#dsmp hockey au
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I guess this time there’s just no hiding, (fighting you make me restless.)
parings: hockeyplayer!wilbur soot x figureskater!fem!reader (+ c!philza & c!kristen they own the ice rink!) (mentions of platonic!c!tommy x fem!reader)
summary: you and wilbur meet for the first time after your schedules get mixed up.
authors note: OKAY SO I started writing this back in April and never finished it, but I recently read Icebreaker by hannah grace and I had the urge to finish it! the idea was an au of what if sbi were a hockey team! (pretty sure I saw fanart once of dsmp like that but it could’ve been american football or soccer??) I've literarily been editing and re-writing this for three days straight and I think it's okay, but I hope you guys like it! I'm excited to post it anyways!! Let me know if I should do a part two!!
*title is lyrics from set me free by michelle branch from the ice princess soundtrack!
Warnings: Hockey AU!, first meetings, flirting,annoyance-lovers, swearing, beardbur. YES. unedited! (If there is anything I forgot let me know!!)
Ice skates glided across the smooth ice, freshly resurfaced only a few minutes ago. The blades cut with every movement, leaving lines in your wake.
It felt so freeing, so weightless in a way. You always loved being out on the ice. It felt like another world permitting your feet to take control and letting your mind be free of your thoughts.
Warm-ups were always a great excuse to not practice your triple lutzes. You had been trying to get it down for weeks, and your coach told you to just take it one day at a time but, of course, you still pushed yourself until you got it perfectly.
You were glad your scheduled preparation was when no one was at the rink, so you wouldn't get distracted while practicing for regionals. The only people in the building were the Zamboni driver, Sam, and the owners of the building.
Once you completed your warm-up, you felt fully prepared to begin your routine. You took a deep breath and focused all your energy to your feet, taking a deep breath, tuning out the world. At that moment, it was just you and the ice.
Following your whole set flawlessly, It came time to go for the triple lutz, you moved faster but more immersed, and you push off the ground sailing through the air and spinning. When you landed on your opposite foot, you failed to gain your balance and collided with a thud. A sharp pain shot through your body from the impact, but you brushed it off quickly collecting yourself. You got up to try again.
The cold air hit your face as you staked back to your starting point in the middle. You concentrated again and went for an attempt at the triple lutz again. You lifted into the air and suddenly felt something hard crashing into you. A groan and another thud, this time from the person you had slammed into.
You landed hard on your ass and groaned. Thinking to yourself why the hell was someone else on the ice while you were. Annoyed you’d have to start once again You quickly looked up only to find yourself face-to-face with a handsome stranger. He was also on the ground having slipped from the impact of your body colliding into his.
"oh shit,” he mumbled. “are you okay?" he quickly picked himself up and offered his hand out. Your heart raced, and you felt warmth spread throughout your body.
Effortlessly he helped you to your feet. You realized how tall he actually was since he towered over you. You begin to feel a bit dizzy staring up at the tall man. You guessed it was from the numerous times you had hit the floor hard. It certainly wasn’t the butterflies punching in your stomach from the painfully attractive male.
“I'm fine,” you replied shakily. “ I wasn’t paying attention,”
He smirked down at you as you stood up. You were able to observe his features more closely the closer you stood to him. The stubble around his jaw and under his chin adds a rugged charm, while his curly and slightly disheveled hair partially covers his eyes. You swear you catch a little glint in that soft brown gaze.
Likely from catching the tremble in your voice only moments ago, inadvertently revealing your nerves. You silently scolded yourself for behaving like a teenager around this attractive stranger.
“It's okay sweetheart, I wasn’t paying attention either," The stranger's voice crooned and sounded like honey. Your knees slightly buckled at the sound of his accent dropping a few octaves lower.
What was happening?
You nodded silently, fiddling with your skating attire between your fingers in an attempt to steady your thumping heart. Your gaze involuntarily drifted downwards, taking in his attire.
He wore a hockey uniform with a distinct green stripe at the top and a white base. The jersey's padding accentuated his broad shoulders, and the prominent pine green number 14 drew attention. Overall, the uniform made his complexion appear less pale somehow.
The realization hit you. He was a hockey player who played for the team that practiced in this rink. Hell, you knew Coach Phil, who owned the rink with his wife Kristen your skating coach. They were like your parents, taking you under their wings at a young age.
The hockey team he coached was dubbed "The Crows." appropriately after his favorite bird. Phil told you the story of how crows were loyal to those who treat them with kindness and how they repay it back to you. It never bore you in the slightest the number of times he told you over the years.
Although you have never attended a game yourself. You weren't a fan of the sport. You didn't even know the basic rules. Since Kristen has informed you about the rowdiness and occasional violence that can occur, you never opted to go to an actual game.
Sometimes, when you finished your practice, you could hear the disruptive noise coming from the men's locker room down the hall. You would often roll your eyes and walk past the doorway with disgust over how loud they were.
The dislike of them wasn't personal you never had met any of the boys before. But something about broad-shouldered men doing nothing but finding some way to ooze testosterone poisoning every chance they got annoyed you for no particular reason. So you purposely avoided them at all costs.
There was only one person from The Crows you had spoken with until now - Tom, who preferred to be called Tommy, as he told you shyly. Although younger than the others, he possessed a charming yet bold personality. Strangely, you felt a protective instinct towards him, like an older sibling though you couldn't define why.
Since meeting Tommy, you had only talked with him in passing, but you knew he was a good kid and liked him.
You were lost in thought for nearly a minute and didn't speak to the hockey player standing close to you. He smiled and lowered his head as if he had spoken though you didn't hear him.
"Huh?" you blink.
He chuckles, and the sound echoes in your ears, causing your heart to pound again.
"I asked for your name, darling," he mused.
Oh...
And that nickname. It seemed as though he was intentionally trying to make you feel flustered.
You realized that you didn't even know his name you quickly abandoned any preconceptions about him and answered him politely.
"Y/N,"
When he heard how your name sounded falling off your lips he smiled genuinely. As if it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. It seemed to have a significant impact on him. His reaction stirred something within you. Like a strange connection between the two of you was forming from this one interaction.
"Im Wilbur- or Wil, that's what my friends call me,”
It was becoming increasingly difficult to dislike this man by the minute. You decided to have a little fun, thinking it couldn't hurt.
“Oh? So we're friends now?” You raised an eyebrow.
He playfully teased, "If that's what you want."
Cheeky bastard. You thought while smiling.
“Now if you don't mind darling, I have to practice."
Feeling a sudden shift in your head made you glare at the back of his head. Pushing off your stakes to circle around him and put a hand on his chest. Wilbur looks at you with a stunned expression, as if he's surprised that you dared to stop him. a
"I've only been here for twenty minutes. You are not going to take advantage of my practice time," you scoff. “I have at least another half hour left."
You didn't mean to come off in a snooty way, but the stress you were under was so overwhelming. Winning regionals was so important to you, and you weren't going to let this jerk interrupt your training, no matter how handsome he was.
Wilbur just shrugged.
“Sorry sweetheart but playoffs are coming up, and I need to work on my shots,”
Your eyes narrowed and you faced off in a staring contest. Stubborn as you were you didn't move an inch.
“Well, I am not leaving.” you crossed your arms over your chest.
The only thing to pull your gaze away from his was the sound of Phil coming down the stairs in the stands asking what was wrong.
You skated over to the open space where Phil was walking down the steps, ignoring the fact that Wilbur was trailing right behind you.
"Phil, I was here first, and my time is nowhere near done. However, Wilbur insists that it's his practice time that I am intruding on it."
"Listen, ice princess," Wilbur said with a hint of frustration. You reluctantly turn to face him, wearing a scowl on your face. "We're just a week away from one of our biggest games of the season, and we need to focus on practice. I can't waste time dealing with any of your bullshit."
The tone of his voice caught you off guard for a second. Which caused you to put your lips in a thin line. You weren't expecting him to get this intense over the situation. Then you knew nothing about him.
"Wil," Phil gives him a warning glare. This promptly shuts Wilbur up.
"Both of you calm down. We will get this figured out," he tries to reason. He yells for Kristen as she comes sprinting out of the office that posed in the corner of the rink with the glass windows looking out to the entire stadium. You watch on as there are hushed tones between the pair as they look at the clipboard in Phil's hands.
You hear Phil mumble out a string of curses. This causes concern to cross your and Wilbur's faces, but you don't say anything. Phil rubs his forehead as his wife turns to you with a remorseful expression.
"I'm sorry guys, We must've gotten the schedules mixed up.” Phil looks at you sheepishly.
Kristen starts by saying that the problem is currently unfixable. She explains that they have numerous prior booked events for the rink, making it impossible to alter the schedule.
Great. You thought.
Not only was it two weeks before nationals, but you also needed the space to practice. This was the only skating rink around. And you had a suspicion that the hockey team was bearing to be more stubborn than you were about this new situation.
Then you heard the words that made your stomach drop.
"you're gonna have to share the space on the ice."
