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cosmiclove-heavenstruck · 3 years

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Dance Lessons | Harry James Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Wordcount: 12200 words (Yes, really. Do you ever just start to write a little oneshot and then it turns out as a fic with over 10000 words?)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of underage drinking, sexual tension but no smut, fluff, slight angst, slow burn i guess

Summary: Harry asks you to teach him how to dance for the upcoming Spring Ball.

a/n: Set in Harry’s sixth year. English is not my native language, so there might be spelling/grammar mistakes. (The beginning is inspired by this oneshot)

Not many could say that they had faced Voldemort more than once and had survived, but Harry Potter was one of the few lucky ones that had gotten away every time. And if that wasn’t enough, Harry had defeated horrifying creatures, had broken into the Ministry and had saved the wizarding world several times – more or less accidentally, but hey. He had dealt with Umbridge and fought Death Eaters.

To the world, he was a hero, he was the Boy Who Lived.

So yes, his record of fighting the evil was quite impressive for a sixteen-year-old. But there was one thing he knew he would never impress anyone with and that were his dance skills.

Because Harry Potter couldn’t dance for shit.

Everyone who had watched his poor attempt at a waltz at the Yule Ball knew it had been an embarrassing disaster, and a blessing when he had stopped – merely for Parvati Patil’s feet.

Everyone who had watched knew that Harry Potter had never before set foot on a dancefloor. And you had watched. You had watched with great interest because secretly, you had wished for him to ask you to the ball. But when there had been only two weeks left and Dean Thomas had asked you after Transfiguration class, you had said yes.

There you were, sitting with Dean beside Seamus and Lavender as well as Ron and his date Padma, your eyes glued to the raven-haired boy getting terribly out of step. You watched, of course, under the pretence that you found it disgracefully hilarious.

Harry had never thought about asking you to the Yule Ball, if he was quite honest with himself. He had been after Cho, and he waited way too long to ask her, so she was already going with Cedric. And you had a date with Dean.

As good as Harry was with fighting the dark and the evil, as bad was he with social interactions. He had no problem producing a Patronus, but he was absolutely useless when it came to talking to girls.

You were the opposite.

Yes, the boggart may had made you faint in front of your whole class, but on the other hand, talking seemed like the easiest task in the world. Whether it was a chat with a teacher or speaking to strangers, though you did not thrive off of that.

There was one other thing that made you stand out to the other girls (and boys) in your year: You knew how to dance, from a simple disco fox to a more complicated waltz.

So, when Professor Slughorn announced a Spring ball for the students in sixth and seventh year, Harry knew you were his only chance if he did not want to make a fool out of himself again. He asked you (after a whole week of practicing in front of the mirror), with heated cheeks and a fast-beating heart, if you could teach him how to dance.

You felt a bit taken by surprise by this request, but agreed, nonetheless.

Friday evenings, eight to nine o’clock, were now reserved for your weekly dance lessons.

Looking at Harry’s history, it should be no big deal to dance with a girl when you had already come across the most dangerous things existing in the wizarding world. He should not be nervous; what was the girl teaching you how to dance against gigantic spiders who saw you as their dessert?

Well, everything.

The thing was, Harry could prepare spells and charms, he knew what he had to do when he was faced with a Dementor or a Boggart. His mind, however, went completely blank when it came to you, like his nerves were on fire. To say he was nervous was an underestimation.

Harry ran his hand through the mess of black locks in a rather useless attempt to flatten them. They jumped back up immediately as he let go, pointing in every direction but the one he wanted them to. Stupid genes.

Sometimes he wished he had inherited his mother’s hair. It would have been fun to be mistaken as a Weasley and he could pretend he and Ron were actually brothers.

To keep his hands busy, Harry smoothened the plaid shirt he had thrown on before darting another glance at the clock over the door of the abandoned classroom on the fifth floor. 8:01 o’clock.

His fingers drummed against the wooden desk he was leaning on to release his excited tension, which only worked until the door opened, and he jumped up into a straight position.

You stepped inside, a vinyl clammed under your arm and an apologizing smile on your lips.

“Sorry I’m late, Snape held me off,” You said, placing your bag on the table Harry had leaned on previously.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. Uh, are you alright?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah. I mean Snape just almost failed my assignment, but I found a new song to dance to, and I’m pretty sure you’ll like it,” You said as you rushed over to the old vinyl player in the corner and unwrapped the black record.

Harry followed your every movement. You could feel his eyes on you and bit down on your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

“It’s a bit slower than the other one, so it will be easier for you to follow,” You added and pulled the vinyl out, stroking a streak of Y/H/C hair behind your ear, your back still facing him.

When the record was placed correctly into the player, you turned back around and led Harry by the hand to the middle of the classroom. This simple touch alone made Harry’s head spin, and it did not help when you placed his hand onto your waist.

“Are you ready?” You asked and he nodded. “Good, follow my lead.”

There was nothing but admirable beauty, the way you moved to the soft piano music filling the room, Harry thought, and he hated himself for not realising sooner. You were like a sunset, and he was afraid to look right at you because what if you saw all the feelings swelling in his heart that dared to overspill at any moment.

You had been right, he adored the music you had brought with you, but he adored you even more.

You thought he looked at his feet because he was afraid to mess up the steps.

“Hey,” You said softly, taking the hand from his shoulder to lift his chin. “Eyes up.”

“Yes. Right. Sorry.”

A sheepish smile spread over his face and your heart beat hectically against your rip cage as his emerald green eyes met yours.

It took Harry a great deal of strength to not break out of the dance routine he had so intensely studied and kiss you. But your hand slipped away from under his chin back to his shoulder and the moment was lost, like so many others.

Staying professional was not so simple for you either, as much as you liked to deny it. You liked Harry, more than friends should like each other, but who could blame you? Harry was very handsome, with his messy hair and those green eyes, he was sweet and caring, and he was dancing with you in an abandoned classroom, his hand on your waist.

Looking at it from this angle, there seemed to be no reason as to why you were so careful to deny your feelings.

Well, there was one problem: You thought he wanted to ask Cho to the ball to make up for the Yule Ball.

Harry was pretty oblivious when it came to love. Neither had he thought about you as more than friends before sixth year, nor had he realised that the feelings he had felt for Cho two years ago were similar to the ones he had for you now, though they were much more intense.

The worst part was that you two had been friends for three year and since then, you had spent a week of every summer holiday at the Burrow. Harry knew you; he knew that you liked his crappy jokes and his sarcastic comments, but never before had his stomach tingled when you laughed at them. Never before had there been goose bumps all over his skin when you hugged him. And to hell, never before had he acknowledged how goddamn beautiful you were.

“You’re getting really good.” You ripped him out of his thoughts.

“Oh. Really?” He asked.

It would be brilliant if he could dance without thinking about it all the time, fearing he could step on your feet.

“Yes, really,” You replied, grinning.

“Well, I- I suppose I have a good teacher.”

The piano music faded out and you stopped in the middle of the room, slipping your hand out of his. It was a good excuse to turn around and start the vinyl again, so you did not have to answer anything.

Harry stood there for a second, gulping and scratching his neck. He should not have said that.

What he had said flattered you, but it was only a knife dressed like compliment, stroking over your heart to stab you right after. All of this was amicable, temporary, fickle. All of this was for Cho.

You sat the needle back on the record.

“What’s it called? The song, I mean,” Harry asked quietly.

“‘Il Reste du Temps’. The rest of time.” You walked back up to him and took his hand, leading you two into the dance. With his hand on your lower back, he pulled you a bit closer than last time.

“So, there are only two weeks left. You have asked Cho by now, I suppose?” You asked to remind your thoughts of reality.

Harry narrowed his eyebrows, not sure how you had come to the conclusion he still liked Cho. She was great, for sure, but she wasn’t you.

“Oh. Uh, not really, no,” He answered. Your heart jumped.

“Well, you should hurry up. You don’t wanna wait until last minute like last time.”

“I- yeah, I mean, I don’t- I don’t want to go with Cho.”

You stepped forward even though you were supposed to draw back and stomp on his left foot. His hand around yours clenched for a second at the sudden pain.

“Shit. Sorry.” You quickly brought you two back into the right footstep order. “You’re not asking Cho?”

“No. I wanna- No.” Harry stopped himself from talking any further. He couldn’t ask you. He just couldn’t.

“Well, who do you wanna ask?” You said.

Maybe it was Ginny. She was gorgeous, phenomenal at Quidditch and in the Slugclub. Nothing you could say about yourself.

Harry opened his mouth and stammered. “It’s, uh, you know…some…girl.”

Oh yes, great save, Harry, congratulations, He thought to himself, couldn’t be any vaguer, could you? For Merlin’s sake, look at her, she is completely confused.

You were pretty even when you were confused, with your eyebrows drawn together over your eyes curiously inspecting him – Stop.

“Ah, okay. The lucky girl’s a secret,” You said, laughing lightly. It was definitely Ginny.

“No, I mean, she’s –”

“It’s not my concern who you’ll ask, Harry,” You interrupted to calm him down. “As long as you ask her.”

Harry didn’t know what to reply to that. You really saw them just as friends.

The two of you danced for a while and Harry tried to memorise every golden speck in your dark eyes, every freckle, every curve, just so he could imagine you instead of the person he would dance with in a fortnight. If he would even go. Because what point was there to go to a ball if the one person he wanted to dance with more than anything else would not be there with him?

You tried to enjoy the closeness while it lasted. But the voices crowding your mind all shouted that he would never see you the way you saw him. That his face would never be so close ever again. That his hands would never rest on your body the way they did now, and never with any other intention than for the sake of learning how to dance, learning how to impress Ginny or whoever he would ask.

“Have you – have you asked anyone yet? To go to the ball with you?” Harry disrupted your thoughts and pulled you back into reality.

“No. I don’t even know if I’ll go,” You said and Harry’s heart dropped. “I mean, I’ll come to watch you dance, that’s for sure.”

Now his heart was way up in his throat, beating like hell. He swallowed and forced himself to answer. “No pressure then.”

You grinned at his comment. “Oh please, you can dance better than most of sixth and seventh year combined by now. You remember the spin I showed you last time?”

Harry nodded. He lifted his left arm and put a little pressure on your waist. You performed a small twirl before he caught you again, hand on your side. He smiled proudly.

“Really good.” The music stopped and you looked at the clock on the wall behind Harry. 8:57 o’clock. “I guess that’s it for today.”

Harry smiled sadly but you thought it was just your mind, playing you a trick. You packed the record back into the cover while Harry shouldered his back bag, handing yours to you. Then he held the door open for you, and you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.

Harry had already pulled out the Marauders Map to check if the way back to the Gryffindor tower was clear. You weren’t technically allowed out after nine p.m. because of the new safety measurements, but it was part of the charm.

“Filch’s down on the first floor and Snape’s in his office,” Harry informed you.

“Okay.” You nodded.

Quietly and side by side, you two walked back to the Gryffindor tower. There was plenty of silence to break, plenty of time to ask you to the ball, Harry thought. But he was too afraid.

–

“It’s not that easy, alright?”

“Bloody hell, you spent every Friday evening with her! Half of our year thinks you’re secretly doing it in that classroom.”

For that, Ron earned a jab into his ribs. The two made their way through the masses of students down the last staircase to the Great Hall.

“Ow! It’s not my fault, you can’t open your mouth.”

“Oh, I can’t open my mouth? Have you asked Hermione yet?”

Harry was sure this would shut Ron up, but he was wrong.

“I asked her six weeks ago and she said yes, mate.”

Harry stopped in his tracks, stunned. “Wot?”

“Merlin, do you ever listen to me?”

Ron shook his head, walking to breakfast. Harry needed a few seconds before he could move again, then he caught up with his best friend. He was about to say something back when Ron’s sister Ginny interrupted them, wrapping her arms around both of Harry and Ron’s shoulders.

“Morning boys,” She greeted them enthusiastically.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was covered in a pale blue and yellow, the upcoming sun shining golden through the high windows.

“So.” Hermione poured both of you a glass of pumpkin juice. “How was it yesterday?”

“Mhm?” You looked up from your toast.

She sighed as if her question was rather obvious. “The dance lesson with Harry?”

“Oh.” You shrugged. “Normal.”

“So, nothing happened? Nothing you want to tell me?” She asked further.

You eyed her suspiciously, but she kept an innocent face expression.

“It’s not like we could do much besides dancing.”

Lavender beside you snickered and Parvati snorted into her coffee.

“Believe me, there is a lot you could do in that hour besides dancing,” Parvati said.

“God, no! Have you met Harry?” Lavender said bemusedly. “Like he's the type to have secret sex.”

“Still waters run deep,” Parvati replied, a smug grin on her lips. “Don't they, Y/N?”

Hermione crunched her nose at the suggestive tone as you narrowed your eyes at the two girls, shaking your head.

“Yes, keep making fun of my non-existing love life.”

You grabbed the strawberry marmalade, determined to ignore any topic concerning Harry. While you had lain awake last night, you had decided to bury your feelings for him all together and get over it. This would be easier once your dance lessons came to an end and the ball was done.

“Well, it does exist for everyone else,” Lavender interposed.

“And it would exist for you, too, if you would finally do something,” Hermione said, leaning forward.

“What?” You asked. “I mean, yeah, I like him, but he is definitely not into me like that. And I can't force him to be.”

Hermione groaned, and Parvati rummaged through her bag, pulling out a piece of parchment and making some space on the table.

“Okay, let’s see,” She began, “He asked you to teach him to dance. Big step for him, you know that. He always stares at you during Quidditch instead of the Snitch. Wood would've killed him by now. He always sits beside you. He definitely smelled you in Amortentia, regarding how he looked at you during that class. And since then, he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. He –”

“He does not,” You said, grabbing her wrist to stop her from writing any further.

“Yeah, he does,” Lavender argued. “Look!”

You turned to spot Harry alongside Ron and his sister Ginny coming through the doorway, and for one second, your eyes met. Then Ginny said something, and Harry looked at her, laughing.

You sighed and stuffed the rest of your toast down your throat to get rid of the sour feeling twirling and burning in your stomach.

“Well, Ginny’s pretty funny,” Hermione tried.

“Yeah, she’s funny and pretty and she likes everything he likes.”

“None of that matters because he fell in love with you and not Ginny,” Lavender said, smiling brightly.

“He did not – not what you said.”

“He did! The list doesn’t lie.”

Parvati waved the parchment through the air, and you snatched it out of her hand, drowning it in the pumpkin juice before anyone could read it. Hermione curled her lip as she watched the paper soaking up the orange liquid, sinking to the ground of the jug.

In the same moment, Harry, Ron and Ginny reached your table, and to your surprise, Harry really did sit down beside you, your knees touching shortly while he climbed over the bench. The sudden touch sent sparks through your body and filled you with a comfortable warm which was quickly extinguished by Ginny sitting down next to Harry.

You didn’t want to be jealous.

There was no need to compare yourself to Ginny, you were two completely different people. But hearing her talk about Quidditch to the guys and seeing her flicking her beautiful hair over her slim shoulder made it so obvious how perfect for Harry she was. You couldn’t compete with that, in fact, you didn’t even want to compete with that.

No, you would get over your feelings and maybe ask someone else to spend the next Hogsmeade weekend with you. Those evenings with Harry, those moments too good to be true would stay somewhere deep down in your heart, locked away from the real world.

The weekend left as fast as it had come, and soon enough Harry and you both found yourselves in your day-to-day school life, studying for an upcoming Charms test and writing essays for Snape and McGonagall.

There wasn’t much time to think about each other, yet Harry managed to glance up from his homework a few times to stare at you opposite from him, snuggled into an armchair while flicking through a book. He noticed that you captured your tongue between your lips or mouthed single words to yourself whenever you were so deeply sunken into thoughts that you forgot the many people around you.

The latter found Harry very impressive because he was never that relaxed if more than three people were with him. Your lips on the other hand found Harry... well, much more interesting than his homework was the least to say.

Every day he woke up thinking that today, he would ask you. But whenever he came close to ask, he changed the topic or was distracted by friends and classmates.

Even Ron had given up with his jokes by now, which was a very bad sign and a nonverbal way to say, Man, you fucked up.

–

You had decided to make the last of your dance lessons a memorable one. An hour of pretending, of being close to someone you know you would never be this close to ever again.

Therefore, you had asked your older sister to send some of your favourite records from home, which you were now sorting through in the abandoned classroom. It was ten minutes to eight and you were sipping a butterbeer to cool your nerves. All those times before you had been as calm as ever, but today you were on the edge.

The door opened and you turned to find Harry in the doorway, hair messy as ever.

“Hi,” He said and the corners of his lips jumped up into a lopsided smile.

“Hey. You’re early.”

“Could say the same about you.”

“Yeah, you could,” You mumbled, pushing the needle of the record player down onto the vinyl.

Classic music filled the air and you walked over to Harry to lead him to the middle of the room after he had dropped his back bag to the floor. With the high heels on your feet, you were almost eye to eye, your nose at the height of his lips.

For a wonder, he did not need your instruction to place his hand on your waist and pulled you much closer than usual.

Harry felt his heart beating in his throat. Being this close to you was galvanic, every nerve was burning, and then again, for the first time in two months, he was able to close his eyes and let himself sink in, to melt with the music, to feel the tact pulsating through his whole body. It was what you had tried to teach him all along.

And yet his tongue was tied. He just had to ask. Would you like to go to the ball with me? One simple question. You had told him yourself to not wait until last-minute to ask, and now with every minute, every hour, every day passing it felt more ridiculous. He had known that he wanted to ask you and only you to the ball, but every time he thought about forming the question, his mouth failed him.

Your eyes lay calmly on him, tapping his shoulder in time to the music while secretly trying to remember every little detail of his face: His prominent eyebrows curved over his emerald green eyes, his flushed cheeks and the dimples created by his light smile lying on his lips.

Harry had become, for lack of a better word, quite fantastic at slow dancing. There was confidence in the way he moved through the room and held onto you, mingled with a certain elegance and appreciation of the art he was participating in. A good teacher, he had called you. Well, regarding slow dances, yes.

But there was one other thing he had yet to learn.

“You’re really good, you know that?” You said, and his smile brightened.

“Yeah? Or are you just saying that because it’s my last lesson?” He asked.

“No, I mean it. You know, I wrote my sister last week and she send some of my vinyl discs from home,” You told him as the music slowly faded out and let your hand slip from his shoulder and hand to turn to the record player, not noticing how his fingers lingered a moment longer on your waist.

Harry watched how you sorted through the discs, not able to make use of their names in any way. The only record he had come across before those dance lessons had been one by a singer named Bonnie Tyler, who Aunt Petunia secretly listened to on repeat during the summer when Uncle Vernon went grocery shopping or mowed the lawn.

Harry wasn’t a big fan, which was pretty much the only thing he had in common with his cousin Dudley.

“Here. To dancing and a nice Spring ball.” Harry snapped out of his thoughts. You held out a bottle of butterbeer, which he took and snapped its bottle top off, regarding for a moment to say something along the lines like To you, for teaching me how to dance or To us, but that seemed a bit too much.

Therefore, he went with a simple “Cheers” and touched glasses with you.

While he took a big sip in hopes it would make him braver, you decided on a turquoise and pink coloured disc with a man dancing on the front, the words Footloose in ornate writing covering its front. He couldn’t help but notice the grin you tried to hide, as if knowing something he didn’t.

“What’s that?” He asked, leaning against the table beside you and putting his beer aside.

“That’s what the cool kids dance to.”

You placed the needle onto the record. Drums began to play a fast rhythm, mixed with an electric guitar, and you slipped off your high heels, now only in tights. Harry watched with fearful curiosity how you snapped your fingers in time, bopping your head with closed eyes to internalise the music.

Every movement of your feet, your hips, your shoulders was nonchalant, effortless and... well, simply cool.

“Come on!” You said loudly over the music, waving Harry closer.

“No, no, that’s –” He shook his head, heat flushing his cheeks, and crossed his arms.

“Yes!”

You danced up to him, grabbing him by his hands and pulling him to the middle of the room.

Harry had improvised a lot when it came to fighting evil. His whole trip to the ministry had been decided because of his gut instinct, because he had thought he knew what he was doing. Well, that was probably a bar example. He had made everything worse back then.

But everything he had done to fight off the hundreds of Dementors at the Great Lake, or the creatures in the maze two years ago, or Voldemort at the graveyard, every single thing had been purely and spontaneously improvised.

Now, he wasn’t sure if he was that good at improvising dance moves, but you had other plans.

“Come on, don’t you trust me?” You said as his fingers clenched around your hands, unable to let go, like a man clinging onto a life buoy in the middle of the ocean.

And Harry wanted to say back that of course he trusted you, more than he probably knew himself, but all that came out was a “Yeah” which sounded more like a laugh than an actual word because of the grin stretched across his lips.

“Just dance the way you dance when no one’s watching,” You said.

“I don’t – I don’t do that,” He admitted, feeling how his cheeks burned under the unbelieving look coming from you.

“Okay, then close your eyes and just – just do it. Here, I’ll do it, too!”

You closed your eyes, smiling brightly, and slipped your fingers out of his, twirling on the spot like you usually only did behind closed doors, and clapping your hands in time with the music.

Harry couldn’t rip his gaze off of you, the way your body moved without any shame, your ridiculous head banging while acting like you play the guitar – air guitar, that’s what it was called, he had seen Dudley and his friends doing it, but never with so much... passion?

You were quite passionate about dancing, much more passionate than you were about school or Quidditch, and it fascinated him. How you could let loose, could forget what everyone thought of you, and he wanted to feel it too, wanted to not think that everyone was judging him.

So, Harry closed his eyes, concentrated on the beat of the music and your hands clapping, and then he did what you had been doing: Moving his arms, his legs, his feet, all a bit offbeat, all much less cool than what you did, but it had the effect he had wished for.

He forgot. Forgot about everything going on, everything in the past, everything that would come. It was like the music had deleted Voldemort from his mind. There was only his body and those absurdly freeing dance moves he would have been ashamed off any other time.

But not with you.

“Hey, you’re doing it! You’re doing it, look at you!” You shouted over the music, and Harry ripped his eyes open in the same moment as you grab his hands again. He slowed his legs.

“You said you wouldn’t look,” He said breathlessly, very aware of his fast-beating heart.

But if he was honest, he did not mind that you had seen him. If he could choose any of his friends to watch him dance like this, it would definitely be you.

“I had to, I’m sorry!” You laughed, and the song came to an end. “Oh, I have something even better, you’ll like that!”

You hit him friendly in the chest and rushed over to your pile of vinyl discs, wrapping the Footloose back up and pulling out another one from a white and pink packaging with two people on the front.

Harry would’ve never believed that dance lessons would be more exhausting than Quidditch training, but he had soon been disabused. He took a huge sip from his bottle of butterbeer and watched how you placed the needle on the disc before reaching for your own bottle.

“‘You broke my heart – ‘cause I couldn't dance – you didn’t even want me around!’” You were mouthing along the words the singer was speaking in an overdramatic seriousness, holding your bottle like a microphone. Harry was grinning at you, afraid of what would come next. “‘And now I'm back – to let you know – I can really shake 'em down!’”

The music dropped in, and you shook your hips, hands on your black skirt.

“Now don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Dirty Dancing,” You dared as Harry stayed at his spot, and he shrugged helplessly.

You shook your head at him with a smile on your lips, placed your bottle away and pulled him away from the table until you two were almost as close as in your usual dance lessons.

“Okay, like this.” You grabbed him gently by the waist and pushed him a bit down so his legs were slightly bent. Harry’s heart jumped at the unexpected touch. “Good, yeah, look at what I’m doing.”

Your grip became firmer, circularly moving his hips like you did. His eyes jumped up between your face and your waist, and he tried his best to copy your movements while calming his heart speed down.

“Yes, good! Now, your upper body, look at me – yeah! Good, eyes up,” You reminded him, and he glanced at your face, his cheeks flushed.

“Is that okay?” You asked, stepping closer so your hips almost touch, and he nodded. You took his hand, placed it on your lower back, and wrapped your own arms around his neck, just like Johnny and Baby had done it in the beginning of Dirty Dancing.

“That’s good!” You encouraged him, and he grinned at you, his face bright red. “You know, in the movie, they have another dance with a lift.”

“You’re not gonna make me do that, are you?” He asked.

You shook your head, laughing. “No, definitely not without training and a mattress,” You said, slowing your hip movements. “Maybe after the ball. I mean –”

The words had just slipped out of your mouth without thinking about them before. But Harry smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of his forehead, while I’ve Had The Time Of My Life began to play, and Bill Medley’s voice filled the room.

Harry felt like he was on fire. If you wanted to continue the dance lessons next year it must be because you liked him. In some way, you liked him, and it was very hard for him to concentrate during this dance. And training on a mattress would not make that easier – Stop it, stop it, just answer!

“Yeah, okay,” He said, and your heart jumped up in excitement. You smiled back at him and grabbed his free hand with yours, leading you back into a simple dance routine fitting the music. Harry followed almost effortlessly, only shortly glancing at his feet.

“I’ll have to demand payment if we keep doing this.”

“What kind of payment?”

His hand on your lower back pushed you a bit closer, you were almost chest to chest. Was he... flirting with you?

Whatever it was, it made you speechless, and in a moment of incautiousness, your eyes fell down to his lips. You held your breath for a second as you looked back up into his eyes, slowing your movements. He returned your gaze, but just as you were about to gather all your courage, his eyes shifted to the door of the classroom, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

“What?” You asked, turning around.

“Filch,” He said and not far down the hall, you heard the meowing of Mrs. Norris.

Panic flared up inside of you as you saw the clock on the wall: Half past nine.

“Argh, fuck.”

You let go off him and rushed over to the table with the record play on top, shoving your vinyl discs into your schoolbag and collecting your high heels in a hurry.

Outside in the hallway, the scratchy voice of Filch mixed with the clicking of his cat’s claws on the stone tiles. Harry had grabbed his bag from the floor and fished out his Invisibility Cloak. As you turned around, he had reached you and enveloped you two in the cloak, standing almost as close to you as a few seconds ago.

“Have you found someone, Mrs. Norris?” Filch’s voice echoed through the hallway. “Is someone out of bed at night?”

“We have to get out,” You whispered, not very keen on getting detention any time soon.

“If we open the door now, he’ll know someone disguised is there,” Harry answered.

“How often have you snuck out of bed at night?”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a lopsided smile.

“Enough times to know what to do.”

The scratching on the classroom door reminded Harry that, despite the fact that they were invisible, it was still pretty obvious that someone had been in here. Harry flicked his wand at the ceiling light right in time – the candles went out and the two of you were coated in darkness just before Filch pushed the door open and the light from his lantern fell onto the stone floor. You held your breath, hoping he would leave again.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Norris’ red eyes scanned the room and the greyish cat walked up to you as if she could actually see you. Instinctively, you wanted to move backwards, but Harry’s arm wrapped around you, holding you in place. You looked up to him and he slowly shook his head.

Mrs. Norris eyed you for a few more seconds before she suddenly jumped onto the table behind you, walking up to the two almost emptied butterbeer bottles and bumping her head against them.

“Oh no.” Your voice was no more than a whisper. “I didn’t –”

Harry placed his hand over your mouth, forcing you to keep quiet.

“Sorry,” You mumbled.

Filch had turned away from the other side of the room he had inspected and was now walking over to his cat. With his arm around your mid, Harry pulled you two quietly away from the table he was now inspecting. You weren’t entirely sure whether it was the panic of escaping Filch or Harry’s chest pressed against your back, but the butterflies in your stomach were jittery as though they were on drugs, and your heart beat unbelievably fast.

Harry felt your heartbeat. He felt the pulsating blood in your veins on your neck where his arm lay, reaching up to your mouth. You were barely breathing, and he figured it was because he was holding you like he was about to kidnap you.

“Run when we’re in the hallway,” He whispered, eyes steadily watching Filch, and removed his hand from your lips to grab your free hand. You nodded shortly. Fortunately, Filch had left the door open, and in one swift motion, Harry had steered you outside.

Fingers still interlocked with yours, he began to run, you by his side. And despite the fact that you two had almost been caught, despite that you had been interrupted when he had felt most confident, despite the ruined moment, he felt light and free and happy.

You were clutching your shoes, slithering over the cold tiles in your black tights, and Harry, looking at you, almost missed the last step of the stairs leading to the portrait of the Fat Lady. He held onto you as he staggered, and you giggled breathlessly, pulling him back up.

