. There’s a fiery pain in their right leg, running from the thigh right down to the shin, and though RJ clenches their jaw and forces themself onwards, it buckles, sending them crashing to one knee in the sand.

“RJ!” Sana shouts. She’s about thirty paces ahead, supporting a blood-soaked and half-conscious Arkady.

“I’m fine – go, get to the ship,” RJ calls, but Sana doesn’t budge. Cursing under their breath – and feeling a sudden kinship with Arkady every time she’d complained about Sana prioritising the crew’s safety above her own – RJ forces their leg to lock and pushes off from the soft sand, wobbling into a standing position. There’s another hail of bullets, closer this time, and RJ almost trips forward in their haste to move- and then stops.

Wait a minute.

“RJ!” Sana calls again, this time with a note of panic in her voice. She looks like she’s debating sprinting back across the distance between them to find out what’s wrong, but doesn’t want to abandon Arkady. 

RJ waves a hand at her, motioning her down. Arkady has roused enough to give Sana a confused look, but both of them sink down towards the sand.

In the echoey canyon that they just emerged from, it had sounded like the gunshots were coming from all sides. RJ had been baffled as to how so many shooters were still pursuing them, as they thought they’d managed to take out virtually all of them, but there hadn’t been time to figure it out. Now, out in the open, RJ can tell: there’s only one shooter.

“Kid,” Arkady hisses, her voice carrying just far enough to reach RJ in the quiet. “Get out of the goddamn open.”

RJ ignores her, scanning their surroundings. They’ve narrowed down a rough area that the shots are coming from: an outcrop of metallic rocks on a ledge about twenty metres up. The spot is almost completely shielded, but it’s also difficult to shoot from. The shooter can’t get a clear shot at them, which is why they were laying down so much fire: trying to confuse them, make them panic, and run into the path of a stray bullet.

It also means that RJ can’t get a clear shot either, unless…

RJ flails as if losing their footing on the sand, turns and crumples dramatically backwards. They hear Arkady swear, and Sana say, “Wait here- I’m going back-” 

From this vantage point they can see through a gap low in the rocks, and sure enough, there’s a dark shape beyond, sunlight glinting off the dull metal of an old-fashioned automatic rifle.

“Got you,” RJ mutters, and fires.

A muffled cry of pain can be heard across the distance, and RJ jumps to their feet in a shower of sand, adrenaline and triumph numbing the searing pain in their leg. They catch up to Arkady and Sana, who are frozen in the middle of getting to their feet.

“We can go now,” they say. A delighted smile spreads across Sana’s face, while Arkady looks torn between annoyance and grudging respect.

“Glad you made up your mind,” she snarks.

They make it back to the Iris without incident, where Violet is there to work the airlock as usual. She pales at the sight of them.

“Arkady- Sana- RJ! What happened? We couldn’t get you on your comms-”

“Yeah, sand’s a bitch,” pants Arkady, who seems to have rallied some more at the sight of her girlfriend. She pulls the useless, sand-encrusted comm link from her ear and tosses it with a flick of her hand at Violet, who just catches it. “That weird purple storm you saw? It jammed all of our devices.”

“You’re covered in blood-”

“I’m fine,” Arkady insists, though the fact that she can barely stand upright is undermining her argument quite a bit. “I’ve been worse.”

“Sana Tripathi to all crew,” Sana is saying over them. “Krejjh, we’re gonna need a quick getaway. RJ took out the last of our pursuers, but we think some of them might have gone for backup. We can’t afford to hang around.”

“Aye aye, Captain Tripathi.”

“Brian, Park, keep an eye out for anything on our tail.”

“Roger that.”

“Will do.”

Sana turns to RJ, Arkady and Violet, who are still clustered around the airlock. “Arkady, you’re going to accompany Violet to the medbay for urgent attention, and no arguments.” 

“For once, I wasn’t gonna,” says Arkady with a wince, her voice strained. Violet moves forward to take Arkady’s weight, and Arkady leans on her gratefully. The height difference makes it a little awkward, but Violet is also clearly stronger than she looks.

“Captain, I’m going to take a look at that shoulder as soon as Arkady’s been patched up,” Violet says in that gentle-but-firm way that no-one ever tries to argue with (except Arkady, but even she doesn’t try particularly hard).

Sana nods, hand going to the dried patch of blood on her shoulder. The bullet had only grazed her, but it hadn’t been pretty at all, and they’d had to improvise a bandage in a panic out of a scarf that Arkady had been using to keep the sand out of her face.

Violet turns a sharp gaze on RJ, who straightens reflexively, letting go of the safety rail they’d been leaning on. This proves to be a mistake as they put too much weight on their injured leg, and they can’t conceal the resulting flinch.

“What happened to your leg, RJ?” Violet asks. It’s mild, but there’s no-nonsense steel lurking under her tone.

“I’m uh, not really sure?” RJ admits. Their pant leg is caked in violet sand, ragged and torn; there’s no visible blood, but it could easily be concealed under the sand. “It’s uh, it’s kind of painful, but I don’t think I got shot. There were bullets ricocheting off the rocks, though, and some shrapnel might have hit-” They’re rolling up the leg of their pants as they speak, and then stop as the wound comes into view. ‘Some’ shrapnel is an understatement: RJ’s leg is peppered with tiny pieces of glittering metal, including one fairly large and pointy-looking piece sticking out of their lower thigh. Dried blood is streaked along the length of their leg. Sana sucks in a breath.

RJ laughs a little, nervously. “Um. Ow?”

Violet passes a hand over her face. “Okay. I’m gonna get those out of you as soon as possible, RJ. In the meantime, try to keep your weight off your leg – actually, that goes for after I’ve dressed the wounds, too. Luckily, none of it seems to have gone in too deep.”

“Arkady, you might have some too,” Sana says. “She and RJ managed to draw most of their fire-”

“Arkady more than me,” RJ puts in, as if it wasn’t already obvious from Arkady’s multiple injuries. “I guess I didn’t seem like that significant of a target.”

“-but it was kind of hard to tell what was a bullet and what was debris, with sand whipping up all around us.”

“Yeah, if I never see another sandstorm, it’ll be too soon,” Arkady mutters.

“Wonderful,” Violet says dryly. “Is it too much to hope that the sand might not contain any toxic or harmful substances?”

There’s a pause, as Sana, RJ and Arkady look at each other. None of them had thought of that possibility.

Violet sighs. “I’ll prep some equipment and try and get a sample to analyse from Arkady’s comm link.” She holds up the inert device. “I haven’t tried it out yet, but the medbay in this ship has some equipment that should be able to do the job.”

“You could probably get a good sample from our clothes, too,” says Sana. Violet nods.

“Sana, RJ, I want you to – carefully – change into some clean, loose-fitting clothes and then come to the medbay. Try not to touch your wounds directly.”

Both Sana and RJ give their assent to her instructions. It’s a little weird for RJ to see Sana, as the Captain, taking an order from someone else, but Sana acts like there’s nothing unusual about it at all. They’ve known some commanding officers – okay, a lot of commanding officers – in the Regime who acted like they would lose all their authority if they were seen deferring to a subordinate for anything, which led to a lot of bad and stupid judgement calls. They know now that the mark of a good leader is someone who’s willing to listen to the people under their command.

Violet turns back to Arkady, her face softening.

“C’mon, soldier,” she says quietly. RJ isn’t sure if this is a pet name or just a reference to ‘brave soldier’, but either way, it makes Arkady go pink. Sana looks impossibly fond of the two of them.

Arkady looks back at RJ, and RJ braces for some kind of threat about breathing a word about that to anyone else, but instead Arkady says, “Good shot earlier.”

For the first time ever, she doesn’t call RJ ‘kid’.

“Uh… thanks,” RJ barely manages in their surprise, but Arkady doesn’t even seem to hear it, already letting Violet help her down the corridor to the medbay.

---

The whole crew is a little on edge for the rest of the day (or what passes for ‘day’ when you’re hurtling through the black void of space). The excursion on Enlil was meant to be a simple pick-up and drop-off job, which was why Sana had thought it might be a good first outing for RJ to accompany them on while also providing some extra backup. But someone had tipped off the planet’s local security force – a sort of combined police force and militia ��� to their presence, and minutes after completing the trade, they’d found themselves fleeing from a dozen armed pursuers.

They got the payment, and more importantly got away safely (ish), but it’s a stark reminder just how little they can afford to let their guard down.

Dinner is a lively and extra-loud affair, all of the accumulated tension of the day (of the past two months, really) welling up and spilling over. For once, RJ doesn’t mind. They boost themselves up, gingerly, onto one of the bolted-down metal chairs decorated with Sana’s colourful homemade cushions, being careful not to jolt their leg, which has been expertly cleaned and bandaged by Violet. (The sand, to the best of Violet’s assessment, did not contain any toxic elements, but was still not great to have in an open wound for obvious reasons).

RJ watches Jeeter haphazardly throwing ingredients into a huge stock pot while Park looks on with a slightly pained expression. As Brian gets distracted by a compliment from Krejjh, he quickly claims the spoon, adding some spices from a small tin and a few other flavourings from little bottles in precise, measured amounts, before replacing the spoon just as Brian turns back around.

The noise and the activity is… familiar. Reassuring. It helps to drown out the images of purple and silver in RJ’s head, of sand whipping against rocks and gunshots echoing through a vast canyon, so vast it seemed like they’d never emerge from it. Of thinking about those few crucial seconds, out in the open, and what might have happened if they hadn’t made the shot.

