#hitting 20 for the first time feels like it carrie’s a lot of weight to me. and i still don’t even know what i’m doing in life. help.

[thatone-churro]

wait what the fuck do you mean i turn 20 in 2024. hang on. wait. i never saw myself with that number. i don’t like it. 20 is NOT a me number. what happened to being 17. what the fuck.

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: sexual tension, language, f masturbation, angst

Chapter Four

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

June 2003

The audit had been underway for roughly a week. You had volunteered, along with Colleen and Debbie, to work some overtime. The three of you and Heather blocked off a conference room on your floor for the next two weeks after hours, diligently working until about 8pm almost every night.

The audit was pretty standard. The auditors supplied a huge list of reports and documentation they wanted to review, and you spent most of your evenings working away on your assigned items. The evenings went by surprisingly fast, and it turned out to be kind of fun. You ordered in food to eat together while working. You got to know a lot more about your co-workers, finding you had much more in common than you thought. One evening, you and Debbie discovered she had grown up in a town only 20 minutes away from your hometown. Needless to say, you spent the rest of the night talking about favorite restaurants and mutual acquaintances.

One day, you were walking from the conference room, your grey ruffled skirt swishing around your knees, heading back towards your department. You were looking down at the paper in your hands, reminding yourself what files you needed to look for in the cabinet. Given the time of day, you were surprised when you ran headfirst into a hard wall of muscle as you rounded a corner, dropping the paper in your hand. It was almost 7pm, you hadn’t expected anyone else to be working.

Two large hands reached out and grabbed your shoulders to keep you steady. His scent hit you first, a comforting aroma of leather and citrus, and you knew it was Joel before you even looked up.

When your eyes met his, his face showed as much surprise as your own.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Miller. I didn’t expect anyone to be here this late,” you apologized, leaning forward to pick up the paper you dropped, but he held out a hand to stop you.

“My fault. Here, let me get that,” he said, bending down. “I wasn’t payin’ attention. What are you still doin’ here?”

He picked the sheet of paper off the ground, his face inches away from your bare calves, causing your throat to tighten. You shifted your weight, trying to subtly create more distance between you two. Joel turned his face towards you at the movement, eyes briefly flashing up and down your legs as he slowly straightened himself upright, towering over you. He held out the sheet of paper, which you took quickly, trying to hide the slight tremor in your hand.

You cleared your throat and glanced down at the paper. His eye contact was intense, it made you nervous and excited at the same time, and you found you fared better when you took a few moments to collect yourself by looking elsewhere.

“I volunteered to help with the audit," you explained. "A few of us have been working most evenings, I was just heading back to look up some files,” your eyes flicked over to the locked door, then settled back on him. His face was softer than usual, plush lips parted, and hands shoved in his pants pockets as he listened.

“I’ll come with you and carry 'em back, that looks like a long list.”

Before you could respond, he turned around and was punching his security code into the keypad. He opened the door and looked back at you.

“Are you coming?” he asked. Your cheeks flared at the direction your mind took with that question, scooting into the room as the door fell shut behind you. You walked by the printer and grabbed an empty cardboard box. Heading in the direction of your cube, you placed the box on the floor near your desk and began getting to work rifling through the file cabinet across the aisle.

Joel slowly trailed in after you, glancing around the room curiously, noting that you two were completely alone.

“I don’t make my way down here as much as I should.” Joel said, leaning against the wall of your cubical and crossing his arms. “Looks like you’ve settled in,” he added, eyeing up a few picture frames placed on your desk.

You looked over your shoulder, taking a moment to appreciate how strange it was to have him standing at your desk.

"Yep," you agreed, turning your attention back to the files, trying to work fast.

Joel leaned in a little closer to examine your photos, seemingly unaware of how distracted he was making you. He smugly noticed you didn't have any pictures of the Ken doll. He straightened back up, glancing down at your half-filled banker's box, then his eyes traveled over to the empty cubicle on the other side of the room.

"Did your boyfriend land on his feet?" he asked before he could stop himself. His eyes remained glued to the empty desk, unable to look you in the eye.

"I'm not sure, we broke up," you replied, distracted. Then the impact of his words hit you. "Wait, how did you know we were together?" You stopped sifting through files and turned towards him, waiting for his answer.

Joel shrugged and turned back around to face you, but only once he was able to wipe the stupid grin off his face at your admission.

"Wasn't hard to figure out, the way he'd look at you and couldn't keep his hands off you." Joel stated matter of factly. His heart was beating faster at the direction the conversation was headed, and he couldn't keep his mouth from turning up into a half smirk at how flustered he seemed to make you.

You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear nervously, shifting your eyes between him and the file cabinet, before giving the file cabinet your full attention again.

He noticed when Justin put his hand on your leg during that meeting.

"I'm sorry if that was inappropriate. He was only trying to calm me down." You kept your eyes down on the sheet of paper in front of you, looking at what was next on the list. He was your boss, and no matter what attraction you may have for him, you had to remind yourself this was a professional workplace.

Joel's face fell, and he immediately felt guilty. He hadn't meant to imply you had done anything wrong.

Why was he so bad at this?

"That's not what I meant, I..." he trailed off as your fingers stilled on the paper before you, intently listening but still not looking at him. "I just meant... shit, I don't know, I was just explainin’ how I knew, is all." He ran his fingers through his hair, getting frustrated with himself. His gaze fell on your pictures again.

"These your folks?" he asked you, pointing to one of the frames.

You turned to look at the pictures. You nodded and smiled warmly. His pulse began to return to normal: you were back on track.

"Yeah, those were taken at my graduation, so a bit old now. I should update those." You looked at them once more fondly, before turning back to the file cabinet.

"I gotta do that too," Joel murmured. "Change my pictures, that is. Tommy pointed it out the other day."

You smiled sweetly in his direction, making his heart flutter, and announced you were done. He bent forward to pick up the box of files. This time you were ready, and you made sure you had more room between you.

You held the door open for him as you both exited the room, back into the hallway. You passed Heather's closed office door, hearing her muffled voice as she talked on the phone.

Luckily, the conference room wasn't far. You opened the door, confused to just find Debbie still working. She did a double take when she saw Joel behind you holding a box. Debbie straightened up in her chair, gave a stiff greeting, and hunched back over her computer, trying to look busy.

"Where's Colleen?" you asked, sitting down in front of your laptop. Joel placed the box next to you on a chair, and you lifted your head up to smile your thanks to Joel, which he returned.

"Tommy asked for her help with something right after you left." She was responding to your question, but she was staring at Joel, stunned to see him smiling.

Suddenly, the conference room phone rang out shrilly. Debbie snatched it up. It was Heather, asking Debbie to come to her office to help her with something on her computer. Being a younger employee in the department meant you were the first line of defense against technical issues.

Debbie looked relieved as she got up to exit, but not before giving one more curious glance in Joel's direction as she left, shutting the door.

It was just the two of you again. He wandered over to the white board in the room and read over the list of tasks under each person's name. You wondered why he was still here, but you didn't want to draw attention to it. You stared down blankly at your computer, trying to think of something to say.

Fortunately, you didn't have to.

"Your friend seems jumpy," he stated, still turned towards the white board.

You grinned at his back. Surely, he was joking. Feeling a little more comfortable around him, you said sarcastically, "Yeah, I can't imagine why."

At that, Joel turned to look at you, genuine confusion painted across his face. You looked at him incredulously. "You're kidding, right?"

Joel shook his head and you let out a small huff of laughter.

"You do realize everyone is afraid of you?" you boldly asked.

The corners of Joel's mouth turned up slightly, and he cast his eyes down quickly, quirking an eyebrow, before meeting your gaze again.

"Not you," he said, ticking his jaw to the side.

You gave a breathy laugh at his response.

"Are you sure about that?" you teased.

You watched as his gaze slowly turned from playful to heated, sending your pulse racing and making your grin vanish. His smile faded away as he walked around the table towards you. Like an animal hunting its prey.

You parted your lips slightly to accommodate your need for more air, your chest rising faster. The tremor returned to your hands that were delicately placed over your keyboard. You kept your head facing forward towards your monitor, but your eyes were glued to him approaching you from the side.

Joel placed one large hand flat on the table next to your computer, inches from your own. He leaned down, hovering over you, as his other hand gripped the back of your chair. Your heart was beating so fast, you were beginning to feel lightheaded. Your quickened breath was making your lips dry, so you shot your tongue out to dampen them, keeping your head positioned straight in front of you.

Joel's gaze caught your tongue shooting out of your mouth, and his breath hitched. He closed his eyes for a few moments and inhaled the floral scent drifting up from your hair. He could feel himself getting hard at the tension filling the room.

"You don't gotta be scared of me, sweetheart. I don't bite," he said to you, his voice husky, barely above a whisper. "Well, that’s a lie. Sometimes I bite," he couldn't resist adding with a smirk.

You couldn't stop the gasp that left your mouth at his words. Your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to stabilize your breathing, and you squeezed your thighs together under the table. The way his voice sounded and the innuendo in his words was causing your panties to grow damp. You opened your eyes and turned your face up towards him, finally seeing the heat behind his stare and the tension in his jaw. The hand that rested on the back of your chair was gripped so tight, his knuckles were turning white. Like he was fighting to hold himself back.

You opened your mouth to say something, but words failed you. When you went to shut your mouth, you gently sunk your teeth into your lower lip. His eyes flicked towards the movement, his own lips parting, and released a shaky breath.

The door banged open suddenly, revealing Tommy with his arm loosely wrapped around Colleen’s waist, giggling as they entered the room. Joel jumped away from you, shoving his hands back in his pockets as you clamped your mouth shut ruefully.

They seemed just as surprised to see you both, but slower to untangle themselves.

“Hey there, brother, didn’t realize you were still here, too,” Tommy gave Joel a mischievous grin, looking back and forth between the two of you. He glanced at Colleen, who looked disheveled and was smiling playfully at him. “Up to no good?”

Joel huffed and headed towards the door, your heart sinking in your chest, disappointed the moment was over.

"I was down here lookin’ for Heather, she needed my input on somethin’, what’s your excuse?” he shot back.

Tommy grinned and looked back towards Colleen, who had sat down in front of her computer, still smiling at him like a fool.

"Uh, yeah, same, came down to see what the status was on the thing…” his thoughts drifted away as Colleen giggled at his response.

“You mean the audit?” said Joel dryly, trying to draw Tommy’s attention away from your friend. 

“Yep! That’s it!” Tommy said, snapping his fingers and heading towards the door to join his brother. “We'll see you ladies later, be good now.” He winked in Colleen’s direction, which triggered another giggle from her.

Joel rolled his eyes and grabbed Tommy by the bicep, hauling him out of the room without giving you another glance.

The moment the door shut, you and Colleen whipped around to face each other, speaking at the same time.

"Joel?!"

"You've been dating Tommy?!"

Colleen grinned, with a dreamy look in her eye, answering first.

"Not exactly. We just hook up now and then."

You gave her a suspicious look.

"I'm not stupid," she continued. "I know he's done this with more than a few other girls who work here. It's just for fun, nothing serious."

You hummed thoughtfully, still in shock. You had no idea. Colleen must keep secrets better than you gave her credit for.

"Wait, what about you two? What was that all about?" Colleen asked. "Now it's starting to all make sense, no wonder he isn't tough on you! And - oh my god! Justin?! Did Joel force your boyfriend to quit so he could have you to himself?"

Your jaw dropped at her suggestion.

"No! Absolutely not! Nothing is going on between us," you could feel your cheeks heating up. It was technically true, nothing had happened. You just flirted a little bit, that didn't count. Right?

"I don't know, you both looked really cozy when we interrupted you just now." Colleen teased. "I've never seen him look that human before, I thought he just lived and breathed work." She laughed as she turned her attention back to her laptop, a silly grin still plastered on her face from her run-in with Tommy.

After speaking with Heather, Joel kept quiet until they were safely on the elevator heading back up to the 10th floor.

"What did I ask ya to do, Tommy? Stop screwin' all our employees, we are gonna get slapped with a lawsuit one day!" Joel wasn't sure what made him more furious - the fact Tommy ignored his request, or the fact that his moment with you was interrupted. The hypocrisy wasn't lost on him, but he knew your flirtatious relationship would only go that far. He was too old for you, and, considering your ex-boyfriend, he clearly was not your type. It was just harmless and playful, he told himself. Nothing more.