“That – stupid – fucking – cat. Can she see through your cloak?” You asked.

Harry shrugged and ruffled through his messy hair.

“Don’t know. I think, but I’m glad she can’t talk,” He said, and a grin spread over your lips, which he returned.

He caught your eyes, looking at you like before, like there was something he needed to say – the tingling feeling in your core got overwhelmed by heart-racing panic and because of some sour mix of uncertainty and fear, you slipped out from under the Invisibility Cloak, taking a few steps away from Harry.

Not a second later, he emerged as well, fighting to keep the smile on his face like his heart hadn't just sunk so deep he wasn't sure if it was even still connected to his veins.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah!” Your voice was too loud, too squeaky to convince him. “Yeah, I – I'm sorry, it's just been a long week and I'm really tired. I'm gonna – gonna go...”

You gestured to the portrait behind you, avoiding his eyes, and turned to escape the situation.

Harry stared at the spot where you had vanished into the common room, his fingers clenching around the fabric of his cloak before tossing it to the ground. It didn't give the satisfying sound he had wanted to make, so he sent a “Fuck!” after it.

“Young boy, that is not a very appropriate language, now, is it?”

His eyes flew up to the Fat Lady, who had apparently watched with great interest. “Besides, what are you doing that late out of bed? I mean I know it gets later on Fridays for the two of you but it's later than usual today –”

“Chinese Fireball.”

“I just don't know what you are doing during that hour. There are rumours, for sure –”

“I told you the password, now will you open the fucking portrait? Chinese Fireball.”

“Oh, fine.” She let the portrait swing forward. “I'll find out by myself... maybe visit some paintings down on fifth floor...”

Harry ignored the Fat Lady.

He also ignored Ron calling after him from the sofa in front of the fireplace, as well as Hermione's questioning look and all the other people staring at him as he darted through the common room and up the stairs, slamming the door of his dorm shut behind him.

He ignored them because the only person he wanted to be seen with had just left him standing in the hallway and he wasn't even sure why.

The first time you saw each other again was three days later in Potions. You had ignored him on purpose, which you knew was obvious to him: Leaving the Great Hall whenever he stepped inside, sitting as far from him in the common room as possible, avoiding his eyes... that did not leave that much room for speculations.

You didn't want to hurt him, you really didn't, but you couldn't be friends any longer, especially not after last Friday. You weren't even sure what exactly had happened – had he really flirted with you or had that been your imagination? Probably the latter. He had asked someone else the ball after all. Right?

Parvati nudged you with her elbow, and you snapped out of your thoughts, noticing the hole in your parchment created by your quill. The two of you sat in the far back of Professor Slughorn’s class, who was in the middle of telling one of his anecdotes instead of teaching about Veritaserum.

“What’s going on?” She asked in a hushed voice. “You’ve been weird since Friday.”

Lavender, who sat in front of you, turned around. “Is it because of – you know?”

She gestured towards Harry in his usual place diagonally across from you. You sighed, placed your quill aside to rub your hands over your face and shrugged. You had also avoided any questions from your friends about Friday, mostly because you could not even answer them yourself.

“I thought he would ask you,” Lavender whispered while throwing a quick glance at Slughorn to make sure he was still occupied with his story. “Didn’t he?”

“No,” You mouthed. Parvati shook her head.

“Man, you’d think he had grown a set of balls after all. If it turns out he just used you to look good in front of Ginny, I swear to Merlin –”

“Well, that’s what it looks like, I mean, he had enough time to ask you,” Lavender said.

Before you could reply anything, Parvati had grabbed her wand and leaned forward. In the next second, the blue Jobberknoll feathers on Harry’s desk burst into flames with an ear-piercing noise.

Both Harry and Ron jumped up, startled from the sudden explosion, and Hermione let out a little shriek as one of the sparks got caught up in her locks. Snickering came from the Slytherin table, and Crabbe and Goyle were stupidly grinning.

“Was that you? Stupid tosspot, I’ll shove that feather up your –,” Ron swore loudly, fists high and ready to walk over to the Slytherins, who had gotten up as well and were throwing insults through the room.

“Calm down, m’boys, no need to get abusive.”

Slughorn stepped between the two fronts while both Harry and Hermione pulled Ron back down onto his chair. With a wave of Slughorn’s wand, the feathers stopped burning and were as good as new.

“Have you gone mental?” You asked during the turmoil. Parvati shrugged and innocently shoved her wand aside.

“You’re my friend and if he hurt you, he’ll get what he deserves –”

“He didn’t hurt me!” You whispered angrily. “I was the one who panicked, I ran away that evening because I was afraid of what he would say! Not Harry. I left him like the idiot I am even though he – he was super nice and said he wanted to learn more –”

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Sorry, Professor, I was just –”

“Talking to Ms. Patil, I noticed. Could you still answer my question?” Slughorn eyed you, and so were all the other students.

“Uh...yes... if you could repeat it? Sir.” You said, and once again snickering echoed through the classroom, the loudest coming from Pansy Parkinson.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Parvati reaching for her wand again, and you quickly pressed her hand down to the table, awkwardly smiling at Slughorn.

“I asked if you could tell me anything about the usage of Veritaserum in court,” He kindly repeated and you straightened your back, ignoring Hermione’s raised hand.

“Well, the potion is strictly banned by the British Ministry of Magic, therefore they don’t use it during interrogations and such, which is also because, like any other potion, it’s not infallible. But I read that in some Asian countries, the accused can choose if they want to take Veritaserum before they give testimony. Unfortunately, in some courts they give the accused failed Veritaserum in order to alter the given testimony fraudulently.”

You had never read about that, you were – ironically – making it up, but Slughorn didn’t seem to notice.

“Very well, that’ll be five points for Gryffindor,” He said. “That reminds me of –”

As Slughorn fell back into his old habit of telling personal stories during class, you sank back into your chair and stared at the chapped top of the desk for the rest of the lesson.

Only the bell ripped Slughorn out of his monologue, and over the rustling of chairs, he told the class to read the next chapter of Advanced Potion Making until Wednesday.

“Courtyard?” You asked Parvati as to where to spend your free lesson.

“Yeah, but I got a question about that graded essay from last week. Just go ahead, I’ll catch up with you,” She answered and made her way to the front. Alongside with Lavender, you were one of the first to leave the Potions classroom.

“I wish I hadn’t picked Arithmancy,” Lavender complained.

“You can sleep longer on Thursdays, remember?” You said as you reached the entrance hall. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Lavender began to climb up the stairs to the third floor, and you walked down the hallway. It was freezing cold outside, but the courtyard was beautiful during every time of the year, especially in the early mornings when the sun melted the iced-up grass and you could share a hot chocolate with your friends on one of the benches.

“Hey, Y/N! Wait!”

You turned to spot none other than Theodore Nott running up to you, his Slytherin scarf loosely around his neck.

“Hi,” He said as he had reached you.

“Uh, hi. Can I help you?” You asked.

“Actually, yeah. I wanted to ask if you have a dance to spare at the Spring ball? I mean, I know you’re going with Potter, I just wanted one dance with someone professional –”

“I’m not going with Harry,” You blurted out. Theodore narrowed his eyebrows.

“What?” He asked, a bemused smile on his lips.

You gulped and shook your head, crossing your arms. “I’m not going with... anyone.”

“Oh. Well, then,” His body relaxed visibly, and he raised his eyebrows, “do you wanna go with me?”

You opened your mouth, an agreement already on the tip of your tongue, but you knew that was just out of desperation and not because you actually wanted to go to the ball with Theodore.

“Hey, you know what, no pressure at all, okay?” He said, placing his hand on your shoulder casually. “I’ll be at the ball anyway, so if you want to dance then, I’m free.”

You nodded. “Thank you, Theodore. I’ll think about it.”

“You can call me Theo. Only if you want to, obviously.”

A grin crept upon your face. “Yeah, I’ll – I’ll think about it.”

Whatever Harry had felt the two days prior, it was nothing compared to the sour feeling circulating in his stomach now, like some dragon-creature spitting fire and tearing at his entrails with sharp claws. Inside of him, everything was clenching and itching, but on the outside, he was numb.

Like his brain had been disconnected from his muscles, wherefore he was only able to stare at Theodore Nott and his stupid, complacent grin and his hand on your shoulder while he asked you to the ball.

This wasn’t fair. How come everyone else but him was able to do it, how come everybody else had managed to find a date, when – to be honest – he had been provided with one of the best initial situations? How come the only thing he was apparently fit for was getting himself into trouble and escaping death every goddamn year? Harry had kind of forgotten about all that was to come, all that Dumbledore had told him, and the memory Slughorn was still tending like dark secret simply because of you.

The worst thing wasn’t that Theodore Nott had just asked you to go to the Spring ball with him. No, the worst thing was that you had agreed.

The only thing that was left for him was to run, which he did now: Up to the Gryffindor tower, tossing his back bag into a corner and grabbing his Firebolt from under the bed, then back down to the Quidditch pitch in record time.

Flying was one of the most freeing activities known to Harry, especially in the cool, fresh morning air with no one else around. High above the frozen grass and the wooden stands, much higher than probably allowed without any teacher near by, Harry paused to watch the sun over the Forbidden Forest.

He wondered if you had ever flown before, if you knew how brilliant it was to hover a thousand feet above the ground, far away from all the problems. Far away from Ron asking what the bloody hell was wrong with him. Far away from Hermione telling him that it was his own fault for waiting so long but that you surely weren’t interested like that in that tosser Theodore (though she would probably word it much more formal).

Time was relative up here, Harry had noticed over the years, so he closed his eyes and shut the world out for a moment. Saturday was still light-years away anyway, so –

“Harry, is that you?”

He almost fell from his broom.

With his heart still beating way to fast and adrenalin pumping though his veins, he turned his broom around to find no one other that Luna standing inside commentary box and waving up to him. Oh well. So much for being alone.

He steered his Firebolt down to the blonde witch and landed beside her.

“What are you doing her, Luna?” He asked as climbed from his broomstick. “Don’t you have classes right now?”

“Oh, yes. But I saw that you are sad so I asked Professor Sprout if I could go because I’m not feeling very well,” She explained and sat down on one of the benches.

“You lied to a professor?”

“Oh, no,” She said, looking at him with her dreamy blue eyes. “I don’t feel well when my friends are sad.”

Harry didn’t know what to reply to that, so he simply sat down next to her. Luna had such a strange, but calm energy, like a pulsating, pink bubble inhibiting her, and if you were lucky, she let you inside this bubble and you could shut the world out for a moment.

“Harry, why are you sad?” Luna asked softly after a while.

“Because... because I like someone who doesn’t like me back,” He said.

Luna placed her hand upon his, and he saw that she had painted her fingernails in every colour of the rainbow. Though that was probably Ginny’s work.

“I think Y/N likes you very much,” She said. Harry scoffed.

“Not the way I like her,” He said. “She just agreed to go to the ball with Nott. I saw it. She looked happy. And when I wanted to ask her last week, she ran away.”

“You know, first I thought you wanted to go to the ball with somebody else,” She said. “I thought maybe you wanted to ask Cho again and wanted to prepare this time. And maybe Y/N thought so, too.”

Harry looked up at the blonde girl.

“She did ask me if I was going to ask Cho,” He said, remembering one of the dance lessons.

“And did you tell her that you actually want to ask her?”

“No,” He admitted, burying his face in his hands. “I panicked... and now it’s too late.”

“No, it’s not. You should still go to the ball, and then you should tell her,” Luna said.

“How? I can’t do it when we’re alone, I certainly can’t do it when there’s a hundred people around,” Harry said miserably.

“Well, then don’t.” Luna shrugged. “If you want her to be with Theodore –”

“I don’t want that,” He interrupted her. “Of course, I don’t.”

“Then go to the ball and tell her. I know you can do that.”

Saturday evening came around faster than you liked it to. Over the last four days, you had noticed Theodore’s eyes on you more than once during the meals or potions class, but it did not cause the tingling feeling in your stomach you would like his looks to cause.

If anything, you felt a pressure to talk to him and to spend time with him because you would go to the ball together. But you did not give in to that pressure and avoided him as much as possible, which led to you often leaving the potions classroom as one of the first.

To be honest, you were much more concentrated on Harry.

Harry who did not sit beside you during meals anymore. Harry who did not look in your direction but rather stared at his plate. Harry who looked like he had just lived through a very miserable week.

And you knew that was because you had left him standing in the hallway last Friday night. Maybe he had figured that you had feelings for him and that was his way of dealing with it: Distancing himself from you.

You wished you had not run. You wished you could’ve stayed in that abandoned classroom forever, your favourite song playing and his arms around you.

–

“What eyeshadow should I use?”

“The darker one.”

“Y/N?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, looking up from where you sat on the floor in your puffy, ankle-long purple-pink dress. Parvati held out her eyeshadow palette, eyebrows raised as she sceptically eyed you. Her black hair was still wrapped around a dozen curlers. Lavender had spent all morning on them.

“Yes, the darker one,” You said. “Brings out your eyes.”

Thankfully, that answer seemed to satisfy her enough to not ask how you were doing. She and Lavender had already asked that over a million times, but you had reassured them that you were totally okay.

Parvati turned back to face the mirror.

“When did you want to meet with Nott?” Lavender asked. She kneeled in front of her trunk, pondering whether she should wear black or silver heels.

“Half past seven,” You mumbled, picking at the tulle of your dress.

Theodore had held you back yesterday after Defence against the Dark Arts to tell you that he would be at the Great Hall at 7:30 and that you were welcome to eat dinner with him and his friends – which included people like Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson; people you usually avoided by all means, people that had laughed at you for tripping over the last step of a stair, for not knowing an answer to one of Snape’s stupid questions, or for simply being Muggleborn.

You had never been less interested in going to a social event. All you wanted to do was lay in bed under your blanket and erase the last week out of your mind.

“Oh, come on, darling, we talked about this.” Lavender came over and squished your cheeks, brushing away a tear. “Today is not the day to sulk about some guy who doesn’t return your feelings. Today is your day, and you’re gonna have fun with us. Don’t let some guy ruin that. Okay?”

You sniffed and nodded, not able to answer because she cupped your cheeks so solidly. Lavender smiled and kissed your forehead.

“That’s right,” She said. “We’re gonna have some dinner and dance a bit and if by then you still feel bad, we can go back to our dorm.”

“And if Harry dares to talk to you, he’s gonna know what’s it feels like to be kicked in the balls with a heel,” Parvati added dryly. You laughed.

The Great Hall was decorated with yellow, pink and purple banners, and the four long house tables had been exchanged with much smaller, round ones scattered where the staff table usually stood, on each of them a vase filled with rosa tulips and white daffodils.

The ceiling did not mirror the night sky outside but a beautiful, orange sunset lighting up the dance floor in the middle. Opposite from the many tables, on the other end of the hall, Slughorn had organised a stage with a cover band. Next to the stage hung a long parchment onto which everyone could write requests.

You spotted your Potions teacher, dressed in a bright green suit, next to Dumbledore, his robes a terrible pink, both of them writing down their song requests.

“A Galleon that Dumbledore is a Spice Girls fan,” Lavender said grinning as she had followed your eyes.

“Bet,” Parvati said, grabbing three drinks from a passing waiter. “Here. Cheers.”

The three of you clinked glasses and took a sip of the red punch – it tasted strongly of various fruits, coconut, and bitter alcohol.

You let your eyes glide further over the hall and the people that sat together in groups around the tables, some of them already eating. Secretly, you were looking for Harry, though you only discovered Ginny in between Luna and Hermione, all of them chatting happily, and a few tables behind them, Theodore.

He waved as he saw you, gesturing to come over. You forced yourself to smile and wave back at him.

“I’ll see you later,” You said, chugging down the rest of your drink.

“Tell us if he’s being an asshole,” Parvati said. “Or really any of them.”

“And have some fun,” Lavender added.

You took one last look at your friends – Parvati in her silk, almond white, slim dress, and Lavender with flowers in her hair, their arms linked together – and swallowed thickly before turning and making your way through the crowd towards Theodore, though you made sure to give the table with Ginny a wide berth.

“Hi, Y/N,” Theodore greeted you, pecking a swift kiss on your left cheek. His eyes, however, were gliding over the room filling with more and more students. “We’ve already ordered some drinks, come on.”

You took a step back after the kiss, blinking quickly, then noticed how the other people around the table were staring at you:

Pansy and Daphne eyed you and your dress dismissively, and Blaise sipped on his wine, eyebrows raised. Only Draco was slumped in his chair and chewed on a gum, not wasting a single glance at you. He looked as uninterested in this Spring Ball as you felt.

An hour ago, you sure as hell wouldn’t have believed to relate to bloody Draco Malfoy.

“Uh, hi. I’m Y/N,” You said, forcing a smile on your face and holding out your hand towards Pansy, as she sat closest to you. “I like your dress. Matches your earrings.”

That compliment seemed to leave a mark. Her judging look softened and she shook your hand.

After introducing yourself to everyone (well, except Draco, who had only shortly nodded at you), you sat down in between Theodore and Blaise, and ordered something to eat.

Pansy and Daphne were huddled together the whole time, giggling and pointing at others, while Draco raised a complaint about every meal on the menu or really any other small inconvenience that had the unfortune to be spotted by him (“I can’t eat that, it has tomatoes in it. Nothing on here is gluten free. I’ll write father first thing in the morning. Pansy, will you shut the fuck up for a second? That’s not even a real band. God, I hate this place.”).

“He’s a whiny bitch most of the time, but his family has a great holiday chalet in France,” Blaise said to you after Draco had shot you an annoyed look for asking if you should ask the band to play a different song. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be friends with him.”

“I hope you choke on that disgusting wine,” Draco muttered, and you chuckled.

“Sure, darling,” Blaise replied, sharing a look with you. Until now, Blaise had surprisingly talked the most with you, and it turned out he wasn’t half as bad as you had always thought he would be.

Theodore on the other hand had only occasionally asked you how your meal was and how long you had planned to stay. His eyes had not held contact with yours for longer than a second and were still searching for something in the crowd, which was – by the way – having fun on the dance floor while you had not moved in almost an hour.

It wasn’t until a particularly beautiful girl from Ravenclaw strode past your table that Theodore hooked his foot around the leg of your chair to pull you closer and placed his hand on your upper thigh, giving you his full attention for the first time that night.

“Have I told you that you look very pretty tonight?” He asked, his dark eyes meeting yours.

“Er – no,” You said, darting a confused look towards the Ravenclaw girl.

“Well, you do,” Theodore went on and turned your head back to face him by stroking his thumb over your cheek before pressing his lips onto the skin beneath your ear. They felt chapped and not pleasant in any way. You cringed.

“Uh, sorry, but that’s maybe a bit early, don’t you think?” You said, drawing back and shoving his hand from your thigh.

“She’s gone anyway, Theo,” Blaise said. You did not understand.

“Who’s gone?” You asked, looking back and forth between Theodore and the others, who all seemed to know something you didn’t. Pansy giggled.

“Nothing,” Theodore said. His sweet voice had turned bitter, and you felt like that was your fault. He stood up. “I’ll get some more punch.”

The band segued from an upbeat song into a much slower one, and the light of the candles magically dimmed.

“Do you want to dance maybe?” You asked Theodore as a way to make up for your rejection, but he had already pushed past a group of chatting seventh years, not turning around.

You sank back into your chair, picking at the tulle of your dress again. Was it too early to tell Lavender and Parvati that you wanted to go back to your dorm?

“Girl, if I were you, I would get out of here as quickly as possible,” Blaise said. You looked up at him. “He’s not worth it. And he’s not here for you. So don’t waste your energy.”

“But he asked me to the ball,” You said weakly.

“Did he? Or did he just ask for some time with you to make his ex-girlfriend jealous?”

“He – well – he…”

But Blaise looked at you and you knew that he was right, that this was never about you but some other girl. It was always about some other girl.

“Excuse me, I’ll get some fresh air,” You said and made your way through the tables towards the doors.

The last time, everyone had watched him. Now it was Harry’s turn to watch everyone else try their best on the dance floor. He wasn’t sure what was worse; to be laughed at by the others while stepping on Parvati’s feet every other second or to watch not only Hermione and Ron but also Ginny and Luna, as well as Seamus and Dean dancing closely, arms around the other.

They all had no idea what they were doing, Harry could tell, but they were having fun anyway. He had never seen Hermione this happy.

“Oh, flashback.”

Harry looked up. Parvati sat down next to him on the chair that Ron had left over half an hour ago.

“Yeah,” He mumbled, taking another sip of butterbeer, and turned back to the dance floor right in time to see Dean kissing Seamus passionately in the middle of the room.

“And you are not dancing because…?” Parvati asked. Harry crossed his arms.

“If you’re here to make fun of me or to blow up my butterbeer, feel free to fuck off.”

Parvati chuckled. “Sorry about that. But seriously, why are you sitting here miserably after all those dance lessons?”

Harry tried to make out if she was actually serious or if this was her way to revenge herself for the Yule Ball.

“Are you kidding me?” He asked. Parvati narrowed her eyebrows, now visibly puzzled.

“No, I’m genuinely asking –”

“Well, it’s not that fucking easy to slow dance if you have no date, is it,” He said crossly.

Parvati gaped at him, but he was certainly not in the mood for this. It had cost him all his strength to not look for you in the crowd all evening, he did not need reminding of you not liking him back by Parvati.

Before she could say anything else, he placed his butterbeer bottle on the table and darted outside, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his suit and eyes directed to the floor.

Harry’s feet guided him towards the courtyard. The music played by the band wasn’t as loud out here, and the cold night air was lively in contrary to the sticky, perfumed air inside the Great Hall.

He kicked some of the grass away and walked towards the bench underneath the willow, watching how its branches weighed in the wind and thought how you were probably having as much fun as his friends, or maybe even more, considering Nott was infamous for snogging in various broom closets.

Harry’s stomach turned at the thought of that. He wished he had a time turner to make it right.

The moon stood high on the deep blue night sky, illuminating the courtyard you had unconsciously walked to. Grey clouds had approached, and tiny raindrops were falling to the ground, steadily drumming onto the roofs of Hogwarts.

On your way out of the Great Hall, you had caught a glimpse of Theodore sticking his tongue down the throat of that Ravenclaw girl, but to be honest, it didn’t matter that he was making out with someone else. It would’ve just been nice if you could have had a forewarning.

You thought you were the only single soul wandering about, then spotted a figure sitting on a bench. You were about to turn and search for some other place to wallow in your feelings, when you recognised the messy hair.

Maybe this was the time to make up for running away. Maybe this was the time to be honest.

Harry looked up when he noticed someone coming closer, the tulle of your dress rustling over the wet grass. His heart jumped and he forgot to breathe for a moment.

“Hello,” You said, voice echoing over the empty courtyard. “Can I sit?”

“Of course.”

Harry scooted to the side to make some space for you. You sat down next to him, leaving maybe a hand width between the two of you. The wide branches of the willow guided you from the cold rain.

“You weren’t dancing,” You said, staring at the grass instead of his face.

You would understand if he did not want to talk, if he just walked away. He didn’t owe you an explanation for why he had not asked you to the ball or why was sitting here instead of inside with Ginny or whoever he had asked.

“You weren’t either, were you?” Harry replied. “You and Nott.”

“No, he’s busy with someone else, so… no. Not dancing.”

“Oh.” Harry shuffled. His knee bumped against yours. “Well, he’s an idiot then.”

You smiled, not moving your knee away from his.

“Yeah…but I don’t mind, really.”

“You should,” Harry said, and he meant it. No one should be treated like that. “If anyone should be dancing, it’s you.”

You looked up at him. Harry was already watching you, and it filled you with warmth despite the freezing cold. There wasn’t a single sign of hurt on his face, just a soft curiosity lying in his green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, “for running away last Friday. I had to sort out some things.”

“What things?” He asked quietly.

“Some…” Your heartbeat sped up. Be honest, you told yourself. “Some feelings.”

“Oh.” Harry tried to figure out what you meant by that, but the way you looked at him made his mind go blank. “You mean you…”

“I really like dancing with you,” You said. Harry felt his heart beating faster than ever against his ribcage. He wondered if you could hear it. “And I wouldn’t have done those lessons with anyone.”

The music from inside the Great Hall was growing louder, overshadowing the rain; someone must’ve opened the doors to let in some fresh air. The band was playing a slower, French song and it stung in your heart. It was one of your favourites.

When you turned back to Harry, he was standing up. For a second you thought he wanted to leave, to go back inside, then –

“May I have this dance?” Harry held out is right hand, and you did not have to think twice if you should take it or not.

He helped you up from the bench and led into the middle of the lawn, the rain still pattering onto the grass and the stone tiles. It smelled strongly of petrichor, and you thought that this was much closer to spring than the decorations in the Great Hall.

Harry’s hand found its place on your back, pulling you closer to him. You placed your hand on his shoulder, tapping his skin with your finger in time to the music out of habit, and met his eyes, reflecting the moon light in them.

Had you ever told him how beautiful he was?

The two of you moved, swaying back and forth. Harry realised that he did not even need to concentrate on the steps, he knew them by heart. The closeness of you took his breath away, the way your fingers held onto his, the way there was little to no room between your torso and his. You were smiling at him, despite the cold and the rain. Harry felt his stomach tingling.

“What’s it called?” Harry asked quietly, not wanting to drown out the music.

“‘Je Te Laisserai Des Mots’. I’ll leave you words,” You translated, having memorised the lyrics in your mind. “I’ll leave you words underneath your door, underneath the singing moon. Near the place where your feet pass by…hidden in the holes of wintertime and when you’re alone for a moment.”

You paused and Harry’s eyes fell to his feet, not able to take your gaze any longer. There were words on the tip of his tongue he did not dare to say – afraid, to ruin the moment. He wanted to stay here forever.

“Eyes up,” You said, placing your hand underneath his chin to lift his head up.

More French words reached your ears; Harry figured they were the same sentence repeated over and over, but even if he had been able to understand French, he wouldn’t have been able to translate them because of your hand still resting under his chin.

“Kiss me whenever you want,” You whispered. “Kiss me whenever you want. Kiss me –”

And then, Harry let go of his fears and kissed you.

After all it still took you by surprise how he loosened his fingers from yours to cup your face, pulling you as close to him as possible, until there was no space in between, noses bumping against each other. Both of your hands slung themselves around his neck, caressing his skin and driving up through messy hair.

His lips matched yours, gliding smoothly over one another, smearing your lip gloss everywhere until all you tasted was strawberries and sweet alcohol. With his chest against yours, Harry was glad to notice your heart beating as fast as his did, though that was also because he really needed to breathe – not that he wanted to, he would have been totally okay with never breaking away from the kiss if it was always going to feel this soft and freeing.

It was you in the end that had to carefully pull his face away from yours, heavily breathing in and out. You brushed his wet hair out of his forehead and let your fingers slide over his temples and cheeks down to his neck.

“That offer,” Harry began breathlessly, tucking a strand of hair he had accidentally drawn from your pinned-up hair behind your ear, “about continuing the dance lessons…that still stands, right?”

Your lips curved upwards into a smile. “Of course.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said, mirroring your smile before leaning down again to close the gap between your lips.

#Harry Potter #Harry James Potter #harry potter x reader #harry james potter x reader #fluff #oneshot #my writing #angst #slow burn

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duskholland · 3 years

Text

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. What happened?”

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

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

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

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

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom gulps nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

Tom follows you…?

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute.

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

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

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

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

Y/N: hey x

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

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, is it a home game?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me a spin, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

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

“Dutchy?” you question.

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

You coo. “That’s cute.”

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

And Tom… Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

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

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

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

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, darling.”

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

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

“What, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What— Tom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Penalty.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

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

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

“Funnier than me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

A smile breaks out across your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Overnight?”

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

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

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

“You can open them now.”

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

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

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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earlgreydream · 3 years

Text

the garden.

| 1940s!bucky barnes x reader | fluff | mild angst |

You walked home from work, seeing your new neighbor, Bucky Barnes, leaning against the wall of his house. His arrogant smirk appeared as you walked up the path to your door, scrunching your nose at the sight of him.

James Buchanan Barnes was irritating. The first day he’d moved in, he and his friends were loud until the early hours of the morning, drunkenly shouting along with his record player. Then, his drunk friends had walked through your garden, trampling half of your flowers and some vegetables. And he was always outside with his stupid smirk, thinking his pretty face was enough to win you over.