After Kristen spoke, chaos broke out. Both you and Wilbur bombarded the married couple with injunctions and protests. This wasn't fair in the slightest.
They managed to convince both of you to settle down and come to an understanding. The consequences of not doing so would result in Wilbur being benched and you being unable to skate in the regionals this year. Losing the opportunity to compete was not an option for either of you, especially after putting in so much effort since last year's competition.
Reluctantly you agreed to get along with Wilbur and the rest of the team when the time came, no matter how much you hated it.
Upon Kristen's return to the office and Phil informing the rest of the boys about the situation in the lockers, you opted to skate to the far end of the rink, away from others, choosing a spot with brighter lighting.
"Well, looks like we're gonna be seeing a lot of each other, darling." Wilbur wandered up to you while you got into position to start your program.
You huffed. Yep, this was your life now. Anticipating Wilbur's continuous comments every day for the next two weeks.
"Don't get too used to it, pretty boy," You sniped. "I only agreed to share for Phil and Kristen's sanity."
He snickered and hummed.
"Whatever you say," he mumbled. "Just don't let my pretty face distract you from your skating," he winked and skated backward.
You felt a blush rise to your cheeks and tried to convince yourself that it was from how aggravated you were over a minute ago.
"I wouldn't let it get to your head," you voiced. "I could still easily beat your ass in staking any day,"
He smirked at you, seemingly challenging you to prove your capabilities. Even though you had nothing to prove, you just wanted the satisfaction of making a fool out of him. However, you know that the time for retaliation was not now. Eventually, you will wipe that arrogant grin off his face.
"I'm looking forward to it, darling," He said before he turned to join his team.
As the rest of his team gathered in a huddle, you watched as they greeted Wilbur in a brotherly way. Tommy had slid up to him enthusiastically, rabbling about whatever was on his mind today. Most likely hockey related.
Wilbur had brought a hand up to the top of Tommy’s head to playfully ruffle his hair before moving over to where Phil was getting the team settled, but not before flicking the blonde on the forehead. A whiney “ouch!” escaped the younger one’s mouth as he followed behind his teammate, causing an amused smile to tug on your lips at their antics.
Taking one final glance at Wilbur wrapping his hands in tape before pushing into the first move. A simple glide and you went into your own world.
Wilbur glimpsed over to your side of the rink and watched as you began your routine. He was absolutely enthralled with watching how flawlessly you moved. Definitely thinking about how beautiful you looked in your attire, even if it was a simple zip-up jacket and yoga pants.
He definitely wasn’t looking. He was.
It wasn’t until one of his teammates pulled him out of his trance with a smack to the back of the head with a glove that he reluctantly pulled his eyes away from you and fell into his own practice as Phil blew the whistle to signal them all to fall into their positions.
The next two weeks were going to be quite interesting, to say the least.
tagging @merakiwi ! since you liked my previous stuff! if you don't want me to tag you in anything in the future let me know!
#hockey au#fanfiction#x reader#wilbur soot x reader#dsmp hockey au#dsmp fanfiction#dsmp au#c!wilbur x reader#sbi x reader#sbi au#wilbur soot au#wilbur soot x fem!reader#hockey fanfiction#c!wilbur soot x reader#hockeybur#idk what should we call wilburs hockey character i need something better lol
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NHL season doesn't start for another 3 months so to prepare yourself why don't you spend time thinking about what positions your fav characters would play FOR EXAMPLE
Tommy is a center forward. Like easiest call on the team he is going to be out there in the middle of it he is going to be going for it he is going to score goals easy peasy. With quackity my head said defense but my gut said right wing forward so I'll be going with my gut on this one. I almost went with Schlatt for left wing forward but instead I'm thinking Jack, you gotta take team dynamics into account and I don't think Tommy Q and Schlatt would work as well on the same line. Schlatt could very well be second line LW forward but I've changed my mind and I'm leaning towards an offensive defense position for him. I was gonna steer clear of putting Tubbo on the same defense line as Schlatt for the same reason I kept Schlatt off of forward, but I think their playing styles could work together (Tubbo playing it safe and doing his job as standard while Schlatt pushes the puck). Having a strong goalie in the net is integral to keeping the team together. Technoblade.
I'm gonna make a second team here actually. Sapnap is the center forward with Purpled on LW and Punz on RW. Sam and Ponk are on defence with Dream in the net. Sorry for not elaborating but these all feel so self explanatory in my head please forgive me
Wilbur can't play hockey, Fundy is a benchwarmer forward on team 1, Philza is an old man, and Ranboo watched Tubbo get checked into a board and passed out (Tubbo was entirely unphased). Niki, Hannah, and Puffy play in the women's league w Hannah on RW forward, Niki on goal, and Puffy as an offensive defence. I don't know enough about the other characters to comment so that's all 👍
#look anika's talking!#mcyt#ohhhh im not tagging all these bitches#dream smp#dsmp#thatll have to do lmao#anika's rambles#hockey#hockey au
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Then Tommy slams into the ice.
He slams into the ice and his head bounces off of it.
He slams into the ice and he doesn’t get back up.
In that breath before time resumes, Wilbur can’t move, shock stealing all of his breath as the illusion of flight is shattered.
Put the Hearts [and Bruises] on Ice by allieae on ao3 @jallieae
#this fic lives rent free in my brain#it’s soooooo#I’m barking#bark bark#ambrose art#dsmp art#wilbur soot au#wilbur soot#icing those hurts#hockey au#this fic is so good#fic recs#fanfic fanart#tommyinnit
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Header for the new hockey!sapnap au :))
still thinking of the name and a major plot point but i’m definitely working on it
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put the hearts (and bruises) on ice
crimeboys figure-skating au || oneshot || 7.4k words
[[read on ao3 or below the cut]]
inspired by drhair76′s “from ice to water” series
Summary:
For a moment, he could almost be in the middle of one of his fancy turns, limbs thrown out deliberately like he’s flying.
Then Tommy slams into the ice.
He slams into the ice and his head bounces off of it.
He slams into the ice and he doesn’t get back up.
After accidentally hurting Tommy during a scrimmage, Wilbur forgets how to trust himself.
(this au is based on Drhair76′s “icing those hurts” fic on ao3. 100% credit goes to her for pioneering the au, though you do not have to read the original for this to make sense. happy hurt/comfort-ing)
***
***
Tommy is getting steadier on the ice.
Well, maybe that’s misleading. Tommy is always steady on the ice. Always twirling with grace, gliding like he’s floating, jumping like he’s weightless. In fact, Tommy may even be doing worse than usual right now, as he wobbles his hockey stick across the rink.
But the reason Wilbur can’t shake the smile off his face isn’t because Tommy’s doing good on the ice, though he is, it’s because he’s not caring about doing good on the ice. He’s smiling, eyes scrunched, and he’s not stiff, like he’s bracing for a blow that’s in the process of landing. His shoulders are loose and his smile is easy and he is as light as a sunbeam, skittering across a crystal pool of water.
Wilbur watches him swipe the puck from Quackity and the beaming grin that he shoots over his shoulder is bright enough to warm the rink.
And then Wilbur remembers that Quackity is on his team.
Tommy’s eyes flash challengingly as he skates up towards Wilbur, who’s playing goalie until next round. His glides are a little stilted, and his grip on the hockey stick is wobbly, but he’s darting up the rink like a shot. And Wilbur needs to be the one to block it.
But he’s thinking about that smile, about how far they’ve come, about how nice it is to hear Tommy’s laughter ring freely across the rink like a spill of bells.
And he’s not thinking when he kicks off the ice, prepared to swoop in front of Tommy and cleanly block the shot. He’s not thinking when he whips to the side with his shoulder braced the way he was taught by cruel hands to do.
He’s not thinking when he cuts Tommy off—because if he had been, he would know that Tommy’s not familiar enough with his playstyle to compensate for Wilbur jolting in front of him, too quick to avoid.
Because if Wilbur had been thinking, then what happened next would never have happened.
The worst part is that, right before the collision, Tommy doesn’t even look afraid.
His body twists, like an instinct more than a contemplated movement, to the side, leaning away, but not for a moment does his bright expression fall or his gentle smile waver as Wilbur carreens too close, too fast towards him. Because somehow, even as they both slide towards each other like two comets destined to intersect, he doesn’t shy away.
Like not even momentum nor speed nor the strands of the universe could ever change the fact that Wilbur wouldn’t hurt him.
And as Wilbur’s shoulder comes up automatically to slam into Tommy’s chest, Wilbur is reminded what he’s made for.
(Not for fixing things or keeping good things or anything besides hurting and getting hurt.)
Tommy is small. He’s always been, since the day Wilbur first saw him, standing in the shadow of his coach with his shoulders curled in and his limbs pulled close to him. Has always been more delicate, more breakable, by the pure nature of his sport. It’s only recently, with his coach gone, that they—all of them: the team, Phil, Wilbur— have coaxed him into something fuller, like restrained flower petals unfurling in the spring.
