#softholand

“Thanks, darlin’.” Tom’s cheeks tint but he keeps the cocky smile, him sitting on a chair with an ice pack held to his eye.

“How’s your face?” A soft chuckle leaves your lips as you approach him, standing between his legs.

He shrugs and tilts his head to the right. “‘S fine.” 

You place your hand over his, pulling the ice pack away from his eye. It’s definitely been worse but it is a little swollen and the bruising is turning a darker shade of purple with touches of blues. You give him a slight grimace before placing his hand back but he’s quick to move his hand back down, placing the ice pack on his leg. His hands come to the back of your thighs, pulling you close to him.

“‘M fine, darlin’.” Tom’s looking up at you with the softest eyes that send a warmth through your whole body and it almost makes you laugh.

You watch him fight and he’s pretty brutal in the ring. Tom doesn’t give up and they will have to knock him out in order for them to win because he just won’t back down under any circumstances. And he will lay into anyone he’s up against. It’s like he becomes a completely different person in the ring because when he’s with you, he’s soft and kind, gentle and delicate. No one would ever guess he punches people in the face for a living based solely on how gentle he is with you.

“I know.” You look down at him and place a kiss to his forehead. “Just checking.” There’s a wet rag sitting his lap, so you grab it and lightly start to finish cleaning up some of the leftover blood on his face.

Tom watches you and it’s something he’s never really asked you to do. You actually never signed up for this, to watch him fight and get hurt all the time. It was always a dream of Tom’s, that you knew, but he wasn’t doing this professionally when you met him and it wasn’t until two years into your relationship that he went pro. But, you never complain about it and you never voice your worry for you. Whenever there’s an injury, you’re right there with him, cleaning up blood and cuts, getting him things when he’s too sore to walk the next day. He never asks, it’s something you’ve always done and it’s something he always appreciates.

“Thanks for always takin’ care of me.” He squeezes your thighs slightly with his words, his eyes watching over you carefully.

“Well, someone has to you.” Your eyes widen with your sarcastic comment. Taking care of him is easy for you. Because it’s Tom and you know, without a doubt, he’d do the same for you even if you were the one in the ring. “Ready to get out of here?”

“Can we get food?” Tom asks, pouting his bottom lip. “I’m starving.”

“Mhm.” You hum, your hands coming to the nape of his neck, playing with the loose strands of his hair. “After, maybe I’ll give you something for your win tonight.” You give him a playful wink, something you’re not entirely good at which only makes him laugh.

“Let’s go then.” Tom’s hands up to your cheeks, knuckles bruised, as he pulls you in for a kiss.