Bucky was also gorgeous, and the worst part was, he knew it. You’d seen him in town flirting with girls in the market, and everywhere he went. Even your friends all fought for his attention. When they’d come over, you’d sit outside on your porch and they would all wave to him and giggle. He greeted them, chattering with the blushing and giggling girls who fell at his feet. You always rolled your eyes and ignored him, unamused.

Bucky was fascinated by you, the only girl to never fall for his charm. He was charismatic and had every girl at his fingertips that he had ever wanted. He knew that the two of you had gotten off on the wrong foot, and you despised his smoking habit. However, he had made it his goal to win you back over, but you had proven to be stubborn. You were a challenge, and Bucky was determined.

“Hey doll.” He greeted you as you stepped up onto your porch.

“It’s Y/N.” You scowled at him, and he said your name, winking at you.

He checked you out, admiring you in your high waisted pants and button down. You shook your head at him, going inside your house, closing the door. You put your grocery bag down and started to make dinner, when you saw Bucky on your porch. You groaned and opened your window, looking at him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“My stove is out of gas. Could you put me up for dinner?” He gave you a boyish grin, rocking on his heels.

“Why would I do that?”

“To be neighborly,” he suggested.

“C’mon. Because I’ll buy you dinner tomorrow?” Bucky tried again.

“You’re so full of shit.”

“Y/N, the stores are closed, it’s late.”

“Fine. Get in here.” You gave in, shaking your head and shutting the window. He waltzed through the front door, looking too pleased with himself.

“Plus, I brought a gift!” He held up a bottle of rosé.

“So you can get drunk and ruin my flowers again?”

“I apologized for that. Please forgive me.”

“You’re forgiven.” You said, not convincing him or yourself.

“Where’re your glasses?” He asked, and you pulled a cabinet open, stirring your pot of pasta. He pulled down two glasses and filled them.

“Maybe I don’t drink.”

“You do, this is your favorite wine. I’ve seen you drinking it on the porch swing at least twice.” Bucky called you out.

“Oh, so you stalk me?” You accused.

“No, you just sit outside all the time.”

He lifted the glass to his lips, smiling behind the rim. You drank from your own, needing it in order to deal with him. You noticed his dog tags, resting against his skin with the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He caught you staring, but he held eye contact, wanting to make you blush.

“You fight in the war?” You asked, and he shook his head.

“I will. I haven’t been deployed yet. Me and my friend Steve recruit here, but we’ll go with the next team.”

“Where will you go?”

“Germany, maybe. Or Poland.”

You hummed, thinking that Bucky didn’t seem like the military type. You supposed it was his duty though, and he didn’t want to be labeled as a draft dodger. You strained the noodles and mixed them with the sauce, serving him a plate. Bucky thanked you, taking a seat at your tablecloth.

“Hey, get down, Pepper.” You scolded your cat that jumped onto his lap. You apologized and he smiled, petting her head.

“She has no manners. Push her off,”

“She’s fine. I don’t mind.” He smiled, and your cat jumped onto the floor, prowling for dropped food. You ate quietly, ignoring his silver gaze.

“How long have you lived here?” He made conversation.

“Since I left my parents’ house when I was sixteen,”

“That’s awful young. Why?”

You didn’t answer, pouring yourself another glass of wine, and he tilted his glass for more. You emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass, earning a thank-you.

“You don’t have to buy me dinner.”

“I’m absolutely buying you dinner. We’ll go out, to Brooklyn.” He grinned, and you rolled your eyes.

“Is there any way to get out of it?” You asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

“You’re an amazing cook.” Bucky complimented, standing and taking your empty plates before you could.

“Thanks. I got that-”

“No, you cooked. I’ll do the dishes.” He turned on your sink and began to wash everything, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You watched him, biting back a small smile.

“I’ll just be getting out of your hair. Have a goodnight, doll.”

You rolled your eyes, closing the door after him. You picked up your cat and held her, watching him walk across the lawn. He waved at you when he saw you watching through the window, and you shut the curtains.

You came home the next day, tired and annoyed from work. You were in a bad mood, and you just wanted to relax.

“James?” You stopped when you saw him kneeling in your yard.

“Y/N, you’re home.”

“Why the hell are you in my yard?!” You demanded, opening the gate.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked. I was replanting your flowers.” He said, kneeling in your garden.

Your eyebrows shot up as you saw the rows of freshly planted daffodils, and you walked over to him slowly.

“Thank you.” You were impressed, and he leaned back on his heels.

“I’m... I can’t take you out like this. Let me change, then we can go for our dinner?” He smiled down at himself, dirt and grass staining his pants.

You nodded, hiding your smile behind your hand, feeling butterflies in your stomach. You shook your head, watching him go toward his house. You went inside and quickly changed your own clothes, into wide white pants and a yellow button down. You fixed your makeup, and went to meet him on the porch. You bit your lip, smiling as you opened the door to find him standing with a bouquet of daisies.

“Bucky...” You couldn’t keep the grin off your face.

“I thought you’d like them. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“It’s working.” You whispered before putting the flowers in a vase. You walked to his car with him, and he opened the door for you, being so charming.

Bucky lived to see your smile. When he finally earned it with the flowers, warmth erupted in his chest and spread through him. He had truly felt bad about your garden and spent the whole afternoon replanting it for you. He drove you into the city, music playing softly on the radio.

“Where are we going?”

“New York pizza, Y/N,” Bucky looked proud of himself.

“That sounds amazing.” You confessed, your stomach growling. You’d missed lunch at work, and you were starving.

“Pizza is my favorite.”

“Mine too!” Bucky announced, and you giggled at that. He turned and smiled at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than it usually did.

You arrived at the pizza place, following Bucky inside. He put his hand on your lower back, and you felt the butterflies again.

“What would you like?”

“Margherita pizza. I’m a classic girl.”

“Perfect.” He ordered for the two of you, leaning against the bartop while you waited.

“We’ll take it to go.”

“We’re not eating here?” You asked, confused, and he shook his head.

“Got a better idea.” Bucky winked at you, taking the pizza box once it was done.

“Can you take this for a second, doll?” He asked, handing it to you as we stood outside. You took it from him, and he leaned into his car, pulling out a blanket before taking the pizza. He nodded for you to follow, and you walked a few blocks down to a park, where he spread the blanket. You were beaming as you sat down beside him, the glow of the street lights and the stars making him look impossibly more attractive.

“You’ve outdone yourself.” You smiled, biting into a slice of pizza. He looked pleased, and the two of you found yourselves talking until the streets were silent. You were sitting in front of him, when he leaned forward, kissing you. You kissed him back, threading your fingers into his dark hair, letting him move you onto his lap. His tongue pushed past your lips, your mouths moving in sync.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Bucky asked, surprising you. You were blushing furiously, and you almost said no, but the feeling his words gave you, made your heart race.

“Yes, James.” You pecked his lips and he grinned into the kiss.

That was how you and Bucky ended up spending most of your time together. He helped you tend to your garden, and you taught him about the plants. You were a botanist with a green thumb, and he was in awe of your tender care of your plants. Every night in the following weeks was spent with the two of you gently rocking on your porch swing, drinking coffee, listening to records, or making out. Either that, or you were listening to him read on the couch or in your bed.

You and Bucky had been together for almost two months, when he came home late from work one evening when it was nearing October. You were waiting on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, watching for his car to roll in.

“James!” You called, and he walked up to you.

“Hey, doll.” He leaned down and kissed you sweetly. You looked up at him, and your gaze meeting with sad eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Worry filled you, and he sat down next to you.

“I’m getting deployed. We leave in two weeks.” He breathed, and your heart fell into pieces.

“I’ll wait for you.” You said finally.

“Y/N, you could be waiting for years, or I may not make it back.”

“Don’t say that!” You cried.

“It’s the truth--”

Tears started rolling down your cheeks, and you shook your head. You climbed onto his lap and clung to him, gripping his shirt and crying into his shoulder. He rubbed your back and held you on the porch.

“I want to get married, before you go.” You said, and he turned your face to look at him.

“Doll, you can’t mean that.”

“No, I do. Marry me. Marry me and promise you’ll come back for me.” You touched his face, and he brushed tears from your cheeks.

“I will marry you, and I will fight every single day to come home to you. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you.”

For months, you and your cat waited on your porch, the cool metal dog tags resting against your sternum. A box of his letters sat on your bedside table, telling you how much he missed you, and loved you, and he wanted to come home to his beautiful wife. All of your friends thought you were mad for marrying a man you’d only dated a few months, the week before he went off to war. A star hung in your window, and every day was spent waiting. Your garden flourished, pumpkins growing as autumn approached. The nights you spent outside began to grow colder, and you waited.

When you saw him, it was like fireworks exploded inside of you. He was tired, he looked wartorn, and he was definitely more muscular. You screamed, tossing your blanket off of you, and running. You jumped over the fence, making him laugh. You threw your arms around him, and he caught you as you jumped into his arms. He held you tightly and spun you around, planting a deep kiss to your lips.

“I love you.”

You were crying as Bucky held you, overwhelmed with joy to see him. You didn’t sleep that night, or the next few.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky fluff #the falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #1940s!bucky #40s!bucky #earl grey bucky

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lebrookestore · 3 years

Text

four years, one night

Pairing: Ten Lee x female reader

Themes: SLOWBURN, best friends to lovers, player! ten, fuckboy! ten, fluff, humour, angst, sexual tension, college au, some talk about music

Warnings: angst, cursing, mentions of sex (?kinda), ten is kind of an asshole, reader calls herself a dumb bitch, bittersweet ending, three kisses, kissing, gets a little spicy in one scene but that’s about it, PG15

WC: 10.8k

Playlist: Dream Launch by Wayv, Never let you go by AleXa, Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift, Young again by Morgan Evans, Without You by NCT U, The Tempest by Beethoven (this looks so out of place eye-)

Taglist: @danishmiilk @channoticedmeuwu @1-800-seo @sweetlyjaem @badwithten @blueprint-han @chicksung

Summary: Ten was a fickle person, he jumped from one person to another, breaking hearts, and getting his own heart broken. The one person who had to pick it up every time? You, of course, and it was exhausting, especially when you had to watch.

day break [ extra piece based in this universe ]

A/n: hello! this fic is very much self indulgent, but i love it so much. I spent most of the last week working on it and half of it is me simping, and I hope you enjoy it. Thank you to @chicksung for beta reading and helping me throughout writing this. As always, feedback would be very much appreciated!

‘I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong’- Lemony Snicket

A loud slam of the door made you flinch, shutting your eyes in exasperation as you knew what was to come. The same thing over and over again, you were used to it. Honestly, it was nothing new, but his stupidity, the obvious was in front of him, but did he listen? Of course, he didn’t.

A figure walked into the room, a mop of messy black hair with brown highlights adorning his head. It was pretty long at this point, his bangs reaching his eyes. Those damning eyes, melting pools of chocolate brown that seemed to bore into your soul. Those eyes looked remorsefully at you now, as he plopped down next to you, wrapping his arms around your midriff and burying his face in your back.

You sighed. “Again?”, you asked, running your fingers through his hair as he hummed a response. “Again”, he repeated, confirming your suspicions. He looked up, his eyes meeting yours.

You hated his eyes.

He managed to make you do anything for him with just a look. They were undoubtedly your weakness, when they looked sad, or when they upturned into a smile, that instantly brightened your day.

“I can’t seem to get it right can I?”, he asked, searching your eyes as if you had all the answers to his turbulent love life. You scoffed, “You couldn’t have been serious about that chick, Ten, you met her three weeks ago, and she was simply a rebound for you” “Thanks for the support”

“I’m being real, not supportive”

He rolled his eyes, pouting. “But I liked her”, he whined. You gave him a pointed look, “Please, You just wanted someone to be with, if not to fu-” “Oh my god, shut up”

You smirked, turning your attention back to your laptop, where the essay you had been trying to write glared back at you.

“I just want someone who understands me”, Ten continued, still looking at you. You looked at him.

I understand you, you thought, I’m here

Ten had always been like this, he jumped from girl to girl, getting his heart broken several times because he was too forgiving with it. He wanted to love, he had always romanticized the idea. Honestly, you thought he needed love too, but he was going down all the wrong paths.

And you had to be there every single time to pick up the pieces.

“I know”, you said half-heartedly, biting your lower lip. He propped his chin upon his fist, observing you and your concentrated look. You typed away, desperately wanting to be done with this paper, one you had been working on for about three days.

“Do you think I’ll ever do something right?”, he asked. You froze, pushing down what you wanted to say. It was hard, having to deal with Ten's endeavors of the heart’ as he called them. The right term would be- doing random shit and breaking girls' hearts', but of course, he refused that catchy title. Sighing, you shut your laptop, knowing you wouldn’t get anything done now that he was in a mood.

“You haven’t done anything wrong” “Haven’t done anything right either”

You took his face in your hands, “You haven’t done anything wrong, you’re amazing, now stop moping, I’m ordering pizza”

He pulled away from you, sitting up properly. “Can I stay over?”, he asked hopefully. You clicked your tongue, looking at him with an annoyed expression. “Don’t you have your dorm?” “My roommate said he has a girl over, and I kinda want to sleep, thanks” You rolled your eyes, but nodded, picking up your phone and walking into the other room to order.

You heard laughter and looked back to see the boy laughing at something on his phone. Probably a cat meme, or something of the sort. You admired his side profile for a minute, the slope of his nose, the way his eyes shone. He was okay, you supposed, annoying, but okay. No matter how much he tried to justify it, he didn’t care for the girl who broke up with him. He was just fine right now, and had moved on from the topic pretty quickly, and was already smiling.

You also hated his smile. Infuriatingly adorable, one smile would make you want to smile back. You hated it with every ounce of your being, the effect he had on you.

You hated Ten Lee.

Scratch that, you didn’t hate the poor boy, you just, despised him?

Nope, you were close friends.

Ironic isn’t it? You had met Ten at a party, where the Dance major was having a lot of fun. You hadn’t seen him before but had heard of him. The boy who jumped from girl to girl as easy as one, two, three. You had no intention of even talking to him, you were content in a dark corner, with a drink.

Nothing ever goes your way.

The meeting was by chance, he was dared to ask you to dance, you declined, he persisted giving you those puppy eyes. After glaring at him, he sighed, explaining it was a dare, and that he didn’t want to make a fool of himself, and before you knew what was happening, you were awkwardly swaying along to the music with him.

He, regrettably, stuck with you for the rest of the evening, and you ending up liking his company, to the extent where you invited him over the next day for pizza.

The pizza situation turned out to be a thing between the two of you, a tradition of sorts. He would come over with candy, in an oversized sweatshirt looking illegally adorable, you would supply the blankets, and movie nights would begin.

He had a sweet smile and sparkly eyes, which made you question if this was the guy who broke hearts, who was a player. He was like a puppy, it confused you to no end.

“Miss L/n?”, your professor asked, raising an eyebrow at your spaced out figure. Startling, you blinked rapidly, cringing at the situation you had put yourself in. “Sorry”, you apologized, focusing back on the textbook in front of you. You were majoring in Psychology, and while you love the subject, the teacher didn’t like you very much, probably because you had been so distracted the past few weeks, and you hadn’t done particularly well in the midterms.

Needless to say, you were stressed.

The class got over quickly, and you walked out of the lecture hall, deciding to get some coffee before your next class. The cafe was a well-loved one visited by almost every student, and was famous for its chai-lattes, so much so that others also visited it, and not just the students.

Turning towards the on-campus cafe, you spotted Ten already there. His glasses sat at the edge of his nose, giving him an oddly studious look, which was almost laughable. He stood there, holding two cups of coffee, eyes lighting up as he spotted you.

Ten Lee was going to be the death of you.

You walked up to him, taking the coffee which he handed to you, “What do you want?”, you asked suspiciously, taking a sip of the bittersweet drink. You noted the fact he had gotten your favorite, which only worsened the feeling of butterflies in the pit of your stomach. He looked mock offended, and grinned at you, “Nothing!”, he said, “Just wanted to see you”

You rolled your eyes in an attempt to thwart your initial reaction, beginning to walk back to the main campus, for your psych class. Ten walked beside you, holding his sketchbook in his right hand, and coffee in the left.

“Okay, um actually-”

“You want something don’t you?” “I need a reference model”, he said, “So, Y/n, could you please-”

“Oh my god no”, you said, without even letting the poor boy finish, “Last time this happened it ended up with a pain fight and my sweater destroyed.”

“I said I was sorry!”, he semi shrieked, “And this time I need it for a project worth half my grade.”

Sighing, you but your lower lip, nodded tentatively, to which he let out an almost inhuman sound of appreciation, “When are you free?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Nah, I have a date”

You blinked in surprise, and he smiled sheepishly. “Eun-hae asked me out and I said yes so”

“Of course you did”, you muttered bitterly, “You broke up with that other one yesterday”

He seemingly chose to ignore you, “Sunday?”

You nodded and took another sip of the drink you held. He smiled, his eyes forming those endearing crescents that you loved, or hated, depending on what you were going for.

“Thank you, Love you”, he called out, jogging away to his class. You watched him run-walk away, almost dropping his sketchbook. Shaking your head in amusement, you smiled somewhat sadly.

“No”, you whispered, “You don't”

You didn’t know exactly when you fell for Ten, only that it happened suddenly and you couldn’t deny it. He was idiotic, on many levels, but he was sweet and was there for you when you needed it.

He was a dance major, and an art minor, talented in both these aspects. You had seen him dance, it seemed like his body moved with the music, it told a story every time. He would illustrate emotion with his dancing. He did that with his art too, each stroke equivalent to a sentence from a story.

Anyone could tell he loved both of them.

You let out a frustrated sound, bending down to pick up the pen you had dropped. You were in your apartment, trying to finish an essay that was due the next day. You longingly glanced at your keyboard, the one instrument that you loved.

Well actually, you loved the piano, but you couldn’t haul your piano from back home to your apartment that you had rented out for your college years, and so you settled for a keyboard. You had loved music ever since you were little, instruments making its way in and out of your house. Your jazz phase consisted of saxophones, and you played the guitar for a bit too. You even picked up the drums for a while, insisting that it made you cooler (because every thirteen year old needed that validation), but you settled back to piano eventually.

You took part in competitions and such, sometimes singing along with your playing as well.

But you couldn’t afford to even think about playing, until you finished your assignments, which were all marked. They were extensive projects that made you want to scream at times. You didn’t care what Shakespeare meant, nor did you want to conduct a survey about emotions.

Turning the page of your textbook, you switched tabs to your next resource, ready to jot down more notes for the essay, when you saw a notification at the bottom right of your laptop, which was an email. You clicked on it and let it open.

Your eyes widened, gaping slightly at the screen as you read the email.

To: y/[email protected]

From: [email protected]

Good morning/evening,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into The Royal School Of Music on a scholarship. We have received your application and are impressed by your talent and dedication. Please send us a follow-up email within a month's time to confirm your attendance at our institution.

TRSOM

You grabbed your phone, texting your mother about the scholarship, shaking in happiness. It had been your dream to get into the Royal school, but you had initially applied to it on a whim, not really expecting to get in.

You swiped through your contacts, ready to call Ten, who was regrettably your best friend, to inform him of the good news, until you realized-

The school was in another country altogether.

While you knew Ten would be ecstatic about the fact you got it, you had known each other for four years, the entirety of your college career, and leaving for the school would be a bit of a shock. It was definitely not the fact that telling the boy you loved you were potentially never going to see him again that was deterring you from telling him.

You placed your phone back down, telling yourself you would deal with that later, reminding yourself you had an essay to finish.

Ten tapped his finger impatiently on the table, trying to figure out a way to get out of this date. Initially, the girl he was out with, Eun Hae by name, seemed nice, but as time went on, it was clear she had no personality.

Now, Ten wasn’t one to judge immediately. He tried to give her a chance, smiling and indulging in the bland conversation, he smiled and complimented her, and was sweet. It was going fine for a first date until of course, she suggested they share a fruit salad.

There were about fifteen other salads on the godforsaken menu, but no, she had to choose a fruit salad, above everything else.

Ten was not having it.

He excused himself, muttering something about an assignment, and went to the restroom of the restaurant, pulling out his phone and searching for your contact, clicking on it.

[8:39 pm] 10: y/n

[8:39 pm]10: my precious friend

[8:39 pm] n/n : what now

[8:40 pm]10: I need help

[8:40 pm] n/n: I refuse

[8:40 pm] 10: I am ofFENDED

[8:40 pm]10: please my date is making me eat fruit

[8:40 pm] n/n: sounds like a you problem

[8:40 pm] 10: I am quivering in fear and this is how you react

[8:40 pm] n/n: I have three assignments to finish

[8:41 pm] 10: I’ll take you for ice cream

[8:41 pm] n/n: deal

[8:41 pm] 10: why has our friendship been reduced to bribery

[8:41 pm] n/n stfu or I won't come and save you

[8:41 pm] 10: I LOVE YOU

He quickly sent you his location and put his phone back, getting back to the table and smiling as realistically as he could at the girl opposite him, who was still going on about one of her friends and their doings, while he tried to look as interested as possible.

“So, should we order-”

Right at that moment, you walked in, hair tousled because of the wind and a disgruntled expression on your face. He made an attempt not to smile at your appearance, ignoring the warm feeling he got on seeing you.

You looked around spotting him and storming over, “Ten Lee, what the fuck are you doing here”, you asked, ignoring the girl that sat right opposite him, mock angrily. He caught on, staring at you in bewilderment, noting the hint of amusement in your eyes, “How dare you to do this to me!”

“I-”

“Um, who are you?”, the girl asked, seemingly offended that you had interrupted their date.

You scoffed, displaying all your acting abilities in their full potential, “Who am I? Who are you?”

She blinked in confusion, and Ten used every bit of willpower he had to prevent him from bursting out into laughter. “I’m his date?”

“Un-fucking-believable”, you said, “Ten Lee how could you?”

At this point, Ten was invested in whatever lie you had somehow come up with to get him out of this date. It seemed like you had an entire explanation for it, either that or you were taking the opportunity to scream at him. Both seemed valid.

“How dare you lead this poor girl on!”, you continued, taking a turn, making the girl look scared, “You didn’t tell her did you?” “Tell me what?”, she asked anxiously, leaning forward. You fought to keep your straight face on seeing Ten lean forward too, apparently interested in whatever abomination he committed.

“He’s gay”, you said with as straight a face as possible, which was hard considering the girl looked so embarrassed, you could see her face go red. Your best friend looked at you incredulously, almost as embarrassed as his ‘date’ was, and mildly amused.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’ll be taking him”, you stated, grabbing Ten’s hand and taking him along with you, out of the restaurant and onto the streets.

“You really-” “Ice cream”, you demanded, smirking at his obvious embarrassment. He gaped at your indignance, but nodded, “At least you got me out of there”

“I’m an actress”

“Fuck off”

“Finals are in two weeks, I still come help and this is how to repay me? Ungrateful”

The two of you took Ten’s car to the Ice cream shop, leaning on the hood as you ate your ice cream, with Ten occasionally stealing bites. You smacked his hand away, glaring at his as he tried to take another.

“I’m literally the one paying for it”, he argued.

“This is payment for saving your ass”, you retorted. He slung an arm around you, ignoring you and taking his phone out, scrolling through Instagram. You leaned into him, the scent of your shampoo making its way to him. There was that warm feeling again, and he didn’t like it one bit.

Deep down, he knew what it was, but he was too much of a coward to ever try, or even take a chance with it, because he wasn’t one for commitment, and even though he had thought about it, he was, as much as he hated to admit it, scared.

“So can I get another scoop?”

“You have assignments to finish”

THREE WEEKS TO GRADUATION

The lilting tune played through your apartment, your fingers running across the ivory keys in fervor. They clicked and clacked ever so often, which was the one thing you hated about keyboards. The keys weren’t as firm as an upright piano, giving the music an annoying clickity noise.

Most of the time, you could ignore it, but today you were tired, and this piece was particularly difficult. For some reason, you were having trouble playing the accessories, and keeping the piece in time. You played that part over and over again, but it wouldn’t work.

You switched off the metronome in annoyance, you stared at the music sheet in front of you, trying to figure out how the fuck you should play the piece. Your door clicked, and you did your best to curb your annoyance at the fact someone was interrupting your practise time, no matter how hard the piece was.

Like all keyboards, yours was smaller than an actual piano, and looked very out of place in your apartment, which was warmly decorated with all sorts of trinkets and such. One of Ten’s sweatshirts was thrown on the sofa, and for some unknown reason there were three candles sitting on your table.

It was confusion incarnate, to say the least.

You heard the door click, and a girl walked in, smiling at you. It was the only other person other than Ten who had the key to your apartment, Angie. She was shorter than you, but only by a little bit, had a fringe and brown eyes. She was pretty, and easy to talk to, which was probably what drew you to her in the first place.

“Hey”, she greeted, seeing you on your keyboard, “Whatcha playin?”

“An andante”, you groaned, “Why are you here?”

“I have nowhere else to be”, he said bluntly, “Renjun’s at Doyoung’s place or something”, she pulled out her phone, “I’m just here to chill dude, continue playing, I finished two projects and my brain in dead”

Renjun was her boyfriend, who was on the Dance Team with Ten. The two were ridiculously cute, but due to the fact she now had a boyfriend, the two of you spent less time together. You were okay with it though, you understood.

“Isn’t Doyoung with his girlfriend?”, you asked, and she shook her head, “No, she’s at her Chinese class”

You nodded, going back to your piece, placing your fingers on the correct notes when-

SLAM

Your door opened and closed again, and you closed your eyes, praying to whatever God existed that one day, you would get to practise without interruptions. Ten trudged through throwing himself on the couch, next to Angie, who paid him no attention. “Hi”, he greeted you, and you glared, causing him to give you a look of confusion.

“What did I do now?”

“Not your fault, sorry, I’m not getting this piece”

He perked up, walking over to where you were, “Can I help?”, he asked, gesturing for you to move to the side of the piano stool so he could sit next to you. He studied the notes, as you looked at him, admiring his side profile, wondering how someone could be so pretty. He placed his hand on the keys, playing it. He made a mistake but in the place you had gotten. He got the part you were struggling right.

“Here, do this”, he explained, “The notes are after the third but before the fourth count, so you have to play it quickly”

You nodded, trying to play it, not quite getting it but it was getting there. He smiled, his eyes turning into crescents as he grinned at you.

You hated his smile.

It was infuriating, the fact that he always helped you, he was always there. You kept finding yourself falling for him more and more, and you didn’t want to, because you knew how Ten was, and it was making the whole ‘telling him about the acceptance into the music school’ a lot harder.

You thanked him, pushing him off the stool playfully so you could finish your practice session before going back to studying. He made a mock offended look, retreating to the couch next to Angie, who was engrossed in texting someone, presumably her boyfriend.

His hair was messed up, sticking up in different directions making him look ridiculously adorable. You shut down the keyboard, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to practice anymore with the both of them around. You went to sit next to Angie, but Ten’s entire presence seemed to be in your way.

“Move”

“No, I’m comfortable” “Chittaphon Leechaiya-”

“Yeah I’d like some chai”, Angie said mindlessly, causing the two of you to look at her in mild astonishment. She seemingly didn’t notice your gaping looks, still scrolling through whatever she was looking at.

“Did you just reduce me to tea?”, Ten asked.

Angie looked at him, mystified. “It seems so”, you mused. A slow smirk stretched across his lips. He propped himself up on his elbows, his too-long hair falling over his eyes

“I’m flattered”

“What?”

“Tea is hot. I’m hot”, he drawled, waiting for the two of your reactions to his statement.

You smacked him.

It was your designated pizza day, which meant Ten was at your place. He was currently in the kitchen getting something to drink and ordering the pizza while you sat alone in your living room.

You looked up at your laptop screen, going over the draft of the email you were to send back the The Royal School of Music. Your parents had been extremely proud of you for getting in, and had called you the other night to congratulate you. You heard footsteps, quickly shutting your laptop down, looking up at Ten who walked into your living room from the kitchen.

“Pizza will arrive in a bit”, he said, handing you your drink and plopping down next to you, “Movie?”

“Uh Bridge to Terabithia”, you spouted, taking a sip. You were supposed to be looking for a movie while he was gone, but instead had begun writing the email, so you spouted the name of one of your childhood favorites, that never failed to make you cry. He nodded and you opened Netflix, quickly searching the movie and pressing play.