He’s decently tall, sure, but he’s not built like a hockey player. Not built like Wilbur, who is built for giving blows and taking blows and not stopping until somebody (usually himself) has been painted red. Tommy’s just not.
Which means that when Wilbur crashes into him with too much momentum to pull himself back, Tommy doesn’t even stand a chance.
Tommy chokes on a gasp as the force of Wilbur’s body throws him backwards. He loses all his grace, lips parting in surprise, and for a moment, he could almost be in the middle of one of his fancy turns, limbs thrown out deliberately like he’s flying.
Then Tommy slams into the ice.
He slams into the ice and his head bounces off of it.
He slams into the ice and he doesn’t get back up.
In that breath before time resumes, Wilbur can’t move, shock stealing all of his breath as the illusion of flight is shattered.
Then, everything catches up to him. And Wilbur suddenly feels very, very sick.
Seeing Tommy crumpled, unmoving, on the ice is worse than every bruise Wilbur has ever had put on his skin. All at once, everything feels underwater. Cotton swells over his brain, blocking out everything except Tommy and the unforgiving ice and the sound of his own breathing, growing quicker.
A chorus of shouts and gasps and swears ring over the rink — somehow, Wilbur hears that through the descending haze.
Wilbur stays frozen as the rest of the team surges forward, suddenly shoved out of his body as he stares at Tommy. He can’t tear his eyes away, even as he’s bowled over by guilt so strong he almost throws up. He might if he could bring himself to do anything but heave for breaths as everything tilts.
The floor seems to sway beneath his feet as he watches. Schlatt gets to Tommy’s side first, dropping down harshly onto his knee pads and fumbling to get his gloves off, brushing his knuckles gingerly over Tommy’s slack face. His voice filters in Wilbur’s ears like he’s standing at the far end of a long, train tunnel.
“Tommy? Kid? Shit— shit—” His eyes are panicked, jaw clenched, as he looks over his shoulder, face carved out of restrained desperation, “Techno—”
Techno was already on his way, and he makes it before his name is out of Schlatt’s mouth. His shoulders are stiff, and his face is stony, worry carefully tucked away behind a gritted jaw and steady hands. Though Wilbur, even fifteen feet away, can recognize some of it peeking through in Techno’s slight frown, in the slight wrinkle of his brow.
From the corner of his eye, he can see Phil jump up off the bleachers, disappearing to the side — presumably to grab the trainer or a medic or– or someone. Someone who can undo what Wilbur has done.
Over Techno’s shoulder, Sapnap and Quackity hover, pressed so closely together in their mirrored concern that Wilbur can hardly tell where one ends and the other begins, especially as his vision starts to take on this weird, blurry film.
Techno gently takes Tommy’s face in his hands, stabilizing his neck between his fingertips, thumbs pressed delicately beneath his jaw. It’s just a precaution, Wilbur knows — he can register, distantly, that Tommy would have to get hit a lot harder than he did to be hurt so badly. But that doesn’t stop the fear, the terror, from shredding through him.
He’s not in a helmet, Wilbur thinks, thoughts whirling. He’s not in a helmet why didn’t we put him in a helmet why—
“Wilbur,” someone says, right in front of him.
Wilbur blinks hard as George’s face comes into focus, features sharp and firm. He thinks it might be concern, but it must be for Tommy, because there’s no reason for George to be worried about him, not when he— when he—
Hands clasp around his, squeezing hard. “Breathe, Wilbur, breathe.”
Wilbur is breathing. Or— he’s trying to. Each breath he draws into his lungs feels delayed, off kilter and staccato. He tries anyway, because at least if George is giving him things to do, then he has the chance to do something right.
“Good,” George breathes, wetting his lips as his dark eyes flick over his face. “Keep doing that. We’re— he’s going to be fine, Wilbur. I think it was worse than it looked.”
Wilbur’s frowns, even as his half of his face doesn’t respond. And as George’s face swims in front of his fuzzy vision, features contorting strangely as Wilbur blinks, he looks over his shoulder and sees that Phil has returned with a pair of trainers who are laying out a collapsible stretcher-type thing next to Tommy.
Schlatt is crouched over him still, though, riddled with tension. He looks ready to fight off anyone who touches the fallen ray of sunlight below him, and Wilbur can dimly appreciate that Schlatt is looking out for Tommy. That he’s doing what he used to do for Wilbur. That he’s doing for Tommy what Wilbur never should’ve made him do.
Wilbur steps past George, pulling his hands out of George’s slender ones. George winces, trying to put his hands out—
“Hey, maybe you should take it easy for a—”
“I have to see him,” Wilbur rasps, eyes locked onto Tommy, as he’s eased onto the black stretcher, still totally limp.
Schlatt doesn’t look happy, but Wilbur knows it’s a front. Schlatt knows that Tommy needs the medical trainers, and his worry is starting to feel like anger. He rises to his feet as Tommy is lifted, and oh, God.
Crimson spots the ice, just a few drops that glitter like rubies, but it slices right through his chest. Wilbur is going to be sick.
He turns away, bile on his tongue. He needs— he needs to get his skates off, for one. He needs to get off the rink, and he needs to get to Tommy. He— fuck. He never should’ve frozen up. The least he could’ve done is comfort Tommy, is been the first person at his side.
“Come on,” George tells him, cutting through his spiraling thoughts, as Wilbur pitches forward, threatening to double over. “I’ve got you.”
Slender hands lock around his bicep, keeping him upright with strength that would be surprising to anybody except his team. George’s hands are a vice grip, and they’re the only thing keeping Wilbur from untethering from the Earth. An anchor.
Wilbur feels like a kid again, roughing it on a frozen pond with his hand locked in his father’s, as George guides him over to the gate.
Something like hatred hammers at his skull. Why is George here, with Wilbur, making sure he doesn’t keel over like a crumbling glacier, when Tommy is the one who needs people at his side? Not Wilbur, who did this, who hurt him, who—
“Wilbur, I need you to breathe or we’re not going anywhere.”
He’s past the gate, being ushered towards a bench, and he hardly remembers doing any of it. George’s hand rests lightly over his back as he hunches over his knees, fighting to inhale. He needs to calm down. If for nothing else but Tommy’s sake.
Wilbur nods, fumbling to get his numb fingers around his laces. He distantly hears George doing the same thing, and a moment later, his normal shoes are being pressed into his shaking hands.
“He’s going to be alright,” George interjects, even though Wilbur hadn’t said anything. “You hear me?” Wilbur nods, and George’s hand settles firmly on his back. “Come on, say it out loud.”
“Tommy’s fine,” Wilbur agrees thickly, even though his heart skips a beat like he’s telling a lie. “He’s— he’s—”
“He is,” George agrees, walking the line between soft and affirming. The pressure on his back is the only thing that reminds Wilbur to keep inhaling. “And we’re going to go see him right now, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Wilbur breathes, chest rattling.
He thinks he at least owes Tommy that much.
–
Wilbur doesn’t like the medical facility.
He likes it more than he used to — Techno and Phil and Schlatt and all of them had made sure of that. Even if he still refuses, in a silent way, to go on his own. He refuses in a way he’s never had to voice, because without fail, someone would be at his side the minute he’d picked up any sort of injury during a match.
George is the one who’s with him now, a typical frown inscribed on his face as he leads Wilbur through the doors. His shoulders are straight, steps firm — a stark contrast to Wilbur, who feels like he’s relearning how to walk.
Wilbur is too tired to feel embarrassed that he has such an obvious escort. And as they enter, Ponk pops out from a side door, and when he sees them, he offers them a faint smile.
“Tommy’s this way,” he informs them, and Wilbur prays that he’s not imagining the note of solemnity, of sorrow, in his voice.
Wilbur kind of-sort of wants to falter, but George pulls him along.
He hears his team before he sees them, a faint blend of murmurs and hushed voices floating down the hall. They follow them into another room, with several empty medical beds separated by curtains—all of which are empty, curtains open. It’s dark, but Wilbur can still see, at the far end of the room, surrounded by a small sea of red and gold—
Tommy.
He looks even smaller in the bed. Wilbur catches a short glimpse of his face, pale with flushed cheeks, eyes closed in his sleep, features utterly slack, before his team sees him.
He wonders if they can feel the guilt as strongly as he is right now. It clings to his skin like oil. Surely, it radiates off of him as potently.
He braces for accusation, for shouts, and the scowl on Schlatt’s face makes him sure that that’s what’s coming but it… doesn’t.
Rather, Techno stands, takes two steps to meet Wilbur halfway, and pulls him into his arms.
Wilbur breaks.
Techno’s embrace doesn’t falter even as Wilbur falls into him. He just holds him, lets Wilbur sync their breaths, their heartbeats, before—after a few moments, when Wilbur can hear again—murmuring, “Tommy’s fine.”
Wilbur steps back, eyes flickering over Techno’s shoulder. “Is he?”
He thinks of blood and ice and an impact and his heart wants to crumple all over again.