(RJ always makes the shot. Every single time, in the Academy and afterwards, they had always made the shot. RJ believed then that they couldn’t afford to miss – for the sake of their reputation and their career, for the respect of the senior officers that they’d worked so relentlessly to earn.

But since becoming part of a crew and having more than just their own wellbeing riding on their steady hands and the aim of their gun – RJ has learned the real meaning of can’t afford to miss).

Sana passes out bowls of the stew that Brian has concocted, unknowingly aided by Park. It’s pretty good – the vegetables and meat are bland (RJ can’t even identify them, which is probably for the better) but the spices give it flavour and the tiniest kick. Park slides into the seat across from RJ; the crew officially don’t have designated seats in the kitchen/dining area, but unofficially, they totally do, and Park’s chair is padded with two cushions: one on the seat, and one on the back.

RJ can’t say how it happened, but Park had always sat a little awkwardly on the unforgiving chairs, and there was a tentativeness to his movements whenever he shifted, like he was in pain and trying to hide it. Evidently they weren’t the only one who noticed, because a second cushion had mysteriously appeared on ‘Park’s’ chair one day, and that had been that.

“Dinner’s pretty good,” RJ tells Park, under the combined volume of Krejjh, Brian and Sana’s jokes and laughter. Arkady is there too, also propped up on multiple cushions, after she’d loudly and persistently refused to have dinner brought to her in the medbay. “I’m already sick of being stuck in there. I’m not helpless, Sana,” she’d snapped. Sana and Violet had exchanged a look over her head that spoke volumes.

She looks paler than usual, but she keeps up a determined level of snark and banter like she’s daring anyone to question her health.

“Tell that to the cook,” Park responds mildly to RJ’s compliment, picking up his spoon.

“I am,” RJ replies with a smirk. Park’s only response is the slightest raise of his eyebrow.

“I heard you got to do some sharpshooting, earlier,” he says instead, changing the subject. RJ brightens, realising that with everything that was going on after they got back to the ship, they’d never got a chance to tell Park what had happened on Enlil. Sana must have said something about it to him.

“Yeah, finally,” RJ says, and Park grins fleetingly. He knows RJ has been itching to help out with some of the (infrequent, always extremely cautious) drop-offs and supply runs, but Sana had been reluctant to take the risk.

“I know how capable you are, RJ,” she’d said gently the last time she turned them down, while RJ had done their best to hide their disappointment. “It’s not that I don’t trust your skills. But I don’t want to send anyone else out into the field unless it’s strictly necessary, and I’m sure that Arkady and I can handle this one. As soon as we get a drop-off where I think we’ll need more backup, I promise that I’ll bring you in.”

She’d sounded sincere, but RJ had been privately sure that the promise was just meant to pacify them. They’d been genuinely taken aback when less than a week later, Sana informed them that she wanted them to accompany her and Arkady on the next drop.

“We’ve never been to this planet before, and neither Arkady nor I are familiar with the terrain,” she’d explained at the crew meeting, handing RJ a topographical map of their destination while RJ quietly exploded with excitement. “By the looks of things, there’s a lot of open ground, but also some spots where we could be vulnerable to ambush. I think three pairs of eyes will be better than two.”

She’d been completely correct about that, although the planet’s intermittent sandstorms had not been in their intel. Either way, RJ doesn’t think that Sana and Arkady would have made it through in one piece without their help.

They should be pleased at that thought, to know that they were critical to the mission, but instead it makes them feel slightly sick.

Everyone lingers in the kitchen after the meal finishes, and soon enough Sana breaks out a bottle of engine room-brewed moonshine and cups are passed around. RJ prepares to decline, as usual, but to their surprise Violet passes them a cup of something else – it’s bright orange, slightly sparkly, and smells sweet.

“What’s this?” they ask.

Violet shows them the bottle, which is silver with an orange bolt of lightning down the side and shimmering writing in Chinese characters. “It’s an energy drink!” she says cheerfully. “I lived off it when I was in grad school. If you down it in one go it’ll give you a kick like you wouldn’t believe. We used to knock it back instead of shots sometimes – the buzz wears off quicker than alcohol, but you also get less of a hangover. I stashed some away in case we ever needed to pull an all-nighter or something.”

RJ looks doubtfully down at the drink and then glances at Park, who responds with a shrug and half a smile. His expression somehow conveys both, ‘It’s okay if you don’t want to,’ and ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’

“I promise it’s completely safe,” Violet says, reassuringly. “Here, I’ll join you.” She pours herself out a small amount of the vibrant drink. “Cheers!”

She clinks her cup gently against RJ’s and then downs it in one go. After a moment’s hesitation, RJ follows suit. There’s a burst of intense, teeth-rattling sweetness and then a fizzing sensation like something went up RJ’s nose. They shake their head rapidly. “I… wow,” they say. Everything seems very bright all of a sudden. Violet is laughing as she puts down her cup.

“Oh my god!” she exclaims. “I feel like I’m 22 again.”

“How do you feel?” Park asks RJ, nursing his own cup of moonshine.

“I feel…” says RJ, and then gets distracted by how the ‘l’ sound rolls off their tongue. “Feellll… I feelllll… great! Really really good.” They beam at Park, who looks a little uncertain, but smiles anyway.

“That’s… good. Well, cheers.”

---

Twenty minutes later, RJ is laughing hysterically at a joke that Krejjh just made – in Dwarnian.

“It’s the- it’s just- it’s the way they said lequezzek…” they wheeze, trying to explain the joke to Park, who is staring at them in some consternation. They wipe one eye. “Ah, you kinda had to be there.”

“I… was there,” Park tells RJ.

“Hey, your pronunciation is really coming along,” Brian says approvingly to RJ, who brightens and sits up straight.

“You really think so?”

“Heck, yeah!” Krejjh chimes in. “Hey, say ‘Dwajjhah Ferin’.”

“Dwajjhah Ferin,” RJ repeats, trying hard to get the ‘jjh’ sound right. Brian and Krejjh look at each other, and Krejjh grins.

“Excellent Dwarnian ‘jjh’ sound. For a human.”

RJ throws their arms up in the air, almost clocking Park on the ear. “I’ll take it!”

Not long after that, Sana notices Arkady struggling to keep her eyes open and, over her half-hearted protests, firmly instructs Violet to accompany her back to her room. “I’m going to turn in too,” she says. “Not that I wouldn’t love to stay up with you guys, but it’s been a pretty long day and I think the adrenaline crash is finally starting to hit me.”

Her eyes linger on RJ, who stares back, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “Don’t stay up too late, okay, guys? Get some rest,” she says.

“You got it, Captain,” says Brian as Krejjh salutes. “Hey, RJ – wanna come back to our room to watch the pre-season 17 finale of Sh’th Hremreh?”

“Yessss!” RJ cheers, jumping up.

“You’re welcome to join us, too,” Brian says to Park.

“I… thanks, but I think I’d be a bit lost,” Park declines politely. “McCabe-”

RJ, who is bouncing on the balls of their feet with impatience, looks over. “Hm?”

“Just be sure to drink plenty of water. I know Violet says that stuff gives you less of a hangover, but I think it’ll help.”

RJ rolls their eyes exaggeratedly. “Okay, Dad,” they groan, but they grab a bottle of water from the fridge before following Krejjh and Brian out. “Night, Park.”

“G’night.”

---

By the time the credits roll on Sh’th Hremreh, RJ has to admit that the effects of the energy drink Violet gave them have thoroughly worn off, and they’re feeling pretty beat. Krejjh has actually dozed off, and is snoring quietly against Brian’s shoulder.

“D’you wanna keep watching?” Brian asks quietly. “We should probably save the actual finale for when Krejjh is awake, but we can watch an episode of something else.”

RJ considers it, but reluctantly shakes their head. “Thanks, but… I think I do need to sleep,” they admit, stretching their arms up over their head.

“That’s fair. How’s your leg?”

“Uh…” RJ hasn’t really thought about their leg since dinner. The energy drink made every part of them feel fuzzy and light, so it hadn’t seemed like a concern. They hope they haven’t accidentally overdone things, although it’s not as if they’ve been running around the corridors. Well. They might have raced Krejjh to Brian and Krejjh’s room. It seemed like a fun idea at the time.

They stand up experimentally, testing how it holds their weight. It definitely throbs, but it’s a dull throbbing, and it doesn’t feel like it’s about to give way beneath them. “I probably should have stayed off it more like Violet said,” RJ admits. “But I think it’ll be better after some rest.”

Brian grins, an expression that RJ can just make out in the glow of the holo-screen. “Not really following medical advice is kind of a time-honoured tradition on this ship. It’s a miracle Violet hasn’t given up on all of us and left us to our own devices.”

RJ knows he’s joking, but the idea of Violet not being around to help in the aftermath of situations like the one they were in today is more than a little horrifying. “You guys didn’t even have a medic before she joined the crew, right? How did you manage?”

Brian shrugs in that easy way of his. “Arkady has a fair amount of field experience dealing with injuries, which I expect she picked up, uh… during the war,” he says. “Krejjh too, though obviously their knowledge is mostly applicable to Dwarnians. Sana and I know basic first aid, and Campbell – you met him when we made a stopover in Neuzo – has some skills and some contacts who don’t ask too many questions. We would sometimes go to him for help if we were in a bind, medically speaking.”