"Oh, spare me, Joel! I saw you two when we came in that room! I'm tired of your bullshit!" Tommy fired back, fists squeezed at his side.

Joel spun around, facing Tommy head on with his jaw clenched and pointing a finger in his brother's face.

"I ain't gonna say it again, there's nothin' goin' on. I was just helpin' her carry a box after I nearly ran her over. I'm not stupid enough to think she's interested in me, she's just bein' nice 'cause I'm her boss."

His words hung in the air for a moment, and Tommy relaxed after he processed what Joel had said. He leaned back against the elevator wall, crossed his arms, and nodded.

"Oh, I get it now."

Joel shook his head and turned back to face the doors, refusing to acknowledge Tommy's statement.

"Joel, I think you're wrong. If you want, I can ask Colleen-"

"No," Joel cut him off, his voice softer now, feeling guilty about his outburst. "No, just... just let it go," he begged.

The elevator opened and Joel walked briskly in the direction of his office. Tommy faltered for a moment, then decided to follow him. He cleared his throat to make his presence known, but Joel didn't seem to care. He picked up his leather jacket and cell phone, and shut down his computer, getting ready to leave for the day and still avoiding Tommy's gaze.

"Listen, brother, I'm not sure how that Amy got your head all twisted and made you think you don't deserve to be happy, but you do. Now I know what happened was fucked up, and I don't blame ya for being hung up on it, but it's been years." Tommy said calmly, trying his best to get through to him.

Joel stilled, staring down blankly at the cell phone in his hand. He averted his gaze out the window, trying to think of what to say.

"You gotta understand, what happened makes me want to avoid relationships in the office. I caught them in the copy room, for Christsake," he croaked out. Still avoiding Tommy's eyes, Joel brushed past him and back towards the elevator.

Tommy jogged back out to the lobby to keep up with his brother.

"Oh, shit, Joel, I'm sorry. That didn't even occur to me, no wonder you are so gung-ho about me leavin' the girls alone." They stood together, waiting for the elevator doors to reopen.

"Well, I don't wanna get hit with a lawsuit, either, but..." Joel trailed off as he entered the elevator again and pushed the button for the parking garage.

Tommy slapped his hand against the side of the elevator to keep the doors from closing, and finally Joel looked up to look his brother in the eye.

"I'll leave 'em alone, I promise. I thought you were just givin' me a hard time, I didn't think it through," Tommy relented. "You gonna be alright?"

Joel scoffed lightly, "Yeah, 'course. See ya tomorrow."

Tommy removed his hand and the elevator closed.

July 2003

The audit had been wrapped up for a week now, the rest of the time very uneventful compared to the night you discovered Colleen’s secret. The same night you and Joel had that charged moment in the conference room. Whenever your mind wasn’t occupied with something else, you found that your thoughts always drifted back to that night. You replayed it over in your head as much as you could remember, desperately trying to recall the exact tone of his voice and the feel of the heat rolling off his body as he hovered over you. 

On more than one occasion, you found yourself thinking about that night before you fell asleep: your hand sliding down the front of your sleep shorts, a finger dipping into your entrance to collect the wetness pooled there as you thought about Joel caging you into your seat. You had been interrupted that night, but you liked to imagine what would have happened.

You pictured Joel grabbing you by your arms and pushing you up against the conference room wall, his hands roaming up and down your sides while your hands raked through his hair. He would run one of his hands around to cup your ass, while the other went up to squeeze your breast through your blouse. Joel’s mouth would latch onto your neck as you moaned his name, grinding your hips up to his, desperate for contact. In your fantasy, Joel would feverishly rip your panties off and sink into you slowly, stretching you out and groaning in your ear about how wet you were for him.

You have replayed this fantasy over a lot in the past couple weeks, as you would hastily circle your swollen clit while another finger probed inside you, moaning out into the darkness of your one-bedroom apartment, grateful you finally lived by yourself and no one could hear.

At first, seeing Joel in the office felt awkward, embarrassed by your actions in the privacy of your own home. It became such a regular occurrence, however, that the awkwardness eventually faded away.

In fact, during your department’s monthly meetings with him, you felt more at ease. It was a stark contrast to the way you felt in your first meeting. You stayed quiet, not wanting to draw attention again, especially because Colleen thought something was happening between you and Joel. The only sensational thing was if one of you caught the other looking in their direction, which was typically met with a secret smile or a playful glance.

Today was the July monthly meeting. You sat, bored, listening to Heather discuss in great detail the end result of the audit, only looking up when she gave kudos to you, Colleen, and Debbie for helping out after hours. You smiled at her in return, feeling Joel’s gaze on you. You had a feeling he was recounting that one evening you ran into each other. You resisted the urge to look in his direction, afraid you wouldn't be able to hide your reaction.

When Heather was done, she quickly added that she had found a suitable replacement for Justin – a guy named Kyle, who had come from a competitor and had 5 years of payroll experience. He was scheduled to start Monday, which the team universally looked grateful to hear. Picking up the extra workload the past couple months was getting old.

Joel stopped Heather as she began gathering her things at the end of the meeting.

"Remember to bring me last month’s numbers before 3:30 today, I'm offsite after that.”

Heather froze for a half a second, then said enthusiastically, “Absolutely, will do!”

Everyone filed out and waited for the elevator. You chanced a look over your shoulder when you heard Joel and Tommy leave the room. Joel was wearing black dress pants and a dark blue button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, which you greedily noticed had become the standard lately. His eyes immediately caught yours and gave you a quick wink as he headed back to his office. You could feel the tips of your ears getting hot and you had a stupid grin on your face. Luckily, no one seemed to notice the exchange as you climbed into the elevator and headed back down to the 6th floor.

Everyone was settling back into their cubicles when the keypad began pinging and the door swung open, revealing a worried looking Heather.

“I hate to ask, but can anyone please take these reports up to Joel’s office? I completely forgot I had promised him, and I just don’t have the time, I have a meeting with HR in 10 minutes to go over onboarding for Kyle, and it won’t be over by 3:30.” 

The room remained completely silent, nobody wanting to offer up their head on the proverbial chopping block.

"I’ll do it,” you quietly piped up, much to everyone’s, including Heather’s, relief.

She handed you the file and briefed you on what information was inside in case Joel asked questions, and then quickly exited, on her way to HR.

Colleen grinned at you and whispered, “Why did I guess you would volunteer?”

You hushed her and once again confirmed you were not sleeping with the head of the company. She rolled her eyes.

"Don’t worry, I won’t say anything! I know that can be damaging, that’s why I didn’t tell you about you-know-who.” She winked at you and turned back to her computer, but not before whispering, “You better hurry, your boyfriend is waiting.”

For the second time, you found yourself face to face with Ruby Potter. Still ancient, and still had lipstick smeared on her front teeth. She seemed to recognize you, because this time she didn’t ask who you were here to see, she just said, “Go on in, dear, he’s free.”

You walked to his open office door and gently rapped your knuckles on the wood. He didn’t look up from his cell phone but motioned you to come and sit down. This time, you left the door open.

You sat down in the same chair as before and waited for him to acknowledge you. You took the time to glance over your shoulder at the cluster of picture frames he said he needed to update. You couldn’t really make out any of the faces, but you thought you saw Tommy in a few of them.

Joel set his cell phone down on his desk and finally looked up. The frown that seemed permanently etched on his face instantly eased when he saw it was you. You turned your head back and smiled warmly at him, which made him smile in return. You held out the folder in your hand.

"Heather was busy this afternoon and asked me to bring these up to you.”

He looked down at the folder, taking it and placing it carefully on the desk before him. 

"Thank you, sweetheart... I'm glad she chose you," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly.

You could tell he felt uncomfortable after that, because his eyes were shifting all over the surface of his desk, looking anywhere but at you.

"I actually volunteered," you told him. He looked up at you then, not sure what to say. "You scare the rest of the department, remember?" you teased him.

You could tell his thoughts definitely traveled back to that evening in the conference room now by the way his gaze darkened, still fixed on you.

Nervous about where the conversation was going, you tried to change the mood. "Did you have any questions about the numbers, Mr. Milller?"

You did your best to sound professional, and you thought you had succeeded, but his gaze only became more heated.

"Please," he croaked out, "please call me Joel."

He sounded like he could barely say the words, like he was drowning and it was all he could get out. His face looked borderline pained as he pinned you with his stare.

"Ok... Joel," you whispered heavily. At the sound of his name, his eyes fluttered shut for a few moments, as if to savor it.

You pressed your knees together again, knowing for sure now that the attraction was not just one sided. And you think he knew it, too.

Joel opened his eyes, taking you in from across the desk. You sat there, so pretty, and looking at him expectantly with those beautiful eyes. You had asked him a question, but neither of you were worried about the answer. He could see it now, the way you looked at him and said his name. He knew he had to do this right.

He cleared his throat and opened the folder, his gaze dropping to the reports in front of him. He pretended to read them but in reality, he was watching you in his peripheral. You shifted in your seat as you waited for him to acknowledge you again. He had to make sure you didn't leave here thinking the attraction wasn't mutual. He couldn't act on it yet, he needed time to think, when his head was clear.

Joel looked up at you after he pretended to review the reports. "No questions, sweetheart. Thank you... for volunteerin'. Made my day."

You felt the blush spreading across your cheeks. You stood and thanked him, heading towards the door.

When you reached the exit, you turned around and said, "Have a nice weekend... Joel." And disappeared back into the lobby.

Joel sat there, staring at the empty doorframe, replaying the way you said his name over and over in his head.

"Fuck," he muttered. He got up and headed to his bathroom.

Chapter Five

[starseneyes]

Chenford REWIND- Lucy Chen / Tim Bradford - The Rookie - Season 1 Ep 20 & Season 2 Ep 01

AKA "Tim Go BOOM!"

Yes, both episodes. Yes, for different reasons. I'm starting to get some S1 requests, and this one really felt like it needed the S2 premiere, as well.

SPOILER ALERT: If you aren't into spoilers, you aren't going to be into this. I'm going to spoil every bit of these two episodes where Chenford is concerned, along with referencing everything that has come before. I will try not to use my foreknowledge as I write. I try to write these as though I'm watching them for the first time and have no idea what's coming next.

Everybody clear on how this works? Awesome! Let's dive in.

Free Fall

"Officer Chen, I will take it as a personal insult if you make less than a 93." "Yes sir."

Tim's making sure to put Lucy in her place, show off to everyone else that he's going to have the Boot with the best score, and psych her out.

It's a lot to do in 17 words, but if anyone's going to do it, Tim Bradford will.

"Have you figured out what you're gonna do with all your new free time? Might I suggest a book club?" "What are you talking about?" "You know, after I pass. There won't be anymore daily evaluations to write." "Whether I evaluate you daily or weekly, I will continue to judge you every minute."

Ouch. Tim is making it clear he doesn't intend to let Lucy breath for a minute. Honestly, Lucy wants to feel good about this. She's been working her ass off with him breathing down her next for six months.

Think about that. 20 hours of showtime equals six months for Tim and Lucy. They have a long way to go on their journey, but the ground they've already covered is impressive.

"Try not to tire them out this morning. Just take the easy calls, okay?" "I don't do easy." "But you do follow direct orders, am I right, Officer Bradford?" "Yes sir."

Look, I'm not saying I cheered when Grey put Tim in his place, but I might have done a little dance in my seat.

Tim can put out the macho vibe, and he wants to ensure the Rookies have a little fear of him. It's part of his teaching tactics, but Grey makes it clear that his word holds more weight in the end.

"... I can totally see us destroying my bedroom later."

I love how Tim Bradford is so flummoxed, he doesn't even know what to say. He looks right at Lucy, almost asking her to save him. But she just smiles and leaves him to deal with it himself.

And I love that for her. She's not going to save him from this. He can save himself!

"Everything okay in there?" "Yeah, just stay out there."

Tim's keeping his eyes on Pete because he already has a bad feeling. From the moment he walked in, Lucy stood outside the door, ready to walk through if needed, to cross the threshold to his aid.

The blood smacks against his jacket, splashing up along his neck. The reality of what just happened hits fast, and Tim's instincts kick into high gear. He has to contain it.

And Lucy, sweet Lucy, is thinking with her heart and not her head. She wants to get in there to help him. But he slams that door shut.