“He woke up halfway to the clinic,” Techno informs him, and the words settle firmly into Wilbur’s chest, grounding him. Techno smiles faintly, but the muscles on his face seem to protest it. “He’s concussed as hell, but he’s fine. He’ll be out of here in no time.”
Wilbur nods, exhaling. His hand still shakes at his side as he jitters in place, fumbling with the bottom of his hoodie without rhythm.
“That’s good,” Wilbur croaks through the guilt slicking his throat. “That’s, I mean that’s—”
“He was asking for you, Soot.”
That’s Schlatt’s voice, low and gruff, from over at Tommy’s side.
Wilbur jerks his head over to him. “What?”
Schlatt leans forward, looking tired. There’s a dull heat in his eyes, though — not anger so much as the faintest whisper of a challenge. A challenge, not against Wilbur, but for him.
“Wanted to know where you were before he fell asleep,” Schlatt continues. “You better be here when he wakes up.”
And then he leans back, eyes drifting over to Tommy, lowered and far off.
Wilbur wonders if Schlatt knows he’s unraveling at the seams. And if he does know, then why isn’t he letting him?
Doesn’t he realise why they’re standing in the medical bay in the first place? Because Wilbur wasn’t careful, wasn’t better. The thoughts stick to his brain like syrup, clinging even as he tries to wipe them away — but it’s harder to disguise the truth than a lie.
For his team’s sake — his team who are all watching him as if he’s the one laid out in a borderline hospital bed — he swallows those thoughts down.
“I saved you a seat, c’mon,” Techno mutters, and George’s hand on his arm is traded for Techno’s.
Wilbur drops into the chair next to Techno’s and sighs, wishing he could lean over and drop against him. He doesn’t feel like holding himself up. Doesn’t feel like doing anything but wasting away on an ice floor and—
Not an ice floor. In a medbay. Wilbur’s done collapsing on ice floors — he left that behind.
(So why does it feel like he’s right back there again? Why is this all that it took to send him right back to who he was?)
“I think Phil’s with Quackity, buying him stuffed animals,” Sapnap whispers, drawing Wilbur’s exhausted gaze up. He smiles a soft, half-smile. “To give him something nice to wake up to, you know?”
Wilbur hums, throat still dry. “Mhm.”
It’s quiet again, save for the sound of his team shuffling around in the plastic chairs bordering the bed, stolen from all over the room, and Wilbur tries to marinate in it. His thoughts still feel frazzled, sharp and messy.
But Tommy’s here, and his team is here, and if he was unforgivable, they’d send him away. Surely. So Wilbur comforts himself with that bitter relief.
If he can’t trust himself anymore, then he can at least trust his team. And his team says Tommy is okay. Wilbur will just have to believe them.
Until you can tell me yourself, he thinks, wishing he could summon the courage to take Tommy’s hand.
(Wishing he deserved it.)
–
Wilbur’s wrong.
It’s not okay.
And he’s made very aware of that when Tommy stirs an hour later, jolting Wilbur out of the haze he’d let pull him down down down. He whines, short and quiet, and the air goes cold.
Wilbur blinks, and the rest of his team looks up from their phones, or from where they’d been dozing off — skipping their actual practice, surely, but he thinks Phil will forgive them.
“Tommy?” Techno intones lowly, leaning forward.
His eyes are rich with concern, a frown pulling at his lips. His hand hovers over Tommy’s shoulder, looking as unsure as he is sure. Though as soon Techno’s hand ghosts his body, Tommy jolts, eyes flying open.
He recognizes instantly that Tommy is not quite there. His eyes are glossy, tears already building, and they’re terrified. That expression might make sense if he was looking at Wilbur, but Tommy’s not. He’s looking vaguely at Techno and he looks so, so afraid.
Wilbur swallows, glued firmly in his chair. He can only watch as Tommy’s eyelashes flutter furiously, chest heaving shallowly and slack face contorting minutely into an expression of discomfort.
“I’m sorry,” Tommy breathes, eyes still not quite seeing, and everyone in the room freezes. Wilbur’s heart contracts, forgetting how to beat. “Please don’t— please don’t—”
His frantic whispers trail off, and Wilbur wonders, almost masochistically, if Tommy is pleading incoherently because of him.
“I can skate,” Tommy whimpers, shuffling around in bed, and nausea slams into Wilbur like a hockey player. His teeth rattles with the force of it. “Coach, I can…” A throaty keen, broken and barely audible. “Please, don’t leave me, I can win, I can—”
And Wilbur must be a coward because that’s enough to shatter him.
He jerks to his feet, head spinning and oddly light, and the chair skids harshly against the tile. He sees Schlatt whip his head to look at him as Wilbur’s lungs deflate, heavy and unresponsive like two limp cantaloupe skins hanging in his chest.
Ice crawls over his skin, and he can barely see as he stumbles out of the room.
By the time he’s made it past the doorway, Wilbur’s chest is going to give out. Every strangled breath draws tiny knives into his lungs, and Wilbur collapses against the wall, feeling everything and nothing.
He stays standing, somehow, but he thinks that if he pulls his back off the wall he’ll collapse for good.
Tears streak down his cheeks, salt gathering on his lips, and Wilbur is weak and he knows he deserves it as he presses his hands into his eyes. He hurt Tommy. He put Tommy in a hospital bed, he didn’t mean to, but he did and—
Another thought, sharp and jagged, shoots through his skull.
And it asks, But did you mean to?
Wilbur inhales sharply, breath getting caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat.
Did he— had he meant to? He can’t remember. He can’t remember if he’d turned on purpose but it would make sense, wouldn��t it? There was no saving Wilbur from what his coach had turned him into, and maybe if he had learned that sooner, Tommy wouldn’t be paying the price.
Another tremor wracks through him, but he’s not alone for long, even if he wants to be, even if he should be, because Techno is here.
Techno is here and he doesn’t remember when Techno got here, but he is always there when Wilbur starts to spiral, so it makes sense that he is now.
Techno is here, and he’s whispering something, slow but frantic, and it’s too much for Wilbur to latch onto. It’s easier when things are fuzzy, when the full barrage of his emotions are dampened by that clinging haziness. Wilbur almost can’t remember why he’d stopped doing this in the first place.
“This is my fault,” he wheezes, forcing himself not to slip too far into it because he needs to speak. “I’m— I did it on purpose.”
He says it like a confession, but Techno doesn’t even falter. “No, you didn’t.”
Desperation rakes through his chest. “I did, Tech, I did—”
“You didn’t,” Techno repeats, and he’s somehow found Wilbur’s hand to squeeze. “It was an accident. We all saw it.”
Wilbur would scream if he wasn’t trapped in his own head. All he can do is gasp and heave.
“You don’t— you don’t know that—”
“I do,” Techno counters easily, smooth and certain. Infallible. “And you do, too.”
But he doesn’t and that’s the worst part and Wilbur doesn’t understand and—
Biles climbs up his throat. His knees shake. Techno seems to anticipate his collapse before Wilbur is even aware that he’s falling because he catches him as his knees give out.
Wilbur is heaving as he’s guided, undeservedly, to the ground. Techno gets him against the wall, head tucked towards his knees, and any other time he’d push him away, but right now, he can’t. Can’t do anything but slump against him and try not to throw up.
“I’ve got you,” Techno rumbles, and he does a good job at disguising the shake of his hands as he threads his fingertips through Wilbur’s hair. “It’s not like that.” Because he knows, he always knows where Wilbur’s head is. “You didn’t hurt Tommy. Not like they hurt you. It’s not the same.”
He squeezes his hand, like he’s trying to press his reassurances through Wilbur’s skin.
And Wilbur — crumbling, falling, undeserving Wilbur — lets him try.
–
Wilbur doesn’t go back to the room. Not right away.
He stumbles away from Techno’s gentle arms and gentler reassurances and goes to the rink, first, because he knows it’s a mess. They still have it booked for practice, and Wilbur is able to clean it up himself. He gathers the abandoned sticks, the puck, the skates haphazardly discarded at the gates.
He can’t carry it all back, so he shoves everything in the lockers and leaves it. His hands shake as he scribbles a quick note, letting the janitorial staff know that there’s been an emergency, and they’ll be back for the duffle bags later.
He’s still jittery when the rink is cleaned, and he doesn’t want to go straight back to the room.
(He still hasn’t looked his team in the face since he broke down in the hallway, not even Techno, and he doesn’t know which reaction he fears more: their hatred or their love.)
So he walks to the back of the rink, passes the water fountains, and stops in front of the vending machine. If he focused his eyes enough, he could probably make out his ruined reflection in the streaky glass, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he pulls a crumpled dollar bill out of his pocket, feeds it into the machine, and hits his thumb against the right button. A bottle of blue Gatorade hits the bottom of the machine with a thud. Wilbur reaches in and grabs it, squeezing it tightly.
It’s on his way back, as he’s contemplating whether or not to hole up in his hotel room until tomorrow or check back on Tommy — despite the dread that threatens to close around him at the thought — that his phone rings, buzzing in his pocket.