RJ nods slowly. It makes sense, although it also raises a number of other worrying questions. Namely, what if they’d been stuck out in the middle of the Deep or in hostile territory and weren’t able to get in contact with anyone? What if something really serious happened?

Brian correctly interprets their expression. “Mostly, it’s best not to think about it,” he says cheerfully. “Overall, we were pretty good at not needing any help, but it did happen occasionally.”

“Maybe I should learn some first aid too,” RJ says, thinking about possible worst-case scenarios on unknown planets and the fact that there’s only one of Violet. “Just in case.”

Brian smiles. “No reason not to. Violet could probably teach you stuff that the rest of us don’t know.”

After saying goodnight to Brian (and a still-sleeping Krejjh), RJ starts off in the direction of their room, but then reconsiders and heads towards the kitchen. Maybe it’s the lingering advice from Park to stay hydrated; maybe RJ just wants to sit and nurse a cup of tea and stare into space for a while.

They aren’t expecting, upon entering the kitchen, to find Arkady already there, reaching for the box of tea at the top of the cupboard and wincing as she pulls at her stitches.

“Uh…”

Arkady whips around so fast RJ is positive she must have pulled something else. She relaxes slightly when she sees RJ, obviously afraid it might be Violet or Sana. “Hey, McCabe. What are you doing up?”

RJ shrugs slightly as they step further into the kitchen, letting the door whoosh shut behind them. “Same as you, I think. I came to get some tea. Should you be… doing that?” Arkady has turned back to the cupboard and is slowly stretching up again to try and grab the tea. She huffs in exasperation.

“Don’t you start.”

“I��m just saying, we do have a stool,” RJ points out reasonably, going to fetch the foldaway stepping-stool.

“I don’t need a stool,” Arkady retorts. RJ thinks it’s meant to sound deadpan, but it comes out a little petulant.

“Well, I do,” says RJ, carrying it over and setting it down next to Arkady. “Move over.”

Arkady rolls her eyes, but moves aside to let RJ climb onto the stool and grab the box of tea, newly replenished thanks to a recent supply run.

“Why do you guys keep it on the top shelf, anyway?” asks RJ, setting the box on the kitchen table. “Is it because of…?” They nod at the scrawled NOT FOR YOU, JEETER on the lid of the box.

“Oh, that?” Arkady seems surprised, like she’d completely forgotten it was there. “It’s a joke, kinda – Jeeter doesn’t drink tea normally, but he has a habit of raiding our stash sometimes when he’s really sleep-deprived. And he always forgets that he’s allergic to rooibos, so. I wrote that as a reminder.” She flips open the top of the box and considers the contents.

“I… see,” RJ says, brow crinkling. They don’t really, but that tends to be the case with a lot of things involving their crewmates, so they decide not to spend too much time worrying about it.

Instead, they pick out a bag of peppermint tea and wait for Arkady to choose her flavour – lemongrass and ginger – before quickly plucking it out of her hand. “I’ll make these!”

“Kid–” Arkady grabs at RJ, who dances out of reach. “Listen, I can make my own goddamn tea–”

“Sure, but if I don’t make you sit down then both of us are going to get in trouble with Violet, and also I think you’ve already popped a stitch,” RJ shoots back. Arkady looks down and swears as she sees the tiny spot of blood that’s leaked through the bandages around her side onto her shirt, and grudgingly sits down at the kitchen table.

Smug, RJ rummages around for two clean mugs and drops the teabags into them. They pick up the kettle and carry it over to the small, pump-operated sink to fill it with water.

Intent on their task, RJ almost doesn’t notice it until the last second – out of the corner of their eye, a glint of light off silver rocks, off the barrel of a gun—

The kettle goes flying with a loud clatter as RJ whirls around. “ARKADY, GET D-”

Then they stop, heaving breaths in the middle of the kitchen, their leg throbbing. There’s nothing there.

Everything is very still.

But RJ saw it, they saw–

A glint of light, reflecting off the fridge, in the corner of their eye. Not an attacker. Not silver rocks and purple sand.

“-kid, can you hear me? RJ. RJ, can you hear me?” Arkady is suddenly right there, her face serious and intent, bending down to RJ’s level. “Kid, I need you to breathe with me. You’re having a panic attack. Breathe in–”

RJ is confused. They are breathing in. Aren’t they? Then they register the sharp, panicked breaths that they’re taking, their side beginning to ache from the strain. Oh. A panic attack. Right.

It feels like their lungs are already full to bursting, but RJ manages to drag in a breath.

“And out…” Arkady demonstrates, and RJ copies her. It’s helping to even their breathing out, but RJ’s muscles still feel like they’re locked in fight-or-flight mode, a non-existent threat pinging at the back of their brain.

“And again,” Arkady instructs, and she starts counting as RJ breathes in, and then out again. Her tone is matter-of-fact, with no attempt to sound soothing or sympathetic, and weirdly, it helps ground RJ. Plus, Arkady seems like she’s done this before. Maybe a few times before.

They gravitate over to the kitchen table, RJ breathing more normally but still keyed-up and tense. Their head is light from sucking in air, and their hands feel strangely tingly. They blink as Arkady pushes a hot mug towards them. At some point, she must have cleaned up the kettle and boiled some water for tea.

“Thanks,” they say, voice hoarse. They realise they should probably give some kind of an explanation about what the hell just happened. “Uh, that was…”

“Do you want me to get Violet?” Arkady asks, over them. RJ blinks.

“No, I- it’s not a medical condition, I swear. I mean, I don’t think it is. I just…” They think back to the glint of light, and then immediately try not to think about it. “I thought I saw something, and I panicked.”

“It was the refrigerator, right?” says Arkady. “Reflecting something.”

RJ looks at them, surprised. “Yeah, I- how did you know?”

Arkady shrugs. “I figured it might be something that reminded you of earlier. And since there’s no purple sand in here…” RJ laughs at that, very weakly. “I didn’t suggest Violet because she’s the ship’s medic,” Arkady goes on. “She knows a lot about this kind of stuff. She could…” Arkady gestures vaguely. “Talk to you about it.”

RJ really doesn’t have much desire to talk about what happened, although they know they probably should. “You seem like you know some stuff,” they point out. Belatedly, they remember the tea, and take a sip.

“Having a guh- uhhh, having a close… that is, knowing someone with anxiety will do that to you.” Arkady coughs as if trying to cover up her almost-slip of the tongue. RJ hides their smirk of amusement behind their mug.

“I don’t have anxiety. I don’t think, anyway,” they say slowly. “I’ve never had problems coping with combat situations before. They ran us through all sorts of simulations in the Academy. I learned to shoot in any conditions, under immense amounts of pressure.”

“Yeah, but how much actual field experience do you have?” Arkady asks sceptically. “Those were just simulations. It’s not the same as… actual war.”

She sips her own tea, a dark look on her face, and RJ is forcibly reminded that Arkady fought in the war – was probably a teenager when she did. There’s an awkward silence as they try to think of something to say. “No,” they say eventually. “I guess I don’t have any… experience with that.”

Arkady straightens up suddenly, squaring her shoulders. RJ remembers her popped stitch and hopes she isn’t putting any additional strain on it. “If this is the part where I’m supposed to delve into my dark past and tell you a story that inspires you, you’re shit outta luck,” she says flatly. “You want touchy-feely, you can go wake up Sana.” RJ laughs for real this time.

“I’m good. I promise,” they say. “Uh, but. Thanks for…” They falter, trying to be sincere but not wanting Arkady to make fun of them. “…Not freaking out,” they finish.

Arkady looks a little taken aback, like she wasn’t expecting to be thanked. “It’s no big deal. Really.”

At the mention of Sana, something occurs to RJ that makes their heart drop to the bottom of their stomach. They don’t want to voice it aloud to Arkady, though. Unfortunately for them, she reads it on their face anyway.

“You've got this scrunched-up look on your face,” she remarks. “Whatever it is that’s suddenly bothering you, spit it out.”

Her tone is impatient, but fortunately RJ has spent enough time with Arkady by now to know that she sounds like that most of the time, so they know not to take it personally. Well, too personally.

RJ worries at their lip, and then bursts out, “Please don’t tell Sana what just happened.”

Arkady’s face does something complicated; she looks halfway between baffled and annoyed. “You think I’m – what – going to rat you out to the Captain?” A slight laugh creeps into her voice.

RJ is too worked up to be reassured, though. “It took so long for her to agree to send me out on a drop-off, and I know that I had a bad reaction just now, but I can guarantee it won’t reoccur and I won't let it affect my performance on-”

“Oh my god,” Arkady interrupts, running a hand over her face. “Kid, listen to me. First of all, never try to keep things from Tripathi. It’s pointless, and she’ll only pry it out of you anyway and then be disappointed that you tried to hide it from her. Save yourself the bother.”

Arkady shakes her head slightly. “Second of all, the Captain isn’t going to bench you because you had a bad reaction to something that reminded you of a combat situation. If she did, I’d never-”

She catches herself, but RJ is able to mentally complete the sentence. I’d never be allowed to go on a drop-off or supply run.

“Look,” Arkady says. “You can’t “guarantee” that something like that isn’t gonna happen to you again, maybe in the middle of a job. When it happens, you deal with it, and you get on with the job. If you can’t do that, then maybe you should stay behind on the ship. But if you can deal with it just like you would anything else unexpected that happens, then I don’t see the problem.”