"Tim? No!"

Tim seals himself in with Pete. He's already exposed, but if he leave it open she could come in or, worse, Pete might go out.

Tim locks the door to keep Lucy out. But now he has to keep Pete in.

"Nothing to panic about." "Then why'd you lock the door?" "Standard protocol."

Tim can lie when it has to do with work. It's like dealing with classified information. No room for emotions. No room for second guessing what he's saying.

Tim takes off the blood-soaked jacket and places it on a baby changing area. A sweet, living, breathing baby last lied on top of that changing area, cooing and giggling.

Now, a jacket covered with the father's blood rests atop it, carrying with it the condemnation of violent death.

"Right now my partner is radioing for an ambulance. Gonna be here any minute."

My Partner!?! Tim, my boy, did you just call Lucy Chen, who is your Rookie, your partner?

I'm not going to say too much more, but Future Rachel is telling all of y'all in the past to keep an eye on this word going forward.

And, yes, he might not want to tell the infected guy that the other Officer out there is on probation. That's all it could be. But the use of the word "partner" had me rolling for "future" reasons.

Lucy can hear through the door, too. So it's probably her fear and the fact that they're not as secure in their relationship, yet, that keeps her from mentioning it.

"Everything all right out there, Chen?" "Uh, yeah, the CDC's on its way. Hey, you need to come out of there." "That's not gonna happen. Gotta keep this contained."

Lucy either doesn't understand the situation, or doesn't have a handle on the spread of infectious diseases, yet. Or her concern is overwhelming her ability to think straight. There are lots of options.

Tim understands the weight of what's happening and he's fully into self-sacrifice for the greater good. He served in the military before becoming a cop. Being willing to die on the job to protect the lives of others is second-nature to him.

But that doesn't mean he wants to die. He's simply prepared for it.

"Tim-" "It's gonna be alright, Boot. You keep your head in the game, okay? Everything's gonna be fine."

He says this as he wipes the blood off of his neck, trying not to look too long at the cloth. Tim is lying to her. Because, much as we all understand the magic of television and know that Tim makes it past this episode, Tim doesn't believe he's getting out of this alive.

So this lying isn't for him. It's for her. Think of all the times he's called her out, that he's yelled at her, that he's tried to keep her emotions out of it.

But some part of him knows that Lucy leans into the emotional. And right now, she doesn't need him barking at her. She needs to stay focused. And he's going to say whatever he needs to get her there.

"No, I was out here. Tim immediately closed the door." "Smart man."

Yes, he is. He probably hasn't heard it enough. His swift thinking is containing that virus, but also saving Lucy from quarantine and waiting for a vaccine to arrive.

"Chen, I'm gonna turn on my body cam. You can monitor it from out there." "Okay. Please be careful."

I love her telling him to be careful. Look, we're nowhere near romantic for these two. But we saw that even after only a few months of working with Tim, she cares about him. She has a compassionate heart, and much as Tim pisses her off, she's growing more and more used to him.

She might joke about things going wrong for Tim, but in her heart-of-hearts she wants only the best for him.

And Lucy still has that oh, so dangerous thing alive within her—hope. She has the hope that Tim is not yet infected, that he'll be fine, and that this will be one more brush with death that didn't take for him.

"Tim. Tim! Look out!"

From the camera, Lucy spies Pete in the reflection with the chair raised high. She tries to warn him, but Tim goes down. Hard.

Tim. Goes. Boom.

When he wakes, there's a puddle of blood spreading toward him. As we all know, by now, getting things in our eyes, nose, mouth, and other sensitive areas is really bad news with viruses that travel expeditiously.

Tim gets to work handcuffing Pete, but even as he's working, Lucy needs him to answer her. She needs to hear him say that he's okay.

"Tim! Are you okay? Hey. Answer me!" "It's okay. I'm okay. Well, that was fun." "Are you sure you're okay?" "Kind of depends on your definition of the word."

Tim is completely flustered, and he's dropped some of his bravado. It might be the combination of coming so close to this virus, facing his own mortality, and hearing the panic in her voice.

Right now, Tim Bradford is far more vulnerable than we've seen him in a long time because holy shit that was close.

"You need to get that vaccine here right now."

I love how Lucy is literally ordering a doctor around. Like, she's a Rookie who is only halfway through her probationary period, and she does not give a fuck.

In the Pilot, we met Isabel. We saw Tim's distraught face. We saw every ounce of fight he had temporarily leave his body. But when Lucy showed him mercy, he bit back—like a scared, injured puppy in a cage lashing out at the proffered hand offering help.

She knew nothing about Tim, then, but compassion is her default. And now that she's shared six months in the Shop with him, she knows him all the better. You bet your ass she's gonna fight for him.

Back to Back

This is one of the most beautiful Chenford scenes of Season 1.

The composition of it is gorgeous, of course. The staging and lighting and directing heart-breaking. The acting perfection. The writing gets under your skin in the most beautiful way.

But, let's start at the top—it's dark out. Shift's long over. Lucy hasn't left Tim's side. She could be home in her bed. She could be out with her friends. There are any number of places she could be. But she's here. Lucy isn't leaving Tim.

She sits on the floor, her back to the door. And Tim's right on the other side. Yes, there's a door separating them. There's a barrier. It's thick, solid, and locked. But they're together.

There may be a time down the line when Tim unlocks the door to his heart, again—a time when that solid barrier turns more pliable or disappears entirely. But in this moment, we're seeing how two people who are very separated can still be each other's support and strength.

"Hey, I, uh, I just checked with Dr. Morgan. The vaccine's minutes away." "You know, you're good at a lot of things, lying isn't one of them." "You think I'm good at things? Can I get that in writing?"

A small chuckle fills Tim's throat and his lips quirk. He's in the darkest place he's been in a long time, but she breaks through. It's only a little—the thinnest beam of light—but it breaks through.

Before the darkness reclaims Tim.

"How are you doing? Are there any symptoms, yet?"

The camera pans over into the most beautiful two-shot, split right down the middle by the bulk of the door. It's a fairy-tale shot possible thanks to the ability to remove walls from a set, but it's perfect. And I love it.

Because we can see that though they're apart, they're back to back. They will always have each other's back. And yes, I know they're both turning their faces towards the camera. But we can imagine it's because they're having a conversation. They're drawn to one another in this present darkness in a very real way.

They're still facing away from one another. Tim and Lucy aren't yet on the path to what the might become—but they're building the foundation. In the quiet moments between everything else, they're building a trust that will be instrumental to a possible friendship and anything more.

We pan over fully to Tim's side of the door, Lucy out of view. Because we've gone from outside the quarantine to inside. The lighting on Tim is starker than the lighting on Lucy, darker shadows across his face to match the shadows in his mind as he faces imminent death.

"I'm sweating like a pig, but it's probably because it's 100 degrees in this room." "It's gonna be okay."

And we're back at our two-shot. This beautiful shot of two people in different worlds, different realities, different sensibilities and life experiences. But in the stillness of this moment, Lucy tries to slip some hope through an impenetrable barrier.

"I really believe that." "I'm sure you do."

Tim's lip trembles as he says it. Here's this ball of sunshine, this beacon of hope that's dropped into his world. Nothing has been okay in his life in so long. It's easier for him to face the worst and expect it than greet the slivers of light as anything other than false hope.

He used to hope. But when everything went wrong with Isabel, he stopped believing in it. Because he'd dared to believe with her... and it all came crashing down. It's hard to open yourself up, again, after you do it for the first time and it fails.

Earlier he said, "Everything's gonna be fine", but we all knew it was a lie. He knew it was a lie. He could speak it with ease.

But Lucy speaks truth with that same ease... and her truth bears the spark of hope. And he's not yet ready to hope, again.

"But if it isn't-" "Don't. Don't think like that." "If it isn't, I'm not going out the way my man Pete here just did." "What are you saying?" "When the time comes, I'm going out on my own terms."

A tear trickles down Lucy's cheek as she listens. Because she knows he means it. Tim doesn't specialize in hollow words. He speaks plainly and without frills. Tim will do it if he feels he must. She trusts him enough to trust in that.

The camera pans down to show Tim already holding the weapon in his glove-covered hands. It throws me into "two by two, hands of blue" flashbacks, frankly. But it also shows Tim's state of mind.

And what of Lucy's? She's keeping him company, staying with him, making sure he is never alone. This is completely on Lucy's brand. If someone she cares about is hurting, she's gonna be there. And even though she's not "friends" with Tim, yet. She cares. So she's there.

"Please tell me that's the vaccine." "It is." "Wait. Stand back. You're not wearing protective gear." "Yeah."

Lucy completely forgets herself, because she wants to get in to see Tim, to know he's okay, to see him with her own eyes.

She's the only one who knows his state of mind. He let her in on that, and she's going to see this through with him, every step of the way.

"Officer Bradford, it's time to let me in."

Tim briefly acknowledges the doctor before locking eyes on Lucy across the way. Lucy spends this scene on the outside—the door now open, but an invisible barrier still separating them.

Tim sneaks glances at Lucy whenever possible, but her gaze rarely leaves him. She flits looks at the doctor, but then it's right back to Tim. "Are you okay?" her eyes ask. But he doesn't answer, because he really doesn't know.

And opening this door to a vaccine means the possibility that Lucy was right to hope. That she was right to believe. And he's not ready for that, yet.

He needs to think that everyone is suspect, that you can't trust anyone but yourself, that there is no real hope in the world. Because he's too afraid let light in. He did that before, only to discover it wasn't light... it was an atom bomb that blinded him as it destroyed him.

Lucy is light. And she's standing right there. And if he lives, she was right. And he's so not ready for that.

"I'd say you might've dodged a bullet."

You. Have. No. Idea. But Lucy does, and Tim's eyes find hers, once more. His jaw clenches.

This is theirs. Another secret. Like the night she saved him from losing himself to protect Isabel. They barely knew each other, then. It's only four months later, and how many secrets do these two share that a Rookie and TO never should?

Morning

Lucy steps through the cordoned-off area outside the house, no doubt decontaminated in some manner before stepping outside.

It's the first time she's tasted fresh air since they went in... because she never left Tim's side. Lucy tries to take an unsteady breath and sneaks a look at the sun. It's another morning Tim Bradford lives to see. That they all live to see.

Her face brightens to see her friends—touchstones of humanity.

"How's Tim?" "I think he's gonna be alright."

Because they all give a damn about Tim. He likes to shirk it and shake it off, but that's because he's too terrified to believe it. Tim, my boy, you are so damn loved.

"Don't you guys have paperwork to finish?" "He's back."

And she smiles at that. Like, this guy is a total pain in her ass, but she's grown accustomed to his grumpiness, accustomed to his brood, accustomed. to. his. face.

C'mon, musical fans. You had to know it was going there. And you know I love Tim Bradford because this is one of my least favorite songs of all time. But, I'll trot it out for him.

And Tim. Goes. Boom.

Impact

"It is the virus?"

First off, Lucy Bad*ss Chen. How did you convince them to let you ride along with Tim? At the end of last season, they wouldn't let you near him, but you said you weren't following along in the Shop (Tim wouldn't want you at the wheel anyway).

No, you've been by Tim's side all day and night and there's no way in hell you're leaving him, now.

"He's going into anaphylactic shock."

I'm cringing in "deathly allergic" at that one. I have an epi pen and am well-versed in how to use it. I've stuck myself with needles throughout my attempts at pregnancy (and successes). However, those pens freak me the heck out.

Through Lucy's camera, we see her right hand goes his shoulder immediately to steady him, her left somewhere near his side. Concern blankets her face.

There's no tension in the touch, here, folks. These two are a long way from that. But there is caring. Lucy is steadying him because she cares.

"Gun!"

No hesitation. Lucy Chen throws herself over her man. The day before, it was him closing the door to protect her from harm. Now, she's the one protecting him.

Because this is what works with Tim and Lucy that will always work—when it truly counts, they have each other's backs.

Big. Damn. Hero.

It's a grim scene, but let me tell you, but when Tim Bradford busts out of that ambulance like, "bitch, this thing can't contain me", I was cheering in my seat.

Look, I was thinking "Tim being in mortal danger" was going to be drawn out a little longer based on the Hulu episode description. But, we already saw that at the end of the last season. No need to rehash. Time to break new ground.

I'm good with Tim being a total badass, busting out of that ambulance like the hero he is to save the day.