Ten wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as the two of you sat in silence. The movie played, and even though you had already watched it before, you still found yourself invested in it. Except you weren’t completely focusing. Ten was so close, his fingers brushing against your hips, his breath near your neck. It felt right, like you were supposed to be like this.

That was the thing, it never felt wrong when you were with Ten, it was like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. Except of course for the fact he wasn’t yours. You knew how Ten was, he was the heartbreaker, and you were the one who was always there to pick up the pieces. Still it was nice to pretend that he was yours, because that was all you could do.

Pretend.

He kept talking about how he wanted someone who understood him, who he could be with, not just some stupid fling. He kept repeating the same thing again and again, and it frustrated you to no end, because you understood him and you were right there, but he never saw you. He would flirt with you, he would do everything and yet, he would never even think of you.

You leaned into him subconsciously, biting your lower lip as you stared at the screen in anticipation. He started playing with your hair, twirling it around his fingers, his hot breath on your neck making hard for you to fully concentrate on the movie.

You hated the effect he had on you, he had barely even done anything, but had still managed to make you nervous. He pulled you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Are you even watching?”, you asked, semi breathlessly, “Yes”, he responded, “But I want to cuddle.” You couldn’t argue with that logic, so you relaxed into his embrace, as much as you could. “You’re warm”, he murmured against your skin, looking back up at the screen and humming a random tune. “I’m hungry”

“I think I have some M&M’s on the counter”, you mused, “I’ll go get them”, you jumped at the chance to get up and get away from Ten, who was positively driving you crazy at this point. However, your grand plan was cut short when he refused, “I can go get it”, he made a move to get up.

“Sit down idiot-”, you said, pushing him off you, but accidentally tripped over yourself, falling back into his embrace. He laughed, hands falling to your waist to make sure you didn’t fall. “Graceful”, he snickered, and you glared at him. “I hate you”, you grumbled, “You love me”, he teased, making you almost fall again.

Except this time, his face was dangerously close to yours, and you just stared at him, your mind going blank. His arms were still around you, preventing you from falling. His eyes fluttered down to your lips for a second before he looked back up. He opened his mouth to say something but-

RING

The doorbell rang, startling the two of you out of your trance. You pulled away from Ten, shakily walking over to the door and opening it.

“Pizza?”, the guys asked, handing you the pizza box, “Yeah thanks”, you paid him and walked straight into your kitchen, not giving Ten another look, because you knew that you wouldn’t be able to.

You sighed, shutting your eyes, and trying to collect yourself, before grabbing the M&M’s and walking back into the living room, where Ten was sitting, eyes trained on the screen.

“You missed an entire scene”

“YOU DIDN’T PAUSE IT FOR ME-?”

The music echoed through the studio, its melody harsh and striking. It was dark, no lights were on, but the mirrors reflected the only person in the room-Ten.

His figure moved with the music, choosing to do whatever it pleased, trying to portray the beautiful piece to its fullest. The higher notes gave it a sort of hopeful effect, a guide. It lead you to believe that it was alright, it was fine.

The lower notes added depth to the melody, giving it a richer feel. The two played together made it a beautiful piece, with a sort of melancholic feel. He danced to it, telling a story with his body. Ten would do this sometimes, instead of choosing an upbeat song to dance to, he’d take a classical piece, something that he could feel.

There was something in this piece, the Tempest, that resounded within him. It reminded him of you, specifically your friendship with him if you could even call it that. He got that warm feeling again that day when you had almost fallen. He would’ve kissed you if not for the doorbell.

Ten wasn’t one for commitment, he wasn’t one for standing up first and telling people about his feelings. He played people, he played them like he painted a picture, or danced.

Speaking of which, the piece had suddenly taken a turn for the turbulent, faster-paced, anxious even. It resembled his feelings perfectly, the random urges to tell you, the anxiety for the outcome. He somehow managed to gracefully enact these feelings, making it look like art instead of the confusion he felt.

Maybe he chose this piece not only for himself but for you too.

It was one of your favorite ones to play, you could and would talk about it for days, especially when you had just mastered playing it. It wasn’t an easy piece, with all the nuances and timing changes, but you pulled it off. He could almost pretend it was you playing.

And then suddenly it mellowed down, the piece sounding hopeful as if there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and you could finally see it. A solution, a happy ending to the harsh waves of the storm, a merry end. His moves became lighter and almost joyful, as he twirled and jumped.

It was all an illusion.

A lie to make you believe the storm was over, there was no hope for this story. The harsh melody returned with vengeance, striking down the sliver of longing, any dream of making it out. Ten did his best to keep up with it, but the sudden change of emotions was startling even to him. It had changed so quickly, he didn’t even have time to comprehend it.

It ended on a triumphant note, like a proud win over an enemy, a victory that shone above everything. Ten ended the dance with a pirouette, panting as he tried calming himself down from the intense session. He couldn’t help feeling triumphant as well, the adrenaline of the piece getting to him, yet, he was skeptical.

Because he had a feeling it was the Tempest that had triumphed, and not him.

You’ll admit: you were not having fun with Psych. You had been studying all day, trying to absorb some of the stuff you had been taught throughout the year. Even though studying human behaviour had always intrigued and interested you, the reason you chose Psych, you couldn’t care less about oxytocin and how attraction worked, nor did you care about how human behaviour was affected by it.

But you had been at it for the past 6 hours, and was tired, so when Angie came along and expressed her disgust and sympathy about your studying endeavors, she hauled you up from the place you had been sitting at for most of the day and instructed you to change and get ready to go or a party.

So you found yourself at a frat party, Angie's arm hooked in yours and music blaring all around you. It was hot and dark, and you could barely see anything with the terrible lighting. You couldn’t tell what song was being played at such high volume, but awkwardly swayed to it anyways, wondering if staying at home at falling down the hole of ice cream and Netflix would have been a better alternative to this.

There were couples making out, and random beer cans everywhere. Everyone was half drunk, and you took this as an excuse to go get a drink. You turned to Angie who was looking the other way.

“Angie”, you whisper-screamed her name into her ear, causing her to jump, “I’m going to get a drink okay?”, you explained, to which she nodded. “I’m going to Renjun”, she said, walking away and leaving you alone.

Friendship.

You pushed through the crowd of sweaty adults, to get to the makeshift bar that was at the other end of the frat. You stopped occasionally to greet friends, or smile at a random cute boy, but finally made it to the kitchen. Johnny, one of your other friends stood there, inclining his head in a greeting. “Hey, what do you want?” “Are you in charge of the drinks or something?”, you asked, leaning on the island of the kitchen. He grinned at you, shaking his head, “No, but I’m so much I might as well be!”

You laughed, requesting for your drink of choice, which he went to fix for you. You licked your lips, scanning the area to find another friend to latch onto, since Angie had so kindly abandoned you.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here”, a very familiar voice said form behind you, and you turned to see none other than your best friend.

But he looked nothing like what you were used to.

Ten’s hair was slicked back instead of splayed out on his forehead like usual, his eyes seemed darker, probably due to the alcohol. He was wearing skinny jeans, and a blazer with most of the buttons undone, his chest in full view.

Ten looked hot.

“Uh-”, you started like the well read person you were, “Angie dragged me”

He smirked, “Of course she did”, he took a seat on one of the stools, legs spreading as he leaned back. You looked away, trying your hardest not to stare at the boy in front of you, who was making that mission increasingly harder with every little thing he did.

Johnny came back out, offering you a smile and your drink, which you took from him, returning his smile. He handed a glass of something you couldn’t make out to Ten, who took a sip, keeping it on the island. “You don’t seem to be having fun”, he observed, hands finding your waist and pulling you closer to him.

This was a normal thing, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t the same innocent gesture. “I just arrived idiot”, you scoffed. He smirked, “You can look at me you know”, he teased, and you could feel the heat rush to your face. You turned your gaze to him. Currently you were in between his legs, and your mind was a mess.

The first thing you noticed was his tattoo on his right arm which you had seen before. The next was one you hadn't seen before, and rightly so, since it was on his chest.

“Done staring at me?”, he said with a smirk, and your eyes snapped up to his, holding his gaze. If you hated the effect his eyes had on you before, you positively despised them now. He was staring at you through a half lidded gaze, licking his lips. Even without any alcohol in your system you felt dizzy, but not a sick way. Ten was driving you crazy, with his hands on your waist, eyes on you and just everything about him in the moment.

“You’re pretty”, he murmured, looking up at you, eyes falling to your lips, “Did you know that?”, his voice was deeper than usual, sending shivers down your spine. “I-”

“Hmm?”, he sounded absent minded, like he wasn’t even listening to you, which was great considering you didn’t even know what to say. He pushed you a little, standing up himself, now looking down.

“If you didn’t know, I think you are”, he said, face closer than any friend’s face should have been. You breath hitched in anticipation. “Ten?”, your voice was small, quivering almost under his gaze.

He was so close, painfully close. If anyone asked you how you got into this position in the first place, you wouldn’t be able to explain, not quite knowing yourself.

“Y/n, I need you for a second”, Angie appeared from nowhere, freezing when she saw the two of you in that position, “Um- I can leave-”

“Hey Ang”, Ten greeted, moving away from you. You missed the proximity, as much as you hated to admit it. You blinked hazily at your friend who had so conveniently interrupted whatever you had going on with Ten. You silently cursed yourself for getting so out of it. “Here, I think Arya is calling me anyways so”, he pushed his hands in his jeans pockets. He glanced at you, before walking away and out of the kitchen.

Would he have kissed you?

You looked over at your friend, who was still staring at you like she had seen a ghost. “Did I interrupt something?”, she asked, eyes wide. You felt embarrassed, taking a step back as if you were trying to walk out of the whole situation. “I’m not sure”, you said, “What do you need me for?”

“I need you to hold my drink, I need to go to the bathroom, Renjun is drunk as fuck and I trust you”, she explained, handing you her glass. You nodded, “And maybe can you watch my dumbass of a boyfriend please?”

You snorted, agreeing and walking to the main area of the party that was unfortunately the most crowded. You spotted Renjun on top of Donghyuck, practically choking the latter boy who was laughing for some reason. You could see why Angie went to you for her drink. Walking over, you tried to help Mark, another one of your friends, in separating Renjun and Donghyuck from initiating the 77th hunger games on a friday night.

After somewhat succeeding in pulling the two away from each other, Angie had arrived, choosing to ignore her wasted boyfriends antics and taking her glass back from you.

You remembered you had left your own drink back in the kitchen, and so you backtracked your steps to said place, when you saw it.

Ten was standing with a girl, her hands around his neck. He was saying something that made her giggle, throwing her head back in laughter as he grinned happily. You froze watching the scene unbeknownst to Ten. You didn’t know what you were feeling for an entire minute until it hit you.

You were hurt.

It was a pricking sort of feeling, like a rod prodding at your heart. It was like a warning, telling you to look away before it pierced your heart, but you couldn’t look away for some reason. It was like your mind was mocking you, telling you keep watching, to realize you never had the slightest chance with Ten.

You weren’t special, whatever flirting he did with you he did to everyone, anything that had remotely happened wasn’t even mentionable, because you were like every other girl in the crowd, and it fucking hurt. It hurt to see the boy you loved not give you a moment's thought, not even give you a chance.

That night you went back to your apartment alone, leaving Angie to deal with her boyfriend. You had never felt this horrible before, it had never escalated to this level of hurt. This type of hurt was different, a dull ache reminding you of what an idiot you were to have ever hoped for more.

You hated Ten for several things, his eyes, his smile, the way he could make you giddy by doing the simplest things. But in the moment, you hated yourself more.

You hated yourself for loving Ten Lee.

‘Don’t call me kid, Don’t call me baby, look at this godforsaken mess that you’ve made me. You showed me colours you know i can’t see with anyone else’

You sat on a colourful rug, holding a book up, and surrounded by several other books. You were in a sort of greenhouse, the walls and roof were made completely off glass, and the light streamed through, giving the scene a sort of whimsical aura.

This was the place ten has chosen to paint you, standing behind his easel and and focusing on the canvas, occasionally looking up at you. There were flecks of white and pale blue paint on his face, and he looked whimsical in a way as well.

You sat there, ignoring the warnings in your mind that told you to stay away from Ten for yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You showed up to the venue right on time, and did your best to not seem any different. You spaced out, eyes focusing on a random word on a page. Ten had promised he was almost done with it, since the two of you had been at it for quite a while now.

His lower lip was caught between his teeth in concentration, hair messed up from the amount of times he had run his hand through it. He stepped back for a second, inspecting his work, a dorky smile stretching out on his lips.

“It’s done!”, he said, “Some fixing, but I can do that later, get your ass here!”

You get to your feet, placing the book on one of the piles of them around you and walking towards him, biting down your own smile at this enthusiasm. You walked behind the easel, your eyes falling on the painting.

It was gorgeous, the colours complimenting each other. The depiction of the light rays was so soft, yet it was there shining down on the main part of the picture- you. He had painted you so prettily, almost fairy like in the midst of the scene. You stared at the painting in awe, unable to think of words to describe it.

“So?”, he asked hopefully, his eyes searching yours for some sort of reaction. You looked at him, then at the painting, then back at him, wondering how he could’ve made it look so fanciful, something out of a disney movie.

“It’s beautiful”, you whispered, your voice not daring to go any louder. He smiled placing his palette down and standing next to you. “It’s not hard when the subject is beautiful”, he said nonchalantly. You froze, silently telling yourself to calm down, to not react to it, that it wasn’t anything to be noted. Yet something in you clicked, shifted into place.

You were angry.

You were furious at Ten, with his pretty smiles and wishful eyes. You hated it when he flirted with you, because he kept leading you on, you hated it when he looked at you like you were the world, because it was a lie, it was all a fucking lie.

“Don’t”, you said, voice shaky. He stared at you in confusion, which only irked you more.

“Don’t”, your voice betrayed you, breaking. He looked alarmed, reaching his hand out, “Hey, Are you okay-”

“No, I’m not okay”, you hissed, slapping his hand away, stepping back. Your mind was clouded with a feeling of helplessness, helplessness at not being able to tell him how you felt, how you hated what he did, how all you wanted was something you definitely couldn’t have. He looked bewildered at your seemingly sudden outburst.

“Stop fucking playing with me”, you said, “I’m not this”, you searched for the words, coming back with nothing, “Stop complimenting me, calling me sweet nothings, making me believe-”, you sucked in a breath, feeling the tears build up in your eyes, years of pent up frustration finally making their way out of you.

You looked up at him, he still seemed to not be following, “Y/n, I don’t-”

“I’m in love with you”, you choked out finally, the words seeming to tie you down, rather than set you free like you had once hoped. “I’m in love with you”, you repeated, Ten could hear the rage in your voice, washing down on him like the waves of the Tempest, harsh and real. “And I hate myself for it”

Your voice was softer, much more mellow now, like it was tired. A single tear trickled down your face, and you looked up to see a stunned Ten, eyes wide at your state. He said nothing, instead just looked at you, as if you were a different person all of a sudden. It wasn’t a pretty sight, you crying and him standing there like a statue, not a word escaping his lips.

The air seemed to be colder all of a sudden, biting into the exposed areas of your skin. There was that aching feeling again, that pricking of your heart, the silent ‘i told you so’, that your mind seemed to be playing on repeat. You brushed the tears away from your face furiously, feeling stupid all of a sudden.

“I’m going to go”, you muttered, grabbing your things and walking out, not caring if you looked idiotic, and not staying to listen to any pathetic response he gave you.

Ten watched you leave, cursing himself for being such an idiot to you. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he was in love with you himself, but he would never admit it. He hated himself for it, because he knew what he had done. He had flirted with you, had played you, but it was only because he thought the two of you never had a chance.

He hated himself because it was him, after all this time, who had destroyed that chance.

You sat in front of your computer, back at your apartment, trying not to cry again as you stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the send button. It hurt much worse than you expected it to, his silence had made everything all the worse. But you were tired of him going back and forth. You were tired of having to pick up the pieces every time when he broke another girls heart, or someone else broke his.

You had nothing to lose this time. So alone, in your room you pressed send, signing of your future, sending the email to The Royal School of Music.

Alone.

Finals week passed in a blur of stress crying, all nighters and excessive reading of things that you had read a million times before, and if they hadn’t already gotten into your head, they would never. Which prompted the stress crying.

It was a vicious cycle.

You barely stepped out of your apartment, other than to actually take the exam. All your time was taken up in studying, occasionally eating, and studying again. You also didn’t see Ten that much, other than a glimpse, but immediately swerved away, not in any mood to deal with that confrontation as of yet.

Somehow, you managed to make it to the end of the week, without completely going mad. You made it out of finals, and was technically done with your college career altogether, which was crazy to even think of. You had spent the last four years of your life in this hellhole to get to where you were, and you had made it.

So seeing yourself in front of the mirror a week later, donning your cape and cap over your clothes, you smiled for the first time in two weeks. It was the day you finally graduated and went out into the world as a person with a degree.

Granted, you were slightly pissed at the fact you had spent four years, and paid an enormous amount of money for a sheet of paper, but at the moment, you couldn’t get the fact that you were finally done with it out of your head. You were happy.

The ceremony started off slowly, the principal calling the names of the students in alphabetical order. You saw Ten walk up and take his degree, a broad smile on his lips. You saw Angie take hers, almost tripping over her cape, earning a laugh from the principal, and fond looks all about. You saw Renjun and Donghyuck hugging instead of at each other's throats for once, and Mark randomly beat boxing for no reason.

You went up on the stage, taking the degree and smiling, realizing that your vision was hazy. Tears of happiness had made their way to your eyes, and you blinked them back, thanking the principal and smiling at the crowd. You walked off, going to stand with your little group of friends.

Later on, Angie went off with her boyfriend for a celebratory date, Renjun and Donghyuck decided to crash at Marks place, and you? You decided to walk through the campus one last time, before you never returned. You were done with college and this place wasn’t yours anymore. It held a sort of nostalgic feel all of a sudden, walking under the arches and admiring the architecture one last time.

You were holding your cap in your hand, after finding it on the ground somewhere after the throwing of them. Your cape was folded and hung from your arm as you walked through, deciding to go get some coffee after you were done.

Lost in your own thoughts, you bumped into someone, dropping the cap., “Sorry-”, you begun you apologize for your absent mindedness, crouching to pick up your cap when you saw the person you had run into.

Ten.

You silently scowled, cursing whatever above that had thrown the two of you together at the very moment, and cleared your throat uncomfortably, looking away. “Hey”, he said breathlessly, looking you up and down. He looked great, he always did, you couldn’t deny the fact no matter how much you were trying to hate him.

“Hi”, you said curtly, “I have to go”

“Wait”, he reached out, grabbing your hand, “Can we talk?”, his voice was tilting towards the hopeful side. It reminded you of your own foolish hope, and you didn’t like it one bit. “No”, you said, “I have to go”, you repeated for words, crushing any hope.

“No- Wait, please, Y/n let me explain”, he pleaded his case, his eyes striking through yours, stirring up some sort of sympathy. Your mind was telling you to go, to get out as fast as possible, but your heart softened, as it always did with him.

“Explain what?”, you chuckled bitterly, “You’ve made it pretty clear how you feel Ten. I was stupid”, your words were hurting yourself, but hurting him too, because he knew it wasn’t your fault.

“No Y/n, you-”

“I what?”, you hissed in question. He spluttered, discouraged by your disinterest in whatever he was trying to tell you. You wanted nothing more to get away from him in that moment, but he seemed to want to stretch out your time together as much as possible. It annoyed you, and made you sad at the same time.

The more time you were with him, the more you could feel your heart break.

“I love you”, he said quietly, “I know I’m a terrible person for leading you on and not realizing earlier, but I love you.” You froze, standing there and staring at him. He looked back, not daring to break your gaze. Instead of joy, which was what you had expected to feel if he ever uttered those words, you felt angrier.

“Please Y/n”, he said, “Just give me a chance?”

You stayed silent, contemplating your choices. “How long have we been friends?”

“What-”

“How long have we known each other Ten?”

“Four years, but I don’t see-”

“We have been friends for four fucking years. I was there for every heartbreak, every date, every girl. I stood on the sidelines, I listened to you, I have you advice when you needed it, I comforted you when you cried. But you? You never gave me a chance!”, you exclaimed, “Not a second glance, not a single chance.”

He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, taking in your words and trying to think of something to justify them, but he couldn’t, he knew you were right.

“So yes”, you voice quivered, “You are an idiot. You’re an idiot for never realizing my feelings when i made it PAINFULLY obvious”, you took steps back, trying to calm yourself.

“I can't believe I”, you scoffed at yourself, your own idiocy, “I can’t believe that three out of four years I was in love with you, but I guess that’s what makes me the dumb bitch.” You looked away, the words you had wanted to say since forever finally out of your system. He stood there, just a few steps away from you. But then, why did it seem like he was miles away?

“I’m sorry”, he said weakly, “I hate myself for what I did, but Y/n I”, he paused, shutting his eyes in frustration, “I’m in love with you dammit, and I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I’ve put you through but, can we-”

“No”, you said, “We can’t”

“Y/n give us a chance, please”

“You don’t understand!”, you said almost feverishly, blinking back tears, “I can’t Ten”

“Why not?”, he asked, walking closer to you. You took a step back from him, looking at the boy you loved with remorseful eyes. “I’m leaving Ten. I’m leaving for a music school in another country.”

He blanched, any hope withering away, like a dead flower, dried with the summer heat, like a lone boat in the midst of a storm. You let out a pathetic sob, realizing that you couldn’t ever have Ten, no matter what.

“I’ll be gone before we could ever be”

The world was never fair. It came at you with things you wished never happened, you wished you could change, or would have handled better. Like a storm on an unsuspecting sailor, it’s waves crashed down on you, and you were unable to breathe.

Life was the tempest, with it’s harsh tremors, it’s sudden soft waves that lead you to believe things were going to be okay. It’s highs and it’s lows, the good times and the bad. You found it ironic, the fact you were playing your favorite piece of all time, and it reminded you of reality.

You had always viewed music as an escape from reality, but now you were starting to connect the two, using music to let both the worlds connect. Your fingers flew across the keys, the climactic melody thundering through your apartment.

Finishing the piece, you let out a sigh, taking the music sheets and placing them back in your folder. Shutting the keyboard down, you cleared up a bit, settling down on your couch. Cracking your knuckles, you pulled out your phone to mindlessly scroll through Instagram as one did to pass time.

You seemed to do that often, now that you were officially done with college and had a bit of time before you left for The Royal School of Music, approximately three weeks, you honestly had nothing else to do with your time.

And so, you indulged in the world of reels and other videos that didn’t necessarily add anything of worth to your being. Time seemed to trickle by slowly, much slower than you would have liked.

Your flight to the country in which the school was in had already been booked, your registration had been completed, and you had even found an apartment to rent over there. Some of your belongings had already been sent for shipping, leaving you with the bare minimum. You had even sold some stuff, because cross country shipping was expensive, and you had gathered quite a few things over your four years staying in your college area that you definitely didn’t need.

It seemed as if everything was set, you were ready to leave everything behind.

Your doorbell rang, it's obnoxious ringing sound making you wince out of annoyance. You got up from your spot on the couch reluctantly, and walked over to the door to open it.

You were met with a slightly disheveled looking Ten on the other side, hair slightly messy. It had been yet another week since you had seen him, not have been in contact since graduation day, and suddenly here he was at your doorstep. Before you could even say anything, he pushed his hand out, thrusting a pizza box in your face.

“I know you don’t want to see me, and I don’t blame you but”, he took a deep breath, “You’re going, and it sucks, but I’m happy for you, so i brought pizza, for old times sake?”

You blinked in surprise, your hands on their own accord and taking the box. As if he could sense you were skeptical, he rambled on, “Just a movie and pizza, then I’ll leave I promise.” Everything inside you screamed at you to say no, but the words left you before you could even comprehend your mind's thoughts.

“Okay”

You opened the door more, walking back into your apartment, opening the box and taking your laptop to search for a movie. He closed the door after himself, taking a seat beside you on the couch, but not touching you. It was like there was a wall in between the two of you, and you couldn’t break it down.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to.

“There’s a new season of His Dark Materials”, you thought aloud, “We could binge that.”

It was so easy, being with Ten. Like falling back into a routine you had missed, a habit that had been cultivated. It was natural, him by your side, eating pizza and searching for a movie or series to binge. It was a tradition for the two of you after all, and even though you had stayed away from Ten for your own heart, it felt so good to do this again. You had missed it.

“Sure”, he agreed, taking a slice of the pizza, the stringy cheese not breaking, “We may need plates.”

You shook your head at his comical state, placing your laptop down and walking into your kitchen, opening the topmost cupboard to get the plates down, when you realized you couldn’t reach it. Now usually, you would just get a stool or something to climb on top off, but that would mean going back out there and admitting to Ten that you were short.

That was not acceptable.

Of course any grand plans of somehow getting the plates down without Ten knowing had been thrown out the window when he himself walked into the kitchen, “Are you making the plates or something? What’s taking so long?”

He spotted you, hands stretching up, leaning over the counter. Ten smirked, walking over and taking the plates down himself, “Someone’s short”, he snickered, to which you glared, “You’re short too dumbass.”

“You’re shorter”, he teased, taking the second plate down. He was standing in front of you, directly facing you as he placed the second plate of the counter top. You stared indignantly at him, and he caught your gaze, holding it. It was the same Ten you had known since you entered your campus, the same Ten you met at that party.

The same Ten you were in love with.

His eyes shifted from yours to your lips, realizing how close the two of you were. His hand raised up to your face cupping it. You subconsciously leaned into his touch, eyes wide, waiting for him to do something, anything.

His eyes searched yours for an answer, some sort of indication that he could go ahead. You knew that nothing good would come from this, but you couldn't help but nod your head a little too fast, and fisting the end of his shirt in anticipation.

He kissed you.

His lips moved against yours softly, hesitantly, like they were scared you would disappear if he went any faster. It was nothing like you had ever imagined (believe me, you had imagined), but it was better. It was like a culmination of wanting had been poured into the kiss, and you didn’t want it to stop.

You could’ve sworn time had stopped when he kissed you, the world around you seeming to fade away. You could feel your knees going weak with the overwhelming feeling, the flutter in your stomach growing. If you hadn’t been holding onto the end of his shirt so hard, you would have collapsed into him.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered against your lips, pulling away, cupping your face, “I know I’m an idiot”, he confessed, and you resist the urge to agree, “I know I’m an idiot but,”, he stopped again, resting his forehead against yours. “One night”, he whispered, voice shaky now, “Will you be mine for just one night?”

There was something fragile in his voice, like he was afraid of your answer. You looked up, looking at those eyes you hated, but loved at the same time. You silently agreed, pressing your lips to his again, kissing him once more. His hands dropped down to your waist, your hands wrapped around his neck as you stole another long awaited kiss from him.

The plates were long forgotten about, instead the two of you stumbled back into the living room, hands not leaving each other. The back of his knees hit the couch, and he sat down, taking you with him. You sat on top of him, breathing heavily.

He pressed his lips to your forehead affectionately as you leaned into Ten, not ever wanting the moment to end. “I’m tired”, you whispered, all the years of pining and wishing he was yours suddenly weighing you down.

“I know”

“This isn’t going to end well is it?”

“I don’t know”, he mused, rubbing your back comfortingly. You looked at him once again, like you had done many times before, except this time he was yours, for how long? You didn’t know. You didn’t want the night to end, the prospect of losing him again already making your stomach pit.

“I love you”, he said, and you didn’t say it back. You didn’t have too, you had said it many times already, you had told him. Instead you kissed him again, getting drunk on him.

The rest of the night was spent this way,lazily kissing, cuddling, and eating pizza straight out of the box since neither of you wanted to get up again. Ten held you like you were the world, and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. The two of you forgot about the serial you were supposed to binge as well, too caught up with each other to even care.

He told you about how he got scouted for dancing by an entertainment company, you filled him in about The Royal School of Music, about how you were so glad College was over even though you would miss it. He made you laugh with his stupid jokes, and it felt like it had always been. Somewhere along the line, the two of you fell asleep in the dead of the night, or almost morning, tangled up in each others arms, happy.