She gives RJ a flat look, as if daring them to find a hole in her logic. RJ has to admit it makes sense. It’s going to take a lot longer than they realised to shake the mentality that was drilled into them at the Academy, and under the Regime: optimal performance, optimal efficiency. The idea that anything less – any mistake – is unacceptable. That being human is unacceptable.

They realise they haven’t said anything yet. Arkady doesn’t seem to be waiting for a response, and has gone back to drinking her tea. Maybe she can tell that RJ’s taking in what she said, but they still want to give some kind of acknowledgement.

“Yes,” they say, into the silence. Arkady raises an eyebrow at them. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Arkady replies.

“Uh, thank you,” RJ adds, because they feel like they should say it, even though Arkady definitely won’t want them to. They drink some more of their now lukewarm tea.

“Ugh, don’t thank me,” Arkady says, predictably. “And speaking of not telling the Captain things: we’re not telling her that I just gave you a goddamn pep talk.”

RJ smirks. They can’t resist pointing out: “Didn't you just say it was pointless to keep things from the Captain?”

“I did. I also forgot to tell you about the exception to that rule,” says Arkady breezily.

“Which is?” RJ asks, already knowing the answer.

“Me.”

RJ snorts a little. It’s a relief to be back on the familiar ground of trading snark back and forth and not thinking about panic attacks or worrying about what will happen the next time they need to pick up a gun. They wonder if they’d be able to sleep now if they went back to their room. Maybe, after a couple of audiobooks. They’re still only midway through the collection that Park gave them, and Park has been talking about persuading Arkady to connect to the local network on their next stop-off so that he can download even more.

RJ realises that they never got the chance to ask how Arkady came to be awake and making tea in the kitchen so late at night. It’s probable that she’d say it was none of their business – and isn’t, really, except for the fact that they’re crew, and they were on a drop-off together earlier where RJ watched Arkady get shot, more than once, in part because she was trying to draw fire – and attention – away from RJ and Sana.

Arkady’s finished her tea, but she hasn’t made a move to get up and either refill the mug with more water or make her excuses and go back to bed. Instead she’s staring into it, brow furrowed, like she’s thinking about something unsettling. There’s shadows under her eyes.

“Are you-” RJ begins, and then second-guesses themself. Except that now Arkady is blinking at them, confused, which means that RJ needs to come up with something to say instead, damn it. “Uh, I mean. Could you… not sleep?”

Arkady looks momentarily annoyed by the question, and RJ prepares to walk it back, but then her face clears and she just looks tired. “The pain makes it… difficult,” she admits, grudgingly. “And before you say anything about painkillers, the kind that Liu gave me have some weird side-effects if you keep taking them for too long, so I don’t wanna risk it.”

“And she can’t give you something else?” RJ asks, because well, it’s the obvious question.

“We’re running low,” Arkady says, shortly. “Meds have always been the hardest to get our hands on, even when we’re just moving them, never mind for our own usage. There’s even more of a shortage now. Black market prices have gone up – we think the Regime is requisitioning more, either because they’re expecting to need them, or just to keep them out of the hands of ‘insurgents’. And back-alley doctors, abortion clinics and anyone else they’ve decided doesn’t deserve to have them.”

RJ feels the now-familiar wave of anger at being confronted, yet again, with evidence of the Regime’s callousness and pointless cruelty towards the people it’s meant to be protecting. Normally when this happens they keep quiet, uncomfortable with voicing outrage towards something that, until recently, they were completely complicit in. But this time, they can’t keep it from slipping out. “Fuck that.”

Arkady just nods, though RJ thinks there’s something approving in it. “Point being, I’d rather go without for a few hours and be sure that we still have enough in reserve for an actual emergency.”

RJ looks at the spot of blood on Arkady’s side, dried now but still there, and wonders what would class as an ‘actual emergency’ in her book if not this. No doubt if it were Sana who had been hurt (well, hurt worse than she was), Arkady would be making a very different argument. But RJ isn’t Sana, which means there is no way they would get away with pointing that out.

“Are you planning to stay up all night drinking tea in the kitchen?” they ask instead.

Arkady’s mouth lifts a tiny bit at the corner. “I was planning to kill a bit of time doing that, then head down to the engine room and do some stretches. Gentle ones.”

“The… engine room?” RJ is completely nonplussed. They know Arkady and Violet go there fairly often, but they figured it was for a specific reason, not like… recreational engine room time. “Don’t you brew moonshine in there?”

“Not all the time,” Arkady says. “A batch lasts us a while, so we only brew some every few weeks. You want to steer clear of the engine room while that’s going on, but otherwise it’s fume-free, and pretty roomy. Have you even been down there yet?”

RJ has not.

Which is how they somehow find themself in the middle of the engine room with Arkady at something like three in the morning, moving slowly through a series of Tai Chi stretches.

RJ can safely say they never predicted that their night would end up like this. But as they finally fall into bed half an hour later, gradually dozing off with an audiobook playing in the background, they feel pretty okay with how it turned out.

[geniusgub]

north//chapter fourteen

genre: angst

pairing: season twelve spencer reid x female oc

warnings: description of physical assault, prison, just all of the bad prison arc stuff

word count: 4.7k

summary: spencer and amelia feel the effects of being forcibly separated and it impacts them in similar ways.

honestly, spencer’s pov in this chapter is one of my favorite things i’ve ever written so i hope everyone enjoys it <3

AMELIA

"Come on! You don't even have to do anything! Just go and clean up. We'll go with you and help!" Yaz pokes my shoulder incessantly, trying to get a reaction out of me. But I just keep my eyes on the tv in front of me, bundled up under a blanket.

"Lia," Michael sighs and slings his arm over my shoulder. I want nothing more than to shove it off. “It's been like, three months since-"

I'm quick to speak up to correct him. "Two and a half."

Michael and Quinn exchange a tense look. "Okay," Quinn nods, "two and a half months. It's been two and a half months since you've drawn, or painted, or sketched, or done anything even related to art. We know you're upset about Spencer but you can't let yourself be so upset. You need to find something that's gonna bring you happiness, and art has always done that."

"I don't wanna," I answer like a stubborn child, an answer that any of my siblings would have given me about things like going to bed early or eating vegetables. I pull the blanket up to my chin and stroke my thumb across my newest tattoo, tucked away and out of the sights of my nosy, annoying friends.

Frankie turns and shushes Quinn. "Like I said, Lia, why don't we go and just clean up your studio? We can drive over and just clean up? That's it. You don't have to do a photoshoot or create anything new. Just clean. Sound good? An hour tops."

I look around the faces of my expecting friends and tighten my jaw. I try to steal Spencer's skills and profile what their ulterior motives could be. They all hated Spencer before meeting him, and even after they met him, they weren't completely fond of him. So why are they trying so hard to get me to feel better? Why does it feel like they’re trying to get me to forget about my boyfriend in prison? I should be worrying about him every second of my day instead of prancing around town, cleaning up my studio, and going about my life as if Spencer isn’t suffering. But I’m sure they mean well. And I’m absolutely positive that my legs are sore from sleeping on the couch and from being in that same position all day.

"Fine," I concede, and they all silently cheer. "But I'm driving myself."

The drive to my studio is nearly insufferable. It’s silent and overwhelmed with a tension that I created but can’t seem to let go. The sights around me are familiar but blurry, like I can’t even tell which stores are which without someone in my passenger seat spitting out fact after fact after fact as I drive. I can’t drive down the street and try to recall all the good times and all the dates and all the drunken stumbles back home with the love of my life on my arm. It’s far too painful to constantly remember that I can’t go home and see Spencer and I can’t spend hours on the phone with him like I do when he is away on a case. I can’t see him. 

When I arrive at my studio, I realize why they were so insistent that I come out to clean up. I can't remember the last time I was actually in here to work but it's an absolute mess. There are canvases everywhere, bottles and tubes of paint on the floor, splashes and splatters of paint on the walls, brushes everywhere, crumbled up sketches in the trash, and way more. The studio needs much love and I guess now is the time to give it.

Michael immediately turns on music and everyone gets to work, but I don't. I pick up an empty tube of yellow paint and squeeze it in my palm. My head is starting to pound and I can't even stop it as tears start to fall down my cheeks. Who knew that one person could produce so many tears? 

Spencer loved when I wore yellow. I have this one short, backless dress that he loved. He especially loved that he had easy access to my skin, always tracing shapes on my back and murmuring about how soft my skin is. He always said that he loved the way the yellow complimented my blonde hair and how it contrasted against my colorful tattoos. He even went as far as to buy me another yellow dress for my birthday last year. 

And he loved when I used yellow in my paintings too. One time, I sent him a picture of a piece I was working on and he emailed back a book about how the use of yellow paint expressed the happiness of the piece or something like that. He raved about a painting I did of the sun and how my use of yellow wasn’t scientifically accurate, but it was beautiful nonetheless. 

"Amelia?" Quinn speaks but I don't look at her. My cheeks are wet with tears that I barely noticed and my hands are clutching the tube of paint so tightly that it would burst if it were full. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to upset you. If we-"

"I'm gonna go," I say hastily, clutching the empty tube in my hand as I breeze out of the studio, leaving my bewildered friends to either clean or leave. They know the way out and they know where the keys are. They don’t need me.

I'm wandering into the bullpen like it's second nature because, at this point, it basically is. Nobody on the team bothers to say anything to me. They never do. They're too worried I'll blow up at them or start crying. I don't blame them.