"Are you okay?"

Tim's asking Nolan cracks me up. Dude, you spent the night thinking you'd been exposed to a deadly virus, watched a man convulse to death covered in his own blood, contemplated taking your own life, nearly died from a bloody reaction, and now you're the one asking someone if they're okay?

Hero shit, my friends.

"How are you feeling?" "Ready to get back to it."

They made Tim Bradford take two weeks off? Hell, yeah, he's ready to get back to work. I doubt that man's taken a vacation since Isabel disappeared, so losing that much work-time likely drove him mad.

Like, this could be his super-villain origin story if he weren't matched up with Officer Lucy Chen.

"Did you get the food I sent over?" "I did. You shouldn't have done that." "Well, I wanted to, and eating well is crucial for a fast recovery."

I love that she's okay with openly defying him, here. Why? Because something cracked open between them last episode and she's leaning into it. She doesn't know that he's leaning the entire opposite direction.

Tim doesn't let people in. Even his friends. He's so used to being isolated that part of him believes he deserves it—that inviting anyone into his pain is bringing them down. And the last thing he wants to do is get "friendly" with his Boot.

"You look worried." "I have never had a Rookie score that low on the exam." "There's a first time for everything." "No. Office Chen is a natural-born test taker. Nolan didn't even finish college. Plus, Chen had me for her TO. Nolan had Bishop."

Tim is worried. Has he been too soft? Has he given Lucy too many breaks? Did he give her the wrong impression, somewhere along the lines, that they'd become friends after this year-long task was done?

"What are you doing?" "What?" "My Rookies wear long sleeves and ties until the last day of probation." "Yeah, but Sergeant Grey said-" "Grey is not your Training Officer. I have complete discretion of the training of my Boot and that includes uniform."

I hate this for Lucy for a thousand reasons. But I get where Tim is coming from. If this is standard operating procedure for his Boots, then okay. Got it. But he should have told her sooner. Because this is like a slap in the face and she doesn't deserve it.

Is it in character? Yes. Tim of Season 1/early Season 2 would absolutely make a move this toolish and not understand the emotional and psychological ramifications for Lucy—or simply not care. It's his job to be a pain in her ass, right?

Tim is putting that wall back up and hard. Combine him letting his guard down at the quarantine house with Lucy's possible low score and her report (we'll get to that later), Tim is in full hard-ass mode.

"Where are you going?" "To change back."

Look at the heartache of Lucy walking past her fellow Rookies. Tim's now set her apart, made her different, punished her for something she never did wrong. Frankly, he's being an ass.

But Tim worries Lucy's getting too close to him. Not romantically, no, but she looked after him with the concern of a colleague or, dare I said it, friend in the last episode. And in his mind, that shit's gotta go.

Tim Test

Look, I'm not saying that Lucy doesn't still need instruction and whatnot. But, Tim's leaning into his hardass side as a protection for himself, and it's frustrating.

To have his friend mock up this IED for his first day back, that means he was plotting this on his off-time. During those two weeks he wasn't on the streets, he came up with tests for Lucy, for ways to push her away, for ways to put her back in her place.

The vulnerability in his eyes when he looked past the doctor to see her looking back, concern written all over her face. That was hard for Tim. He doesn't let people in like that. He doesn't let them see him emotionally exposed. He doesn't confess how broken it is in his own mind.

But he truly believed he was about to die. There would be no consequences for him to see. He had no reason for pretense or lies because he wouldn't live to see the ramifications of his truth-telling.

And now he has to deal with that mess, and he's not handling it well.

"And you're dead, because radio frequency energy can trigger a bomb. You gonna forget that lesson, Boot?

It's not a bad lesson. As far as Tim Tests go, this could've been a lot worse. He didn't call her out in front of people. He didn't scream at her. And it's a valuable lesson.

But, he's leaning hard into Lucy today, and she can feel it. It's only been two weeks since they last rode together. Two weeks since the Quarantine House. And whatever she thought they'd achieved in that house has apparently been undone. And that is the part that sucks.

"Go get cleaned up."

Lucy turns to him, and I wish we could see her face, because we can see that Tim takes a tiny beat after her glare. He looks back at her, and it's clear he has something on his mind that he quickly dismisses.

"You don't have the experience to evaluate people, yet, so your default should be suspicion, not compassion."

It's not a bad point. Look, I'm not saying Tim's 100% right all of the time, but it's part of the job to keep compassion in check without having facts.

When I worked in news, a reporter friend of mine interviewed the wife and adult daughter of a murdered man. He sat with them, comforted them, interviewed them... and then the police asked for our footage and used it to help them charge the wife and daughter with the killing.

My colleague was in absolute shock. He'd sat there with them and held their hands. He believed them. But the police saw differences in the story these two told us and the one they told police, and it was enough to crack the case.

So bloody heartbreaking. So, I hear Tim's point on this one.

"What are you doing?"

They say this back and forth SO much. I'm surprised it didn't become the ship phrase back in the early days of Chenford because of how often these two speak those four words to one another.

Someday it'll be "I love you, Lucy" and "I love you, Tim". But right now, these are probably their most-spoken four words strung together.

"Why are you treating me like it's Day 1 all over again?" "Because it is. Today was day 1 of stage 2 of your training." "So, what? Does that mean I've lost all the respect that I've earned?"

Lucy. Is. Pissed. She has worked her ass off dealing with Tim. And, not everything he's done has been bad. Lucy has gotten used to his way of doing things, and she never asked to trade TOs. She's determined to get through this year with Tim.

But this is too much. She doesn't have support from anywhere outside of the station. The least she could have is respect within it.

"You lost that when you lied on a report." "What?" "I read your account of what happened at the quarantine house." "Okay." "When I thought I was infested, I told you I'd rather take my life than bleed out. You failed to report it." "That's what this is about?"

Remember how Tim looked at Lucy at the Quarantine House when he came out of that room? He was hesitant. He was vulnerable. He was worried.

And then the consequences never came. If Lucy had reported it, he would have had to deal with it... with all the evaluations and whatnot. Since he didn't, he had time to stew and get mad.

But it's all a blasted facade to push her away. Because Tim Bradford doesn't open up to Rookies. Tim Bradford doesn't get emotional around Rookies. Tim Bradford isn't vulnerable around Rookies.

But for one crazy night, he was. Through a closed door... he was open.

"Suicide ideations by a law enforcement officer are extremely serious and should have been reported immediately." "I was trying to protect you. They would have put you on leave, required therapy. You weren't even actually suicidal."

Trying. To. Protect. You. Like she's been doing since the Pilot. If Tim had half a brain in this moment, he would realize she's been doing it all along.

Lucy understands the consequences of reporting, but she also knows psychology well enough to realize that Tim had a last-resort plan that never came. Not the same thing as planning your suicide and how to make sure your husband finds you and not your children.

"Not your call. You should have detailed everything regardless of the consequences." "Oh, yeah? Like I should have filed a report detailing everything you've done to protect Isabel?"

He stops in his tracks. All of the fire he'd built up dies in a cold wash of reality. Lucy should have filed all of that. But she didn't. And it never occurred to him to be mad about it.

He's spending this entire episode trying to put Lucy in her place, but it's Lucy who turns it around in this scene and throws it back at him—rightfully.

"You know what? You wanna rake me over the coals for the next six months, you go ahead. But don't pretend it's because you've got some code."

I was fist pumping in the air the first time I saw this scene. That is how you call Tim on his bullshit.

Tim's looking past her. He can't even look her in the eye. He opens and closes his mouth several times, but no words come out. Because what the hell can he say to that?

Lucy's been protecting him since the beginning. In the freakin' Pilot, she said she wouldn't tell anyone about Isabel.

Lucy is a kind and compassionate person. Tim's trying to get her to stop being so compassionate to the public they serve, but also towards him. Yet even as he's trying to strip it bare, she's proving that it's always been there and will always remain. It's her super power.

"Thank God."

Lucy sees her name under the 91 and relaxes a little.

She doesn't look back to Tim for validation, this time (she's still salty), but he looks to her and nods sagely. Almost proud. She's a damn fine officer, Bradford.

Lucy, The Fake Cop, And 999982

Okay, that last reference is from Future Rachel, but hopefully Twitter folks who saw a video of Eric Winter floating around late 2022 will get a laugh out of it. But that is the license plate of the Shop the fake cop goes into at first.

"Are you okay?" "Yeah."

Lucy actually chuckles a little, flustered. Tim the ToolBag TO has calmed his shit down and is at a more neutral stance after she flung his own crap in his face the night before.

And, wow, that joke is about 30 years old, so we'll see how many of y'all get it. But I wrote it and it has to stay, now, I'm sorry.

"Went right over after him." "'Course she did. I trained her."

Lucy nearly rolls her eyes at that one. Tim, my dear, you can't take credit for everything she does. You'll get that... someday.

"Tim?" "Yeah, I see it."

Ah, starting to get that rhythm we'll come to love later down the line—the rhythm where very little needs to be said for you two to be on the same page.

Our last image after the shootout is Lucy Chen crushing it as she handcuffs a guy and throws a happy smile towards Tim. She's in her element. She's doing what she knows how to do well. She's a damn good cop.

This pair of episodes is tough for Tim and Lucy because they'd only had six months together, and they're far from friends. But I think these two episodes are the stepping stones to set that up.

We get the vulnerability in part one, and much as Tim balks against it in part two, Lucy calling him on his shit is humbling. He backs off, a little. Much as he doesn't want to let her in, she's got his back.

As always, thank you all for reading, re-blogging, commenting, and just being freakin' awesome about all of this.

Today was the most "me" I've felt in ages, and I'm thankful. Still taking it one breath at a time, but each one is filled with gratitude.

And I'm thankful for you. See ya after 5x14 drops!

[irondeficiencyqueen]

30 day thinspo challenge

but I do it all in one day as a distraction🌸

1. I’m 22yrs, 170cm, f, 63/64kg.

2. 170cm, no I feel too tall. Would love to be a tiny girl, but was cursed with long legs.

3. Nah too lazy but like her ➡️🩻💀

4. Losing hair or my period..

5. I’m doing it for 13 year old me who got teased at school for being bigger. I have always felt picked on because of it. Right now I am also preparing for a bikini fitness show so I have to hit 10% bodyfat.

6. Yes, because I get stressed. I have BED. Food has always been comfort for me ever since I was a kid.

7. They know, and they praised it for a bit, but now they want me to stop. They are worried<3 makes me feel so validated

8. 5 days a week I do strength training, and 7 days a week I do 1 hour of cardio.

9. YES.

«I can’t carry you you’re too fat»

«Are you really gonna eat that? I think you have had too much already»

«I can carry her, but you have to walk yourself, you’re too big»

«You eat so much»

«You always eat everything by yourself, why are you not saving any for me??»

«I’m worried about your weight» said my 40kg bestfriend😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

10. Well nothing because I fucking suck and binge and purge. And chew and spit. But on the days where I’m on track, I’m really missing chocolate and cookies.

11. None rn, bc I just hopped back on Tumblr this month.

12. Breakfast is yoghurt with berries, lunch/dinner is chicken and veggies, and for the evening we got yoghurt and berries again. Total of 1200-1300 cals ish

13. Unhealthy lol

14. 53kg. I want one of my gws (55kg) by 21st of September, so hopefully 28th?

15. Not vegan, not vegetarian. I was pescetarian for a couple months, but it is unsustainable for me. I need balance and meat.

16. It started when I was 13, and it got pretty bad up until like 15 or so.. Then I kinda recovered, still hated my body, just didn’t starve. And I’ve been on and off ana. Mia is back too this time.

17. No just a big fan of the community💀BRO WHAT DO U THINK HAGAGAHAH, yes.

18. Chocolate and cookies.

19. 9 hours ago. (Fasting rn)

20. Calorie deficit ahahah I don’t follow diets. I am a nutritionist, so I know how this works🤌

21. Eu sizes XS-S (36) in pants, S in tops.

22. My lw doesn’t count as I was still growing in puberty at the time, but then I was 55kg. Gained mainly bc of birth control pills, but also giving up ana.