Wilbur drags it out of his pocket, biting the inside of his cheek hard when he sees Techno’s name staring back at him. Swallowing and attempting to restore some sort of moisture to his mouth, Wilbur swipes his thumb over the screen.
“Hey,” Wilbur greets hoarsely, a dull flush of embarrassment consuming his face. “I’m on my way back, I just needed to—”
“Say it,” someone whispers, so quietly Wilbur can barely hear it.
He frowns, pulling the phone away from his ear and looking back down.
“What?”
“You’re a bitch,” Tommy slurs into the phone, and Wilbur freezes, perplexion burning away whatever else he’d started to feel because, “Did I say it right Schlatt?”
“That was excellent, kid,” Schlatt’s voice filters in, rich with amusement. “Keep cussin’ him out.”
There’s a pause, a shuffle of blankets, then, so terribly quiet—
“I don’t want to,” Tommy mumbles. “I miss him. Where’d ‘e go?”
Fuck. Wilbur’s heart aches.
Aches because he doesn’t know if Tommy means it — or how he could mean it. But Wilbur wants him to mean it. And that’s almost enough to cripple him further.
“‘s he coming back?”
“I’m coming back,” Wilbur whispers, suddenly sure. His heart thrums, like it’s ready to leap out of his chest and onto a silver platter if that’s what Tommy wants. “I— I am.”
He picks up his pace, circling back around so he can head to the medical center. Despite the ugly, twisting feeling gutting his chest like a pumpkin, telling him to turn back, Wilbur at least figures he owes Tommy the chance to crucify him in person, if that’s what he wants.
“Good,” Schlatt’s voice cuts in, no longer so muffled. “Glad you’re not makin’ me drag your sorry ass back here myself—”
“Give me my phone back,” Techno drawls from somewhere in the back, cutting him off. There’s a shuffle, and then, cutting back with clarity, “See you soon, Wil?”
He nods, as if Techno can hear him, because he can’t say no. Not to Tommy and not to his team, even as an anxious sheen of sweat clings to the back of his neck. The Gatorade hanging from his left arm feels impossibly heavy.
“Yeah,” he croaks, even as all he wants to do is go the other direction.
It’s an old habit, not as unbroken as he thought. But walking into what might very well be his demise is an even older one.
“I’ll be there,” Wilbur finishes, swallowing hard. “See you in a bit.”
He hopes he isn’t imagining the faint smile in Techno’s words as he says, “Good.”
And then it’s just Wilbur and the click of the phone call ending and the skip of his heart in his chest and the fragile shell of ice around his heart, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.
–
Quiet laughter floats out of Tommy’s room.
Wilbur chases it before he can talk himself out of it.
A few hours ago, it’d been dark and morose, a storm cloud hanging over all of them. Now, there’s a dim light in the corner, and the air feels lighter.
Wilbur already knows the reason, because the reason’s eyes swivel to him the minute he steps through the door.
Tommy looks tired, under eyes creased with violet bruises, but he’s sitting up, and he’s holding some sort of fuzzy blue bear in his arms, and he’s smiling and it’s faint but it’s the Tommy-smile, and that’s enough. Enough to observe from afar, anyway.
When he sees Wilbur, his smile dims. Doesn’t fall, but the corners of his mouth dip into a partial grimace.
Wilbur tries to return it, the smiley part anyway. Not because he feels like he should, or that he deserves it, but because Tommy looks nervous, a minute frown chipping at his face, as his eyes scan Wilbur’s face.
Wilbur doesn’t want him to look nervous around him. But he’ll take it. If that’s what Tommy wants. Wilbur will bear it.
(It’s what he’s good for, after all.)
He continues walking forward, shoving his hands nervously in his pockets to disguise the anxious shake. George’s eyes laser onto him. Wilbur meets them steadily. After a moment, George tilts his head, just a little, but Wilbur knows what he’s asking. He nods, clipped, and hopes that the I’m fine he wants to say is conveyed.
As Wilbur steps closer, the rest of the team stands. His heart barely has a chance to climb up his throat before they’re shuffling past him, offering gentle smiles as they go. Well, except for Schlatt, who bumps Wilbur’s shoulder softly as he strides by, eyes glinting.
“Don’t overdo it,” Schlatt tells him under his breath. He pauses, slinging an arm over Wilbur’s shoulder for a second and leaning in. “I’m talking about yourself, Soot.”
And then he’s gone, following the rest of the team out of the door and leaving Wilbur in the eye of a hurricane of his own creation.
Well, not quite alone. Tommy’s here.
Tommy’s here and he’s watching Wilbur with a delicate sort of restraint as he steps closer to the bed. Wilbur kicks at the leg of a plastic chair.
“Can I sit here?”
Tommy, still watching him, blinks, face twisting into something like confusion. “Of course.”
Wilbur drops down beside him, eyes hovering anywhere but Tommy’s face.
“Are you alright?”
He sees Tommy wince in the corner of his eye, barely a movement but something Wilbur notices nonetheless, and almost winces with him.
“I’m fine,” Tommy says carefully, and when he shuffles a little closer towards the edge of the bed, towards Wilbur, Wilbur leans away. Tommy freezes, tripping over his next words. “It’s— it’s not that bad. I’ll be back to practicing in no time.”
Wilbur tenses, finally looking up. Tommy’s chest is starting to heave, and that ignites a bolt of panic in Wilbur’s chest.
“Don’t worry about practice, please, sun—”
Wilbur barely chokes the nickname down, but the guilt makes it easier to swallow.
Who is he, to call Tommy anything of endearment? He’s acutely aware of how easy it is to blur the lines between affection and patronization. He’d obliterated the line the second he’d been unable to check himself. He’s barely any better than Tommy’s old coach.
(And really, not much better than Wilbur’s.)
“That’s not what’s important right now,” Wilbur finally amends, each word slow and deliberate so as to not send more knives into Wilbur’s lungs. “You need to focus on getting better.”
There’s a moment, a tense silence, where Wilbur once again — weakly — loses his ability to look Tommy in the eyes. It’s a painful notion, one that shreds him from the inside out because that’s all he wants to do, but it’s necessary.
Except, Tommy maybe doesn’t seem to think so, because he swallows, and the next thing out of his mouth is, “Where were you earlier?”
“What do you mean?”
“You left,” Tommy says, and it’s too quiet to carry any bladed accusation but Wilbur thinks he hears it anyway. “I wanted to talk to you and everyone said you needed to clear your head or something.”
Wilbur clenches his fingers into tight, bloodless fists, tucked in his lap. “I did.”
“And?”
“And what?”
Tommy swallows, eyes scanning Wilbur’s eyes with a hint of drowsiness that Wilbur’s heart latches onto like a leech. “And did you clear your head?”
“...Yes.”
There’s a beat of silence, charged with tension, and Wilbur sort of wants to claw his skin off in this interlude, because he can feel something’s coming. But he’s doing what he’s supposed to do, he’s not overdoing his words, he’s letting Tommy lead the conversation, he’s—
“Did I do something?” Tommy finally blurts, voice wavering.
Wilbur jerks his head up so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. He stares at Tommy, something like horror wrapping fingers around his heart and crushing it.
“What?”
“At the scrimmage,” Tommy says quickly, breaths coming shorter and shorter. “I— I didn’t mean to run into you and land myself here, if that’s— I mean Techno said it was fine, and Schlatt said you weren’t mad at me but— I mean I figured I’d ask, sorry if that’s—”
“No,” Wilbur interrupts, throat oddly closed off. He doesn’t mean for it to come out so forcefully, but desperation bleeds into his words and sharpens them . “God, Tommy no, I could never— none of this is your fault. All of it’s mine, alright? All of it.”
“What?” Tommy echoes, frowning, leaning forward. “Why would it be—”
He cuts himself off with a short gasp, squeezing his eyes shut as his face pales. Wilbur reacts without thinking, hand flying out to steady Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy cracks his eyes open, just for a second, just enough to flash Wilbur a look of gratitude, before closing them again and exhaling shakily.
The sight sends a javelin directly into Wilbur’s chest. He tries to breathe through it.
“Do I need to get someone?” Wilbur asks quickly, skimming Tommy’s face and wishing desperately he could siphon the pain out of it, could take it himself. “A doctor, or—”
“No,” Tommy bites out, leaning tiredly against the flat, grey pillows behind him. Leaning tiredly into Wilbur’s hand. “No, it’s fine. Just a headache. It won’t go away for a while.”
Wilbur knows. God, does Wilbur know. His sport made sure of that. So did his old team.
He knows but Tommy shouldn’t have to.
Not because of Wilbur.
Why did Wilbur think this was a good idea, again? He can’t remember.
“I’ve— you don’t need to— I get migraines,” Tommy tells him, breaking Wilbur out of his scrambled thoughts. “I can handle this.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Wilbur whispers, letting his venomous thoughts slip off his tongue. “Tommy, this is why I was—”
He can’t say it, head bowed.
This is why I was falling apart. This is why I deserved it.
Tommy cradles him gently in his gaze, a faint scrunch between his eyes. “Wilbur?”