I rap my knuckles against Dave's door and wait for him to shout for me to come in, and when he does, I enter slowly. He gives me a small, pitiful smile as I move in front of his desk. I set the empty yellow paint tube in front of him and then sit down, bringing my knees to my chest.

Dave looks down at the tube, his eyebrows furrowing. "Paint? What's this?"

I blink and it forces tears out of my eyes. "I don't know how to live without Spencer."

Dave leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over my chest. He studies me, profiles me. I hate when Spencer did that. He always got this look on his face when he profiled me, but Dave has a better poker face. "And paint has something to do with that?"

"I just went to my studio with my friends and I finished off all this paint and there were brushes all over the floor and-" tears start pouring down my cheeks again, wetting my neck and the neckline of my sweater. "I came home the other day and I'd left the balcony door open. How stupid. I'm forgetting to lock my doors just because my boyfriend is in p-" I gulp, having to force out the disgusting word, "prison. How fucking stupid. How stupid am I that I can't function without him?"

"You're not stupid," Dave shakes his head. Nothing about his tone or his body language is helpful in the slightest. Nothing and nobody will help. "You two are reliant on each other and that's not a bad thing. I'm sure Boy Genius is always on you about locking your doors and I'm sure he's always giving you statistics on break ins and-"

"He doesn't," I cut him off sharply. "If Spencer's telling me statistics then it's about stars in the sky and how to properly care for my plants so they stay alive longer or just- it's never about things you guys talk about here. It always about things that I'd like. He does it to protect me. He doesn't tell me about serial killers unless I ask, and I only ask when I can see that he had a really hard day at work. It's just me, Dave," I put my forehead to my knees, shoulder shaking as sobs take over my whole body. "I just don't know how to live without him. I don't know how to function without him holding my hand and him calling me to promise he's okay and-- I just can't. I can't do it."

"You did it before you met him," Dave stands from his desk and moves in front of me. He puts his cold hand on my shoulder and it sends a chill down my spine. "You lived a long life before you met him, and you're living now while he's temporarily gone. It's hard, I know, but it's only for a short time."

"I just want him to be okay. That's all I really care about."

///

SPENCER

///

My whole job is about helping people and I've spent my whole life caring for others, mostly my mother. In my professional life, I'm always keeping an eye on my teammates to make sure they aren't in danger. I consider it to be part of my responsibility to look after every single one of my teammates. They're my family and I rely on them to help me too.

I never thought my helpful nature would come back to hurt me. I never thought that trying to help out a friend would come back to hurt me so badly. All I wanted to do was help Delgado. That's it. Calvin is protecting me and the other men in here wouldn't dare to cross him. They know how miserable he could make their experience here and they'd rather beat up someone else than get on Calvin's bad side.

All I did was speak to a correctional officer at chow. That's literally all I did. Yes, I did rat out the gang to the officer for beating up Delgado, but they don't know that. They aren't going to be disciplined for it. I ask the guard for water first as a cover, but clearly, it wasn't enough.

And I've been through a lot in the field. I've been tackled, and punched, and shot, but getting beaten up in a prison is completely different. The guards couldn't care less about the inmates. No matter how much I screamed and pleaded for help, no one came. And even still, there was another inmate outside my cell keeping watch so my attackers could run and not get caught.

I’ve gotten beaten up a lot in my line of work and I can confidently say that this one, in a dirty prison cell, is the worst I’ve received. They held me down against my bed and used a rag to muffle me, but it covered my mouth and nose and it almost suffocated me. They beat me to a pulp, drawing blood on my forehead and almost cracking a rib or two.

It was an unrelenting beating and I eventually succumbed to the pain because I convinced myself that they were going to kill me. I snitched and death would be the consequence. I stopped fighting and just let them take their turns at swiping my face and my chest and my stomach because what could I do? Nothing. As Calvin loves to remind me, the rules are different in here. I don't have a badge and a gun to make the torture stop. I have to endure it or find my own ways to make it stop, and this is a moment to endure it. I'm rendered useless.

The beating only ended when the inmate outside whistled, probably a preplanned signal, because the two others immediately jumped off of me and ran out of my cell. As soon as the towel was pulled away from my face, I gasped in a breath and clutched my aching chest, wincing in pain.

Wilkins came strolling over, peering into my cell. I knew he knew exactly what had just happened by the smirk on his face, but he chose to do nothing. He chose to stroll over instead of running and he didn't yell at the other inmates. He just stared at me and smirked, shaking his head.

"That'll teach you to keep your mouth shut, Snitch."

And those are the words that echoed in my nightmare that night.

I'd rolled over and coughed up a generous amount of blood, grimacing at the taste in my mouth. My body trembled and shook when Wilkins left, even more than when he was silently mocking and watching me. Wilkins doesn’t care to do his job but at least with him standing at my cell door, I had the tiniest bit of protection. But with him gone, the other inmates could come back and finish the job. I shook and stayed rolled over on my side for twenty minutes, staring at the floor and waiting for my cell to close.

When it finally did close, I didn't even let myself sigh of relief. I just fell onto my back again with a groan. I could barely move. It hurt too bad. Everything always hurts nowadays. Things didn't hurt on the outside. Living didn't hurt before I got arrested.

Getting visitors the next morning is not what the ideal situation is. Rising from bed is more of a challenge than it normally is. My body is sore and aching and all I want to do is curl up in my obnoxiously uncomfortable bed, if this slab of metal and a blanket could be considered a bed, and go back to sleep. But I know I'll get in trouble if I don't get up for role call, so I ignore the pain.

I don't dare to look around at anyone on my block as the officer shouts our names, checking to see that we're all here. I just keep my head held high and my hands at my sides and try to show that I couldn't care less about the beating that is causing me so much unrelenting pain.

But then they call our names for a visitor’s session and, of course, my name gets called. I'm usually grateful to get to see anyone from my team, but now? Today? After last night? I'd prefer if they didn't come back until after these bruises were gone. But there's nothing I can do so I allow the guards to put cuffs on me and lead me to the visitor’s room.

As soon as Penelope sees me, she gasps and drops her jaw. She starts to rise to her feet, but I sharpen my glare at her and when she sees my expression, she stays in her seat. When I sit down at the little table and put my cuffed hands in view, like I'm required to, I watch her eyes fill with tears.

"You-" she whispers, "you're hurt. What happened?"

"It's not a big deal," I answer nonchalantly. "It could've been worse." She's not convinced, her jaw dropped as a few tears drip down her cheeks. I keep my jaw tight and as much as I want to comfort her and hug her and promise that as badly as this hurts and as horrible as I'm sure I look, I'll be fine. But there are a million eyes on me right now, including my assailants, and if I show any kind of weakness, a beating like last nights will surely be in store for me again.

Penelope not-so-subtly glances around at the other prisoners around us. "Reid," she leans towards me and tries to lower her voice, "I am going to march right down to the warden’s office and I'm going to-"

"No, you're not," I snap, and my sharp tone of voice makes her jump back, her eyes widening. But for some reason, the look on her face doesn't even make me regret the way I've spoken to her. The look on her face just bothers me more. Why doesn't she get it? Clearly, I have to spell it out for her. "It'll just make worse things. I've got it handled, Garcia."

"Are you sure?" She practically whimpers. "I could-"

"How's everyone else? How's the team? How's my mom?" I deflect from the obvious issue at hand and instead turn the focus to my loved ones. All but the one I wanna hear about.

Penelope starts to nod slowly and she moves her glasses to wipe her cheeks free of tears. "We really miss you. And in our free time, we're working really hard on your-"

"Shh," I try to hold my hands out but the handcuffs rattle, and my eyes dart over to a guard who is alerted by my movement. He gives me a pointed look as if telling me not to do anything stupid. I put my hands back down and look over at a stunned Penelope, leaning in closer. "Don't talk about my case, Garcia. People don’t do that in here. It’s not right and it’s not safe. Just don't talk about it."

She gulps harshly, another single tear dripping down her cheek. "Okay," she nods again, and it's obvious that she's confused. But I don't have the time or the energy to explain why I'm acting like this and I don't even have it in me to care. I didn't even want to be at this visitor’s meeting. I'm only here because I have to be. "Um," she taps her fingers against the table, "we just really miss you, Spencer. Your mom is doing really well with Cassie."

"Good, I'm glad everyone is okay," I nod and I sit back, glancing around for a clock. When is this thing over? I'd rather be in my cell than here. I never thought I'd think that.

Penelope raises her eyebrows and her eyes soften. "A-Amelia? Do you wanna hear about her?"

As soon as I hear her name, my heart starts beating faster. My mind flashes with all the most beautiful images of Amelia that I can recall. I can practically see her in front of me. I can almost feel her under my fingertips. I swear I can taste her chapstick on my lips as she kisses me. I rub my fingers together as if I can feel the fabric of her denim skirt. As if I could unbuckle her belt and take her right on my bed right now. I shake the thought from my head. Don't go there, Spencer. Nothing good ever comes of when your mind goes there.

But I can't get her out of my head. I can stop seeing her lying on my lap, peering up at me as she mulls over which record to put on. Etta James or Taylor Swift? That's always the question of the day, isn't it? It always seems to take her hours to decide on an answer, and she usually doesn't. She'll usually work up an appetite with her thoughts, and when she's gone to get a snack or a glass of wine, I decide for her. Always the same. Always Taylor Swift.