23. I’m an influencer so, yeah🥹I am very self conscious of everything I post.

24. I don’t promote anything, and I want people to get better ofc. However, I think it’s nice that we all have this together, so we don’t feel so alone <3

25. Yes. Can’t remember my first time. Been a lot of times🥲but it used to be very painful.

26. Being HER 🤌The satisfaction of finally getting to my goal after years and years of pain. Being picked up without being embarassed. Looking classy, all clothes look good, people envy me, wondering how I did it.

27. Anxious and scared

28. Yes because it gets sweaty and I feel nasty when they rub together

29. Me when I hit 53kg. Like literally I’m not trying to come off as a narcissist or anything, but I KNOW, that I am so pretty. I just need to lose a bit of weight and I’ll be her.

30. Scared to drop too specific facts in case someone recognize me.. but I like pink! I want to move to a warm country like Thailand or Bali. I am a liar to the people closest to me, because of this ed and sa. I believe I am a good person for the most part and I have good intentions in my heart always, I’ll forever be a girls girl. I love animals. I love soft feminine music but also listen to heavy metal. I don’t know who I am. I feel like I have two people in my head who are two different personalities.

Thanks for reading <3

[lightlyknitted]

So you want to knit a wedding veil?

If you’re new here, I am knitting my wedding veil. My partner and I are getting married in Sept. 2024 so I knew I had some time to make something that felt authentic to me.

I’m about to dump a ton of information down below because I have thought way too long and way too much about this topic over the last few months and I need to get it out.

So once I had decided on knitting a veil and not a sweater/ shrug or dress I set about doing some research on what others had did. I first went to pinterest, google and reddit. On Reddit I searched r/knitting, weddingplanning, crochet and advanced knitting. As I suspected I found a few others who had knit veils and a couple of patterns I could use.

USING A PATTERN?

Patterns people have used as veils are plenty and have a wide diversity to them. There was Maria’s Veil from Interweave, the Elvenstar and a few others I found searching on Ravelry. Another popular option is to find a Shetland Wedding Ring Shawl and make one of those.

The choice to make my own pattern came from a desire to make it feel unique to me and also not feeling particularly drawn to knitting them. To find the lace patterns I started with looking at a few doily patterns for the center and stitch dictionaries.

SIZING

Size was also important to consider. Wedding Veils can range depending on what kind you want – from birdcages to cathedral. After browsing pinterest for veil suggestions and common bridal looks I knew I wanted it to be longer than a shoulder (about 20 inches) but not hitting the ground. We’re having an outdoor wedding and I can imagine the meltdown I’d have if I got a grass stain on it. A fingertip veil is about 38-40 inches which would work well for a veil and a shawl when the wedding is over. YARN

I am using knit picks bare shadow which is 100% merino lace weight yarn. Because it’s wool, it’s going to be light enough that it shouldn’t cause any headaches while wearing it and be able to hold itself up without too much effort.

Popular options for yarn are merino wool or silk because they are lightweight. There are tons of options for veil yarns like Jamieson’s of Shetland Ultra Lace (the same yarn used for Shetland Lace shawls), Malbrigo Lace, Knit Picks Bare Shimmer Lace and Cascades yarns Heritage silk.

We’re starting with 400 g of yarn and I also picked up an array of beads from my local joanns and michaels. I am using US 3 DPNs and circulars. Bigger needles could be used but I followed the pattern suggestion from the doily in the center.

BEADS

To add some bling and to add some weight I choose to add beads. Seed beads are a common addition and can be found online. Silver-lined have a better color. Beads have tons of sizes and it depends on what size of yarn you’re using, I chose to use 6/0. I could string these and use a crochet hook (in most of them, because I chose cheaper beads they have some inconsistent sizes).

I decided to use ones I found at joanns and michaels because of convenience. I could have gone online and had a better chance at finding more uniform beads but I like the mismatched sizes on some. I got beads in green, taupe, red, blue and a copper blend.

There are two options for placing beads in your knitting. You can string them onto the yarn and then knit them in or you can place them one by one with a crochet hook. Because I didn’t know what beads I wanted to place where, I decided to place them individually.

DESIGN PROCESS

For the shawl, I knew I wanted a circle. Since I haven’t knit a lot of shawls I decided to use a doily pattern for the center for ease. The doily in the center is from “The Second Book of Modern Lace Knitting” and is the pattern Valentine Doily.

I kept all the lace stitches I wanted to use as an eight row repeat for consistency in each section. Each section will be followed by a small section of plain knits for set up and to add a definite start and stop.

I wrote a quick pattern to carry with me and write notes on since I had to return the stitch dictionary to the library. My next step is to knit the shawl. I started with a test with some lace weight yarn I had in my stash. I got through the center and part of the first lace repeat before I moved to the final yarn.

GAUGE

My unblocked gauge gives the center circle a radius of about 4 inches. It is about 7 inches to the first set up rows. My gauge is not extremely important while knitting because as long as I can get a finished radius of around 38 inches I am fine with it.

Gauge is important in knitting, do not get me wrong. For this shawl I am not as concerned with gauge as long as the final project turns out because I find it to be a bit easier to fudge the pattern to make it fit.

I’m still in the beginning stages of this project and hope to have more updates coming soon.

[amana-tells]

Entry 4

The summer I turned pretty felt like the weight of five men and their horses had been lifted off my skinny back. I stared long and hard at my reflection in the full-body mirror every day for a week, not out of vanity but out of disbelief. The feeling wasn’t happiness, and nothing in my appearance had really changed. That summer, I had an epiphany: many things changed while remaining exactly the same.

Growing up, I was weird, lanky, socially awkward, and not very "pretty." I felt like nobody's first choice, a passing thought at best. Not even I liked me; I’d find a million reasons why I was undeserving: stretch marks, hyperpigmentation, scars and dark spots, bad posture, a living skeleton impersonating a girl. So even when boys did like me, I never believed it. How could anyone like me when I was so flawed and awkwardly unbearable? These thoughts and self-loathing grew deeper, and I carried them like a cross throughout my preteen and teenage years. At fifteen, I knew something was wrong; I felt heavy, and life was crushing me. I had no one to talk to. I tried talking to my family but got brushed aside. A stressed-out, mentally ill teen isn’t something most Caribbean households think is possible. At sixteen, I was dragging my feet, with thoughts of suicide recurring daily. School was an escape from my neglectful household, but it was hard laughing and pretending life was fun. At 3:30 p.m., I’d be alone again, left to the irritating and disturbing thoughts that plagued my waking hours.

At seventeen, my panic attacks were frequent, and now my mother knew. After years of saying, “I’m not okay” and going unheard, she now knew. The tremors that racked my body and my hands that shook, clenching and unclenching, grasping at nothing, as she stood in my door frame with a look I’d never seen before: fear. I would have laughed if I knew how to breathe air in that moment, maybe given a defiant sneer if my heart didn’t feel like it would explode. I wished it would sometimes; I’d wish each panic attack would be my last. But this isn’t about her or the events that took place in the arc of 17.

To move the story to where it needs to be, I’ll tell you about the summer I finished high school. My future had never looked brighter. I had been accepted into seven universities and made my parents proud. I felt real accomplishment for the first time in my life. I was headed for Canada, where I’d study for the next three years, then intern at a publishing firm and hopefully land my dream job. I’d find the will to live once I was there, once I was close enough to touching the reality I’d envisioned. But it didn’t happen. Life sounded like the drop of your favorite mug hitting the floor. I was no stranger to disappointment. This was just another blow, a heavier one. Life wasn’t fun,I wasn’t grateful for it; it was messed up and ugly, reflecting me.

I moved onto the UWI campus a week before classes started, with little recovery time from the punch to the gut I was dealt. The summer I turned pretty, I was 20 and on summer break after fighting to finish my first year of university. I spent the first semester crying weekly and stressing, not making friends, and being too deep in depression the second semester to even care about my grades. The universe must have pitied me because it sent me amazing people who accepted me despite my pessimistic views.

That summer, my cousin came from Canada, and she was a joy to be around. But my mother ruined those feelings of joy. She got into it with everyone and said words to me that I’d never forget, words no mother should say to a daughter. That summer, I was consoled and pitied by my cousins. I spent a lot of time around women I admire, hearing their stories, seeing their flaws. I saw traces of myself in them. They didn’t wear it like I did, and staring at them, I could only see beauty. Staring at them healed a neglected part of me. I spent two weeks unlearning my dissatisfaction with my imperfection.

When I returned home after saying my goodbyes, I stared at my reflection long and hard. Though nothing had changed physically, I felt as if I was just seeing myself for the first time. Nothing had changed except my eyes. The windows to my soul that had been clouded were now clear. That summer, I felt weightless for a fraction of a second. Reality is always harsh, and though I could now see myself, I could also see the impenetrable wall of sadness that shrouded me. That summer, I discerned I was but a sad little girl yearning to be a realized woman.

[autobot-ratchet]

MTMTE 20-22

MTMTE 20

aww Ratch, no, don't let Pharma get you down... I mean I don't blame him, Pharma set this up to be as psychologically damaging to Ratchet as possible, but it sucks to see it working

Cyclonus being able to use a great sword is still so good

right, I forgot that Magnus lured Rodimus to Luna-1 to get Tyrest to straighten him out. He didn't quite mean for all this to happen, but yeah he is why we're here

lol Pharma's only here bc Tyrest needed a test subject for the killswitch lmaoooooooo

man. Shame Getaway turned out to be such a dick because he's almost kinda cool and charming in his intro scene lmAO I mean I know that's the point, he didn't really plan his mutiny from the start, it was Megatron being put on the ship that really made him do it (and maybe a little bit of personal resentment for Rodimus) but like. You could've been cool, man lmAO especially if someone as cool as Skids could be his partner like the possibility could've been there

oof, First Aid getting spicy with Ratchet... I mean he's got a point, and Ratchet agrees with him but man. So fraught........

“He doesn't anything. He's dead. That's the point.” god I agree so much with First Aid on this one. Like, I guess I understand why people would think that killing someone who does a lot of harm makes you just as bad, the weight of a life on your conscience weighs heavy no matter what, but like. If you kill Pharma, he will no longer be able to hurt anyone and y'all are not going to carry on his murderous legacy or whatever, it's fine lmAO

god. Fuck Star Saber lmAO

I love how much brainfuckery goes on in these comics, it's so fascinating

It's also fascinating to see these little glimpses of Cybertronians everywhere else being affected by the killswitch, seeing some other examples of cold constructed bots

MTMTE 21

hell yeah Tailgate, get his ass

HELL YEAH MINIMUS, GET HIS ASS

HELL FUCKIN YEAH CYCLONUS, GET HIS BITCH ASS!!!!!!!!

I know Cyclonus gets to bisect this bitch later in the story but. He should've been allowed to kill Star Saber right then and there lmAO you know Star Saber took him being warped away to be divine intervention or some shit

yeah I'm definitely right about Pharma doubling down on the villain act out of guilt, him not being able to go through the portal practically confirms it. And Skids can... at least he gets to feel that here, it still fucks me up immensely that once he fully remembers his repressed trauma, it makes him feel so much guilt that it kills him... BUT that day is not today, he can still have this right now

Oh, First Aid... like I said, it still weighs heavy no matter what........

I remember seeing a post about this a long time ago, but man Rodimus and Magnus truly do see each other at their worst in this arc. I love it lmAO

fuck I wish I could remember exactly what it is that Skids is speaking to here lmfAO I remember it being revealed at the end of Lost Light, but I do not remember what it actually is, I gotta remember this bit so I can better understand once I get there

love this little fake-out of Cyclonus fantasizing about pushing Whirl into the smelting pool, it's so funny lmAO just “ha ha jk”

love that Tailgate used the knowledge he gained from Magnus's grueling lessons to save the crew lmAO

I've said it before and I'll say it again because it still hits exactly as hard, this fucking page where Cyclonus stabs Tailgate with his great sword, giving him a piece of his own spark, is one of the most romantic things I've ever seen lmfAO god..... the way Cyclonus lowers his head against the sword's hilt, the way Tailgate feebly reaches up for him, the intertwining of violence and vulnerability, both physical and emotional, fuuuUUUUUCK

aaahhhhh, Cyclonus is all fixed up, including the replacement horn Tailgate made for him, and Magnus respects him and welcomes him onto the crew for real.... nndhgasfkdfgns

oh that's right, it's time for another bit of prose

Rodimus finally starting to get his act together... you love to see it but damn did we have to go through some shit to get here

gfhjdsk Minimus being like “you look like you're about to fall apart” and Roddy being like “I'm fine. *piece of his arm falls off* ...Well I'm not bugging Ratchet about it now”

everybody working together to find a cure for Tailgate... even when they find cures for a bunch of other infamous diseases, they're just like “aw that's nice” and set it aside because the one for Tailgate is more important, auwwghdfhHGSDFHWUH

oh yeah, this is where we figure out that Fort Max is leaving the Lost Light to stay on Luna-1 lmAO I remember not reading these little bits of prose the first time around because I didn't realize they weren't just more fan messages so I was just like “man we haven't seen Fort Max in a while”

I do like that it was never Rodimus's plan to make Drift take the fall, Drift insisted, mostly because he always knew this was going to be his role in the Overlord project. Honestly the whole Overlord situation is so fucked, it's hard to blame any one person involved, save for Prowl lmfAO like truly everyone made the wrong decision simply by getting involved in the first place, but Prowl absolutely pressed specific buttons in Rodimus to get him to agree, everything went according to his plan up until Chromedome accidentally let him know that Megatron was alive.