“I hurt you,” Wilbur finally says, chest convulsing. “How can you even look at me right now?”
He needs to know. He needs Tommy to tell him the best way to fall apart, because he’s on his way down, and he needs to do it right. He needs to make this right.
“What are you talking about?” Tommy breathes, genuine confusion bleeding into his voice. His eyes widen, mouth dropping open. “Are— the scrimmage? Is that what you’re— Wilbur, you didn’t mean to do that.”
“I wasn’t careful. I was— it doesn’t matter if I meant to do it or not because I did, and that’s— that’s on me, Tommy.”
“It’s not,” Tommy whispers, and when Wilbur looks up, he’s — horrifically — shaking. “You wouldn’t do that. You love me.”
If this is my love, Wilbur thinks instantly, words so bitter they dissolve before they reach his tongue, Then what kind of person does that make me?
But it sounds too much like a question, falling off of Tommy’s lips, and Wilbur will allow a lot of things, but he won’t allow for Tommy to feel unloved. Not after— not after everything.
“Of course I do,” Wilbur whispers.
“Then it was an accident,” Tommy insists, voice hoarse, reaching for his hand and—
Fuck. The sound of his voice cuts Wilbur open more thoroughly than anything else that’s happened.
And before Wilbur can utter another word—
“My coach never helped me off the ice,” Tommy tells him softly, eyes not meeting his. Wilbur inhales, swallowing down a twin bolt of magmatic anger and twisting sadness. “He’d always make me pick myself up. Even if I was tired, even if I was shaking, even if I could barely breathe.” Wilbur squeezes his hand, letting Tommy say what he wants to say even as his chest is crushed. “It— it means a lot that you guys did.” A harsh breath. “It means a lot that you’re here right now.”
Wilbur’s heart cracks. “Tommy—”
“I know you didn’t mean to shove me,” Tommy interrupts, soft but firm. “That’s what I’m saying. I know it was an accident.” A hesitant breath, “I’m not— I’m not mad at you.”
“You should be,” Wilbur whispers automatically, hardly registering the words until Tommy has frozen up.
“No, I shouldn’t,” Tommy counters, voice wavering. “Don’t say that.”
“Tommy—”
“It was an accident,” Tommy whispers, and it sounds like a hiss. “You guys do it to each other all the time. And I’m— I’m a little scared, yeah, that I won’t be able to practice for a few weeks. But you said— you promised me that medals don't matter. That you’d stay anyways.”
“I will,” Wilbur swears, heart racing. “That’s— of course I will, if you’ll have me.”
Even if I don’t think that you should.
“Well good,” Tommy breathes. “Because, you know, if you want to convince someone you didn’t mean to hurt them… maybe don’t leave them alone.”
It'd hurt less for Tommy to punch through his chest and yank his heart out.
“You weren’t alone,” Wilbur offers lamely, panic bleeding into his voice. “I wouldn’t— you had the team.”
Tommy frowns, fiddling with the blanket across his lap. He finally meets Wilbur’s eyes, arctic irises intense.
“I didn’t have you.”
Wilbur’s breath hitches. “Is… that what you wanted?”
Tommy meets his eyes, and Wilbur can’t tell whose heartbreak he sees more thoroughly reflected back at him: Tommy’s or his own.
“Wilbur, that’s all I’ve wanted since I woke up on a stretcher.”
Wilbur trembles. “How?”
Tommy’s chin wobbles. “Because you’re my brother. And that matters more to me than anything that you could accidentally do to me on the ice.”
Wilbur fractures. “I don’t—”
“I know you didn’t mean to,” Tommy whispers. “I knew it the first time I opened my eyes.” He swallows, pale throat bobbing. “Me and you both know it’s different. Getting hurt versus… getting hurt.” And he does. He does. “And I’m going to be honest, you’re doing a lot of grovelling for someone who’s convinced you’re a bad guy.”
Wilbur snorts, still choked up. “Grovelling?”
Tommy smiles, faint but bright. “Am I wrong?” His eyes flick to Wilbur’s hand. “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the Gatorade.”
Wilbur blinks, looks down at his lap, in the hand he’s had tucked there since he sat down, and— oh. He did— he did forget to give Tommy the Gatorade. A dull heat prickles over his cheeks, and he lamely extends it to Tommy.
Tommy’s eyes scrunch as he takes it, fumbling with the cap. That, at least, sends a shock through Wilbur — gives him a chance to be useful. Wilbur reaches over wordlessly, unscrews it properly, and presses it back into Tommy's hands.
“Thanks," he mumbles, bringing it up for a drink.
Wilbur hums noncommittally back to him, too wrung out to offer much more than that. Tommy sips at his Gatorade before reclining properly against the pillows, sighing.
It’s quiet again, and Wilbur has half a mind to call his team back in — or maybe just leave Tommy altogether, let him sleep — but he’s stopped by a hand closing around his wrist when he tries to pull back.
“Tommy?”
“Are you done?”
Wilbur hesitates. “Done…?”
“Blaming yourself, idiot,” Tommy croaks. He cracks a wry grin. “Beating yourself up.”
You think this is me beating myself up? He almost laughs. You should’ve seen me three years ago.
Instead, he admits, voice strained, “It’s… hard. I don’t—”
How does he explain it? The visceral fear that cuts straight down to his marrow to be better. One a normal day, he has a hard enough time convincing himself that he’s good. That he’s not a punching bag, that he’s not just good for breaking things.
But now? Now that he’s hurt the one person whose pain makes every single bruise Wilbur has ever earned feel tame? Now, he’s destroying himself. And now, he wants to.
“You know what my old team were like,” is what he settles on, and Tommy nods hesitantly, some sort of infinite grief pooling in his eyes. “I don’t want to be like that anymore. Not to anyone, but especially not to you.”
“And you’re not,” Tommy tells him, voice strangely firm. “I promise you’re not. Wil, you—” He breathes out a humorless laugh. “You showed me what it means to be happy. I didn’t even think that was possible, but you— you made it possible. This is nothing.”
And you are everything, Wilbur thinks, before he’s breaking all over again.
Fissure lines race up his chest, and Wilbur takes the first full breath he has all day as his lungs expand.
“I’m going to make it up to you,” Wilbur promises, words unspooling off his lips—
“You’re so annoying,” Tommy interrupts, eyes glinting, like sunlight bouncing off a glacier. “There’s nothing to make up, I just said—”
“I don’t care,” Wilbur tells him, meeting his eyes dead-on. “I’m putting you in bubble wrap, sunshine.” And Tommy loses his faux annoyance to beam and Wilbur’s heart swells into some semblance of okay. “We’re going to watch some many movies—”
“And skating performances?”
Wilbur glares playfully at him. “If you insist.”
“I do,” Tommy cuts in instantly, drowsily. “And you know what else this means?”
Wilbur doesn’t think he does. “Hm?”
“This means you have to sneak me hot cocoa,” Tommy whispers, eyes shining. “I want to try it with caramel, that’s how Tubbo does it.”
And he says it like a joke, as if Wilbur isn’t prepared to bend the universe for him. He’s been given a second chance and he intends to take it.
“Sure,” Wilbur tells him, and he relishes in the tired grin it produces. “Whatever you want.”
That’d be a dangerous game to play with anyone else, but Wilbur means it. Whatever you want is just the tip of the iceberg, is just the start of how far he’d go for Tommy. He means it, and he thinks Tommy knows that he means it because he loses that last shred of uncertainty and sighs.
“Can you tell them to come back in, now?” Tommy murmurs, as Wilbur rubs the top of his hand with his thumb rhythmically. He’s surprised that Tommy’s been so coherent, and awake, for this long. “The team.”
“Yeah,” Wilbur says, lowering his voice as Tommy’s eyelids begin to droop. “Anything else?”
He pulls out his phone, thumb hovering over his messages with Techno, and—
“Stay,” Tommy whispers, lips hardly moving. “Even if you’re scared.”
Wilbur’s heart stops. He swallows, weaving his fingers through Tommy’s and squeezing.
“I will,” he promises, and he thinks it’s a promise he’d spend his dying breath on. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Because Wilbur may not always believe in himself but he believes in Tommy, and Tommy believes in him which means that he’ll stay.
For as long as Tommy will allow him to, he’ll stay.
–
The team stumbles into the room ten minutes after Techno receives Wilbur’s text. They’re a rowdy, anxious mess, and they crash into the room with a series of hushed laughter and uneven footfalls — only to instantly fall silent once they break through the doorway.
“Finally,” Schlatt whispers, a grin twisting his lips, followed immediately by Quackity fumbling for his phone camera, and countering Techno’s raised eyebrow with a hasty, “For blackmail purposes.”
Techno lets that slide, because he’s similarly amused by the display in front of him. Tommy’s out again, but even in his sleep, peace has settled over his face. And slumped over in his chair, upper body completely on the bed, with his hand interlocked with Tommy’s, is Wilbur.