You woke up on your couch alone, your apartment lonely and silent. You looked around sleepily, your eyes catching a glimpse of the clock on your wall, which told you it was already noon. You pulled your knees to your chest, feeling out of place. Something was missing.

Ten.

Ten was gone, nowhere to be seen. You tried thinking back, wondering why he was gone, until you realized - one night was over. Like he had promised, he was gone, not yours anymore, and you weren’t his. You shivered, realizing that there wasn’t any blankets or anything on the couch, yet you couldn't seem to get up.

It hurt. You wanted to cry and scream, the realization that he was gone, before you could even fully have him sinking it. It felt so unfair, the fact that you could never really ever have Ten, someone you had loved for four fucking years, for more than a night.

You took in a shaky breath, looking to the end of the sofa, which is when you saw it. It was Ten’s painting, the one of you in the greenhouse, supposedly reading the books. On the top a sticky note read ‘The Tempest’. You brushed your finger over the painting, taking it in. He had left it here for you, and it was the one thing you had of him. At the bottom, it was signed in his handwriting.

‘10’.

“널 다시 만나면 네 손을 잡고 말해줄 텐데 I will never let you go”

fin.

852 notes · View notes

lexpressobean · 3 years

Text

I've been thinking about these 3 alot...

... and how much they seem to really respect Shino. I know it's a filler, but, like... Why does it seem like Shino has a knack for finding children who have wondered off away from school? Like, he's just taking a walk, making his way around the village or surrounding forest, and then there they are. Kids playing hooky or some shit. And Shino just takes it upon himself to approach them and steer them back to where they should be, while getting them attached to him somehow in the process??

But honestly. If this was just one of many times this had happened, I'd say Shino does this not out of his knack for teaching or having a way with kids. Rather, he developed a way with kids and easily applies that to his teaching because he has a strong desire to simply protect children. And it's not even from some paternal instinct as much as survival, because I think it stems from the developing trauma of losing Torune to Danzo. And I don't think it's all subconscious either.

Like I know the novel and anime frames his desicion to teach as a sort of a new goal in life as the war has ended for a couple years already and a noticable Peace has been achieved by the Blank Period and well... He's an Aburame.

Like, the Aburame are literal living, breathing, walking bioweapons. With no fight to utilize that, what else is there? Well, much like the Nara have the Nara forest and Pharmacology specifically, The Aburame most likely have a historical stake in the area of Konoha, perhaps it was simply in their Ancestral Home. Idk, but they're here to stay, they ain't budging. They're Clan Culture is very Martial and I'd argue Spartan in nature, but otherwise, they do other things too. I think they'd do well as major players in the conservation and research of native species of animals and plants, but definitely insects too. I bet they play a huge part in the general area's ecosystem, especially due to the fact that the Kamizuru clan attacked with a whole clan's worth of non-native Hymenoptera that could very well have become and still are an irritatingly and consistent problem as invasive species tend to be. And as a far as goods go, why not put some of them to use and handle an apiary? Honey is a great good to sell. All of this is great as a clan that no longer needs to fight. But, what about individual members in general, and so Shino?

Well Shino is the Heir of this clan. This Noble Clan. This "ready to throw hands at any moment" clan. It's future is in his hands, so to speak. So I doubt Shino would completely sever his connection to Shinobi life all together. And so, teaching at the Academy would be a great way to keep that connection. Teachers have to know their stuff, after all.

But what if in order to ensure teaching was his calling, Shino did his absolute best to make Jounin ASAP so he could take on a Genin Team. And. And by chance, it ended up being these three?? And they are absolutely STOKED!!! And they also pass Shino's genin test, which... would probably be a feat in it's own right. But they already know Shino, and Shino has bestowed upon them some wisdom they actually took to heart! Yeah, well, in reality they might be just a tad too old to be Shino's first official genin squad, but they were still his squad one point in a sense, right?

Kon Nohara, Tano Ikemoto, and Aoki Kobayashi

I even gave them names help Imagine these three are already chuunin at least and decide they want to pay Shino a visit and even volunteer to help Shino during class time on a collective day off because they admire him so much (T~T)

But even then if not these three kiddos, maybe these three li'l shits lol

Even in times of Peace, Shino's special set of skills seem too useful to waste, and being a Jounin teacher would definitely have been a way he could still go on missions, but also definitely commit to becoming a Sensei at the academy once he was 100% sure and got older. Kurenai became a Jounin/Genin Squad Leader in her late twenties, but in comparison I see Shino doing that more mid-20s. (He needs some time to travel and find his big bug friend and generally live a little?)

Kurenai was a Genjutsu Specialist who manned a Tracker/Sensing based team. This sounds like it was a highly beneficial combination, even if she ended up being somewhat sadistic lol. Asuma was bound to Team 10 by Tradition as InoShikaCho and Sarutobi have that Pact together. Kakashi's team was literally Cherry Picked for him specifically by the 3rd Hokage. And Gai, a Taijutsu Specialist, had a team that Specialized in Taijutsu and Physical Offense.

Of all four teams, Kurenai and Gai were very suited to their teams, Gai in a complimentary way and Kurenai in a Challenging way. In that same vein, I think Shino would imitate Gai. Shino as a Shinobi himself has a general set of skills, but the way he goes about them are very niche. But, he was always very stealthy, and could sneak up on nearly anyone. Gags aside, he could go unnoticed as long as he wanted too, and by the time he was noticed or was ready to attack, he has you quite literally surrounded. Honestly I can see why Search and Destroy would be an Aburame's forte, but when there's no need, a person with a personal skill of high quality stealth could probably man a team with an emphasis on Reconnaissance and/or Surveillance, even Bodyguarding. I feel like Shino would probably put an emphasis on Stealth and Tracking too, utilizing his insects as sort of assistants that keep tabs on his students (Stealth Test) as well as to encourage just enough fear during too much down time in his students to inspire quality training opportunities, so maybe Kurenai rubbed off on Shino more than they all realized haha

(Plus I'm sure his students would be be smart and thoughtful enough to eventually understand what Shino and his bugs are: a complete unit. They realize just how strong and dedicated Sensei really is to be the way he is, and they all learn more in depth about Kikaichu and it's like WOW SENSEI YOU REALLY ARE RISKING BEING EATEN ALIVE EVERY SINGLE DAY, AREN'T YOU? But he's still here, because THAT'S how strong he's become over the years and the confidence to manipulate the Kikaichu while having to think of current chakra level, the most efficient use at any given time, how many he actually needs, how long usage will last, ect. They are high maintenance, man!)

Shino would no doubt produce highly skilled Bodyguards and Masters of Stealth. Maybe the type that would end up being in high demand for the eventual Celebrities that start to pop up as times change, but still very much needed when it comes to Criminal Activity, like in Sora-Ku?

But as time passes and he decided to teach at the Academy, he'd feel very at ease to do so. He'd be happy to be put in charge of all these children, because he would be able to help teach them things they need to know to defend themselves and others in a world where adults like Danzo had and will continue to exist. Maybe while he's at it, he'd use his stance as a Noble Clan Heir and accomplished Shinobi to push for changes in government with Sai's help and with Naruto and Shikamaru's cooperation? Like, the truth does come out, everyone on the Council were actually horrible and had too much power. So HERE are some ideas and REASONS why these ideas should be implemented because Shino's not going to let his brother's life and death be in vain!? HELL no, we WILL make some changes around here. Shino sees his students and just wants a future where no kid ever has to live in fear of being completely taken advantage of by the very system that was supposed to keep them safe and they pledged allegiance to.

I cannot help but think of the quiet but absolute fear little Shino was harboring for the years to come after Torune was taken by that strange man and Father Shibi didn't even attempt to stop him. His own father didn't dare beat the shit out of this strange man who came looking for him, and the only solution for Shino to stay was for Torune to make himself look more desirable as an asset and be taken instead. I bet there was a lot of misplaced resentment there for a while, and talks that just didn't happen. Maybe a classmate doesn't show up to class one day and Shino is IMMEDIATELY stressed out and just... takes it upon himself to look for them after class. And he's relieved when he see they're simply at home with a fever. Shit like that just fucks with Shino, because theres people taking kids and no one is doing anything about it?? And then as Shino grew older he realized exactly what happened and how slimy the machine of Konoha really is and it was never completely Shibi's fault that Torune had to leave. He grows mentally at a faster rate than most of his classmates, and knows more than a kid really needs to know.

Shino doesn't want that for any other child. Shino is the kind of person who hears kids screaming outside of his house and he can't tell if they're playing or being murdered and it's stressful to the point he'll check through his window and he sees them for himself. He get stressed out seeing a kid in public unattended and WANTS to approach them to help if need be but also maybe he's overthinking it and the parents are there somewhere and he'd just end up looking suspicious. Like, that's what I kind of figure for Shino. He's so hyperaware of the power dynamic between kids and adults and seeing a kid so ready to fall victim to that makes Shino feel ill the more he thinks of what could happen. And he wonders if watching the kid in the market until they finally reunite with their parent so he could move on with the rest of his day causes him even a fraction of the the utterly disgusting flurry of nerves and fear that Shibi must have felt all those years ago. It goes along with his desire to spare every single little insect's life he can. It goes a long with the fact he only gets violent unless absolutely necessary. Like he wants to be strong but he doesn't want to go mad with power either, less he becomes the very thing that hurt him and his family in the first place.

Originally Shino wanted to become strong to be able to defend himself because at a very young age adults failed him and Torune. But then that changes to defend not only himself, but others as he grows on a team, and realizes trust is important. And then he figured if there must be adults out there that would hurt a child, it's only logical that he should become one that would only nurture and teach one to be strong as well.

Anyway, yeah. Had some feelings. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

#anime: naruto #aburame shino #shino aburame #tis i #i wish we could've seen jounin-sensei Shino #imagine he's consistently given a team of -bad kids-#but by the next chuunin they're an absolute unit in sync #people think he's the -scare them straight- sensei #in reality he's the -im not mad im just dissapointed- sensei #its super effective lol #being such a positive figure in the open as an Aburame would definately make the clan look good too #because I have a suspicion that Aburame were very often taken into ANBU and ROOT and while good for Shinobi life #its not seen as the best for public relations #anyway don't mind me im just rambling

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sickficsies-and-whumpsies · 3 years

Note

hey there! If you’re interested in writing it, could you write something about Taichi dealing with asthma and having the support of Shirabu / the rest of the Shiratorizawa team? Either platonic or romantic is fine—and only if you’re interested in this prompt at all, of course! Thanks so much for generously accepting requests, and I hope you have a great day :)

Hello there!! Poor Kawanishi, I feel bad for hurting him a second time hahah... I hope you have a great day too!!

TW: asthma attack.

1.2k words, Gen.

ーーー

"Hey there, you doing okay?"

Kawanishi nods, coughing into his elbow, cheeks flushed as he tries to soothe the itch in hia throat, to no avail. Shirabu doesn't look quite convinced.

"Did you catch a cold, Tai?"

"N-no." he manages, and coughs again, "S'probably the dust."

"Ah. Are you allergic?"

"I'mー"

The captain yelling at them to start running cuts Kawanishi off. He sighs, and starts running, pace slow but sustained.

The boy is fully acquainted with the symptoms he's experiencing, but he doesn't want to alarm anyone. After all, two of his classmates have fallen sick with colds in the past week, so Kawanishi is not entirely convinced that the cause of his discomfort must necessarily be asthma.

He's been asthmatic since birth, but after years spent inhaling corticosteroids and being dragged to the beach whenever his parents had a free weekend, his doctor had decided that he was fit to practice sports, provided that he'd always carry an emergency quick-relief inhaler with him.

And Kawanishi does, to this day, have his. It's in the back pocket of his backpack, new and functioning, ready to be used. The young player only uses it occasionally, maybe once a week, when the train is cramped and the air is thin and, most importantly, when his teammates are out of sight.

It's not that Kawanishi is ashamed of his asthma, per se. He just doesn't want anyone to know. Coach Washijou probably knows, and so does Coach Saitou, since they both have access to his medical files for safety reasons. Still, none of them are present today, so Kawanishi prays that he'll make it to the end of practice without further incidents.

Which, of course, isn't the case.

He's been running for about three minutes when his vision begins to swim and grey, head pounding, lungs tight. He stops.

Fuck. Okay. Calm down, Taichi. Stay calm, man.

His hands shake, fingertips blue, coldー he's learnt to recognize the symptoms, he's been trained to. Kawanishi's ears seem to have gone deaf, the only sound he can hear being the incessant, increasingly-fast hammering of his heart.

He can't breathe. Shit, he can't breathe.

Distantly, he hears some kind of muttering, drowned out and foreign. His head pounds, light, and he doesn't even feel it as his body plummets to the ground, his back taking the brunt of the fall as something prevents his head from smacking against the floor. Not that he realises that.

"...ichi, Taichi, hey! Taichi!" someone above him shrills and oh, only now Kawanishi realises that he's lying down. Which is absolutely terrible.

Someone quickly drags him into a sitting position, and Kawanishi briefly wonders if there's a mind-reader among the team.

Tendou. It must be Tendou. It's always Tendou. Definitely Tendou.

"...mbulance?"

"I don't know, heー"

And Kawanishi recognises that voice. "K-Kenjirou?" he wheezes, blind eyes trying to make out the shape of his friend.

"Yeah, it's me." he says, and Kawanishi swears he can perceive a hint of relief in his voice. "What's happening? Can you talk to me?"

And he wishes he could, but he can't. He coughs, punctuating that thought. His lungs burn, starved, and his throat is surely bleeding by now, copper filling his mouth, sour on his taste buds. He coughs and sputters, weak, eyes bloodshot and watery.

Panic seizes at his chest, already too tight, and suddenly he's on a whole new level of oxygen-starvation. He pants, blinking the tears away, his wrapped index finger frantically pointing in the vague direction of the locker room.

"Ambulance will be here in five!! They said to ask him if he has asthma, they think that may be it!!"

God bless you, Goshiki. Eternal joy and fortune to you.

Kawanishi nods fast, still coughing and wheezing, and his arm lowers inevitably. His body feels heavy, lungs filled with lead, throat burning and oozing crimson.

Dark-grey eyes inexorably start to close, eyelids fluttering, consciousness slipping away. That is, before a pair of strong hands grips at Kawanishi's shoulders and shakes him awake, abruptly, insistently.

"No no no, don't pass out, idiot." Shirabu hisses, worry seeping through his words, "Hey! Do you have an inhaler here? Taichi! Yes or no? Do you have it!?"

Kawanishi groans, coughing. He opens his mouth, the air he inhales harsh against his sore throat.

He coughs again. "B-backpack..."

"Backpackー backpack!! Get his backpack, quick!!" Shirabu barks, and Kawanishi manages to spot an unusually frantic Ushjima sprinting towards the lockers. If he had any strength left, he'd smile.

It's not even twenty seconds later, spent sputtering and gasping for oxygen, that Ushijima rushes back inside the gym, skidding against the floor as he empties the contents of his friend's bag. Shirabu, against whom Kawanishi is propped up currently, extends a hand and starts to search the pockets.

His face lights up as he feels the object, quick to extract it from the pocket and press it against Kawanishi's mouth.

"There you go, come on."

It's not that easy, actually. Kawanishi wishes people knew.

But he tries. He tries and fails once, twice, three times, before he manages a shallow inhale that leaves him reeling, the sudden rush of oxygen making his head spin, dizzy.

"One more time." Shirabu instructs.

"You're going to be okay." Ushijima adds, calm façade crumbling slightly.

Tendou nods in agreement. "Yeah, you got this, buddy!!" he says, squeezing his knee.

Kawanishi tries to ignore the fact that his teammates are gathered around him like vultures waiting for a prey to exhale its last breath.

Ironic imagery, he thinks, mildly amused.

He breathes the medication in, lungs opening ever so slightly, letting more sweet air rush into them, his muscles relaxing at the welcomed presence.

The boy isn't sure how, but Shirabu manages to send everyone but Ushijima away, out of the gym, with a silent stare. He admires the man, that's for sure.

"You idiot."

Okay, he wasn't expecting it. "Wh-wha'?"

"You. Idiot. Why did you think that keeping your asthma a secret would be a good idea? Thanks for the trauma, man."

"S'rry. S'my files."

"I don't have access to those, idiot!!" Shirabu seethes, "Next time, I'm letting you die."

"Didn't ya wa-want toー" he wheezes, "to become a doctor or s'mething?"

"Yeah, but I'm not your doctor."

"You sh-should cure everyone."

"Not you. You're on my blacklist!!"

Kawanishi laughs at that, regretting the action when his head spins and his ribs shift.

Ushijima stays silent, but his presence is reassuring, calming, grounding. That's why Shirabu had wanted him to stay, Kawanishi thinks.

"Dun need a' ambulance. M'okay." he says, weak, voice rasped and thick.

Shirabu frowns, unamused. "Too bad. You're letting the EMTs check you over and if they say you need a hospital, you are going. Or I will make you."

"G-geez, so vi-v-violent..." he grins.

The other does, too, after a second. Ushijima even cracks a tiny, crooked smile, but it lasts too little for Kawanishi to decide if it's real, or just a vision courtesy of his blurry eyes.

Soon enough, there's sirens blaring in the background, and EMTs rushing through the door.

Kawanishi, to be fair, isn't a fan. But his friend's hand in his as he's loaded onto the stretcher is enough for him to finally take a deep breath.

ーーー

Hope you liked this!!! Let me know. As usual, please anon, warn me if you have an ao3 acc and wish for this fic to be gifted to you there.

September 4, 2021.

#my fic #sickfic #kawanishi taichi #shirabu kenjirou #ushijima wakatoshi #tendou satori #goshiki tsutomu #shiratorizawa volleyba club #shiratorizawa #asthma #asthmatic kawanishi taichi #sickie kawanishi taichi #haikyuu!!#haikyuu sickfic #haikyuu!! sickfic

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hoodharlow · 3 years

Text

“Pa’que Pare de Chingar”

El Novio Quarantine Edition: Part 3

AN: Part 3 is HErEEEEEE!!! I apologize for not posting this yesterday. Hope y’all enjoy bc in un ratito Part 4 will be out.

Warnings: smut, brief mention of weed and brief mention of birth control

requested? nope

Word Count:

Calum leaned back in his seat and scrolled through Twitter while he waited for Claudia to get her birth control pills from the pharmacy. He was still pissed at the lady with the rat.

Mrs. Garner, the neighbor whose dog bit Damian, ended up leaking a video of him and Claudia making out in the Santos driveway as a way to get back at them for reporting her dog. It was more of a compilation of them dating back to the summer before to just a few weeks ago when they got back from walking Duke and Panchito. It created an uproar.

Fans were confused and surprised that Calum and Claudia have been together the whole time. Others were angry at the neighbor for invading their privacy. The paparazzi set up camp in the neighborhood in hopes of getting pictures of the couple since Mrs. Garner had also leaked their address. For the sake of Claudia's family and their privacy and safety, Calum and Claudia went back to Calum's house in L.A. where the neighborhood was more private.

Soon enough, Mrs. Garner got a taste of her medicine when Calum's fans found out she had a wine shop and flooded Yelp and Google with negative reviews. To think she did all of that because her dog bit a little kid.

He closed the app and replied to Ashton's text confirming the time he and his team were going over for the album photoshoot. Calum still couldn't believe that Ashton wrote and produced his own album in such little time. Nonetheless he was proud of him. Ashton is someone he admired purely based on his ambition and talent.

There was a soft knock on the passenger side of the window. Claudia waved at Calum and motioned that the door was locked.

"Shit," He cursed. He reached over and opened the door for her. "Sorry."

"It's okay." She said smoothing out the bed sheet before sitting on it.

It was well into June, making the weather be over 80° which was not a good mix with the car's leather seats and Claudia's short shorts and rompers. Not to mention she sweated an embarrassing amount through her ass.

"I'm hungry. Can we get breakfast burritos before going to Target?" Claudia asked him.

"Of course. San Miguel's?" Calum suggested. It's been months since they went to their go-to Mexican food place at Long Beach.

"Yes. Let me order it through postmates so we can just pick them up."

She pulled out the paper bag containing her birth control and hid it behind her back while she tore apart her purse to get her phone. She felt one of Calum's cool hands on her back, pulling out the paper bag.

"Why are you hiding your birth control like it's a bad thing? I know you're on it." he asked.

"Because." she said, taking the bag and shoving it deep in her purse.

"Because why?"

"It's weird." she giggled nervously. She pulled back her hair into a bun. "Like I've never been at this personal level with any of my exes. Not that it's a bad thing, I'm just still, like, getting used to it."

"Oh."

"Yeah…"

"Did I make it awkward?” Calum asked her, intertwining their fingers together.

“A little, but it’s okay. I don’t want you to overthink this. I’m just getting used to this, you did nothing wrong.”

Claudia leaned over and kissed his cheek. She pulled out her phone and opened Postmates. “Do you want your breakfast bowl hash browns or tater tots?”

“Tater tots please.”

The rest of the drive to San Miguel’s was pleasant. They got into some traffic, but luckily Calum and Claudia were both in good moods, resulting in Calum playing Jose Alfredo Jimenez and Natalia Lafourcade along with other Mexican groups. A few weeks ago, Diego introduced him to them when they both got high and decided to listen to Mariachi music. It was the most they bonded since Calum and Claudia started dating.

Pepe Aguilar faded into the background as Calum lowered the volume. He glanced over at Claudia, she was looking out the window, letting the sunrays dance on her face.

“Hey Claudia?” Calum asked, getting her attention.

“Yeah?” She answered him, pulling herself away from the window.

“I know I shouldn’t be asking you this, but if you’re comfortable, what was your other ex like?” He shifted in his seat awkwardly, not knowing how Claudia was going to respond.

He knew it was one of those wildcard questions. She would either answer him, or go off telling him that the past is the past. But after her comment about her exes, he just had to know. All he knew about the guy was that he played football and was a year older than her.

“Isaiah was a sweetheart. I met him through his sisters. We got close because I defended them when they got made fun of for liking One Direction, they even showed me some of Luke’s covers too. Anyways, we would always hang out at my place so I never met their brother until the first day of school where we were the only underclassmen in our AP Stats class. After that we became really good friends. We became a thing after he asked me to homecoming. Our relationship was pretty much stagnant. We didn’t do anything like sex wise. He was really respectful about that too and always kept the football team in check about that.

This one guy from the football team started a rumor that he hooked up with a girl from the dance team and Isaiah called him out. Like overall he was a good guy. So when he graduated, we decided to just stay friends. We didn’t see each other until my senior prom where he was my date because a certain bass player didn’t go to prom with me after he said yes and I reached my goal of ten thousand retweets.”

“That was you?” Calum yelled. “I felt so bad. We had like a two week break, but a day after our show in Dublin my appendix ruptured and was bed ridden until our break ended. I guess that could explain why you didn’t give me a slice of chocoflan when I went.”

“Damn, I thought your team was just BSing and didn’t want to go. I was really sad and sold my tickets out of spite.” Claudia mumbled to herself.

“I have the corsage somewhere in my room, actually.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I can give it too with one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You slow dance with me.”

***

It happened so fast. Claudia was hanging up some shirts she tie-dyed to air dry while Calum watched in the comfort of their new lounge chair. It had a dark wood foundation with a comfy and waterproof mattress on top. A comment about Claudia's peeking out of her silk romper led to one about how they haven't christened the chair. A few teasing touches later, Calum dropped his slutty shorts. It was a term coined by Claudia after Calum accidentally bought some RVCA shorts that were closer to his crotch than his knees.

Claudia leaned down and captured his lips. She got off the lounge chair, taking her time removing her silk romper. Then she slowly crawled back to Calum. He lifted his bucket hat covered head and leaned up to kiss her once more. He laid back down before pushing back his hat to get a better view of Claudia.

She coated Calum’s cock with her arousal then she slowly slid down his length. Her hands rested on his tummy and Calum placed his hands on her waist, and slowly guided her. Claudia rocked her hips back and forth. She closed her eyes, gasping at the feeling of him all the way inside her.

"Just like that pretty girl,” Calum moaned out.

She opened her eyes and found him staring into hers. Without breaking eye contact she rolled her hips a bit slower, bucking his hips up into her. She moaned as he groaned in pleasure.

"Calum,” Claudia whimpered.

He sat up as Claudia wrapped her arms around his shoulders while he held her in his arms. She slowly continued to roll herself against him and Calum let out an incoherent moan in her ear.

Claudia rested her head against his shoulder. “Hey,” Calum said softly. “Eyes on me."

She lifted her head to look at him. His eyes flickered from her lips to her eyes and a huge smile formed on his lips. Calum captured her lips. Claudia halted her movements and solely focused his mouth. She held onto his face with both hands, deepening their kiss.

Without breaking the kiss, Calum pushed Claudia onto her back. Pushing her legs to her chest, he slowly thrusted into her with slightly rough precision. He halted his movements thinking Duke must have gotten out, and looked up.

“Ash?”

“Ashton? I know—”

“Get dressed, Ash and Ryan are here.” He whispered, pulling up his shorts. He tossed her romper and awkwardly stood in front of the chair as she got dressed.

“Are you two seriously fucking?” Ashton yelled from the other side of the pool. “I liked napping in that lounge chair, now you ruined it.”

“Well I liked fucking my boyfriend in this lounge chair, now you ruined that.” Claudia yelled back in the same tone as him.

She leaned into Calum and kissed his cheek. “I’m gonna make some cookies and stuff.”

She waved at Ryan and flipped Ashton off as she passed them to get to the kitchen. She poured some macadamia nuts on a comal and let them toast on a low heat while she prepped the cookie batter. She was making white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies with spinach. She saw the recipe on Fetch with Ruff Ruffman when she was in elementary school and since then it became her go-to recipe for white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies. She also liked making them to spite Ashton because he always said her cookies weren't the healthiest. Now he couldn't say anything since she put a bag of spinach in it.

The macadamia nuts finished toasting in time for them to get folded into the cookie dough along with the chocolate chips and spinach. She placed them in the oven and cleaned up while they baked. Remembering she still had some doggie dough, she also placed them in the oven. She then prepared some agua de jamaica with some jamaica leaves that she let soak overnight.

Claudia heard Duke’s barks by the front door. She went over and saw the delivery person walking back to their truck. She motioned Duke to back up so she could open the door to get the package. It was her monthly Savage×Fenty package. She took the box up to their room, thinking of ways to tease. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the kitchen timer go off.

Duke was excitedly wagging his tail in front of the oven, waiting for her to get out the treats she made. He backed away and watched her get out the baking trays.

“En un ratito okay? They’re still hot.” Claudia told him.

Once they cookies and treats cooled off she placed them on plates. She placed the pitcher of agua de jamaica and the cookie plate on a tray and took it outside for the guys. Calum helped her carry it.

“Did you make your spinach cookies to spite Ashton?” He asked her.

“Yeah, pa’que pare de chingar.” She smiled to herself. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him. “Also, I got a package, so make sure no one touches your phone in the next hour or so, unless they want to see my ass.”

Taglist: @f-mu @another-lonely-heart @sunshinebabycal-deactivated2021 @calumscalm @karajaynetoday @cherryxwildflower @myloverboyash @idontneedanyone @findingliam-o @5-secondsofcolor @spicylftv @sexgodashton @fckingpernico @2fangirl4u @calpops

#calum hood smut #calum hood fluff #calum hood one shot #Calum hood imagine #calum hood fanfic #calum hood series #calum hood oneshot #calum hood oneshots #calum hood imagines #calum hood fanfiction #el novio series #el novio quarantine edition

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ipuckwithhockey · 3 years

Text

Tattooed Idiots- N. Patrick

a/n: I went months where I couldn’t even think about writing anything and now I’ve written two things this week? OK. I was also recently talking to a friend about tattoo placement and how they regretted putting one little tattoo in the middle of their arm because it doesn’t flow with how they want to do their sleeve... It made me think of Nolan’s boat tattoo.

warnings: none? swearing

------

“Nolan James Patrick. In the flesh. I have to say, I feel honored to be graced with your presence.”

You hadn’t seen Nolan in almost four years, but here he was standing on the deck of your mutual friend’s lake house. A post college graduation reunion of sorts was planned for this summer, and a group of your childhood friends was now gathered for a week on the lake.

When Nolan left Canada for Philadelphia you left the same town for college in New York. The two of you were close growing up, but it seemed like the older you got the further apart you grew. Neither of you really knew why, and maybe it was just the physical distance that pushed your texts and calls further apart. In retrospect this doesn’t seem likely as you have only been an hour train ride apart for the last four years.