“I won't let you do this for me.” “I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for everyone else.” like I fuckin SAID, it's all about the quest, it's all about the vision he got. Sure, Drift likes Rodimus, this isn't a case of him just putting up with him for the sake of the quest, but it is a case of him putting up with the consequences of Rodimus's actions for the sake of the quest. Also, I'm realizing I might have the nature of Drift's vision wrong, I thought the end goal of the quest was to restore Cybertron, but Drift's saying they need to find the knights in order to combat some kind of impending threat. I mean I know that it's the end boss of the story, but I didn't realize that Drift knew about said end boss, I thought he had a vision of Cybertron being restored lmAO I was just straight up incorrect. I was under the impression that the vision that got the quest started in the first place was one of the Knights and Cyberutopia making general life better for everyone and the vision he gets after the Dying of the Light was the one about the end boss but no, he appears to already know about the end boss. And this is why we do a little rereading lmfAO I do not remember specific details like this

love that Swerve got to use his metallurgist skills to help save Tailgate, we stan a multitalented king

also Love Ratchet having to help Minimus put the Magnus armor back on lmfAO love that he ended up putting his foot in his mouth when Minimus asked about the other Magnuses, makes me feel better for making him fuck up talking to Drift in the fic I wrote

aww I forgot this is where Red Alert wakes back up too, damn I just missed out on a bunch of important plot shit during my first readthrough lmfAO oops

ah right, we have to go back to Cybertron and get involved with Barber's writing again lmAO but not quite yet, we get one more issue before that

MTMTE 22

I remember reading somewhere that the scene that Magnus removed from Rewind's film was of him dancing around in his office, which is just. God Rewind would thrive on TikTok lmfAO

I do not know what this second thing Magnus censored is lmfAO

I like that once Cybertronians and Stentarians meet they immediately start trying to one-up each other, starting with “my war lasted longer”

everyone responding to the question “Are you happy” is so good, what an excellent question to be able to ask your characters as a writer

eyyyy Thunderclash time, god this dude is so funny, I love how much of a mary sue he is, completely unironically I enjoy it so much lmAO

Rodimus is so fucking jealous it is hysterical lmAO and Thunderclash is so perfect that he just takes all of Roddy's passive aggressive jabs at face value and answers with a sincerity that just makes everyone admire him more I fucking love their dynamic it is pure gold

Swerve doesn't even know he just used god as a baseball bat. Deadass I can't stop thinking about that, every single bit of this comic with Rung in it has just got me like “that's straight up god”

aww man I forgot that Skids tried to show Rewind's film to the Circle of Light and they all hated it, that's such a bummer

“I have this theory that we're the Knights of Cybertron.” “I think Drift's right, in a way. This has never been about the knights. It's about us.” Drift continues to be correct about the quest. Okay maybe not like. Completely correct he's more abstractly correct and Rung is more literally correct but wHATEVER I GOTTA HYPE UP MY BOY

[hyperbolicpurple]

For several weeks I’ve been running variations on a strength training program called Easy Strength by Dan John. (There’s a newer version called Even Easier Strength that is, ironically, more complicated and harder to remember, but I’m doing the very simple OG version.)

The idea of Easy Strength is to minimize time in the gym and effort put forward in the gym while still gaining absolute strength in terms of one-rep max (the amount you can lift a single time). In contrast to most powerlifting and bodybuilding programs, which use challenging, near-max-effort sets and rotate muscle groups or work days/rest days because putting in near-maximal effort requires more recovery time, Easy Strength has you in the gym hitting the same loads/lifts, but somewhat lighter and for fewer reps, 5 days in a row per week. (It was developed for college athletes, I think.)

Basically, you pick five movement patterns/compound exercise types and do them every day. You can pick whatever you want, just something from each of these categories:

squat movement (barbell squat, goblet squat, lunge, etc)

hip hinge movement (deadlift, RDL, hip thrust, etc)

push/chest movement (bench press, dumbbell press, incline bench press, etc)

pull/back movement (barbell row, lat pulldown, pullups, etc)

loaded carry (farmer’s walk, suitcase carry, waiter walk, trap bar carry, etc)

The squat, hinge, push, and pull you do for 60-80% of your 1RM (don’t go above 80%) for ten reps total (2 sets of 5, or 1 set of 10). For the loaded carry, you don’t have to pick just one; instead, vary the exercise/weight/time every day.

I’m doing a unilateral-and-dumbbell version of this because I have significant imbalances (my squat shifts so much when I go heavy!), so I’m doing:

Dumbbell step-up (surprisingly hard to do “correctly” for strength, and I had to start with bodyweight!)

Single-leg deadlift

Dumbbell chest press

Incline dumbbell row

Super basic, lots of core work from the step-up and deadlift, don’t need to wait for a squat rack--nice. I don’t always do the loaded carry because sometimes my obliques are shot from the single-leg deadlift especially.

A session of Easy Strength doesn’t take long, especially compared to many powerlifting/bodybuilding programs that have you in the gym for 1-2 hours at a time. Lots of people who do it report supersetting all the movements, meaning that they do the first set of five for each exercise in a row and then repeat the sequence with minimal rest (not hard because they’re not very heavy, so you can move from one exercise to the next pretty quickly), so they’re getting out of the gym in like ... 15 minutes total, counting their warmup. But despite that, in terms of increasing your strength it can be very effective, especially if you keep the weight in the 75-80% 1RM range.

It’s not a bodybuilding routine, and it’s doubtful anyone is gaining appreciable muscle mass on this program, but if you want to get stronger without spending a ton of time in the gym, I’d give it a try. I might not jump into it full-bore right away if you’re new to lifting or de-conditioned--take a couple weeks to fuck around in the gym, master the movement (if you’re new to lifting) so you have decent technique and stop getting sore, test 1RMs, etc--OR go really, really light the first week and just go by feel and add weight as it feels easy. The program is written for 8 weeks/40 workouts, but lots of people run it for 4 weeks/20 workouts.

[sonseniormedicare]

The 14 Best Times to Drink Water in a Day to prevent Dehydration

The Best Times to drink water matter because it’s clear that drinking enough water is important to health. Water accounts for up to 75% of the body weight, water plays a key role in regulating everything from brain function to physical performance to digestion and many more .

Everyone should be aware that drinking water daily is just  good to maintain one’s health and their well-being. One can have it ice cold, hot, infused with fruit, and many other ways to quench that thirst. But though, there are best times to drink water.

This article takes a look at best times to drink water and these include;

1. When One is feeling Hungry

One could really be thirsty. Most people don’t know they’re actually thirsty when hunger seems to strike. The brain recognizes these triggers in same. So before you hit the pantry, drink some water first. Then give it a few minutes to see if it satisfies the urge to eat.

2. Before having a Meal

Drinking water before a meal call it  “preloading”  can help you lose weight. A small study tested people who drank 500 milliliters that’s a little over 16 ounces of tap or bottled water about 30 minutes before mealtimes and throughout the day as they wished. Over 12 weeks, the preloaders lost almost 3 pounds more than those who didn’t follow the protocol.

3. Whenever you perspire

Anything that makes you sweat forexample a sauna or a hot tub, time outside on a hot, muggy day can make the body to lose fluid. Ditto with exercise. As the muscles warm up, the body perspires to cast off heat. You’ll need to cool down with lots of water.

4. Before, during, and after exercise

You need enough of water to replace what you sweat out. Before you work out or spend time outside, fill up your bottle with 16 to 20 ounces of water. Drink 6 to 12 ounces about every 10-15 minutes while you’re active. Afterward, drink up again another 16 to 24 ounces.

5. When one is unwell

Hydration is important to healing when you’re sick. Symptoms like diarrhea, vomiting, and fever can cause extreme water loss. At the first sign of illness, drink lots of water, especially when you’re not hungry.  Avoid alcohol and caffeinated drinks. They’ll dry out the system even more.

6. When you’re on a plane

Ever wondered why you get so parched and thirsty when you are on the plane, It’s all about altitude. The higher the plane goes, the drier the cabin air becomes and around half the air in the cabin flows in from outside. To combat the super-low humidity level, carry on an empty water bottle to fill up as needed during your flight.

7. When you Get a Massage

The massage therapist will thank you if you take water before you hit the table. The muscles will be softer and more supple, which makes it easier for them to manipulate the tender tissue. This body work releases substances you should flush out afterward with plenty of water, too. This is extra important if you have a deep tissue or other heavy-duty massage

8. Before Gaming

Do you know almost three-fourths of the brain contains fluid? If your levels dip too low, the blood vessels in this organ shrink. This can affect coordination, short-term memory, attention span, and stamina, a Chinese study found. So if you feel tired and muddled, pass up a caffeine-charged energy drink. Simply drinking water can help you bounce back.

9. When You’re in a Midday Slump

It’s mid-afternoon and the energy has left the building. Don’t start a new pot of coffee, though. Instead, have a tall glass of water maybe sparkling to add some pizza with lemon or another flavoring to bump up the mood. Your hydration state directly affects mood, memory, and visual perception, the British Journal of Nutrition reports.

10. When you have a headache

One of the top migraine triggers is dehydration. Some people report that even a slight dip in fluid intake can bring on an intense headache. It also can make you feel fuzzy, and in some cases even require medical treatment. Especially if you’re migraine-prone, keep a water bottle handy at all times and track your intake. If you feel a twinge coming on, a glass can save your day.

11. When You get up from bed

First thing in the morning is one of the best times to hydrate. Your body has gone through a long fast. For a simple jump start, squirt half a lemon in your first glass of a.m. water for a bright boost of antioxidant phytonutrients, vitamin C, and potassium.

12. Take enough water

More fluid is better for average, healthy adults. 15.5 cups a day is good for men, while 11.5 cups a day from all food and drinks is enough for most women. But this includes hydration from food and all beverage sources. Your own needs depend on your health, how much you need

13. Before your menstrual Period

One can ease premenstrual discomfort and reduce bloating by drinking lots of water before the period, as well as during. One of the biggest causes of cramps or headaches is dehydration. A recent study of young women with dysmenorrhea (very painful menstruation) found that drinking more water shortened their cycles, eased pelvic pain, and lessened their need for pain relief.

14. When you want to chop weight

Water is more than a calorie-free way to help yourself feel full. It may also rev up your metabolism. In one study, 50 girls with extra weight drank about 2 cups of water half an hour before breakfast, lunch, and dinner with no other changes in their diet. After 8 weeks, they lost weight and lowered their body mass index and body composition scores. Water also speeds up lipolysis, your body’s process of burning fat for energy

Conclusion

After reading through it, I hope these recommendations can help you know the best times to drink water in a day. Set yourself up for success in your routine. Implementing these small changes can make a world of difference in the long run.

[upismediacenter]

LITERARY: Holding On

Tears of Today: Book Signing Event July 28, 2034, 5:45 pm JKM Publishing Company

“You mentioned before that there was a time that you almost gave up writing, what changed your mind?” The interviewer asked.

“10 years ago, I felt like the whole world was against me. I had no inspiration, I lost the will to write, and I had no one to talk to. It may be hard to believe but I was at my lowest. Luckily, someone saved me from that,” I answered.

“Who was it? How did they save you?” Asked another interviewer.

“I think you guys should get comfortable, this is going to be a long story,” I said, smiling.