But her smile is always so beautiful when she comes back into the room. When the music finally flows through her ears, the smile that comes to her face is one that could end wars, cure cancer, solve world hunger. I didn't think I could ever understand how bubblegum pop music could make a person so happy. I didn’t think I could ever understand how bubblegum pop music could make Amelia want to drag me off the couch or out of bed and force me to dance with her, whether it be in the middle of the night or just as the sun is peeking through the always-open blinds of her apartment.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to bring myself back to reality. I try to forget about the girl that's waiting for me in the free world. I try to ignore that she's probably shed tear after tear and I haven't been there to wipe them away. My brain produces images of her gasping for air with her head between her knees and I ball my hands into fists.

I'm angry. I'm fucking furious. I want to be there to hold her and whisper in her ear and tell her that her panic attacks are short-lived, that I'm right there. I need to be there to hold her and kiss her and love her. I need her because I can't do this without her. I don't know what to do if I'm not spending my time protecting her. Everything I do is to protect her. I don't know how to function if I'm not holding her hand, or if I'm not pushing myself through every day just so I can call her at midnight to promise that I'm okay. I've become so reliant on Amelia, and maybe that's wrong, but I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore. I just want my life back. I want my life, I want my job, and I want my girlfriend.

I want my girlfriend. I want to move in with her like we planned to and I want to propose to her and I want to marry her. I want to have a whole house full of kids who are loud and messy and loving and adorable and a crusty dog who slobbers all over the couch and chews my shoes. It's not fair. None of this is fair. Amelia doesn't deserve this. She deserves someone better than me.

But I can still see her. I can still see her fucking smile, and I can still hear her goddamn laugh, and I can still feel the fabric of her dumb hair scarves. She's engulfing me in her. She's not even here and yet I feel like I could reach out and she would be in my arms, kissing my neck and telling me that I'm safe and that we can just sit on the balcony and talk. We don't have to go to bed if you don't want to, we can just talk.

What I would give to hear her voice again. I'd give everything I have, and right now, it's not much. I'd give everything plus the clothes on my back to just hear her tell me I'm safe, or to tell me about a new painting she's thinking about starting, or to ask me to tell her a random fact about a food item she is about to buy at the store.

The last thing I want right now is to hear about Amelia. I want it all, or I want nothing. I don't want to hear that Amelia misses me, or that she's crying and having panic attacks in the middle of the BAU, or that she's sleeping in my clothes (or worse, not sleeping at all), or that she's lashing out at everyone. No, if I'm not having her in front of me, kissing me, hugging me, I don't want to hear about her.

"No."

For what seems like the millionth time, Penelope's eyes widen. "No? You don't wanna hear about-"

"No, I don't," there's a pit in my stomach that I try to hold down. I try to not let it take control of me. "I don't wanna hear about how horrible she's doing, okay? So just tell her that I lo-"

I can feel a million eyes burning into every bone in my body and so I stop myself. My lips freeze mid-sentence and I release the steel grip my hands hold around my cuffs. Penelope's are just another pair of eyes that bore into my frame, and I usually love her concerned and mothering nature, but now, it irks me to no end.

"Whatever," it pains me to cut off the sentence I crave so intensely to say, but I can't let my guard down. I can't be vulnerable and I can't show weakness.

"Whatever," Penelope repeats, almost mockingly, her voice cracking. "So you-"

"Could you not say anything to, um," I gulp, "her about this?" I gesture to my face where I can feel the pulsing and throbbing bruises tormenting me. I drop my shoulders and start to fiddle with the way-too-tight handcuffs around my wrists, but then I decide that that's a horrible idea, and probably a good way to get harassed by the correctional officers. "I just don't want her to worry about this. I'm sure she's worried enough. I don't want to give her another reason to, you know, panic."

"Times up! Inmates, get back to your cells."

Without so much as another glance at Penelope, I stand and turn my back to her. I lift my chin as I'm pushed and shoved into the lineup and then pushed and shoved back to my lonely, isolated cell. I'd rather have it this way, behind bars where the other inmates can't get me.

I drop down to the floor, pressing my forehead against the rusty bars, staring out at the drab, bland, boring beige walls. The paint is peeling and the bars, honestly, look like they could be broken with a hard enough kick. And, of course, the colors of the walls do nothing to brighten up the dead environment. The colors aren't anything like those that adorn Amelia's body on the regular.

A frustrated groan escapes my lips as I bang my hand against the bars. Why did I have to think about her again? Why did I have to let her infiltrate my thoughts?

But the colors of her. The colors swirl around in my head but as hard as I try, I can't get her colors to fill this horrible cell I'm confined to. I try to imagine her denim skirts, knit sweaters, and pea coats strewn out on the bed as she chooses what to wear in the morning. I try to remember the feeling of accidentally stepping on one of Amelia's millions of piercings when they fall on the floor after she takes them out before bed. I try to see her laying down on my bed, her sketchbook in her lap, and her colored pencils beside her as she rambles on and on and on, talking more than me, about what she's drawing and how she's planning on achieving her vision.

But no matter how hard I try, I can't get her into the cell with me. She doesn't belong here. Her art doesn't belong on these chipped walls, and her clothes don't belong on this poor excuse for a bed, and her absurdly positive attitude doesn't deserve to be squashed in here.

I rub my eyes and try to forget. I try to forget all about her and I try to erase her from my mind completely. I push myself away from the bars and stand, but standing does the opposite of what I want to do. Standing gives me a perfect view of the tiny window across from my cell, but more specifically, the sky.

I stare up at the clouds, my hands gripping the bars as tight as I possibly can. My eyes well up with tears and my knees start to buckle under my weight, and as my tears start to drip, they sting the cuts that I didn't even realize I had on my face. It’s not like I have a mirror to examine my injuries. 

They are just blobs. There are no dragons, or hands, or tables, or staircases, or cars, or Christmas trees. They're just clouds. There's nothing fancy about them. I'll never be able to see it. I couldn't see shapes when I was with Amelia. What makes me think I would be able to see shapes without her?

I push myself away from the bars and throw myself onto the bed, covering my face with my hands. This is useless. I'm useless. There are echoes of chatter from men on my cell block and it makes my head hurt. If Amelia were here, she would cradle my head in her lap and brush her fingers through my hair, and she would trail her fingertips over my forehead and over the bridge of my nose, all while whispering sweet nothings to me. I groan with frustration, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face under my flat pillow.

"Hey, Reid," Calvin's voice joins the echoes from the cells around mine. "How's it going over there?"

 TAGLIST

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[d-criss-news]

Darren Criss is fully in his element on Quibi’s Royalties, and not just because the 10-episode comedy finds him playing a Hollywood songwriter surrounded by Glee alumni.

The experience of co-writing and producing a musical project for a fledgling streaming service took Criss back to his days at the University of Michigan, where his mantra became “chaos is the mother of invention.” As he tells TVLine, “During the process, we made no claims to it working. We just had to slap it all together, and I think it turned out pretty great. That’s the fun of your friends coming together for something that ultimately has a lot of heart, soul and a cheeky earnestness about it.”

Criss also says he wanted to use Royalties as an opportunity to increase the Hollywood presence of his classmates-turned-collaborators, Nick and Matt Lang. “We started StarKid, which is our theater production company, about 10 years ago, and they’ve been in the trenches of that forever,” he explains. “Being the Mr. Hollywood of the group, I’ve been dying to get people in the film and television industries to get their eyes on them.”

For this reason, the trio took a “dexterous” approach to shopping the idea around. “If someone had said they wanted this to be a three-hour movie, we could have created it as such,” Criss says. “What’s nice about [Quibi’s shorter format] is that it’s a great exercise in maximizing the space you have. And it lends itself really well to comedy. Good storytelling is hopefully malleable, so I really enjoyed this process. It wasn’t how we set out to do it, but it was a great challenge.”

Below, Criss elaborates on the process of bringing Royalties to the small(er) screen, from casting it on his phone to editing it on the set of Netflix’s Hollywood:

TVLINE | Let’s start with the important stuff: There are a lot of hot dogs on this show. How many did you actually have to eat? [Laughs] Not many, because I’m not much of a hot dog guy. I��m not much of a processed meat guy. (Hashtag super California granola hippie loser.) While I do love a good hot dog every now and then, I don’t think anyone likes them in continuous succession, so I tried to minimize them as much as possible. That was the least of our challenges.

TVLINE | OK, what were some of the actual hurdles you had overcome? Like a lot of things I’ve done, it was very fast and furious. The actual adage is that necessity is the mother of invention, but for a lot of those early StarKid shows, I amended that to say that chaos is the mother of invention. For a lot of the shows I worked on in college, I would write the songs just a few days before they were on stage. I also didn’t really know my lines and everything was thrown together, while the Langs had been working on the book for months. Similarly here, they’d been working on these scripts for months. But by the time pre-production rolled around, we had to write and record 10 songs in 10 days, then do pre-production for not only basically a 90-minute movie but also 10 separate music videos. [Director] Amy Heckerling flew in and also had very little time to prep. And we had to get it all done before I shot Hollywood for Netflix. So we had way more to do than was frankly possible.

On top of that, we didn’t really know how to deliver to Quibi. What are they looking for? What aspect ratios should we be shooting in? What type of coverage do we need to get? It was the Wild West in many respects. And that was something that could have been a huge problem, not having any precedent, but I’m someone who sort of relishes that. When you’re in the Wild West, there are no rules, which to me is a great thing.