You didn’t spend much time at home in the summers as you worked jobs and internships in the city, and it just so happened that your visits home never lined up with his. Your secret crush on your friend eventually faded, but now that you’re looking at Nolan’s bare back you can’t help but notice that his shoulders are broader, and his arms are thicker than they were back when you were kids.

Both of you had grown a lot over the last few years. You weren’t the same shy teenage girl and he wasn’t the quiet hockey player that dreamt of making it to the NHL. Going to school in New York had pushed you out of your comfort zone and had given you a newfound sense of confidence. Introversion was always a source of common ground between the two of you, as most of your friends were more outgoing and even a bit rowdy at times. For the last week you had racked your brain of what you would say when you saw him again. Would you fall into your old habits and close relationship or would be met with someone you didn’t recognize?

“I’m the one who should feel honored, you’ve only been avoiding me for about four years.”

Nolan turns around to face you and for some reason there’s a tinge of hurt in his voice that only you can probably pick up on.

“You know what, you’re right. You are lucky.” You chose to ignore that feeling and your quick retort takes Nolan a bit by surprise. He wasn’t expecting you to be so bold. He can’t do anything but laugh and as the day goes on you fall back into your old friendship and adjust to each other’s new maturities.

Later that day the group decides to make its way from the deck down to the to dock for a swim. As you strip off your shorts and tank top to reveal your bikini clad body, you begin to feel a bit of self-consciousness sneak up on you. That, and you feel a set of eyes on you. It’s not until later that day that you find out who those eyes belong to.

“You know, a picture would last longer” You look over from the chair you are sitting in to see a rosy cheeked Nolan sitting on top of a cooler.

“You’re probably right... always were the smart one.” As he says it, you see him wink through his round rimmed sunglasses. Did he seriously just wink at you? Is Nolan Patrick seriously trying to flirt with you or is it just the day drinking talking?

Throughout the day you and Nolan continue to tease and banter, and in any other situation you would have definitely considered this flirting. Either way, you were having a good time and a little flirting felt harmless.

Later that night you’re all back on the deck after dinner.

“I need another Claw; anybody want anything from the kitchen?” You ask as you move toward the sliding doors.

“Yeah, I’m gonna get another beer.” You barely even hear his mumbled voice, but he follows you into the kitchen and you leave your rambunctious group of friends behind you. The next few minutes are quiet as the two you move around the kitchen in silence. You’re throwing some trash away that has begun to litter the counters and finally turn to face the sink as you crack open your well-earned drink. You can once again feel Nolan’s eyes on you as he leans against the counter behind you.

“Since when are you into tattoos?” You practically choke on your drink. His deep voice is now closing in on you, and his hot breath is now hitting your neck as he steps up and leans in close behind you. His bare chest is just inches from your back that is only covered by a strap holding your bikini top to your body. And his hands. His fingers are lightly tracing the delicate tattoo that now inhabits your right side. His hands are cold from holding his beer and he’s touching you so close to your breast, goosebumps now litter your skin. If it weren’t for him stepping even closer into you, you probably would have forgotten to breathe. His body is now touching yours and your short frame in being toward over. You can’t help but lean back into him. Taking in his warmth and his familiar scent. His breath still hot on your neck as he mumbles, “You gonna answer my question or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

You wouldn’t have had any problem doing just that, but you clear your throat and turn around to face him. He takes a slight step back, but you’re still close enough to lightly touch his his upper arm and whisper, “Well, I’ve kind of had a thing for them since this guy I used to know got a little boat tattooed on the middle of his arm.”

You look up at him and he has that sly smile on his face that you hate but secretly love.

“You know, I used to have a massive crush on this chick who used to talk about how much she hated that little boat tattoo. She always gave me shit for putting a ‘tiny boat in the middle of my arm.’ She said I’d regret it one day when I decided to get a sleeve. She was probably right, but then she left and stopped talking to me.”

You jokingly push him back a little to distance yourself, “I didn’t stop talking to you, you stopped talking to me. And you didn’t have a crush on me. I would have known. Hell, I’m the one who spent my entire life quite obviously pining over you!”

You’re not arguing, you’re still just joking, but the mood in the air is becoming more serious as the two of you come to realize what has just unfolded. Years of mutual but unknown pining between the two of you finally comes to the surface and you’re both still processing what that means.

You look up at each other, and you can’t help but laugh. Nolan laughs too, and he shakes his head, “I’m an idiot. I had no clue you ever liked me like that. I guess I always figured you were way too smart to be into me. Guess you’re just not that smart.”

“Who says I still like you?” You say it as a joke but there’s a moment when it dawns on Nolan that you probably don’t still like him.

“Nols, I’m joking. I definitely thought I was over you, but as soon as I saw you today I knew I was still fucked. You were right, I’m really not that smart.”

Your feet are moving you back into him and you’re met chest to chest again. Your hands hesitate but eventually reach up to his hair that he has let grow out, and his eyes close as he feels your fingers lightly tug on the wisps that fall at his neck. You’re still looking up at him, admiring just how beautiful he is just as your foreheads touch. They’re resting gently against each other and his arms have wrapped around your body to pull you close. You think maybe he’ll pull away, but you feel his hand take your cheek and then you’re kissing. Nolan can’t put how good your lips feel on his into words. Mind blowing may be the closest thing to accurate.

You kiss gently and his tenderness warms your heart but feeling his bare chest against yours and his arm wrapping around your waste, you can’t help but deepen the kiss. Soon the innocence is gone and you’re desperately holding onto each other. You bite at his lip and he can’t help but moan into you. Years of pining, years of tension, are finally being relieved.

Nolan pushes you back and traps you between him and the cold kitchen island. His lips dance over your neck and you gladly adjust to give him better access. You would have let him take you right there in the middle of the kitchen if you hadn’t been interrupted by an eruption of applause.

“Finally! God Damn!”

“We’ve only been waiting our entire lives for you two to get together.”

Remarks of relief and approval come from your group of friends who are now gathered at the back door. You bury your head into Nolan’s chest and you can’t help but laugh as you realize you really are the two most clueless idiots in the world.

“We really are idiots.” You look up at him and he looks back at you, smiling,

“Yeah, but you’re my idiot.”

#nolan patrick #nolan patrick imagine #hockey fanfic #hockey fic #nhl fic #flyers #Philadelphia Flyers

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brazenautomaton · 3 years

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Fixing Afterlives: The Maw, First Visit

So our Shadowlands journey starts with the Maw. You know what? People hate this scenario now because you can’t skip it and have to go through it on every character, but the first time through, this is actually really good. You’re kicking in the gates of Hell with a platoon of Death Knights and then everything goes tits-up and you don’t have a beachhead and you’re lost and wandering and there are awful, awful things everywhere and you’re hiding and isolated and need to learn how to escape. You just need the option to skip it on your alts.

Plus the aesthetics of the Maw are great. They sell what it is -- the hostile architecture, sinister crystal formations, the way everything seems swept and shaped by a windstream of souls. We’ve seen plenty of environments that look like a Hell of flames. This is a Hell of pure suffering. Pain is what lives here. Pain is all that enters and pain is all that is produced. It’s only after you went farming Stygia for a while that the pain gets inflicted on you.

So we assemble the crew, get the exposition while we put together the Helm of Domination, get given a portal stone to establish a beachhead, and we bust in to find the four captives: Anduin, Jaina, Baine, Thrall. We rally the Death Knights into enough of a formation to make it in and find the evidence of Jaina, and I like that, I like how you track her by the huge formations of ice -- it shows you her power and the mark she leaves. Finding her is mostly the same although her dialogue is less generic and content-free (from now on assume I apply this caveat to all dialogue). She’s more confused and disoriented and even though she’s fighting it’s with a resignation that she knows it won’t work and she’s starting to think she’s only hurting herself by trying. She acts like she has been there for years. But you say you and the DKs are here to save her and she follows against her better judgment and agrees to try and find Thrall, who she struggles to remember, but seems to be trying very hard to be able to remember.

Then the Mawsworn Kyrian show up and laugh about her hopelessness, and you fight them. And they kill the shit out of you.

More and more and more of them keep coming and they’re level 60 when you’re level 50 and if you do some bullshit to survive eventually one of them will grab you by the neck to Silence you, lift you into the air, and do the ol’ Val’Kyr Special and fatally drop you. You unavoidably die.

This is necessary early to establish what dying in the Shadowlands means. Play a special graphic effect when the player dies, something more drawn out and grasping. Play a sound effect appropriate to race/gender of the PC of them struggling against great pain and gasping. Then you appear next to a Spirit Healer (yes normally in the Maw you just respawn alive so you have to pick up your Stygia like in Dark Souls, we’ll explain the discrepancy later), a Mawsworn Spirit Healer, who says “No. Your suffering will not end. The Maw claims you.” and then starts to chase you the fuck down with a bunch of shades. You need to run, as a ghost, to claw your way back into your body. Obviously, if the shades catch you, you get dragged back to the start and the Spirit Healer fucks with you a bit.

Your body has been dragged over to the area where Jaina and the rest are hiding; they fled while you were being merced. Jaina sees you stir. And she says “I’m sorry, champion. Death is no respite here. It is so hard to fight the pull… I struggle to even remember my body when I try to return.”

Jaina has been brutally killed over a dozen times. This is not her first rodeo. This is not her first escape attempt. This is not the first time she’s killed that particular Mawsworn tormenter whose name I don’t recall. It doesn’t end. It never ends. She doesn’t know why she tries any more, when she knows it will fail and she will die and suffer and claw her way back to her flesh and every time it gets harder and harder. All it buys her is the ability to offer futile resistance and maybe that isn’t even worth it.

Mood: established.

From there it goes mostly the same. You try to pump the shades for info about how to escape and they don’t know, they can’t know, they can’t even want to escape. The info you get is a memory of spitefully hating someone who fled to the waystone. You rescue your buddies. You see the Jailer fuck up Baine, only instead of giving him a spirit poison, he fucking snaps the dude like a Kit-Kat and drops his lifeless corpse, and you drag it to safety. You don’t need to find a poison dagger to counteract the spirit poison; you need to keep him safe and clear a path for his spirit to flee back to his body. Thus reinforcing what the danger here is and how it’s different and what they fear.

And while you do this, at some point, you run into Sylvanas. Maybe she just walks up to you while you’re all collected around Baine trying to help him revive. Since the Jailer won’t be saying “it’s not like you won anything b-b-baka, it was just a temporary setback,” you need to establish that feeling that he views your victories as completely meaningless. Sylvanas knows you’re here saving Baine. So does the Jailer. It does not matter. You cannot accomplish anything.

Thrall kills her dead. She just gets back up. She has an escort for her soul to go back to her body. “How many times are you going to try that before you learn it’s futile? Come now, Thrall. I know you’re smarter than this. I know you respected me more than this.”

And then stuff like “How could you do this, Sylvanas? How could you betray the Horde?” Thrall is incredibly angry and offended at her. He thought he knew her. “Neither of us had any illusions you were not a monster, Banshee Queen. But I trusted you anyway because I knew you wanted what was best for your people. You were a monster, but a loyal one. How can you now turn your back on what little principle you had?” Sylvanas is hurt by this, but she doesn’t linger on it.

Jaina, however, is desperately trying to flatter her. Do this to sell the kind of impact this has had on Jaina, and what this suffering drives her to. “Please, Sylvanas. I know you were my enemy but you were an honorable one. It isn’t too late. Someone as cunning as you must know that this will end in ruin. I promise… I promise… I will surrender if you let me return. Kul Tiras will become servants of the Forsaken. Just, just let them live… please, you could rule our world, not slaughter it…”

Jaina breaks down in tears. Yes, she just tried to surrender her people to the enemy for mercy. Jaina is breaking. All of them will. The Maw is a Bad Place and makes them give up hope. That’s how we sell the threat. Not by making the enemies bigger or spikier, showing how they have broken these heroes. Less screaming anger. More pain.

Sylvanas scoffs at her offer. “It doesn’t matter where your people’s loyalty lies, Lord Admiral.” And then she says the phrase that will become a motif: “Nobody escapes the Maw.” She leaves. She doesn’t care what you do. It doesn’t matter.

But you have to still hold on to that sliver of hope that maybe the waystone is a way out. So you get Baine up and you sneak past this big-ass Maw army that can fuck 31 flavors of your day up. The jailer notices you and sends out a force to stop you at the waystone, and he repeats the phrase when he sends out the order: “Nobody escapes the Maw.”

So there’s the event, you fight off the army while the waystone charges, the army gets bigger and bigger, the charge meter gets stuck at 90%, you go to kick it and it teleports you to Oribos.

The mob descends on the other captives. Sylvanas and the Jailer look completely unconcerned with your escape. After having clearly seen you physically leave the Maw, Sylvanas brushes it off with “Nobody escapes the Maw.” Dun-DUNNN! Cutscene end.

You appear in Oribos. The Protectors stop you because you stink like the Maw and what the hell dude, yada yada. This is when you get a tour of the city, here’s the profession trainers, the bank, the transmog. Only secondary details need to be changed here. One, this is an instanced version of the city where no other players exist (you are the first one there, nobody else is). Two, Lich King Bolvar (hashtag #notmylichking) arrives from Azeroth and says SOMETHING to justify other players coming from the Maw but being less important than you. Something like, he saw what you did, there are other adventurers from Azeroth still in the Maw, his DKs are hunkering down in defensive positions and will try to make their way to the Waystone once it cools off because you already activated it, since you are the more special one, and there might be a chance that a couple others might have an echo of your power because they have had similar adventures. You are the True Maw Walker, and the context of the massively multiplayer element is “for your story, all those other guys have shitty Maw Walker powers that only work once you opened the pickle jar for them.” They can’t bring passengers, either.

Third, not the most importantly but yes the most importantly, if you are Forsaken or a Death Knight or Mechagnome or whatever you get a special dialogue where you say “Why do you keep calling me a ‘living mortal’? I’m not alive. I’m undead / a machine / maybe something else like maybe I missed the fact that vulpera are made of rocks and string.”

So Tal-Inara or whoever can be like “Oh, THAT’S what that is. Something was odd about you, mortal, that I couldn’t quite place. I call you ‘living’ because your soul is still tethered to a body. To us in the Shadowlands, to be bound in a vessel like this is far more important than the nature of the vessel itself.” That’s why people keep calling you “living”, to them you’re easy to mistake for one.

Kyrian in the Maw is disturbing news, and also WEIRD, because as Tal-Inara reminds us, “Nobody escapes the Maw.” Why would the Kyrian go down there when they can’t come back? It is terrible but not unheard of for mortals to try and speak to the Jailer but they never GO there because they can’t get out. And yet Sylvanas just walked in there? And he is mustering armies? Better go to Bastion and find out what is up. Let’s crank open this gateway, and...

#World of Warcraft #my fiction #fixing stories #wow

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featherymalignancy · 4 years

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PART TWO — The Eyes of Texas: A Rowaelin Origin Story 🏐 🍺 ♥️

Long before Cash and Nesta, there was Rowan and Aelin.

Rowan Whitethorn—a Navel academy graduate and recently discharged second lieutenant from the United States Navy—takes a break from studying of the police academy exam in Los Angeles to fly back to his native Hawaii and compete in a twos volleyball tournament with his ex, one of the best sand players on the amateur circuit.

Beyond Remy’s devious machinations to win Rowan back, the biggest impediment to victory is the so-called Ashryver twins, a pair of cousins from Miami with a reputation of their own. Rowan can’t help but admire the gorgeous and sharp-tongued Aelin Galathynius, who’s more than ready to give Remy a run for her money—both on the court and in the race for Rowan’s affection.

This takes place in the same AU-verse as my Nessian story In Vino Veritas, about four years before.

This a two-shot, you can find PART I here.

The Eyes of Texas, PART TWO

By midnight, Rowan knew he was in deep shit.

They’d migrated to another bar by that time, Aelin practically in his lap as they traded stories about college and their friends. Rowan found himself caught between despair and delight as he listened to Aelin speak, unsure if he should be reveling in the attention from a woman of her caliber, or fretting that it couldn’t last.

It wasn’t just that Aelin was beautiful, though he was admittedly so mesmerized by those blue eyes and that dazzling smile that he had to actively avoid staring.

She was funny, too.

And not “when a sexy woman makes a joke you feel oddly compelled to laugh” type of funny, either.

She was fucking hilarious.

She’d had him in stitches earlier with a story about getting the business-end of her grandmother’s chancla after she’d gone to Easter mass with blue teeth from her candy basket, and he’d hardly stopped laughing since.

Rowan had always been a somewhat serious person—even more so after Lyria’s death—but Aelin made him feel...younger. Lighter. And he might have felt guilty for that, except he’d had the oddest sensation throughout the evening that Lyria was there, laughing alongside him.

And—as if gorgeous and hysterical weren’t enough—Aelin was also incredibly bright. Despite the rigors of her volleyball schedule, she was a neuroscience and psychology double major, with plans to attend medical school and become a psychiatrist when she graduated.

It was an answer that Rowan hadn’t expected when he’d asked what she was studying, but somehow it suited her. The ambition, the focus—it explained in part why she was such an incredible athlete. Rowan knew better than anyone that it took more that height and muscles to be a success in the sport, and even among the juggernauts who’d completed in the tournament, Aelin had been in a class of her own.

She’d grown oddly bashful when he’d pressed her about her volleyball career, at which point she admitted she’d held off med school applications to accept a place on the AVP tour.

“They’ve offered you a spot?” Rowan’d asked.

Aelin’s cheeks had gone slightly pink.

“They called after the tournament,” she’d said. “A scout was there to watch me play.”

“Aelin, that’s incredible.”

At this Aelin’s smile had relaxed into something sensuous that had made Rowan’s stomach tighten.

“Couldn’t have done it without, guapo. ”

Now as Ro sat twirling the tail of Aelin’s braid around a tattooed finger, he tried to remind himself that he needed to shut all these bright and shiny feelings down. Aelin had been a danger to the comfortable numbness Rowan had been living in since the moment she stepped onto the sand of that volleyball court. Now, having heard her laugh and flirt and speak Spanish, she’d become lethal.

He told himself that if he was smart, he’d kiss her cheek right now and tell her goodnight. It would probably take him several days to extract her from pleasant place she’d settled under his skin, but he could stop the bleeding now. If he was smart, he most definitely would not sleep with her.

But apparently he wasn’t smart, because when she’d slyly tugged him to his feet and coaxed him into one of the private closets marked “For Staff Only”, he didn’t stop her.

He also didn’t stop her when she kissed him, tongue sliding effortlessly into his mouth and she hands tracked under his shirt.

It was a bad idea to want Aelin Ashryvver-Galathynius the way Ro did, but he found as her hands continued their exploration that he didn’t care. Even if he could only have her for one night, he would make it enough.

“Your body is insane,” Aelin breathed, tracing the ridges of his abs in a way that made him shudder.

He couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk which tugged at his mouth as he kissed her again.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

At this Aelin paused to laugh, eyes sparkling with wicked delight.

“Was that a big dick comment?” She said. “I knew you had it in you, Whitethorn.”

Rowan debated going for the obvious joke about having ‘it’ in her soon before quickly deciding against it. He was tipsy; it didn’t mean he had to be a jackass, too.

“Let’s go, you little troublemaker,” Ro said, reaching for the door which led from the closet to the secluded hallway.

Aelin’s answering grin was staggering in its seductive force. She casually leaned against the door, blocking his exit as she pulled him towards her by the beltloops.

“Why, are you afraid of getting caught?”

He grabbed the hand that was attempting to slip into his pants, pinning it over her head and bowing into her so she could feel how hard he already was.

“No. But the kind of sex I want, you can’t give me here.”

This seemed to stun her into aroused silence, and he reveled in the victory of rendering Aelin Galathynius speechless. However, she recovered quickly, leaning in to nip his lip.

“Fair warning: I’m not easily impressed.”

Her wrists still caught in his grip, he bent to whisper in her ear, grinding a little against her as he did so.

“So you say, but I’m going to guess you’ve only ever been with boys, Aelin. You may not realize it, but I don’t think you have any idea how good sex can actually be.”

Her legs went slightly weak at that, and he slid his knee between her thighs to keep her upright.

“And you’re going to show me?” She asked.

All the things he wanted to do to her flashed in his mind, and Rowan had to fend off a groan as he hardened further. Much more of this and they would end up doing it in this closet.

“I am,” he replied simply.

Aelin’s answering laugh was husky.

“How are you the same guy who didn’t have the cojones to ask for my number this afternoon?”

He recognized the gesture for what it was: an attempt to gain back the upper hand in their continued tug-of-war for dominance.

Turned on by her bravura, he let her, adding with a shrug, “I guess I’m more of a ‘lady in the streets’ type.”

Still, unwilling to cede to her completely he shifted his thigh where it was still nestled between her legs. She moaned a little, moving against him almost involuntarily to get the friction she needed.

Despite the desire for privacy enough to make Aelin scream herself hoarse, Ro found the idea of her rubbing one out on him too hot to resist. Rotating his knee, he pushed up until she was practically riding his thigh.

Aelin’s nails dug into his forearm as the seam of her shorts hit the exact right spot. He increased the pressure, and she moaned again, the sound growing more fractured as he snapped open one her overall straps and squeezed her firm breast over the lace. God, her tits were perfect.

“Stop or I’m going to come,” she said, teeth gritted.

Rowan didn’t bother to fend off a self-satisfied smile.

“You’re this easy to set off, Galathynius?” He laughed softly. “God, the things I’m gonna fucking to do to you.”

“I thought you said we weren’t going to bang here.”

“We aren’t,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have an orgasm.”

“You seriously want my first one with you to be while I’m fully clothed?”

He glanced up to meet her overcome blue eyes.

“I just want to show you how many different ways I have to make you scream, Aelin.”

Taking a fistful of the denim jumper, he tugged up roughly until the fabric was splitting her. Even though all her clothes he could see what a gorgeous little pussy she had. The realization he’d soon be inside of her made Ro’s cock ache.

“Fuck,” Aelin said, hips canting forward as he used the back-and-forth friction to drag her closer to release. “This is not how I imagined things going when I brought you in here.”

Rowan kissed her neck.

“Better or worse?”

“Better,” she said. “So much better. Mierda .”

Her body tightened then relaxed slightly against him, and were he inside of her, he knew she’d be clenching around him right now.

“You have a gorgeous come face,” he told her honestly.

“I bet you do, too.”

He couldn’t fight a grin.

“Would you like to find out?”

“Yes please. ”

He pressed forward to kiss her again, their tongues tangling as he breathed, “let’s get out of here.”

Needing no further prompting, Aelin reached behind her to twist open the door before slipping out, Rowan behind her.

Taking his hand, she tugged him towards the exit, her phone already out with a map pulled up.

“Where are we headed?” He asked. “I might be able to help.”

Aelin’s answering smile was cryptic.

“It’s not far. The app is saying a 17-minute walk. Hang on.”

With this she dialed a number before bringing the phone to her ear. Whoever she was calling—one of her cousins, Ro suspected—picked up on the second ring, and she began giving orders in rapid Spanish. After a minute she hung up, flashing Ro a simpering smile as she batted her lashes.

“Shall we?”

Rowan couldn’t fight a laugh.

“Did you just kick your cousins out of the room?”

“Suite,” she said with a growing smirk. “But who’s counting?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said. “We could have made it work.”

Her gaze heated, burning hot enough that Ro felt his cock stirring again. He watched as her fingers nimbly went to one of the long braids hanging over her shoulder, deftly undoing the plait.

“We don’t need an audience for all the filthy things I want you to do to me.”

He groaned.

“You’re killing me.”

She smiled, working the other braid free and giving her curtain of blonde hair a shake. Christ, he wanted to run his hands though it, then bunch in it his hands while he fucked that pretty little mouth.

She smirked as if she knew what he was thinking, even biting her lip a little in suggestion.

“Something wrong?” She said.

He only laughed.

“Completely the opposite.”

She smiled, tugging him down the street for ten blocks or so before making a left and heading towards a glittering glass building.

The Ritz Carlton.

Rowan let out a low whistle as they entered the marble lobby.

“You keeping secrets, Galathynius?”

She bit her lip.

“My dad is...not poor.”

“Define ‘not poor’.”

“He owns twenty-three luxury hotels in Miami?”

Rowan’s throat felt a bit scratchy.

“You’re a millionaire.”

Her grin was sheepish and slightly guilty.

“Kinda?”

He must have looked confused.

“I mean, yeah, with a b.”

Holy shit, her family were billionaires.

She studied him for a moment when he stopped walking, trying to take it all in. He wasn’t usually one to be embarrassed about money or his upbringing, but she was stupid rich. He suddenly felt out of his depth.

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” she said quietly. “It makes people see me differently.”

At this he glanced up, reading the sadness and loneliness in her eyes.

“It doesn’t change anything,” he found himself saying.

Dating a girl that rich, especially as a cop in Vice Squad—that could be complicated. But that’s not what this was; after tonight, Ro would likely never see her again. Besides, she’d made an effort not to make it a big deal, and hadn’t thrown money around to impress him even when she easily could have. If she could set it aside for the evening, so could he.

Also, he really wanted to fuck her. She was a girl begging for pleasure, and he wanted to be able to show her things she hadn’t experienced even in her wildest fantasies.

Aelin seemed to read the acceptance in his eyes because she tugged him towards the elevator, punching 36 before pushing him against the wall to kiss him. Sliding his hands down her thighs, he hoisted her easily into his arm, crushing her against him.

When the door opened he didn’t bother putting her down, simply breathed against her mouth, “where?”

She gestured to the left and he headed towards the single door at the end of the hall. Producing a key from her back pocket, she slid to her feet before unlocking the door and ushering him inside.

Ro told himself not to gawk as they stepped farther into the palatial space, but it was impossible.

The lavishly-appointed suite was furnished with a living room, full kitchen, bedroom, and formal dining area, floor-to-ceiling window along the far wall looking out onto the Pacific Ocean.

There was a bottle of expensive Cuban rum and several glasses sitting on the marble island, half-smoked Monte Cristo cigars resting in a nearby tray. The Ashryvvers, it seemed, were no strangers to the finer things in life.

“Do you want a drink?” Aelin asked, trailing a hand down his back and observing him as he took in their surroundings.

He turned to her to say yes, but when he caught sight of the heat in her gaze he changed him mind.

“Later,” he said, walking her backwards into the wall closest to the bedroom.

“Thank god,” she said as he threaded a hand through hers to pull her arm above her head. “I don’t think I could bear to wait.”

Rowan chuckled, teeth grazing her ear as he said, “Does that mean you’re going to be a good girl and do as I say?”

Her blue eyes snapped to him, blazing with defiance.

“What makes you think I’m that type of girl?”

“In your everyday life, you like to be in control?”

“Yes.”

Rowan nodded.

“That’s why.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You’re used to responsibility and keeping all the plates spinning, but I bet deep down, you fantasize about being able to let go; you just don’t know how.”

She scoffed, through the sound turned to a breathy exhale as he kissed her neck.

“And what makes you think that I’ll be able to let go with you, a total stranger?”

He pulled back, kissing her softly on the lips.

“Because I am going to make you feel so good and so safe, you won’t have a choice. Do you trust me, Aelin?”

“I have no real reason to,” she hedged. “We just met.”

“But...” he said onto the sensitive skin of her throat.

She paused, muscles in her neck gorgeously taut as he tugged her earlobe with his teeth.

“Díos ayúdame,” she choked out. “Yes, I do.”

“Good girl,” he praised. “Let’s get you naked.”

Throwing the overall strap he’d previously unbuckled over her shoulder, he unsnapped the other. He knelt as he coaxed the whole garment down her hips, pausing to lave her tattoo. He resisted the urge to venture between her legs, enjoying the way she bucked her hips towards the heat of his mouth as it pressed against her low belly.

“Patience,” he said, nipping the sensitive skin.

She settled slightly at that, and Ro ran his hands up her torso with with deliberate slowness, palms skating effortlessly under her lacy bralette and tugging it off in a single, fluid gesture.

He glanced down at her and groaned.

“Fucking Christ.”

Her breasts were flawlessly round and dark enough to suggest she spend a decent amount of time tanning topless, her tight nipples framed by matching diamond studs. He ran a finger over the jewelry, laughing at her shudder of pleasure.