May 21, 2024, 9:20 pm Greenskate City

I have been sitting on this bench for a long time now. A few hours ago, the publishing company I worked for called me to say that my works haven’t been selling and that if I don’t release a hit story anytime soon, I would lose my job.

I decided to go to the Cafe a few streets from here since it was getting late and I, hungry. As soon as I arrived, I ordered a large iced latte and a slice of their homemade carrot cake. The place’s ambiance was very soothing and they were playing soft chill music that fit well with the vibes of the Cafe. As I was eating and drinking away, I noticed something on the wall across from me. I looked more closely and I realized that it was some kind of a freedom wall. Lots of people have already written on it so I decided to write something on it too. I took out my marker and began to write at the bottom left corner.

“I feel like I have nothing left to give.”

Even though it’s not that big of a deal, I felt a small weight lifted off of my shoulders.

May 24, 2024, 2:54 pm Greenskate City

Earlier, I got a call from my boss saying that they need me to write a book and they are giving me 2 months to finish it. Feeling stressed and anxious, I decided to go back to the Cafe and ordered what I had the last time. After getting my cake and drink, I went to the table near the freedom wall. As I was about to sit down, I noticed that someone had replied to the note I wrote on the wall, “I know you don’t know me and you might think that I’m a kidnapper or something but I would really like to hear you talk about what you are going through right now. I will be waiting at the park near this coffee shop every Saturday at 8 pm and I will wait for you for an hour, Sam :).” I contemplated whether to meet-up with Sam and talk to them or if I should just ignore the note they left me.

May 30, 2024, 8:39 pm Greenskate Park

Well, I could not believe it but I decided to meet Sam— maybe they could really help me with my problems. I had been carrying them for the past few years and I just really needed someone who can listen without judging me. As soon as I arrived at the park, I saw someone sitting on a bench as if waiting for someone else. I walked slowly and approached carefully so as not to startle them.

“Hi, I’m Sam. I’m 27 years old and I’m a Website Developer. Nice to finally meet you,” she said, standing up while offering her right hand for me to shake.

“Why did you reply to my note?” Thinking back, I may have sounded rude by asking that question and also, for not bothering to say my name first.

I didn’t realize I spoke so plainly, something about her made me feel so calm and at ease.

“I saw my older sister in your note,” she answered. My confusion was probably all over my face because she continued, “My older sister was struggling. She was constantly put under a lot of pressure by our parents, her friends, her classmates, and even herself. I saw how her bubbly, positive, and outgoing self faded away right in front of my own eyes. I was always there for her, but at the same time I wasn’t, and when she needed me the most, I wasn’t there to help her.”

I saw her sincerity when I looked into her eyes. She really wanted to help others and not make the same mistake she did before.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know that right?”

“Back then, I didn’t. I blamed myself for what happened to her. If only I had been there for her, if only I didn’t leave her alone with all her thoughts when I knew that she was struggling so badly. But I came to accept what happened and now I believe that yes, it wasn’t my fault,” she said as we shared the view of the night sky.

It was a quiet, peaceful moment for us before I decided to finally break the ice and tell her everything I had been keeping inside.

“I don’t know where to start,” she looked at me saying, “Why don’t you start from the very beginning?”

After a long and heavy sigh, I started to let it out.

“Since I was a kid, I have loved reading books. It got to the point where whenever you see me it’s either I’m sleeping or flipping pages. Since I loved reading and writing, I joined my school’s student publication. I was 15 at the time. That’s when I decided that I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. I enjoyed writing— I got to express myself and bring to life the characters and stories I have always imagined growing up. Sad to say, my parents and the people around me weren’t supportive with the career I wanted to take; they were saying a lot of hurtful things about how I’m not going to make it as a distinguished writer and that I won’t get enough money to support myself.” I looked down and fiddled with my fingers. I took a deep breath before continuing,

“But because of that, I was motivated. I wanted to prove myself to them. So I decided to take Creative Writing in college, move out of our house, and live in the school dorm. I took a part-time job to support myself while balancing my studies, and I succeeded. I graduated with honors and because of the exposure from works I published in my school newspaper, a publishing company hired me as a writer.” I paused my story to gather my thoughts.

“And then? What happened after that?”

“At first I was so happy. I can finally prove to them that I can pursue my passion while earning money and being successful. I drove myself to write story after story about anything that I could think of. I wrote in every genre I could just to prove that I had the versatility a writer should have. But, slowly, that fire burned out; I lost the inspiration and imagination to continue writing. Nowadays, I’m struggling so much that everytime I write a story, I can’t seem to finish it without having a breakdown. I’m drained, I have nothing else to give. To make matters worse, my publishing company is pushing me to write a book and finish it in less than 2 months or else they’ll fire me. I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like the whole world is against me and that someone out there is punishing me and making me suffer,” I answered, finally breaking down and venting out everything.

“I’m happy you shared that with me. I personally don’t know the struggles and challenges that writers face, but I did also struggle after what happened to my sister. I was at the point in my life where I felt like I was only living to suffer the memories that haunt me every night, but I pushed through it. I didn’t let my inner demons win, I fought back. I knew that I was stronger and that I just had to find something or someone to hold on to, to survive— and I did.” She took out her wallet, ruefully looking at a picture of two kids— I can only guess, her and her sister.

“I don’t even know if I still have the will to fight,” I said truthfully.

“If you can’t fight this battle, then I will fight with you; I can’t fight for you since it is still your battle to fight and overcome. You can hold on to me for support, and we will fight through it together,” she said, looking at me while holding my hand in hers.

“You have me.”

For the first time in a very long time, I felt like I could win this battle.

October 22, 2029, 5:48 pm Greenskate Apartment

The past 5 years felt like a rollercoaster. I faced so many challenges and I struggled so much that I felt like I couldn't keep up, but I wasn’t alone. I had someone keeping me in check, holding my hand, and guiding me through all of it. I had someone who gave me strength, which I sorely needed. You see, I still had a lot of breakdowns and right now, I’m currently having one.

It started when I was cleaning the bedroom. I found my diary from back when I was in High School. I didn’t know what came over me. I thought it’d be a good idea to revisit the life I had as a teenager, so I read it. Well, I was wrong. I wasn’t ready. Everything came rushing back to me once again: the feeling of being alone, the hopelessness, the desperation for someone to notice I was struggling, and the need for them to save me. As I got sucked back into those memories, I didn’t realize someone was there behind me. I felt a pair of arms wrap around me.

She’s here. She’s back.

“Hey, what happened?” Her arms were firmly wrapped around me.

I kept on crying, I didn’t know how to answer her question. She seemed to sense that I couldn’t answer her, so she just kept on hugging me and rubbing my back to calm me down— like she always does whenever I have a breakdown.

“Are you okay now?” She asked, as she held my face.

“Yeah, I think so,” I whispered softly, hugging her close.

“Do you want to tell me what happened while I was out?” She looked at me with concern written all over her face then helped me sit on the sofa.

This is what I love about her. She never pushes me to tell her what I’m feeling or what I'm thinking; she always asks me first if I’m comfortable sharing them.

“I was cleaning our room and I found my diary in a box full of my stuff from when I was a teenager. I thought I was doing well, seeing a therapist and talking about my problems really does help me. And being with you makes me feel safe and happy. That’s why I decided to read it. I thought that if I did, I could finally move on from my past. But I was wrong, it didn’t help me at all, it didn’t even make me feel better. Reading it felt like I was back there, in my hometown feeling helpless with no one to hold on to,” I answered, feeling ashamed.

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she pulled me into a hug, wrapped her arms around me, and put my head on her shoulder. We just sat there, holding each other, feeling each other’s warmth and the love that we have for each other.

“It’s okay if you’re not yet ready to move on from the past, no one’s rushing you. Just take your time to accept what happened and from there, slowly let go of the pain you endured. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you before, but I’m here now. I’m not letting you go. You have me to hold on to, I promise.” She looked me in the eyes and gave me a heart-melting smile.

“Thank you for being my home.”

Tears of Today: Book Signing Event July 28, 2034, 6:10 pm JKM Publishing Company

“She gave me hope when I lost it. She really fought alongside me. She never left my side even though I kept pushing her away and shutting her down. She believed in me when I did not even believe in myself. I’ll forever be grateful for her coming into my life.” I said, finishing my story. Funny how a simple book signing event turned into a long storytelling session.

“Where is she now?” A reporter asked.

I drank my water before smiling and answered the question, “Well, she’s now my wife.”

[8iunie]

Why Måneskin’s New Album Felt Like ‘Going Back to Our Beginning’ After Global Success

The Italian rock stars discuss working with Max Martin, following up a smash hit and the most personal moments on new album 'Rush!' (posted on 20.01.2023)

A key to the success of Måneskin is their musical eclecticism. They can cover a ‘60s tune like the Four Seasons’ “Beggin’” or a 2000s hit like The Killers’ “Somebody Told Me,” and bring each into their own style — while at other times, channeling the White Stripes or Red Hot Chili Peppers. And while the Italian quartet possesses standard rock band qualities that have endeared them to old-school audiences and radio programmers, they also flaunt their individual personalities, gender fluidity and knack for showmanship in a way that encourages young listeners and TikTok users to hop aboard the bandwagon, too.

Måneskin’s exuberant cover of “Beggin’” blew up around the world in 2021, four years after the band first performed the cover. Since then, original tunes like “Supermodel” and “Mammamia” have earned millions of streams, the band opened for The Rolling Stones before headlining in the U.S. last fall, and in a few weeks they might take home the best new artist Grammy. Yet Rush!, their third album out this Friday (Jan. 20), carries the weight of expectation as their first full-length since stepping foot on the global stage.

The contributions of Max Martin on multiple tracks suggests a major pop bid, but Rush! spans the punk energy of “Kool Kids,” the balladry of “The Loneliest” and the groove-ready rock of “Gossip,” which features a guitar solo from Tom Morello. The album revels in the diversity of its four perspectives. As bassist Victoria De Angelis notes, “We don’t have actually similar tastes at all. We all have very different tastes and music backgrounds, so we influence each other in the writing process.”

While color-coordinated in chic brown and tan outfits, the four members of Måneskin – De Angelis, singer Damiano David, guitarist Thomas Raggi and drummer Ethan Torchio – sat down with Billboard for a Zoom discussion on their music, ethos and chemistry. 

While you’ve had a fairly even split between English and Italian lyrics on your past releases, the majority of Rush! is in English, with only three songs being sung in Italian. Is this a strategy to get you to a larger audience?

Damiano: It’s not a strategy. Basically, when we started being a band and writing songs, we started writing in English, because 90% of our influences are not strictly English, but English-sounding. We had to learn how to write music in Italian because we never thought about it. But then we got big in Italy, and we had to start doing it – and also because it’s our language and we want to do it. But now we finally had the chance to make almost the whole album in English, because it’s like going back to our beginning. It’s what we are most used to doing.

Victoria: We really never forced it. It’s always been quite natural and in the moment. We do what we feel. I think also because we wrote most of the record while we were in the U.S., so we were getting inspired and seeing a lot of shows there, meeting artists and stuff.

“Beggin’” has over a billion views on YouTube now. How has its success influenced what you’ve been trying to do since then? Have you felt pressure to follow that up?

Damiano: No, I think that for us we managed to take only the best part out of it, because that song drove behind all the other songs and all the catalog. Fortunately, it was not just that song. It [the success] happened while we were thinking about this new record, so we just thought that drive could only make us our music more open and reach more people. It just gave us more hype to write the album, because we knew that this time, it was going to be different.

On your first album, Damiano wrote nearly all of the songs. The second album was a group effort. And then on Rush! you brought in outside songwriters and producers, like Sly and Rami Yacoub. What was that process like this time?

Damiano: We just wanted to shuffle the cards this time. We have played together for more than eight years. We just got to a point where we thought that we were able to put the band’s signature on every song. But we were also able to embrace not just one direction, but keep it more random, and follow each one’s different tastes and let each one of us lead in different songs. So writing the songs was easier. But then it was harder to pick [a track list], because with this method we wrote many, many more songs. We wrote like 60 songs, so it was very hard to pick these 17.

Ethan: If it were limitless, we would have done a record with 50 tracks.

You worked with Max Martin on four of these tracks. What was that experience like?