“Phil will be mad he missed this,” Techno remarks after a moment, lips curving, just to fill the quiet as his team shuffles back towards the array of stolen chairs.
“Forget Phil,” Sapnap hisses, settling back in his chair at Quackity’s side, “I’m here and I’m mad I’m missing out.”
“He is concussed, Sapnap,” George reminds him, eyes flickering over Wilbur and Tommy with a stifled sort of satisfaction that is quickly transformed into sarcastic amusement once his eyes are back on Sapnap. “We can’t all pile on the bed.”
“We could try—” Sapnap complains in a whisper—
And his voice trails off, blending into white noise that Techno has come to appreciate, a harmonic medley of joy and banter and full breaths and completion.
And things that are still jagged, uneasy, but Tommy is asleep, and Wilbur is safe and in that moment, looking around him, Techno knows.
Everything is okay again.
***
thanks for reading if you made it this far! feel free to check out my ao3 for other cool fics (AO3 LINK HERE). and maybe interact with this fic a bit on ao3 if you have second to leave kudos because it really means a lot <3
#tommyinnit#wilbur soot#technoblade#philza#dream smp#dsmp#fic#tommyinnit fanfic#wilbur soot fanfic#figure skating au#hockey au#sports au#SBI#sleepy bois fanfic#sleepy bois inc#sleepy bois au#hurt/comfort#whump#dream#angst#tommyinnit angst
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hockey toms au!!
#the grip that fic has on me is insane#tommyinnit#tommyinnit fanart#dsmp au#hockey!tommy is my shining star#loosely inspired by icing those hurts
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DO YOU LIKE HOCKEY? SCHLATTBUR? TRANSGENDERS? GENERAL FAGGOTRY AND VIOLENCE? HYBRID AUS? READ THIS!!!
#wilbur soot#mcyt#smplive#qsmp#dsmp#jschlatt#sweaterduo#schlattbur#hockey au#the schlattbur hockey au
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Hockey player!Dream I hear??
Soon.
#dream smp#dsmp#dreamsmp#dsmp au#hockey play!Dream#Lyra'sAU#90 followers#nonbinary#fluff prompts#dreamwastaken#mcyt x reader
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This has happened before, he thinks as his nose starts to run, as his eyes burn and cheeks go hot. This has happened before, he thinks as the fever chills set in, as his limbs start to ache and coughs itch at his lungs. This has happened before, and he made it through. This has happened before, and he can still skate.
Or, ice!tommy gets sick. Good thing he has a new coach, and a whole team of friends to help him feel better.
****
my contribution to the ice!au currently overtaking twitter and watering all your crops. :))
#dream smp#dsmp#dream smp fanfic#ice!tommy#ice!au#icing those hurts#melting the ice#ice!wilbur#ice!eret#hockey au#ice skating au#ice!techno
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Hi, Ghost!!
Your blog title is "Going Crazy Over ice!Wilbur"
It reminds me of some dsmp Hockey AU fic I read on Ao3.
What is ice!Wilbur?
Have a great day!
HELLO!!! :D
You’re probably thinking of the same hockey AU I have in mind: from ice to water by Drhair76 !!
Okay, so a few weeks ago (maybe closer to a month ago? Aksgajsgajsgjag no idea, my sense of time has been completely screwed since Christmas Eve) I read the first two chronological fics in this series, and pretty much instantly fell in love with the Wilbur in it :)
I don’t hardly ever come around to characters so quickly (I didn’t even come around to Ghostbur this fast!!) but yes, ice!Wilbur is one of my favorite characters now, I love him, he needs hugs and soft comforts, I love his two fics, I love SMP, I somehow love ice!Schlatt, I just… <333
Oh, and he’s called ice!Wilbur in order to differentiate him from c!Wilbur! Even though they’re sort of the same, they do have their own unique storylines and some differences in personality :)
#ICE!WILBURRRRRR#I love him very dearly and have been going a little insane over him#I haven’t finished the entire series yet but it’s really only those first two fics that I’m crazy over#the rest of the series is good but it Cannot compare to those first two <3#thanks for the ask!!#ask#Alexa tag
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WIP GAME !!!!
Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.
(i was tagged by beloved mutual @pimpedoutgreenears )
i have 250+ wips so i’m going to break this down a LOT and not including many 💀
i’ll be tagging anyone who wants to join in, as well as: @cowardlybean , @scrunkle , @ctpalt, @cupofd1rt , @choofs (no pressure to anyone to do it lol)
this will be Long so it’s under the cut
MP100
-teruki moving
-fox curse serirei
-ritsu and that maid dress (calfhooves inspired me to finally start writing that one forever ago)
-shou and his family
-shou being invisible
-college ritshou
-fem ritshou
-shou unintentionally joining the kageyamas vacation
-i beat the shit out of reigen
-ritshou fake dating
-runaway
-multi-dimensional/universe shit
-hockey
-‘stray cat’ shou ; ‘house cat’ ritsu
-yuritshou again
-ritshou live together
-terumob transgender agenda (all girls school)
-fist fighting and kissing
-terumob furries
-unconventional love
-graffiti taggers ritshou
-sick fic pt2
-terumob and psychic powers
-lab baby shou PTSD
-shou star and tree metaphors
-ritsu melts
-shou like. dying
-reigen and shou funny familial relationship
-shou is bad at emotions and feelings
Bungo Stray Dogs
-lab baby escapee skk fic
-ranpoe angst
-ranpoe and eyelashes
-skk runaway
-skk and sea monsters
-summer camp
-highschool au
-skk highschool au version 2
-skk highschool au version 3
-chuuya and carnage
-mamas boy (chuuya and verlaine au)
-truth or dare (girl skk)
-ooc double black and humanity
-skk highschool au version 4
-dazai and The Horrors
-cryptids au
-halloween through the years
-summer camp au (again lol)
-ranpo and dazai pm au
-dazai gets braces
-ghostbuster au
-chuuya getting an education in the pm
-skk graffiti taggers au (again)
-girl scouts au
-kyousano and skk older sister + their younger brother
-wierd twist on a spider-man au
-teen skk + jealous dazai
-lonely summers
-chuuya “i’m back in the fucking building again” nakahara
-skk taking care of eachother
-skk yuri
-skk yuri and anatomy
-
MCYT/DSMP
-necromancer crimeboys version 1
- version 2
-crow crimeboys
-c!tommy 🤝 a pearl (mitski)
-lab baby c!tommy
-lab baby brothers c!crimeboys
-horror summer camp au
-accidently adopting a raccoon shapeshifter
-vigilante fic
-the forest is breathing
-unreliable narrator depressed wilbur
-pirate crimeboys
-the undead’s guide to feeling alive
-c!beeduo traditional enderian wedding
-night in the woods au (wilbur is mae)
-subway masks
-wilbur and tommy sons of the sun and moon respectively
-nasicaä crimeboys au
-crimeboys over the garden wall au
-cryptids au
-crimeboys binary stars
-chainsaw man au
-wilbur buries himself
-skater and rollerblader rivalry lmao
-los compensinos inspired 2
- horror fic 2
-cranboo time traveler au
-crimeboys cryptids au version 2?
-ode to a moon
IT
-losers club friends giving
-richie and bev dye hair
-losers college au (winter edition)
- summer camp au (it haunts me)
-loser adults are losers and have video calls
-reddie in eddie’s attic
-losers go trick or treating
-eddie takes care of richie
-richie and Big Dog
-bev accidental wingman of the century
-reddie romcon irony angst
-camcorder findings
-whale city 👍
-youtube video transcript
-pharmacy photo developing
-mama tozier being the best
-richie and stan’s kids
-mac n cheese
-mama tozier being the best again
-werewolf x witch
-loser kids
-violence
Persona 5
-hockey kid akechi
-magical girl au
-foster care
MISC
-life happenings (Night In The Woods)
-sunnflower runaway (Omori)
-bad ending 2.0 (Omori)
-sickfic (hirano to kagiura)
-langa being left handed (SK8)
-renga being dumbly in love (SK8)
-pearlina (splatoon)
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I HAVE TO KNOW
i'm putting ones that i've done fanart for/had text posts blow up for since there's probably no one here from that time i took screenshots of night in the woods or hollow knight lmao
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I keep forgetting to post here but anYWAYYYYY
THE LOVERSS!!!!
from the Ice au by @honeycowinnit
#go for it Wilbur!!#gee Wilbur#how come Honey let you have Three (3) super hot lovers#anyway I love them#and this au I’m still so obsessed#wilbur soot#sally the salmon#ace race#sands of time#ambrose art#dsmp art#wilbur soot au#icing those hurts#Olympics au#hockey au
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thinking of writing a hockey player!sapnap au story with possible multiple parts 🤔🤔
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Ok guys I need votes!
I’m doing 25 days of Write-Mas so do I do hockey player DSMP x reader as the 25 days and just do that or should I also prompt list for 25 days of writmas?