“Are you crazy, Galathynius? You’re a D1 athlete!”

She chuckled.

“I tape them up to play. Why, you don’t like?”

He glanced up to meet her gaze.

“I didn’t say that.”

The truth was they suited her: elegant femininity edged in wildness.

“You approve then.”

He reached down to tease her, brushing a knuckle against her left nipple until it pebbled.

“They’re gorgeous.”

Aelin preened a bit at that.

“Tits this nice deserved a little something extra,” she said with a smirk.

Rowan was inclined to agree.

“These real diamonds, princess?”

“They were a gift from Aedion.”

At this Rowan stiffened, unable to smother the discomfort the idea inspired. Aelin only laughed, catching his face in her hands and kissing him lightly on the lips.

“I’m playing with you, tonto. Obviously he and Galen don’t know about these or they’d hit the roof. Besides,” she said, pert nose wrinkling slightly. “We don’t share things like that with each other. We’re close but...not that close.”

Rowan couldn’t hold back a relieved laugh, which only made Aelin’s grin widen.

“You should have seen the look on your face, though.”

“You’re trouble,” he told her.

“You love it,” she shot back, leaning in so her breasts brushed his chest.

Yeah he fucking did.

Crushing her into another kiss, her massaged her breasts, palms scraping her nipples. When they’d grown hard from his machinations he bent to taste them, loving the feel of her fingers as they wound into his hair and tugged.

“Take off your clothes already,” she said, breathless. “I want to know if your dick is as big as it feels.”

He grabbed her wrist and guided it between his legs.

“See for yourself.”

Deft as a snake, she had a hand down the front of boxer briefs, stroking him twice with a firm grip.

He planted a hand on the wall beside her head, breathing through his nose as he bowed into her wicked touch.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked as she unbuckled his belt and pushed his chinos off his carved waist until they hung low on his hips.

“You.”

“What about me?”

He bent to kiss her deeply again. God, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been this turned on.

“About what you’d look like on your knees with my cock in your mouth.”

She gave a sensuous chuckle.

“Dream on, querido. ”

He only grinned in response.

“No one likes a liar, Galathynius.”

“What reason would I have to ever suck you off?”

“The same reason you’d let me tie you up: you want to know what it’s like to let someone else be in control.”

“I never said I wanted to be tied up,” she said, voice turning to a groan as he pushed her underwear aside to dip two fingers inside of her.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, holding up his fingers so they glistened in the moonlight pouring in from the open balcony doors. “You’re soaked.”

She didn’t respond, merely leaned forward to licked the offending digits clean in a way that told him that not only did she want to suck his dick, she was going to be excellent at it.

He hardened at the thought, even as he forced a calming breath. If this was his only chance with her, he intended to savor every second.

He wanted tears— actual tears—of pleasure from her. He wanted to hear her beg. And not just some breathy “ please, more ” bullshit, either. He wanted to her to plead—for him, for release, for anything and everything he was willing to give her.

He wanted all of it and more, but to have it, he needed to be patient with her. It meant going slow, and sending her off the edge several times before he ever slipped inside of her.

Gently collaring her throat, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips before easing her off the wall and into the waiting bedroom.

“You are so beautiful,” he told her.

She smirked, eyes flashing.

“Bet you say that to all the girls you fuck.”

“I’ve never fucked a woman as beautiful as you.”

It was out before he could stop it, and he had to fend off the the twinge of guilt it produced. Still, he couldn’t regret saying it, because it was true; Aelin was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.

Aelin, seeming abashed by this declaration, responding by coaxing Rowan’s buttoned shirt open and over his shoulders. Chest to bare chest, her next kiss was soft and drugging.

“You’re...not ugly, either,” she said at last.

“Not ugly?” He repeated with a laugh.

“You’re...” she trailed off as he kissed her neck.

“I’m...?”

“Gorgeous,” she said finally. “But I think you already knew that.”

“Maybe, but it hits different from you.”

Aelin seemed pleased by that, and she rewarded him by dipping her hand into his unbuckled pants again and fisting him.

“I was also right; you’re enormous.”

Grabbing her wrist, he pinned it to the wall and put his hand between her legs instead.

“And I bet you’re tight,” he said, drawing lazy circles with his thumb that had her back arching.

“Are we going to fit?” She teased, but he could hear the concern underneath that she couldn’t quite hide.

The idea that some douchebag had pushed into her before she was totally ready—it made Rowan’s skin prickle in irritation.

He caught her jaw.

“After I’m done playing with you, Aelin, you’re going to be so wet that you’ll feel like my cock was made to fit inside you.”

She moaned.

“If you’re half as good as sex as you are dirty talk, I think this might be the best night of my life.”

Rowan was counting on it. What he hadn’t counted on was the fact it was shaping up to be one of the best nights of his as well. And not just because of the sex, though Rowan couldn’t deal with that right now.

“I bet you taste good too,” he said, grinding against her and living for her answering moan. “Don’t you?”

“I’ve never had any complaints,” she said, and he tried to ignore the twinge of jealousy at the thought of another guy’s mouth on her.

Her pussy was his, at least for tonight. He intended to make sure she never forgot how it felt to have him between her thighs.

Kneeling at her feet, he peeled her thong down her lean legs. He let his eyes drag up slowly, taking his time admiring the muscles in her quads before his gaze settled between her legs.

She was already wet, her thighs glistening with arousal. He imagined what they would look like dripping with his come instead. The idea had masculine satisfaction thrumming through him, even knowing it was a fantasy he couldn’t indulge. He wouldn’t put her in a vulnerable position by not wearing a condom. Pressing a mockingly chaste kiss on her low belly, he rose to his feet.

“Get on the bed,” he said, guiding her hips towards the waiting mattress.

“Get naked first,” she countered, tracing the band of his Adonis belt before tugging him towards her by the waistband of his Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

He didn’t stop her as she skated her hands down the back to squeeze his ass before pushing them off his hips.

His dick was already rock hard, and it pressed between them. She leaned up to kiss him again before sinking down to sit on the bed. The movement bought her eye-level with his erection, and gripping him in a fist, she put her mouth on him.

He swore as she laved his length, cock twitching as she traced a ridge of vein with her tongue. Threading a gentle hand into her hair, he took a step back, coaxing her off the bed and onto her knees. When she looked up at him, blue eyes overcome with want, he had to fight the urge to come right then.

Despite her earlier declarations, Aelin sucked him off like both of their lives depended on it, and Rowan could only hang on and enjoy the ride as her tongue worked miracles on his shaft and her hands found every pleasure point he craved.

He swore again as she massaged his stones before kneading the sensitive swath of skin behind them. As her touch grew more deliberate, he debated telling her she could push inside him before deciding it wasn’t exactly fodder for a one-night stand.

However, when her fingers trailed back to brush the tight ring of muscle, he couldn’t fight a groan.

“Yes?” She asked, keeping her touch light.

“Go ahead,” he said, breathless.

He didn’t think he’d never been so close to losing it as he was the moment she used her own wetness to coat her fingers before carefully teasing two inside of him.

His tattooed hand tightened in her hair, but he forced himself to otherwise remain still, to let her set the pace.

“Fuck, Aelin.”

Crooking her fingers to hit that perfect internal spot, she put her mouth on him again. Between her fingers and her tongue, he only lasted ten more strokes before he came hard .

Holy shit.

Rowan was no stranger to anything they’d just done, but he was fairly sure that was the best blowjob he’d ever had.

“As good as your imagined?” Aelin said with a smirk.

“Better,” Rowan said. “Way better. My turn.”

Picking her up, he tossed her on the bed before grabbing her ankle and dragging her towards him so her legs hung off the edge.

Wasting no time, he broke her legs apart and put his mouth right where he knew she needed him, sucking hard. However, he didn’t stay there for long, ignoring her attempts to manuever his mouth into position as he teased her.

“Rowan,” she choked. “You’re killing me.”

In answer he swirled his tongue around her bundle of nerves before alighting elsewhere.

“Rowan,” Aelin said.

He sucked on her this time, loving how she rocked her hips up to fuck his face. Still, he didn’t linger long enough for her release to find her.

“I’m going to kill—“

He glanced up at her, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the crease of her hip as she watched him.

“Beg me, Aelin,” he told her. “Beg me and I’ll give you an orgasm to make you cry.”

He laced her once, and she bucked.

“I don’t beg,” she said, even as he felt her contract once against his tongue.

The idea was turning her on.

“You haven’t begged before,” he corrected. “It doesn’t mean you won’t for me.”

At this he slid a finger inside of her, finding the right spot and applying pressure.

“Oh god,” she breathed. “More.”

Rowan pulled the finger out in response.

Aelin paused, heaving slightly as she considered before breathing, “Please, Ro.”

“Please what?”

“Please, give me what I want. I’m...begging you.”

Rowan slid two fingers inside of her, grinning.

“Really, this is your begging? Pathetic.”

“Harder.”

“Harder?”

He increased his speed, knowing she was right on the edge of where she needed to be. Still, he didn’t cross that line.

“Fuck,” Aelin said, voice almost a whine. “Rowan, I’m right there—just make me come.”

“If I do, will you beg me for my cock next?”

“I will give you anything you want,” she said. “Just...” she exhaled again. “Please.”

He bowed his head between her legs again, pumping his fingers as he tongued the spot he knew would set her off.

Driven the brink by all his edging, her climax seemed to shudder through her, muscles in her stomach flexing as she contracted against his mouth. He was careful to keep his touch feather-light as the orgasm crested and ebbed, knowing her body was too sensitive to be properly played with yet.

“Oh god,” she breathed, body still trembling slightly. “I don’t think I’ve ever had an orgasm that strong before. What did you do to me, Whitethorn?”

He crawled up to meet her, hands sinking into the mattress on either side of her head before he kissed her.

“Showed you what you’ve been missing, apparently.”

She arched her hips up to meet his, the contact making him harden again.

“Aelin,” he breathed, using both palms to scrape her sweaty hair from her face.

“Kiss me,” she said softly, gaze so sincere he had to close his eyes to avoid being overcome.

He did as she asked, keeping his touch gentle in an effort to to convey what he couldn’t bear to voice out loud: that this was more than just meaningless sex.

“I want you inside of me,” she said.

He rotated his hips against hers, cock brushing against her in a way that made her cry out softly.

“I need to grab a condom,” he said into her ear. “Don’t move.”

“And what if I do?”

He bent to kiss her deeply.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

Rowan smiled, rising from the bed to grab a condom from his wallet before crossing to the window. He deftly unknotted the silk tie which had been used to hold back the curtains and holding it up for her to see.

Aelin expelled a noise of pleasure so finely edged it was almost a whine. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her arms above her head in invitation, eyes hooded as she watched him approach.

Sliding over her, he slipped the length of silk around her wrists before synching it to the headboard.

Aelin tugged I’m experimentation.

“Too tight?”

“No,” she said.

Rowan gently collared her throat as he bent to kiss her.

“Good girl.”

Rowan drew a finger down Aelin’s torso, circling her tight nipples before tracing her navel and venturing between her legs.

“I’m going to have to make this count,” he said, sliding two fingers into her again even as he held up the condom. “I only have one of these.”

“I have some in my suitcase,” she said. “Lucky for you, I think they’re magnums. Dream big, and all that.”

He grinned, making her laugh.

“Never hurts to be prepared,” she said.

“No it most certainly doesn’t,” he agreed, putting his mouth on her again.

She bucked off the bed and he used his hands to keep her hips pinned as she twisted against her restraints.

“If only I had a spreader bar,” he told her. “I would really have you at my mercy.”

“I’m at your mercy now,” she said. “Take me.”

That, Rowan could not resist.

Quickening the pace of his fingers, he concentrated on her clit until she shattered again. Only when she’d settled back on to the bed, legs quaking slightly, did he tear open the wrapper of the condom, sheathing himself with a practiced hand.

“You’re probably going to be extra tight from the orgasms,” he told her. “So I’m going to go slow at first.”

She nodded, and he kissed her again before grabbing his shaft and sliding a few inches into her.

“Tight” had perhaps been an understatement. The pressure of her was mind-numbing, spine-tingling bliss. Still, he forced himself to pause and take in her expression.

Her brows were synched, breath ragged. He bent to kiss the tightened corners of her eyes before brushing his lips to hers.

“Talk to me, gorgeous,” he breathed. “How are you doing?”

“You’re—big,” she said, voice still tense. “I’m just trying to adjust.”

“Relax,” he coached, petting a hand down the tense muscles in her stomach. “Breathe, Aelin.”

At this she let out a shuddering exhale, even mewing a little as he reached down to play with her.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he said, working her with the pad of his thumb. “Let me in.”

With that the some of the tenseness in her body loosened, and she moaned. He pushed in farther, kissing her deeply until she was forced to take another calming exhale.

When he shifted her hips and pulled her the rest of the way onto his shaft, she melted. He couldn’t hold back his groan of pleasure as he sank in effortlessly to the hilt, his stones brushing her soft ass.

“Fuck,” she said. “Why does that feel so good?”

He rose onto his knees, tilting her hips up on the process. She groaned.

“Because I bet no one’s hit this spot with you before,” he said.

Rearing back slightly, he thrust into her with delicious intent.

She bit her lip.

“Yours is deep,” he said.

Her answering laugh was husky.

“Are you trying to suggest you’re the biggest dick I’ve ever had?”

He smirked, unable to deny the smug masculine satisfaction that slithered through him at the thought.

“You said it, not me.”

He pulled back and thrust into her a second time. At this she squirmed a little, eyes firmly shut again.

“Yes, Aelin?” He said, repeating the gesture a third time.

She wiggled, trying to get more friction.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh god, yes.”

With that he increased his pace, loving the obscene sound their bodies made as they came together. Christ, had it ever felt this good?

He rode her hard but tried to maintain a pace that wouldn’t cause her an unpleasant amount of friction. From her moans, he was doing a better than alright job.

Rowan drank her in as she writhed beneath him, her body covered in a glistening sheen of sweat, her small breasts bouncing with the force of his thrusts.

When he reached a hand between her legs to play with her again, she swore, tightening around him.

“I’m so close.”

“Say my name," he said, left hand wrapping around the headboard for better leverage as he drove into her with increased force. “I want to hear you say my name when you come, Aelin.”

She surged forward, tongue tangled with his in a desperate kiss.

"Ro," she breathed. “Rowan.”

Rowan had to fend off a strangled moan at the reverence in her voice.

When he'd made the demand, he'd imagined her screaming it the way other women had, like it was a triumph that needed to be heralded. But hearing it whispered, as if it were a secret meant only for him, had been so much more powerful.

He instantly knew why: because this was so much more than mindless sex.

He felt the exact moment she came apart around him, loving the pressure as she squeezed him in a vice. Deftly he untied her bound hands, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck as he kissed her.

He couldn’t hold back the pleasured groan which escaped as he found his own climax, hips nestled to hers as he drove in deep a final time.

God, what he wouldn’t give to come inside this girl for real. It was a selfish thought, but one Ro couldn’t immediately shake. He didn’t often think about babies of his own, but something about Aelin Galathynius made him want to have a million.

He shook his head slightly, desperate to rid himself of the notion of having children with a woman he’d just met. He kissed her instead, using the feeling of her lips against him to ground him more fully into reality.

When he felt he’d mastered himself, he pulled back to meet Aelin’s eye, mildly horrified to find that hers were glassy. Despite his earlier declaration about wanting to have her in tears, actually seeing them in her eyes had his heart dropping out of his chest.

“Oh god, you’re crying,” he blurted, quickly pulling out of her and touching her cheek. “Aelin, why are you crying?”

At this she snorted, the sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“Because that so intense I almost don’t know what to do with myself,” she admitted. “And when I get overwhelmed I always end up crying.”

He frowned, brushing her petal-soft cheek again.

“Good overwhelmed or bad?”

“Good,” she said. “Definitely good. That was just so—“ she blew out a shaky inhale, another tear slipping from the corner of her eye. “I came so hard I think my brain just stalled for a second.”

He couldn’t help but grin, even as he gently brushed the moisture from her cheek.

“I don’t think I’ve ever broken someone’s brain before,” he said. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

She laughed, the sound easier this time.

“Don’t be annoying,” she said. “You know how good you are.”

“What can I say? You inspire greatness in me, Galathynius.”

He bent to gently kiss her, his finger drawing a an ever-tightening circle around one erect nipple. Her back arched slightly at his featherlight touch, goosebumps breaking out across her small breasts.

“You are so gorgeously responsive,” he told her, bending to tug the opposite nipple with his teeth. “It’s like your whole body is a hot spot. It makes it impossible to stop touching you. I could seriously play with you all night.”

“It’s not usually like this,” Aelin admitted after a beat, threading her hand into his hair. When she spoke again, her tone was softer, more candid. “Most the time I’m too in my head, and it makes it hard to get turned on enough to let go.”

“What made tonight different?” Rowan asked, brushing the hair out her face.

He was fairly sure he already knew, but he needed to hear her say it, to take ownership of the feeling.

“I feel safe with you,” she said. “I don’t know why—you’re basically still a stranger—but I do.”

Rowan smiled, kissing her more deeply this time.

“I told you that you’d let go for me,” he breathed against her lips. “How did it feel, gorgeous?”

“Incredible,” she said, shifting her hips in search of friction as he settled more fully on top of her again. “I didn’t want it to end.”

Deftly, Rowan peeled off the condom and threw it into the trash.

“Who said it had to?” He asked grabbing her hips and rotating so he was on his back, Aelin nestled in his lap. “That was just round one.”

In response, She reached for his shaft to begin getting him hard, but he caught her wrist instead.

“It’s a marathon, Galathynius, not sprint,” he said, flipping her hand in his so he could kiss her palm. “And your body’s not ready for me to be inside you again yet.”

Aelin seemed a bit flustered at that, which left Rowan feeling torn. On the one hand, he hating thinking he’d embarrassed her or made her uncomfortable. On the other, the idea that he has the ability to make swaggering, sensuous Aelin Ashryvver-Galathynius bashful filled him with deep-seated satisfaction.

Seeming to read the intention in his gaze, she bent to kiss him, whispering, “you don’t have to.”

He pushed her back gently so he could look into her face.

“Don’t have to what?”

“Go down on me again. I know most guys don’t like to do it again once they’ve—“

“That’s amateur hour,” Rowan said, tone sharper than he’d meant it to be. “Whichever pin-headed prick told you that is a loser.”

She laughed, relaxing a little. At seeing this, Rowan settled more fully on his back, hands braced on her hips.

“Come here,” he said, voice rough with desire.

He was rewarded with a pretty blush.

“I’ve never...done it like that,” she admitted.

He smirked.

“Then I’m about to give you an important lesson in pleasure. Come here.”

Rising onto her knees, Aelin rose over Rowan until she was mere inches from his face.

“I feel like I’m going to suffocate you!” She said with a sheepish laugh.

“Then I’ll die the luckiest man on earth,” he said, gripping her ass. “Hold onto the headboard.”

She did, and he lifted his head just enough that the tip of his tongue brushed the most sensitive part of her.

Her whole body tightened in pleasure.

“Do that again,” she said, sounding more her confident self now.

“No,” he told her. “This position is about you being in control. I don’t give you pleasure; you take it.”

When she still didn’t move, he added, “this should be no problem for an imperious little thing like you.”

He knew goading her would do the trick, and after a moment she relaxed her hips, body sinking down to meet his waiting mouth. He couldn’t stifle a groan as she rocked her hips against him in experimentation. Seeing Aelin in is position, vulnerable but in control, was hotter than her could have possibly imagined.

Rowan flicked his tongue against her and she swore.

“That feels good,” she breathed, rocking forward against his mouth again. “Really good.”

His hands on the back of her thighs, he urged her hips forward, grazing her with his teeth before sucking hard.

This proved to be her unleashing.

Using the headboard for leverage, she began swishing her lips in a rhythmic motion, panting softly through her teeth as she worked herself up to climax.

He kneaded the soft flesh of her backside while she rocked against him, trying not to imagine what it would be like to slide his cock into her tight little ass. He had no idea if she was into that sort of thing nor any desire to pressure her into finding out, but the way she rocked back into his hands—as if urging them to explore—was enough to make him curious.

Hands on her waist, he tilted her pelvis towards him slightly, waiting to see how she’d react. In response she scooted higher on his body, her knees practically touching to the headboard. In this new position, there was no part of her he couldn’t access, and when she leaned forward, the invitation was clear.

Using his hands to open her legs more fully for him, he brushed his mouth against an intimate spot that—judging by her deep moan—no one had even touched before. When he repeated the gesture and she didn’t tense or pull away, he split legs even wider and circled the tight ring of muscle at the back with his tongue.

“Fuck,” she said, voice devolving into a string of slurred Spanish. “Rowan.”

Rowan worked her in broader strokes, his free hand coming up to play with her clit. When he slipped a finger inside of her he could tell she was getting close. Not wanting to claim the victory of her orgasm with only his fingers, he pulled her hips down so his tongue could replace his hand.

Far bolder now that she’d been when they’d started, Aelin followed his lead. Her fingers twined in his hair as she rocked against him hard, and Rowan was happy enough to sit back and watch as she took her pleasure like he’d instructed.

Between the rimjob and the edging, Aelin’s orgasm—when it hit—seemed to last a blissful eternity. She was trembling slightly as she collapsed beside him, eyes still closed.

“That was the hottest thing I think I’ve ever seen,” he said.

He gently cupped between her legs, careful not to apply too much pressure when she was still so sensitive.

“You’re telling me that?” she said with a laugh. “I’ve done it that to other people, obviously, but I’ve never let anyone—“ she broke off with another laugh. “Apparently I’ve been missing out.”

Rowan smirked, if only to hide the twinging realization that after tonight, it would someone else making her feel good, not him.

“I hope I didn’t set an impossible standard,” he said dryly.

“Maybe not yet,” she said, eyes blazing with want. “But you’re well in your way, and the night is still young.”

She let her azure gaze snake down his body with exaggerated slowness. By the time it reached his cock, he was granite-hard.

“Where are the rest of the condoms?” he asked.

If he wasn’t inside of her in the next minute, he might actually lose his mind.

“Bathroom,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”

Rowan didn’t have time for that. He rose from the bed to follow her into the lavish en-suite. Normally he might of gawked a little at the opulence—the marble countertops, the sunken tub—but his entire focus was on Aelin. The best he could do was shift the lens to the things in her periphery. Everything else was a blur.

She was just straightening—foil packet in hand—as he entered, and he didn’t even give her a chance speak before her grabbed her around the waist, spinning her so his chest was pressed into her back.

Taking the condom, he ripped open the package and slid it on with one hand while his other moved between her legs to ensure she was ready for him.

“How do you feel?” He asked. “Do you need me to—“

“Whitethorn, if I was any wetter I’d be Nile. Get inside me already.”

It was all the permission Rowan needed. Hand on her back, he coaxed her to bend, using his legs to push hers wider as he did. She yelped softly as her bare breasts made contact with the cold marble, and he ran a hand over the curve of her hip to settle her before sliding to the hilt in single stroke.

It felt better, even, than it had the first time. She clenched around the intrusion of him even as she moaned, and he only managed to wait a beat before grabbing her hips and setting a blistering pace.

He glanced in the mirror and their gazes caught in the reflection, her desire molten.

Wanting more, he coaxed her up until her torso lifted from the counter.

Yes, he thought with greedy satisfaction. This.

This was what he wanted. Her firm tits bouncing with each hard thrust, her hips rocking back and forth, and her eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.

Gently collaring her throat with his hand, he whispered in her ear.

“Touch yourself for me.”

She did, canting her hips forward for increased friction as she moaned.

As she increased the speed with her hand, Rowan increased his, fucking her hard through her orgasm as she tightened around him.

She collapsed against the counter as he pulled her hips flush to his for one final thrust before coming undone.

She wobbled when he stepped back to pull off the condom, and he deftly caught her around the waist before she melted to the floor like a newborn fawn.

“Easy,” he said, coaxing her into his arms.

She laid her head on his shoulder.

“I think your dick has mystical powers,” she said. “Because that was insane.”

Rowan chuckled, carrying her to the bed and laying her down.

“There’s a Harry Potter joke in there somewhere,” he said, brushing some hair off her sweaty cheek as her eyelids drooped. “I’m just too lazy to find it.”

“Harry Potter references,” she said, already half-asleep. “Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?”

She was out before he could even respond, but he did anyway, lips to her temple as he whispered, “I wish I could.”

Ro woke up at sunrise the next morning, Aelin still fast asleep beside him. Not quite in his arms, but still close enough that he could feel her warmth. Christ, she smelled incredible. Like lemon and coconut.

He propped his head on a chin, admiring the way the dawn light set her skin and hair to glowing. She looked like a fallen star.

Rowan’s heart ached a bit as he studied her, trying to memorize every detail, knowing that their time together was quickly running out. Originally, he’d only planned to stay the night, promising himself that as soon as the dark was gone, he would be, too.

In the light of day, he knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. Perhaps it was only asking for more trouble, but Rowan wanted to stay at least for the morning.

He could bring her coffee from that shop Cash loved; if Ro remembered correctly, it wasn’t far from here. He could go get it while she was still sleeping, and make her breakfast when she woke up.

He wouldn’t stay all day, he promised himself, just long enough that she knew she wasn’t some meaningless screw he’d fucked and then chucked. Surely she deserved that much, at least.

Unable to resist, he ran a hand down the silky mane of her hair, slightly tangled from their numerous romps the night before, before rising from the bed as quietly and creeping towards the bedroom door. He found his boxers briefs and shorts easily enough. He just needed to find his—

“Leaving so soon?”

He turned to find Aelin sitting up in the bed, that signature smirk painted on her pouty mouth. She hadn’t bothered to pull up the sheet to cover herself, and her breasts were fully visible, the studs in them winking in the crepuscular light pouring in from the window.

“Only to get some coffee,” he said, loving the way the tension which had limned her muscles disappeared. She’d been displeased with the idea of him leaving, even if she hadn’t wanted to show it.

Her next smile was far easier.

“I have coffee here,” she said.

“Not like this you don’t,” he said with a grin. “There is no coffee on earth better than the beans for the Kona Mountains.”

Her expression grew feline.

“You dare say such things to a Cuban?” She said. “If Galen were here, he’d have you tarred and feathered.”

Rowan recalled the coffee he’d had on a trip to Havana during the short period travel when from the US to Cuba had been permitted. She wasn’t wrong; it had been fucking delicious. Still, he wasn’t going to give up that easy.

“That’s more like espresso; not the same as having a full mug with you while you watch the sun rise.”

“The sun’s already risen,” Aelin said with a smile. “And coffee should be strong and decadent, and that’s what a cortadito is. You can keep your vat of hot bean water; a little is all you need. Just enough to whet the appetite.”

Rowan couldn’t help but grin.

“Awfully set in your ways for a person who’s so young.”

“I’m only five years younger than you,” Aelin pointed out. “And I didn’t hear any complaints from you last night.”

“That’s because I have none,” Rowan admitted. “You’re—“

He broke off, not wanting to embarass himself with verbose declarations now that they were both stone sober.

“I’m—“ Aelin prompted, standing from the bed. She was still naked as they day she was born, and it was an effort not to admire her.

“You know what you are,” Rowan said.

“I do,” Aelin agreed, slinking forward and draping her arms over Rowan’s shoulders. “But it hits different coming from you.”

It was the same thing he’d told her the night before, and he decided to indulge her the way she had him.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his hand slipping around her bare waist to tug her into him.

He kissed her softly, and he could feel her answering smile against his lips.

“Yes, I am,” she said, and he couldn’t help it.

He laughed, lifting her off her feet and heading towards the bed with her still in his arms. When he was close enough he tossed her onto the wrinkled nest of sheets and pillows before crawling over her.

“What am I going to do with you, Galathynius?”

She laughed as he playfully nuzzled her neck.

“Feed me? I’m starving after your thorough ravishing last night.”

“I think I can do that,” he said, bending to kiss her.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to get up right away. Instead he rolled onto his side so he was facing her, trying not to preen as she traced a whorl of his tattoo.

“We never talked about these last night,” she said, her featherlight touch making goosebumps appear on his skin. “They’re...Hawaiian?”

“Māori,” Rowan said. “I grew up on Maui, but my family is originally from farming town near Auckland.”

Aelin’s eyes glittered with interest.

“Have you even been there?”