TVLINE | When you go back and watch the episodes, do you find yourself watching horizontally or vertically? I find myself going back and forth. When we were editing it, I would try to watch it on my phone as much as possible. The post-production process was the longest part of this entire thing. I would shoot a scene of Hollywood, then have to run over to the editing room. Sometimes the editing room would be in a sprinter van outside my trailer. It was tough because you’re editing in a conventional way with a nice screen and nice speakers, but the mix and the final print of this will be on your phone, which can be hard to imagine. For the songs, I wish people could watch with a big speaker system. I hope people are listening with their headphones.

TVLINE | Of those 10 songs you co-wrote, do you find that any one gets stuck in your head more than the others? Well, they’re all stuck in my head, but not for the reason they should be. They’re in there because I had to listen to them over and over again, so I’m fond of a lot of the songs, but I’ve kind of lost objectivity. The songs have also had so many different lives. It sounds one way when you write it, another when you produce it, then another when you have the artist sing it. And then there’s how the song feels when it’s in a music video. There were lines in songs I thought were funny, but when I saw my friends [and Glee co-stars] Chord Overstreet and Kevin McHale singing them at a Griffith Park overlook of Los Angeles, with Chord in a ridiculous Scott Stapp/Jared Leto circa 2003 wig, I start loving it in a new way. They’ve all found ways to enchant me as they move forward.

TVLINE | That’s another thing I enjoyed about this, all the Glee reunions. And not just Chord and Kevin. Even people like John Stamos and Jennifer Coolidge. You know what’s funny? I forgot that John Stamos and Jennifer Coolidge were on Glee! I became friends with them separately. Yes, they were on the show, but these are also people that were at my wedding. I forget we have a Glee connection. I wish I was that clever in the outset, like, how many people from Glee can I get together? … We actually started shooting before I had a huge percentage of people cast. This is in conjunction with a casting director, but I had to cast about 70-80 percent of this thing on my phone. It was me calling people and saying, “I have this really goofy thing. We’re homies, can you do me a solid?” So I owe a great debt of gratitude to the people who were game enough to show up to this wacky thing that I’m sure sounded absurd over my pitch on the phone, much less for a platform that they hadn’t heard of yet. The first season of anything is tough, because you have to establish so much.

TVLINE | Well, without giving too much away, the finale does leave things open for a second season. How much thought have you given that? Anytime you write anything, you always think bigger than what’s there. The game, so to speak, of having two songwriters that have to write songs for crazy situations and artists is an endless playground of funny scenarios. We came up with so many ideas for stories, at least five or 10, and then ended up saying, “This is a Season 2 or Season 3 concept. It’s too much out of the gate.” We really had to economize what we threw at our audience, so hopefully we can earn enough interest and trust in these characters and in their hijinks that we can expand the world a little bit in a second season.

TVLINE | On top of that, I feel like it’s a show that could lend itself to social distancing better than some others. A lot of people have been considering that. What is the socially distanced version of our show? With enough creativity, you could definitely do that. I’ve done songwriting sessions from home — FaceTime, Zoom sessions and all that. There is a world where that exists, so who knows? If that happens, you can say you wrote it here first.

All 10 episodes of Royalties‘ first season are available to stream on Quibi. To watch individual music videos on Criss’ YouTube channel, click here.

[writersplanetarium]

Facade: A Call for Revenge

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Rowan pounded his hand hard on Aelin's door anger fueling him. He knew it was her. It couldn't be anyone else. She was grinning as she opened the door, already dressed for bed in a skimpy nightgown.

"Did you need something?"

"Besides your head on a spike?" He asked.

"I'm glad your wicked skin condition has cleared up," Aelin said, leaning against the doorway, "It looked bad."

"I went to the hospital," Rowan growled, "I thought there was an actual problem. I found the foundation. I know you switched it out. People think I'm dying."

"I know! You're trending on Twitter," Aelin said, making Rowan want to knock that smug smile right off her face.

"It's one thing to screw with me between us, it's another to do it on live fucking camera. I mean peel off foundation? Are you kidding me?"

"You scratched my car to all hell!"

"After you rammed into mine!"

"Mine was an accident!"

"We had a deal to keep our shit out of the public," Rowan snapped.

"We can write it off as a prank between friends, right buddy?"

"Watch your back," Rowan threatened, storming off.

"Kiss my ass!" She shouted after him. Rowan stomped his way back to his house, slamming the door behind him. He ran a hand through his long locks, huffing as he tried to calm down. Just then his phone buzzed, alerting him he was getting a call. He pulled his phone out, seeing Fenrys' contact.

"What?" Rowan asked brashly.

"I saw your little incident on Twitter," he said, completely ignoring Rowan’s tone, "Figured you could use a big out to forget about your condition."

"I'm not fucking sick and you know it," Rowan growled.

"I know, I know. Still. Let's have a boys' night. You could find a pretty girl to take your mind off things." Of course that was his first solution.

"I don't need a pretty girl, I need hard liquor. I'll meet you at the bar in twenty." Rowan knew refusing would just mean the party being brought to him.

"Sweet! The gang's gonna meet us there. If you're late I'm hunting you down." Rowan hung up and went to his bedroom to switch out his clothes to attempt to get the hospital smell off of him. 

After changing he hopped in his car and headed down to the bar. He parked and headed inside to see the Cadre, as Aelin called them, already gathered at the bar, along with Aedion.

“Better watch out, we don’t want to catch what he’s got,” Lorcan said as soon as he saw Rowan, a smirk on his lips. Rowan flipped him the bird and ordered shots from the bartender, taking down all four in succession.

“Aelin managed to pull one over on you again?” Gavriel chuckled, taking a sip from his own drink. He was older than the others, but still fit in just as well.

“We were even,” Rowan said, “But now she’s gotta go and pull this shit.”

“You knew she’d have to retaliate. Aelin doesn’t know the meaning of the high road,” Aedion said.

“Like you have room to talk. You and her once fought for a month straight because you both refused to admit you were wrong,” Gavriel said before he turned to Lorcan, “The funny part was that Elide was actually the one who borrowed Aelin’s hairbrush to start the argument in the first place.”

“I’m not even a little surprised,” Lorcan chuckled, taking a drink from his beer.

“Is that what happens to you to make your hair look like such shit?” Fenrys quipped. Lorcan cast him a smug look.

“That’s not from the hairbrush, that’s from her hands.” Rowan rolled his eyes, ordering one more shot. Vaughn cheered.

“Rowan is getting hammered tonight!”

“It’s the only way to deal with having a loudspeaker for a neighbor,” Rowan said.

“If it’s any consolation, it’s a school night, so Aelin will be keeping it down at least until Evangeline’s up.”

“I need to get back at her,” Rowan said as the buzz started to set in, “I have to. It’s non-negotiable.”

“You two always have to get back at each other. Maybe the best thing for you to do is nothing at all,” Connall said.

“Yeah right. I think I’m going to egg her house,” Rowan said.

“Seriously? Egg her house? What are you? Twelve?” Lorcan asked.

“No no no no no,” Vaughn said, “You have to wait. Part of your guys’ problem is that you’re too quick to react. You don’t let the knowledge that the revenge is coming do half the work for you. Wait and think of something good.”

“I’ve already got something in mind,” Rowan said, “Slightly illegal, but something.”

“Slightly?” Gavriel laughed.

“Well, technically it’d involve breaking and entering,” Rowan said, “But I might actually be able to get her to let me in if I play my cards right.”

“How come even on boys’ night, all we end up talking about are the girls?” Connall asked.

“Because women are life’s greatest pleasure, my brother,” Fenrys said, patting him on the back, “Speaking of, I see one that would make rather nice company right over there.” Rowan followed Fenrys’ gaze and saw a woman with light brown skin and shoulder length dark hair. She was moderately tall and gave off a strong, silent air. But Rowan recognized her.

“That’s Nesryn,” he informed Fenrys, “And she’s got a boyfriend.” As if on cue, Sartaq stepped up to her side, placing an arm around her waist, whispering something into her ear that made her nod and follow him to the dartboard.

“How do you know her?” Aedion asked.

“I’ve seen her go over to Aelin’s when she has her parties,” Rowan huffed, “She’s also on the same show as Dorian and Chaol. I’ve seen a few episodes. It’s pretty good.”

“Not as good as ours though,” Fenrys said, raising his glass, “To the new season.” They all raised their drinks to that.

“Are you ready for it to air?” Gavriel asked Rowan, “You know the interviews are going to really start to pile up once the season finishes on air. And all anyone’s going to want to talk about is you and Aelin.”

“We keep our shit out of the news. Or at least we’re supposed to, but now she had to go and pull that stunt this morning…”

“That can totally be written off as a prank between friends,” Vaughn said.

“It still pisses me off,” Rowan said, “But I’ve got my ideas. This isn’t over.”

“What are you planning on doing with the truck?” Lorcan asked. After buying the old, beat-up truck off of Emrys, Rowan had used it to scratch up Aelin’s car and then just left it in his garage.

“I don’t know. I might try and fix it, just to have something to do. But I don’t know shit about cars,” Rowan said.

“Good thing it’s a truck then,” Fenrys joked.

“I’ll figure something out,” Rowan replied. He could always just scrap it, but looking at it brought back the fond memory of getting to scratch up Aelin’s car, so he wasn’t inclined to. And he had been planning on trying to learn how to fix up vehicles for a while in case of an emergency. 

He hung out at the bar relatively late into the night before catching a cab home. The long, silent ride home gave his drunken mind time to think. He needed to get her back. And then his drunk brain had an idea. An awful, cruel idea that made him grin.