❤️-just Hockey Player AU
🖤-hockey player AU + write as prompts
(Reblog or comment with the emoji of your vote)
Tagging for reach : @emoandglam @euthonia @the-phantom-author @the-radio-system-writes @ivyinnit @pebblebrainlovejoy @alyssys @ayat0s-hydr0-v1s10n @a-gay-little-ghost-2 @a-streakofblue @sanderchu @sapnaps-sadnap @florencicle @grey-rambles @honeybee4701 @joviepog @julibeeline @kit-is-a-weeb @louscartridge @zooone @chumkles @beeindaclouds @notpom @modelbus @minorinnit
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My list of: The fanfics ever (fandom mix)
Not organised in any particular order.
All on ao3 (shoves ff.net fics back into the closet).
Doing most of this by memory, sorry if I get anything wrong!(It got very late whilst I was making this so I probably missed a lot) Remember to check tags and chapter notes for content warnings. Enjoy!(pls rec me fics if you like these I need more)
Merlin
Next to You(It's the Rule) by LunaMyLove
A 5+1 fic Centred around the idea of Merlin being treated like the queen by everyone in Camelot, (and the rest of Albion). Lots of shenaniganry and laughs, generally pretty light hearted.
Lot’s of laughs, I love these vibes.
Court Sorcerer Merlin, Lancelot lives, good Mordred, eventual Morgana redemption.
Ships: Merthur, Gwencelot
Status: Complete
Interperspective by SnufflesThePig
Reaction fic!!! Arthur, the knights(- Mordred), Hunith, Gaius, Gwen, Morgana and Merlin are trapped in a cave by magic to watch the show, + some extra original scenes.
Author will never stop waxing poetic about Colin Morgan, and I will not ask them too.
Lancelot lives, eventual Morgana redemption, Magic reveal, Scar reveal, Arthur glasses, art.
Ships: Merthur, Morgwen
Status: Updated 19-08-22
Harry Potter
Time to take a chance by Bookworms75
Reaction fic!! Set in GoF before the champions are chosen, the entirety of hogwarts (+extras) get the chance to read books from the future.
Gotta love some incompetent adults, with a side of ✨feelings✨
Dursley abuse revealed, books affect the mc, parseltongue Harry, protective golden trio.
Ships: n/a
Status: Updated 05-02-21
Minecraft
Tommyinnit 3 ends and 2 beginnings by 47bats
Another Reaction fic! (you seein a pattern yet?) Most of the dsmp get pulled into a theatre by Drista a few weeks after Tommy’s death in the prison, to watch the server’s history through the youngest member’s eyes.
Made me feel many emotions.
author is a Tommy apologist, suicidal Tommy, protective Ranboo, protective Puffy, protective fiancés, abusive Pogtopia!Wil, family!sbi, exile revealed, Jackmanifold apology
Ships: n/a
Status: Autor took it down, anon account posted a copy. incomplete.
Ours poetica by zeeskeit
Highschool au Tommy is in high school, he is also, unbeknownst to his family, a poet in a slam poetry team
One of many fics that have succesfully made me cry
neglective!sbi, family!sbi, protective benchtrio, protective Puffy and Sam, big brother dream.
Ships: n/a
Status: Updated 02-09-22
A wilderness you kind of miss by Drhair76
IRL Magic Benchtrio! Real life setting with magic!! bench trio are the sun, earth and moon and they are soulmates.
This author has made me cry many times they are sooo talented.
Protective benchtrio, protective Wilbur, wind goddess, lovejoy!, inhuman!Ash lovejoy.
Ships: n/a
Status: Series; 9, incomplete
from ice to water by Drhair76 and plantform
Winter Olympics! au Figure skater Tommy with a shitty coach gets adopted by a bunch of ice hockey players and some snowboarders, +his healing arc afterwards.
Made me sob, many times, I love every part of this au I could sing it’s praises forever they included so many characters, and all of them are amazing.
Protective pretty much everyone, healing arc, asthmatic Tommy
Ships: n/a
Status: Series; 11, incomplete
Human error by teeth_eater
Space/aliens au Tommy is a human in space and he ends up on the sbi ship and they +Tubbo become a family breaking all of the space laws.
Really creative and sweet, with a side of angst. Also the details of all the alien species is so cool
Found family, eventual Ranboo, 5+1, space culture!!
Ships: n/a
Status: Series; 12, incomplete
My Hero Academia
Reconcile by whatagoodegg
Shigaraki and Midoriya! trapped together. I love this duo so much, they have so much potential, and them scheming and causing chaos is amazing.
VERY TIRED ERASERHEAD, ALSO VERY BAD AFO, Mido bending reality casually, ofa reveal(i think)
Ships: n/a
Status: Complete, sequel on the way.
Paint me in trust by dinomight
SOULMATES(NON ROMANTIC) People who love you leave a coloured mark on your skin on first contact!! Starts off very sad, but ends very sweat. Overall adorable one-shot
Ships: n/a
Status: complete
Throw a chair through a window and call it a day by jaded_ghoster
PRINCIPLE ERASERHEAD WITH ASSISTANT IZUKU I love this fic, it’s pure chaos the whole way through Nezu leaves for a week on business, Aizawa and Midoriya are left to rule the school as they see fit whilst he’s away.
Terrifying midoriya, notebooks galore, discrimination acknowledgment
Ships: n/a
Status: Complete, sequel in progress
Area cryptid upset no-one bothered to inform him of his tragic backstory by crimsonseekers
Amnesiac Dabi
Possibly one of my fav fics of all time just for how unaware the lov is of the destruction they are causing, poor hawks is along for the ride and suffering for it. Dabi doesn’t know who he is, the lov is determined to figure it out.
HPSC exposed, unintentional vigilante lov, todoroki family chaos
Ships: DabiHawks
Status: Complete
I am their emotional support dad and my demands are by Otaku6337
DADZAWA
Literally just Aizawa getting his students therapy and the trauma support accommodations they need. Really short and sweet, with chaos vibes
DADZAWA ALERT
Ships: n/a
Status: Complete
Izuku's project by redanick
Endeavor gets rekt, statistics style
Izuku get’s very sleep deprived and puts together a monster document of all the reasons endeawhore is a bitch without exposing the abuse and then ruins this man. I live for endeavor getting rekt by protective mido.
everyone is scared of the bush and RIGHTFULLY SO
Ships: n/a
Status: Complete
Lifeline by SilvermistAnimeLover
Kidzuku kidnapped
12yo Mido gets kidnapped but they miss his phone so he stays on call with Detective Tsukauchi, Eraserhead and Mic the whole time, til they rescue him.
Smart mido, kind of inventor midoriya, protective adults
Ships: Erasermic
Status: Complete
Paper Agency by The Feels Whale (miscellea)
Never went to UA Midoriya+ Hero course graduate Shinsou
Shindeku, quirkless Midoriya and parental erasermic.
Need I say more?
Ships: Shindeku, EraserMic
Status: Complete
Apex predator by silver jackdaw (cizzi)
SUPER GENIUS MIDO
So much happens in this fic it’s hard to describe. Early shindeku friendship, Endeavor/Mineta/HPSC/Aldera exposed, Bakugo redemption, big brother Touya Todoroki, adoptive dad all might, kind of nice Sir Nighteye, deku/momo friendship, lov redemption /rehabilitation.
Ships: DabiHawks, Miruko/Fuyumi, TodoDeku, Tsuchako, Erasermic, Rei/Compress
Status: Updated 03-01-21
The Magicians
take the pieces and build them skywards by alasse
Hedge witches Q and Julia
Q gets memory wiped but Julia reminds him of magic and the open their own hedge coven together.
Ships: Queliot
Status: Complete
The Umbrella Academy
Where the lonely make the lonely feel less lonely by grumpyhedgehogs
Pre canon fix-it
Viktor becomes a local super hero through the power of empathy and reconnects with all their siblings years before the apocalypse.
apocolypse prevented, shitty sir hargreeves, early power reveal, eventual 5, siblings living together
PRE VIKTOR’S TRANSITION
Ships: n/a
Status: Complete
Make me your bomb by Uniasus
Post season 3
Viktor is forcefully given his powers back by the creator of the universe in the hargreeves universe for the purpose of causing the apocalypse.
Universal reset, Allison bashing, Hargreeves sibling shenaniganry
Ships: Klave, Sloane/Luther, Liego, Viktor/Sissy
Status: Complete
Tethered mind free from the lies by meliebee
Deaf!Viktor
Time travel prevents the season 1 apocalypse, Viktor goes deaf and starts their life over in a new apartment away from their siblings.
Viktor’s healing arc, eventually Klaus’ as well, consequences being dealt with, eventual communication.
PRE VIKTOR’S TRANSITION
Ships: Viktor/fem!oc
Status: Complete
Might add more to this as I remember things (lemme know if I need to change the tags, or if I’ve made a horrible mistake somewher)
#fic rec#tua netflix#tua fanfic#hamilton fanfiction#assassination classroom#lis fanfic#life is strange#knb fanfic#the magicians#mha fanfiction#hp fanfic#merlin fanfic#mcyt fanfiction
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