“To New Zealand?” Rowan shrugged. “We used to go every few years while my grandparents were still alive. At the time it seemed boring. Now I’m glad we got the opportunity.”

Aelin nodded, still tracing his tattoos. She’d moved from his shoulder to his chest, fingers trailing closer and closer to his heart. To—

“And this one?” Aelin said. “It doesn’t look Māori.”

Rowan’s throat ached a bit as she ran the tips of her fingers over the letters at the very center of the massive design, directly above his heart.

Λυρία

“It’s Greek,” he explained.

She glanced up at him, gaze full of emotion as she said quietly, “It looks like a name.”

He nodded, throat growing tight.

“Lyria.”

Aelin didn’t push for clarification, but after a beat Rowan found himself speaking anyway.

“She’s my—she was my—“

When he broke off, Aelin only nodded.

“What happened?”

“Non-Hodgkins lymphoma. It was stage four by the time they caught it. She was gone within six months of her diagnosis.”

Aelin reached up to gently cup Rowan’s cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Rowan.”

He’d had people apologize to him a thousand times for Lyria’s untimely death, but something in Aelin’s tone was different. It was sympathetic but also...understanding, somehow.

“Have you ever lost someone you thought would be in your life forever?”

Aelin considered this before flipping her wrist and extending it. There, inked in neat script, were three small letters Rowan hadn’t noticed before.

S-a-m

“We were high school sweethearts and went to UT together,” she explained. “My sophomore year we lived in an apartment together in West Campus, but we’d started to talk about moving after there had been a series of unsolved rapes in the neighborhood. We were on the first floor and Sam was worried about me being there when he was on the road for baseball season. The night I finally agreed we could start looking for another place, there was a break-in.”

She paused, brows furrowed as she continued to study the tattoo.

“The guy had a gun, and told Sam that if he cooperated it would be over quickly and neither of us would get hurt. But Sam refused, and he fought the guy off while I called the cops. He got shot while they were struggling with the gun, and by the time the paramedics got there it was too late.”

“Aelin, I...” Rowan paused, not wanting to saying the wrong thing. “That must have been awful. I’m so sorry.”

Aelin nodded, rubbing the tattoo with her thumb.

“Me too,” she said. “I miss him a lot.”

That, Rowan certainly understood. There wasn’t a day that went by that Rowan didn’t miss Lyria.

“Did they ever catch the perp?”

“Yeah, the guy’s gloves came off in the struggle and he ended up leaving prints. Cairn Macgory. Turned out he was a law student, top honors, no criminal record. The only reason they had his fingerprints was because of his application to take the bar. He was going to be a family law attorney. He already had a job lined up after school.”

“I hope he rots in hell,” Rowan said honestly, hating the haunted look that had crept into Aelin’s eyes.

“He’s honestly just lucky the cops got to him first,” she said. “My dad was ready to have him black-bagged back to Cuba and cut into little pieces.”

“I’m sort of sorry he didn’t,” Rowan admitted, and this—unexpectedly—made Aelin laugh.

“Aren’t you a cop? I thought you’d be all gung-ho for law and order.”

“Even cops can want revenge.”

Some of Aelin’s mirth faded at this, and she looked up to study him. It was an odd feeling to be so exposed, but Rowan found he didn’t mind it coming from Aelin. After a moment she relented, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder.

“Sorry, that was sort of heavy for a one-night stand.”

Rowan strung an arm around her sturdy shoulders as he ignored the twinge in his gut.

A one-night stand.

He’d never stayed the morning with his previous one-night stands, and he’d certainly never told any of them about Lyria, so how could that be what this was?

Before he could damn the consequences and ask Aelin about it, she slipped from his embrace, grinning at him over a shoulder.

“Can I make you a cortadito, or have I scared you off?”

He grabbed her hand to pull her back.

“I’ll have coffee,” he told her rising onto his knees and she sank back onto the bed half-way. “And after that I’ll take you to breakfast.”

“You’re friends won’t be missing you?

Rowan traced her hipbones with this thumbs, everything he’d done to her the previous evening flooding back.

“They’re adults,” he said breezily, leaning forward to kiss the soft skin between her breasts. “They’ll be fine.”

Aelin drove a hand into his hair, her grip light and playful.

“You phones been blowing up for 20 minutes,” she pointed out.

“That’s just Cash being nosy.”

“He’s not dating anyone?”

“Not that I know of,” Rowan admitted setting back onto the bed and tugging her casually into his lap. “But Cash has always been full of secrets; it’s part of his charm.”

“What about the other two?” She asked. “The gorgeous one and the grouch.”

“Fenrys is more a serial dater,” Rowan said. “Mostly because his taste in men is garbage. He always falls for the haole fuckboys then cries when they turn out to be assholes.”

“Haole?” Aelin said.

“Non-Polynesians, technically,” Rowan explained. “But most of the time Hawaiians just use it to mean—“

“Gringos,” Aelin said, grinning. “They do love to make trouble, don’t they?”

Rowan had to laugh at this.

“Fen would certainly say so.”

Aelin nodded, laughing as well.

“So that just leaves—”

“Lorcan,” Rowan said. “His bark is worse than his bite.”

“Aedion said he played him in Volleyfest last year in Miami. Why didn’t y’all compete in the men’s division together?”

Rowan rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s...complicated.”

“I assume this has to do with your ex?”

“She invited me to play in with her. Lor wasn’t even supposed to be here this weekend. He decided to surprise me last minute.”

“So there is a gooey center underneath the scowl!” Aelin said.

“To be honest, I think Lor is probably the most sensitive and caring of all four of us. He just—isn’t good at emoting. He’s also a fastidious believer in ‘boys night’, though I think that’s just because he’s not good at chatting women up.”

“Bet he wasn’t too thrilled with me last night then, huh?”

“He’ll get over it. And he still pulls like crazy, even with his terrible flirting. Usually women take one look at him and decide they don’t even care if he can talk at all.”

Aelin laughed.

“I figured as much,” she said, rising from the bed again. “I have a lot of follow-up questions, but I need a shower before we go. Care to join me?”

She was already halfway to the open bathroom door when Rowan found his feet again, and wasting no time, he quickly swept her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way.

After they spent forty-fives minutes fooling around in the shower and another hour having sex against nearly every available surface in the suite, breakfast—inevitably—turned to lunch.

After lunch, they’d joined a pick-up “king of the beach” doubles tournament some of the previous day’s competitors had set up. They’d made such a good team that it was nearly evening by the time they lost a match and were finally bumped off the champion court.

Starving from the exertion, they’d gone back to the suite to shower before leaving again to go to dinner. Dinner had turned into cocktails on the beach, which had turned into beers drinks at Bar 35 then tequila shots at Smith & Kings. The evening that followed was a blur of pleasure, as was the following morning, which they spend in bed together, naked and sweaty.

At every turn Rowan told himself he needed to leave, need to start distancing himself from Aelin so he could start trying to forget her. However, he’d known from the start that it had been a fools errand.

There was no forgetting a girl like Aelin Ashryvver-Galathynius. Her vivacity, her humor, her raw sexual charisma—Rowan had never met anyone like her, and he doubted he ever would again.

So how the fuck was he supposed to just let her go? It was a thought that plagued him all the way to the airport on the afternoon Aelin was due to fly back to the mainland. He’d agreed to accompany her for a last drink before her flight departed, wanting to wring every last second he could out of the weekend.

It was—he knew—only delaying the inevitable by continually putting off their goodbyes, but Ro couldn’t help it. Aelin was like the sun—vibrant and essential—and Rowan had found himself in her orbit.

Harsh realities aside, it was a painfully lovely place to be.

Ro definitely felt a shift in the vibe as he paid their tab and they headed towards the security gate. Things had gone from easy and playful to quiet and subdued, Aelin’s usual flair dimming as she continually adjusted the bag on her shoulder.

Rowan searched and searched for the words he would say to her when they were finally forced to part. They’d never even exchanged numbers; perhaps he could ask for hers and offer to call her if he was ever in Austin?

It seems so stilted and formal after everything they’d shared this weekend. He’d been inside of her, for Christ’s sake. In fact, they’d had so much sex that they’d had to buy more condoms. And she’d fallen asleep in his arms last night, and stayed there until they’d woken up this morning. That was worth more than some vague promise to “look her up” if he even came to Texas.

Still, Ro was burning daylight and he knew it. The security gate was visible now, and though they’d both seemed to slow their pace in an effort to delay the inevitable, it was approaching just the same. Finally they reached the short queue where agents were checking boarding passes and travelers were taking off their shoes and belts.

Aelin was busy on her phone as they slowed to a stop, almost as if she were avoiding looking at him.

“My cousins are already at the gate,” she said by way of explanation. “They said boarding is starting in twenty minutes.”

Rowan glanced at the security line then his watch.

“You’ve got time; things seem to be moving pretty fast.”

Aelin looked over at the line as well. Finally she dragged her azure eyes back to him, the sheer force of her gaze enough to stun him stupid. She paused, as if waiting for him to speak. He had nothing, though.

“Well,” she said finally, a small, tense smile playing around her lips. “I would offer to shake your hand and say ‘it was nice to meet you’, but given the fact we’ve seen each other naked, I think I’ll spare us both the indignity.”

Rowan forced a laugh, even as a pit began forming in his stomach. Shit, should he give her a hug, offer to give her—

“Goodbye, Rowan,” she said, leaning up to brush a kiss just to the right of his mouth. “It’s been—“ she clearly her throat, glancing away for a second. “I had an amazing weekend.”

“Congratulations again,” he found himself saying. “For making the AVP tour. You deserve it.”

Jesus Fucking Christ, was that really the best he could do? Maybe Fen was right, and he was destined to die alone.

Aelin’s grin didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Like I said, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Happy to help,” he forced out. “Have a safe flight, Aelin.”

She smiled, the solemnity in her eyes now limning her face as well.

“I put my number in your phone,” she said, beginning to walk backwards towards the TSA podium. “Call me if you’re ever in Austin.”

With that she turned, and Rowan’s heart was suddenly in his throat, beating two hundred times a minute.

His mind whirred with all the reasons he had to simply let her leave—she still in college, they lived thousands of miles apart, he was a cop in Vice Squad and she was a fucking billionaire—a perceived conflict of interest even if it wasn’t a real one. There was no way it could ever work. It was hopeless, fraught with problems, doomed to fail—

He could hear his pulse pounding in his ears as he continued to spiral, thoughts growing so jumbled that he could hardly make sense of them anymore. Then a single, cogent thread emerged through the cacaphony and chaos, spooling him back to sanity.

A voice.

“Anóitos,” it teased, the tone soft and airy. “What are you doing? Don’t just stand there!”

Fuck , he missed that voice.

It had been three years since he’d lost Lyria. Three years since he’d heard her laugh, or sing, or speak Greek.

Three long, terrible years since he’d heard her speak at all.

But even after all this time, her voice was crystal clear in his head. He often felt it was her absence—more than her memory—that he’d been left with when she’d died. In that moment, though, it almost felt as if Lyria were standing beside him.

“Go, Ro. I’ll be here.”

Rowan felt a warmth tingle through him, and as he blinked back to reality, Lyria’s voice seemed to fade. But where he’d been buzzing with doubt a moment before, Rowan felt himself suddenly brimming with clarity.

If there was anything he’d learned from Lyria’s sickness, it was that life was simply too short to waste.

Lyria had died with her would-be engagement ring still in tucked away in Ro’s dresser drawer. He hated himself for the cowardice, but when she got sick he couldn’t bring herself to ask her to marry him. He’d wanted to believe that if he put off giving her the ring it might somehow serve as a talisman to keep her from leaving him. It hadn’t though, and instead she’d died never getting to be his wife.

It was a mistake he couldn’t afford to make a second time. It was improbable that he and Aelin would get married, but he felt he owed them both the opportunity to find out.

His mind was made up; fuck, he was really doing this.

“Aelin!”

She turned, watching with bemusement as he jogged toward her.

“What—“ she began, but he cut her off.

“I don’t want this to be over,” he blurted.

Aelin sagged a bit, a genuine smile splitting her face.

“Oh thank God,” she said.

Setting down her bag, she started towards him and they met halfway. Rowan cradled her face in his hands and he bent to kiss her. She fisted the fabric of his T-shirt at the hips as the kiss intensified.

“So what does this mean?” Aelin said, slightly breathless as she pulled away. “I’ve never done this before.”

Rare for her to admit she wasn’t perfect at something.

“We’ll have to figure it out as we go,” Rowan said. “My detective’s exam is in two weeks, and then I get a week off. I can come to Austin then?”

She nodded.

“Are we...” Aelin paused, biting her lip. “I mean, do you want to be...”

“Be what?”

“Exclusive?”

“Yes!”

It was out before he could stop it, so he quickly amended, “but only if you—“

“Yes,” she said, smile easier now. “I want that.”

“And are we...using labels?”

She smirked.

“Three days in and you’re already trying to wife me up?”

Now it was Rowan’s turn to flush.

“Okay, no labels—“

“I didn’t say that,” Aelin said quickly. “I just don’t want to jinx a good thing by moving too fast. What if you get back to LA and realize you accidentally got a girlfriend you don’t want? You did drink a lot of tequila this weekend.”

“Never,” he said gently, taking her cheeks in his hands. “Doubt that I want you, Aelin Ashryvver-Galathynius. And I’m fine to wait, if that’s what you want.”

“But...”

He felt his lips tugging again.

“But it’s doesn’t feel soon, not to me.”

“So....labels?” she said.

“Labels,” he agreed.

She grinned, kissing him again.

“In that case, your girlfriend has to go or she’s going to miss her flight and turn into your live-in girlfriend.”

“Honestly, your boyfriend wouldn’t mind.”

Aelin scrunched her nose, even as she laughed a bit.

“We agree the third person thing is creepy, right?”

“Yes, thank you God,” Rowan said, laughing with her.

“Dame un beso,” Aelin said, grabbing the collar of his shirt in an effort to tug his lips closer to hers. “Or I really am going to miss this flight.”

Knowing his time was short, Rowan made the kiss count, teasing Aelin with his lips and tongue until she was slightly breathless.

“See you in three weeks,” he said, pulling away.

He set the bag Aelin had abandoned on her shoulder and kissed her quickly again.

“And text me when you get on the plane so I know you’ve made it.”

She grinned, kissing him a final time before jogging off towards security once again.

“Oh and just fair warning,” she said, spinning on a heel to grin at him as she joined the short line. “My cousins are not going to like this. Might want to sleep with one eye open for a while.”

“You tell me this now?”

“Te veo pronto, querido,” she said in response, kissing her hand in farewell before showing the TSA agent her boarding pass and disappearing into the concourse.

He waited several minutes before pulling out his phone to text her. As he did, his phone chirped to signal an incoming text.

Did I mention I also stole your number and put it in my phone? 😈 💋

Troublemaker, he wrote back. Did you make it?

Yes. Wish you were here to join the Mile High Club with me.

Before Rowan could even formulate a response to that, his phone chimed again, this time from a number he didn’t know.

This is Aedion Ashryvver, it said. Treat her right or I’ll break both your kneecaps.

His phone went off a third time, the new text also from an unknown number.

Not just your kneecaps, either.

Galen Ashryvver, if Ro had to guess.

Ignoring Aelin’s cousins, he replied to her instead, saying simply, Seems like good news travels fast

The grey ellipsis pulsed for a moment as Aelin typed.

Aedion said it was their price for letting us stay in the suite alone all weekend. Taking off now. Talk to you soon ✌️ ✈️

Then it was worth it, Rowan sent back. Have a safe flight. Call me when you get stateside.

Aelin sent back a heart, and Rowan had to fight down an annoyingly girlish fluttering in his stomach as he dialed a new number and put the phone to his ear.

It only rang twice before the line clicked.

“He lives!” Cash said in greeting. “Welcome back from the island of puss—“

“Very funny,” Rowan interjected. “Where are you?”

“Hideaway. Where are you, honeymoon chapel in Vegas?”

Rowan rolled his eyes.

“Ha-ha.”

Cash scoffed.

“Ha-ha, that’s all I get? You’ve been gone for two days, brother! I want details.”

“I’ll tell you everything when I get there.”

“Just give me a quick teaser: do you have a girlfriend now?”

Rowan growled, making Cash laugh.

“I told you!” He said to someone on his end, presumably Lor or Fen.

“You’re seriously dating her?” Lor demanded a second later. “Like full-blown ‘exclusively-fucking, using-labels’ dating her?”

“Full-blown.”

“I KNEW IT!” Cash called, just as Lor growled, “fuck me, man.”

“You owe me a drink,” Lorcan told Rowan. “I just lost 200 bucks because of you.”

“I’ll buy you a shot of house tequila,” Rowan said, unable to keep in a smile. “Final offer.”

“Hurry up,” was Lorcan’s only response. “Before Kahukore explodes from the anticipation.”

“Getting my popcorn as we speak!” Cash called from the background, and with that Rowan hung up.

A short Uber ride later, Rowan strolled into the Hideaway Inn, his friends wolf-whistling as he approached.

Cash was on his feet first, grabbing Rowan by the shoulders an inspecting him head-to-toe.

“What are you doing?” Rowan said, playfully pushing out of Cash’s grip.

“Just taking you in,” Cash said with a disarming smile. “It feels like it’s been an age since we last saw you!”

Rowan rolled his eyes, and Fen added, “Pretty dark circles you’ve got there, lover boy. Galathynius keep you up all night?”

“I am not answering that,” Rowan said. “Or any questions about what she’s like in bed.”

“Why?” Cash cooed. “Because she’s your girlfriend?”

“You’re both clowns,” Rowan said.

“You’re the one dating a teenager,” Lor said. “So who’s the clown now?”

“She’s 21,” Rowan said. “And green isn’t a good color on your, Salvaterre, so just relax.”

Lorcan smirked.

“Jealous? Of you dating a Amazonian she-devil? I don’t think so.”

“That is exactly what a jealous person would say,” Fen pointed out. “Chin up, Lor, your time will come.”

Lorcan only snarled in response.

“What do we think Salvaterre’s eventual lady love going to be like?” Cash chimed in. “Betting line’s officially open, gents.”

“Tiny,” Rowan and Fen both said at the same time.

“Fifty bucks says he ends up marrying a girl under 5’4,” Fen added.

“Grow up,” Lor said with an eye roll, though Ro had known him long enough to tell he wasn’t actually bothered by the conversation.

“Make me,” Fen said.

Lor jerked his head the pool table in the back corner.

“I beat you, you owe me fifty bucks and you shut your cakehole.”

“And if I win?” Fen said.

“You won’t, so it doesn’t matter. Let’s do this.”

Lor shot Rowan a quick, conspiratorial nod, and Ro realized Lor had done it on purpose, to give Rowan and Cash a chance to talk.

It was one of the things that Ro loved about Lorcan Salvaterre. He was perceptive in seeing what people needed, and not jealous or petty. Somehow, he’d seemed to sense Rowan’s need to talk to Cash alone, even if Ro himself hadn’t realized it until just now.

He gave Lor a grateful smile, and Lor turned to clap Fen on the back, leading him towards the billiards table in the back.

“So,” Cash said, flagging the bartender down and ordered two beers and two shots of whiskey. “Tell me everything.”

He clicked his glass to Rowan’s in salute and they both tipped the shots back. Rowan winced a bit at the taste before running a hand through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts.

He ran Cash quickly through the weekend’s events, skipping over the more X-rated content and ending with his and Aelin’s agreement at the airport.

“Damn,” Cash said when Rowan had finished. “Are you sure this girl isn’t a witch? Because she has you under a spell.”

Rowan laughed.

“She’s—” he began, breaking off with a sheepish laugh. “I really like her, man.”

“You’re smitten,” Cash said with a grin. “Look at you!”

Rowan opened his mouth to deny it before shrugging.

“Being with her feels different somehow. It isn’t just that she’s gorgeous or funny or smart, even though she’s all of those things. It’s more than that.”

Cash considered this, but he didn’t tease the way Ro feared he might. Instead he simply asked, “what of you mean?”

Rowan blew out a breath.

“There’s just something about her that’s almost... familiar . Like I’ve been looking for her my whole life, even without knowing it. I know that sounds crazy, but...”

Rowan shrugged again, tracing the rim of his glass.

“She’s just special.”

Cash’s smiled, a softer thing than his fiendish grin from before.

“I’ve never seen you like this, brother.” He paused, his expression growing more reverent as he added in a softer voice, “Not in a long time, at least.”

They were quiet a moment as they both silently recalled the memories that hung unspoken between them. Cash had been the first important person in his life that Rowan had introduced Lyria to, and over the years, Cash was the one who’d come to know Lyria the best; he’d been her friend in his own right.

He couldn’t see it at the time, but when Ro finally emerged from his own grief over Lyria’s death, it was realize that Cash had been grieving as well; he’d simply put his aside to focus on helping Rowan heal instead.

It was hard to describe what that sacrifice had meant to Ro; the nice thing about a friendship as deep as theirs was that Rowan didn’t have to explain his gratitude for Cash to understand it. It was implicit in every conversation they ever had about Lyria, even this one.

“You want to know the weirdest part?” Rowan said finally. “When I was watching Aelin walk away, it felt like, I don’t know, like Lyria was there with me. Like she was telling me ‘go get her’.”

Cash smiled, his expression one of admiration tinged in sadness.

“She wanted you to be happy, Ro.”

Rowan nodded, throat tight as he looked into his glass.

“I still miss her, every day. Part of me worries that if things with Aelin ever got serious, I might start missing her less.”

Cash’s answering shrug was sympathetic.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t want to forget her,” Rowan said, marveling that he could admit that fear out loud.

“You won’t,” Cash assured him. “Ever. But you’re allowed to move on, brother; that’s what she wanted for you.”

There was something in his tone, an assurity and a promise, that had Rowan’s mouth going dry. He glanced up to meet Cash’s gaze.

“She told you that?”

Cash nodded once.

“The last time I saw her. She made me promise to look out for you, and to make sure you ended up with the right girl. And honestly?” He said, a smile beginning to grow on his face. “I think you might have just met her. I can’t let you mess that up by overthinking things, for Lyria’s sake as much for your and Aelin’s.”

Rowan felt his lips tugging up.

“You’re going to like her,” he said, and Cash grinned.

“Latin girl who can kick your ass in sports? I love her already.”

Rowan laughed.

“I’m going to Austin after my exam, but she’s planning on coming to LA sometime after that. If you’re free, you could fly out, I have airline miles—“

“I’d love to,” Cash interjected, clapping Ro in the back. “But I’m going to be out of commission for the next few months. I promise I’ll meet her properly soon, though. She seems cool as hell.”

Not to be put off by the diversion regarding Aelin, Rowan frowned, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinized his friend’s expression. Cash’s answering smile was cryptic and slightly wild. It was then Ro remembered what Cash had told him when he’d first gotten into town days ago.

“Fuck,” he said, running a hand through his silver hair. “I feel like such a dick, you said you had news. I totally forgot, I’m sorry.”

Cash laughed, the sound easy and unburdened.

“You just met the women you’re probably going to marry. I’ll give you a pass.”

Rowan thought to object to the notion he was going to marry Aelin after only three days together, but something told him not to.

“Well tell me now,” Rowan said instead.

His friend’s cryptic smile returned, mischief sparkling in his hazel eyes.

“The only thing worse than having too many secrets,” Cash always said. “Is having none at all.”

Ro had a feeling Cash was about to drop a big one on him right now.

“I’m moving to London.”

“Wait?” Rowan demanded. “Seriously?”

Cash grinned.

“Seriously.”

“Just for a change of pace?”

“Partly,” Cash said with a shrug. “But mostly to be a Master Sommelier.”

Now that, Rowan had not expected. He struggled to pick his jaw off the floor enough to speak.

“Like a wine expert?” He said, stunned. “I thought you didn’t like wine! You always ripped on your uncle for opening Merchant of Vino!”

Cash laughed.

“That’s because it’s a stupid name and Dev’s a hapless businessman.“

Rowan still couldn’t fully master his shock, though it was quickly being subsumed by an overwhelming pride.

“This is amazing, man,” he said, clasping Cash’s shoulder. “When did you decide to do this?”

Cash’s smile had grown slightly sheepish.

“When I first sat for the Level One Sommelier exam three years ago?”

“Three years?” Rowan repeated. “You’ve been sitting on this for three fucking years? Why didn’t you say anything? Every time I asked about your job you brushed me off!”

Cash rubbed the back of his neck.

“I didn’t want to tell you in case it—didn’t pan out.”

“Seems like it’s panning out just fine!” Rowan said with a laugh.

“It’s going alright,” Cash agreed with a laugh. “Considering I passed the theory portion of the Master Sommelier exam. I just have to complete the tasting and I’ll be one of 229 Masters Somms in the world.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rowan blurted. “That’s incredible. How does London fit into all this?”

“If I said the name Sadeghi, would that mean anything to you?”

“Persian billionaires or something?”

Cash nodded.

“The old man is from originally from Tehran, but the family has been in England for ages; they’re real estate royalty in the UK. Sadeghi put his son in charge opening a new hotel and restaurant in London, and I’m going to be the wine manager. Make the lists, relationship build with vineyards, that kind of thing. They’ve already hired a Michelin Star chef from Marrakech, so it’s...a pretty big deal. It’s also a good way to for me to grow my network while I study for the exam. I don’t want to be stuck in the restaurant business forever.”

“Cash,” Rowan said, grinning. “That’s amazing.”

Cash smiled.

“Maybe you and Aelin can come visit once I get settled,” Cash said in deflection, clearly at his limit for discussing himself. “You know, Aelin your girlfriend.”

Rowan had to laugh.

He had a girlfriend.

And—Jesus Christ—Cash was moving to England. It was almost too much good news for a single day.

“I’m happy for you,” he told his friend, giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “And you deserve this. You’re going to crush it”

“I hope so,” Cash said. “The pass rate for the tasting portion of the exam is 32%.”

“You’re the smartest person I know,” Rowan said. “So that number means nothing.”

Cash grinned.

“You flirting with me, Whitethorn?”

“If you’re going to be friends with billionaires, you need to learn how to start taking compliments,” Rowan said with a chuckle.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cash said, and Rowan could see the unsaid words shining in his friend’s hazel eyes. “Another drink?”

Cash turned to slip off the stool he’d been perched on, by Rowan caught his arm.

“Cash.”

Cash turned back, expression somewhat bemused. Rowan felt a lump beginning to form in his throat, but he pushed on regardless.

“It’ll be you, you know that right?”

“Be me?” Cash repeated, confused.

“When I get married—whoever I get married to—you’ll be my best man. I couldn’t have it any other way.”

Cash smiled, eyes sparkling. He considered this for a moment before pulling Rowan into a hug, one which Rowan gratefully accepted.

“Love you, brother.”

There were very few people Rowan considered worthy of this type of familial affection, but Cash was certainly one of them.

“I’m not drunk enough for this kind of thing,” Cash said, pulling away. “I’m going to get us another drink.”

Rowan’s phone buzzed with an incoming call just as Cash was sauntering away. He was surprised to find it was Aelin, and concern sluiced through him as he answered the call.

Before he could ask if she was okay, Aelin said, “Stupid flight attendant has been holding out on me. She waited until just now to tell me I could make calls on WiFi.”

Rowan felt amusement tugging at his lips.

“Should I be concerned that you’re calling from altitude? Nothing’s wrong, is there?”

Rowan could practically hear Aelin’s grin through the phone.

“No,” she said breezily “But I realized I never told you about the Cinnabon I had on my way to the gate. I figured I should call and tell you now lest I forget.”

“Oh yeah?” Rowan said.

He couldn’t help it; he was all-out smiling now.

“It was life-changing,” Aelin said.

Rowan glanced up to find Cash joining Fen and Lor at the pool table with a conspiratorial wink. When he mouthed ‘sorry’ and made to rise, Cash waved him off with a smile.

“In that case,” Rowan said, settling back on his stool. “Tell me everything.”

THE END

If you liked this story and want more Rowaelin, check out my Nessian fic In Vino Veritas, set in the same modern au-verse about four years later. If you want a sneak peak at how Lorcan’s romance check out the teaser for F*cking Lawyers, set within the In Vino timeline. ♥️

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#rowaelin smut #rowaelin modern au #rowaelin #acotar x tog crossover #featherywrites #eyes of texas #In Vino Veritas Prequel

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