He pulled out his phone, setting up his plan. If she was going to disturb his life, he was going to disturb hers.

He went into his contacts, carefully working out his plan. He sent a text conversation to himself, deleting the doubled question to make it look like a conversation. Then he edited Aelin’s name and number into the top, to make it look like a friendly conversation between them.

You must think you’re so funny, huh?

Who? Me? What ever did I do?

I know you switched out the foundation, Aelin.

You have to admit I got you pretty good.

I can’t deny that, but the least you could do is tell everyone I’m not dying.

Yeah, yeah, you’re not dying or sick or whatever. Just PRANKED.

Rowan nodded in satisfaction at the conversation and screenshotted it, going to Twitter.

Confirmation that I am, indeed, not dying. Nice to have friends that keep you on your toes.

He smirked to himself as he posted it, her phone number visible at the top for his millions of followers to see

Tagged:

@captain-timetraveldreamer @tangledraysofsunshine @dayanna-hatter @faerie-queen-fireheart @rowaelinforeverworld @alifletcher2012 @shyvioletcat @runawayrowan

LMK if you want to be tagged!

[cherry-valentine]

Fall 2019 Anime Season

Here’s what I’m watching:

Stand: My Heroes is an otome series that’s pretty and refreshing in that it stars an adult lady protagonist who has a career - she works as a “scout” for a new program that works to gather talented individuals (all handsome single men, of course) from various fields to solve drug-related cases. The art is nice and the music is above average, with really cool opening and ending themes. My biggest issue with the show is that it has way too many characters, many of whom look very similar. Honestly, for the first few episodes I could only tell some of them apart by their voice actors. Luckily the show has some very well known voice talent. It gets a bit easier as the show becomes a little more episodic, dealing with small groups of the men at a time. But still. If all of these guys were in the game, it must have been hell trying to get all the endings! The overall plot is a little vague but I do like that the heroine is independent and respected by the men on her team. There are a couple of the usual tsundere guys but they mellow out pretty quickly. The show is interesting and attractive to look at, but it would have benefited a lot from narrowing its focus and cutting down on the number of hot guys (now that’s something I never thought I’d type).

Ahiru no Sora is a new sports anime about basketball. It actually follows a similar plot setup to Hinomaru Sumo - a talented player starts at a new school and goes to join the club of his favored sport, only to find it overrun by violent delinquents whom he’ll have to defeat (via his sports skills) in order to officially join the club and start a team. The protagonists even share the same problem of being considered way too short to participate in the sport they love and also the fact that their ill mothers gave them encouragement. The biggest difference, however, is that Hinomaru was already a very accomplished and even somewhat famous sumo wrestler when the series begins, whereas Sora is talented but has never even played in a real basketball game, making him very much an underdog. He’s a likable character, as are the delinquents that gradually come around to playing basketball with him and cleaning up their acts. I was a little annoyed by the fact that there is a peephole the guys use to watch the girls changing into their uniforms. Not by the fact that it existed, because it’s actually kinda realistic that delinquent teenage boys would do something like that, but by the fact that Sora is shown this peephole in the first episode and is never seen doing anything to close it up despite becoming friends with one of the girls and him being presented as a moral, upstanding guy. I hope they address it in the future because it kinda bugs me. On the plus side, the main female character (there’s always one in any sports anime) is a very talented player on the girls’ basketball team, rather than the team manager or whatever. I like that she’s a player of the sport rather than just a fan or support character. Also, the fact that Sora’s main source of inspiration is his mom, who was a famous basketball player herself in her youth, is pretty cool. Overall, the show is enjoyable even if it feels a little overly familiar.

Hoshiai no Sora is a revelation. It feels like a very important moment for anime that will no doubt be talked about for years into the future. Be warned that I venture into possible spoilers territory here, though I don’t share any plot details. I started the series because I saw boys holding tennis rackets in the artwork, fully expecting “just another sports anime” (which is fine, because I love sports anime). What I got was a very big, very nice surprise. Hoshiai no Sora is a sports anime, in that it follows a sports team and spends some time showing training routines and matches with rival schools. But it’s also a realistic, nuanced, heartwarming, and often painfully traumatic coming of age story about the boys on the tennis team, most of whom have compelling back stories or home lives.  Almost every parent in the show is an absolute nightmare, to the point that when a non-terrible parent shows up, every commenter on the episode was immediately suspicious of them. It should be clear by now that there are some massive trigger warnings to apply to this show. There are rather graphic depictions of child abuse, from physical to verbal to emotional, and all of it is horrifying (and kudos to the show for recognizing that there are so many different forms of abuse and all of them are traumatic). Thankfully, the show is not all doom and gloom. In fact, the show is one of the sweetest, most uplifting, most touching series I’ve seen in years, mostly due to the fact that these traumatized kids are all so supportive of each other. They’re kind to each other, even if they bicker here and there about silly stuff. They defend each other from bullies. One character in particular goes to some rather extreme lengths to look out for his friend. It’s also very important to note that the show tackles issues I’ve legitimately never seen addressed in anime, at least not in such a respectful and tasteful way. One character in particular is first presented as gay (and it seems all the other characters are aware that this person is gay, and the tennis team will NOT be having your homophobic bullshit, thank you very much) but then is revealed to be non-binary/questioning their gender, and the show seriously spends almost an entire episode talking about this, about gender identity, with one character relating the story of the transgender man who practically raised him. An anime series actually, seriously, discussed these issues. As a straight, cisgender person, I can’t speak for how accurate all of this was, but judging by the reaction to the episode by folks in the LGBTQ+ community, I’m willing to assume the show did a great job. I’m also willing to bet that somewhere in Japan, there are young people watching this that desperately need to see it, that desperately need to hear the positive messages presented (protagonist Maki kindly gives encouragement and support to his non-binary friend, and at times it feels like he’s speaking to the audience). I know some of this stuff would be considered spoilers, but honestly, I feel like more people would give this anime a shot if they knew it featured all this awesomeness. The art is lovely. The music is great. This is a series that needs to be watched by as many people as possible. Don’t sleep on this one, please.

Boku no Hero Academia Season 4 is more of the same. I’ve already talked several times now about my issues with the series (how female characters are handled in general pretty much sums most of it up) and I’ve already talked about how much I enjoy the show despite those issues. This season introduces an interesting and imposing new villain in Chiaki, who has a cool design and power. I’m also pleased that the show seems to be making an attempt to actually let the female characters DO STUFF, as well as introducing some cool new lady heroes who actually have interesting powers. So... yeah. A good show got better. Special mention goes to new character Sir Nighteye, who is a perfect example of how voice casting can really make or break a character. I would have found him pretty boring if he wasn’t voiced by the supremely talented Shinichirou Miki, who brings all his various characters to life in such a vivid way, I’ve never come across one I didn’t like.

Special 7 falls into the “urban fantasy” genre, the kind we see a lot of in anime lately, with supernatural elements mixed in with modern life. In this case, we have races like elves and vampires living peacefully alongside humans in the modern world. The story follows a certain police unit made up of various fantasy races and humans formed to deal with a terrorist group called Nine who aim to bring back dragons (something about dragons used to rule the world or maybe terrorized the world, I don’t remember). There’s a nice mix of characters in the core team, many of whom will feel familiar. They’re still fun though, and their chemistry as a team and as friends is one of the main reasons to watch. I’m particularly fond of the vampire lady named Shikisai who uses a samurai sword and is, from what I can tell, the most physically badass member of the team. She also appears to have an adorably sweet home life with her husband (or boyfriend?) and is just generally a cool chick. The animation is okay and the music is above average. The plot has several mysteries that are slowly being revealed, but has enough humor to keep from getting too serious. Fairly low on my watch list, but still has a solid spot.

Psycho-Pass Season 3 is a show I was looking forward to. I still think season one was one of the best anime seasons in the past ten years. Season two was good but couldn’t really contend with season one. The movie was great. The OVA’s were great. I was pretty hyped for season three, and so far... eh. It’s okay. Honestly if it were a new show I’d probably rate it much higher, but as a continuation of a story like this, I’m finding it a bit lacking. At times it actually does feel like a new show. There are two entirely new protagonists, who are both interesting and likable, but neither immediately gripped me the way Akane and Kogami did in previous seasons. Some elements of the show seem to contradict, or at least stretch, the world-building that had already been established. New protagonist Arata has an ability that verges on supernatural (in a show that has never had supernatural elements at all). They try to explain it away as something “anyone can do” with enough practice, but that sounds ridiculous when you see his ability in use. We also see “abandoned” areas where there are apparently criminal groups just... living there. Doing whatever. I guess they’re supposed to be like Yakuza, which makes zero sense in this series. If you can escape the oppression of the Sibyl System by just walking across town to an abandoned area, why did a character in season one have to flee the country? It just seems to fly in the face of all the setup that came before. Overall, this season has a general feel that doesn’t gel well with the rest of the series. That being said, taken on its own, it’s still entertaining, with high production values that afford it smooth animation and excellent music. The stories so far have been fairly engaging, but they give off a vibe of “really well done fanfiction”. But whatever, I’d watch paint dry to get an occasional glimpse of Kogami.

Carry Over Shows From Previous Seasons: Black Clover Diamond no Ace Dr. Stone

Best of Season: Best New Show: Hoshiai no Sora Best Opening Theme: Black Clover Best Ending Theme: Diamond no Ace Best New Male Character: Toma (Hoshiai no Sora) Best New Female Character: Shikisai (Special 7)