Victoria: This thing he’s known for, pop, is what drew us to him, because we want to try something different and to be stimulated in a different way. We’re used to doing music in our vision, and we know how it is to get in the studio and jam, the four of us. We still do it and we’ve done it on a bunch of songs on the record, but we also wanted to try something new.

We were very curious about this match because we love doing covers – “Beggin’” is a pop song. We play them and make them in a completely new flavor and version. So that was the match that we wanted to try with him, to get a bit of his pop sensibility and advice, but then take it and turn into who we are and make it more dirty and sound like us. I think he really understood what we wanted.

The first time we met him was at our show, where it really shines through what kind of band and energy we have and like. It was very easy in the studio, because he got it, and respected our identity and who we are. It was just like a school – understanding a different way of doing stuff. He has years of experience, so he really gave us some good advice.

Ethan: He’s so caring. … Something I really learned from him are the rules in the music writing process. You can follow them, you can not follow them. It’s a choice. But I learned this for him.

What was the most unusual process this time around?

Victoria: Basically, we would always just go in the studio and jam. I think we learned what was very useful was just to record all the jamming. Tom Morello literally jams for five hours, records everything, and then he listens back to five hours of recording and finds all the small, cool parts he has played. Then he picks the best ones and makes the song out of it. That was a really cool way of doing it.

Ethan: You need patience.

Thomas: Exactly. Because if you stay in that moment, really natural, you can take the best part with the best energy.

Your younger fans love how you embrace gender fluidity, at a time where, in both Italy and America, LGBTQ+ rights and protections are still an issue.

Damiano: Yeah, sure. I think [Italy] is still a few years later than USA because, like everything we import in Italy, it takes a few years to start. But things are starting to change. People are starting to build a situation where it’s possible to think about changing things. And there’s always more and more people, especially of our age or slightly older, 20, 30, that are creating communities and groups and are speaking up about things that have not spoken up for too many years. I think we’re in a good place right now.

In 2021, you did a TV performance in Poland, a country that is more religiously conservative. How did the Polish TV censors respond to the kiss between Damiano and Thomas at the end of that performance?

Damiano: You could see all the people of the same age of us were super hyped, and all the parents were like, “Oh, s—t, what’s going on? Do I like it? Should I like it? Should I not like it?” Half and half, as always.

Victoria: I think that moment has a really big meaning for our audience there, from all the people from the community, because there’s really a lack of representation and they face a lot of issues. Even now in Italy, as you said in America, it’s still a s—t situation, where people struggle for their rights and everything. So it’s never to be taken for granted anywhere, but especially there everyone was literally telling us, “It’s so homophobic here, you can’t even walk with your girlfriend or boyfriend or wear what you want.” That’s why we wanted to make a statement about it. I think it meant a lot for fans, so that was the most important thing.

What’s the most personal song on the new album for you?

Thomas: “Gossip,” because I wrote the main riff one day when we went in the studio in L.A., and I remember that we took that main riff on the Dropbox of the old songs. We said, “Okay, this is a really cool riff and good riff,” but after another session, I remember that we just took the main riff that became “Gossip” with Morello and the other stuff. I was very happy at the time.

Victoria: I’d say “Kool Kids,” because it was one of the first songs we wrote, and it was one of the first riffs I came up with, so I’m very proud of that riff. I love that we had the courage to make such a powerful, strong, punk song in a mainstream record nowadays.

Ethan: Victoria stole the one that I want to say. So I’m gonna say another one, “Read Your Diary,” because I love the harmonic progression that Thomas has done. I also like the drums a lot. How they sound in the song is very cool.

Damiano: “Timezone.” I think it’s not the easiest song, but the easiest to read. There’s no metaphors, it’s very clear what I’m saying. I’m not trying to hide behind double meanings. It’s just a circle of thoughts, without any censorship.

Writer: Bryan Reesman for Billboard Magazine

[duskholland]

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. What happened?”

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

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

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

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

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom gulps nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

Tom follows you…?

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute.

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

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

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

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

Y/N: hey x

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

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, is it a home game?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me a spin, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

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

“Dutchy?” you question.

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

You coo. “That’s cute.”

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

And Tom… Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

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

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

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

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, darling.”

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

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

“What, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What— Tom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Penalty.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

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

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

“Funnier than me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

A smile breaks out across your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Overnight?”

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

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

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

“You can open them now.”

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

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

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

[captain-jensen]

Good Kisser, Bad Kisser

Chris Evans x Reader (smut)

Summary: You and Chris reminisce about a time when you were co-stars and things get heated

Authors note: I’ve seen comments about Chris possibly being a bad kisser based on watching him in movies and it inspired me

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex (don’t be dumb),smut, manhandling kink, tiny bit of degradation, oral (m+f recieving),

        After grabbing a bottle of your favourite wine and some thai food you stand knocking on Chris’ front door. The door flings open and there he stands in a simple pair of sweats and a hoodie. “Finally! I’m starving, give me that” he rips the food out of your hands and makes a run for it towards the kitchen island. 

“Hi Chris! Good to see you too, it’s been a while” You say to yourself slightly annoyed that he hadn’t even thought to greet you. Nevertheless, you make your way inside and open your wine. After handing you a plate and a fork Chris pulls you into a tight hug. 

“Hey Y/N, it has been a while and I’ve missed you” He says, insinuating that he heard your sly comment at the door. You just giggle a bit and hug him back just as tightly. You guys separate and make your plates, opting to eat at the table. “So, how was filming?” he asks.

“It was good, nothing super special if I’m being honest though. The cast and crew were kind of boring and I didn’t even make any new friends” You respond forlornly. 

“Awe that’s the worst. To be fair though, I think I set the bar too high in terms of fun co-stars” He says with a cocky grin. 

“Well you’re not entirely wrong. I think you were the last real friend I’ve made on a set”

“It’s probably because I was the best kisser you’ve ever acted with” He claims, obviously deciding to stick with the prideful theme of jokes tonight. You can’t help but burst out laughing at this claim. Sure he wasn’t a horrible kisser but he wasn’t exactly the best either. Chris watches in bewilderment. “I’m sorry, did I say something funny?” he asks in mock exasperation. 

“Chris c’mon” you say through your de-escalating laughter. 

“No, what? What was so funny?”

“I just thought you were joking”

“Oh so you’re saying I wasn’t a good kisser?” 

“I mean I don’t really know about best but I’m not saying you were terrible” You try to defend yourself. 

“Well I guess that was a while ago. I mean we were in our 20s then. We’ve both changed a lot”

“Yeah you’re probably right. I’m sorry for laughing. I know I probably wasn’t the best either” you say. Now feeling bad because you might have actually hurt his feelings. 

“I don’t know. I thought you were pretty good” he responds shyly, not taking his eyes off of his food. 

“Well now I just feel bad” You say laughing.

“You don’t have to feel bad. I know for a fact I’ve gotten better since then”

“Well good for you then” you respond humorously.

“It’s just too bad that that’s your memory of me” he almost sounds actually sad. 

“It’s ok. I’m not exactly friends with you for your kissing ability. So it’s all good”

“It’s not all good. Let me show you that I’ve gotten better” He proposes.

“Um, what?” you ask taken aback. 

“Let me prove to you that I’m a good kisser now” he says again matter of factly. Clearly not understanding what has you so worked up. 

“Chris I’m not that worried about it believe me. I’m fine with the memory I have.” you say, trying to see if he was serious about this. 

“Well I’m not ok with it.” He definitely sounds serious. He stands up and walks toward you. He motions for you to stand, and despite your brains best efforts, your body obeys. He’s already standing so close to you, chest to chest. You apprehensively look up to him and see he’s already staring at you attentively. You glance at his lips quickly, and as soon as your eyes meet his again, his lips make contact with yours. This is undeniably a much different kiss than the one you had shared when you were basically kids. His lips move fervently across yours as he tilts his head and grabs the side of your face, deepening the kiss intensely. You can’t prevent the small whine that escapes the back of your throat, just like he can’t control the tightness of his sweats. He presses into you more, letting you feel every inch of him. Your hands move from their place on his arms to wind around the back of his neck. Grabbing the little hairs at the back of his head you subconsciously give a little tug and he groans deeply into your mouth, making your legs quiver. He guides you to the couch by your waist and sits you on his lap. You can feel his hands everywhere, roaming your body while his heat seeps into you and his mouth explores your chest. You moan and instinctively grind into his center. He rids you of your shirt and you do the same to him. His lips are around one of your nipples, one hand one one breast, and the other hand on your backside, gripping tightly. It’s like he’s scared you could be ripped from his arms as any second. You kiss behind his ear, finding his sweet spot making him release a guttural moan that shakes you to your core. After hearing that you’re sure he can feel your arousal seeping through your pants into his lap. It’s then though that you pull away to ask “Chris are you sure? I mean, you aren’t just trying to prove a point right?”.

“Baby I’ve honestly been thinking about this moment all these years”, he leans in close to your ear so you can feel his breath against your ear, making a shiver run down your spine. “I’ve always dreamt about how you’d feel against me like this, how I’d feel inside of you, how I’d feel tasting you”, in the midst of his beautiful speech, he catches you off guard and flips you on the couch so that you’re slightly angled off the couch. He kneels on the ground as he kisses his way down your body slowly. When he reaches the waistband of your pants he plants a dark mark on your skin, claiming you. He leaves trails of smaller marks down your thighs as he works your pants off. The slight bruising feeling of his bites matched with the roughness of his beard makes for a downright sinful feeling, matched by a sinful moan. He works his way back up your bare legs to your naked center. Placing small pecks mixed with small licks to your core he makes you a whimpering mess before he fully delves into your folds. He’s drinking you like a man who has been deprived of water his whole life. When he introduces a couple of fingers into your throbbing hole you fully lose it, coming undone within a matter of minutes. 

   Since you’ve fully turned into jelly around him, he effortlessly carries you to the bedroom, all but throwing you on the mattress. “Sorry to break it to you, but playtime is over now honey” you shudder at his words. You watch helplessly as he rids himself of his remaining clothes. As he goes to grab a condom, you stop him. “Just wait” You say, practically begging to taste him on your tongue. You pull yourself to a sitting position on the bed as he stands tall at the edge, already almost fully hard. You grab his length and stroke it a few times before giving him the same treatment of a small kiss at his tip and small licks to the underside of his shaft. His breathing becomes laboured as he watches you in awe when you take him into your mouth fully for the first time. You relax your throat and breath through your nose as you feel him hit the back of your throat. When you hollow your cheeks and moan around him he lets out a beautiful and deep moan. You work him for bit longer with a combination of your hand and mouth before he’s ripping you off of his cock and throwing you back on the bed. You gasp as your back hits the sheets but then you’re quickly being flipped over onto your stomach and he pulls your hips up. He’s working you like a doll, and you’ve never loved anything more. You feel him press himself against your back and say sensually but still firmly in your ear “I said playtime is over” you feel him rub his tip up and down your folds, collecting your arousal on his tip before he enters you. He wastes no time fully sheathing himself inside of you. He gives you but a second to adjust to him before his thrusting into you at an easy pace. Feeling every inch of him enter you again and again at such an agonizing speed starts to get to you and he notices you moving yourself against his shaft. “I had no idea you were so greedy baby. You’re having a hard time being patient aren’t you?” he asks in a demeaning tone. All you can do is mutter a pathetic little “please” while still trying to up the ante. He gets the hint and decides to give you what you want. Chris starts to move at a speed unlike anything you’ve had before. You’re certain your eyes roll to the back of your head while he pounds you endlessly into the mattress. You barely have the power to say “I’m cumming” by the time the wave hits you. All you can do is mix your obscene moan with the slapping and wet noises coming from between your bodies. Not long after hearing you and feeling you clench around him, Chris spills inside you with a groan of your name, which is almost enough to throw you again. He collapses onto your back, trying with all his might to keep his weight on his arms. You both stay like that for a second, with heaving breaths, sweaty skin, and rosy cheeks. When he finally exits you, you turn around to face him one his back. His one arm covers his eyes as he gives a light giggle and says “We completely forgot the condom”.

“Well technically you forgot the condom. But it’s ok, I’m on birth control” you slyly respond. 

“Well thank god for that, because I don’t think I could have stopped if the fate of the world depended on it” you both let out a chuckle as he pulls you into his side. “So?” he asks gazing down at you with post-orgasm bliss.

“So what?” you ask, still trying to gain back the ability to think straight.

“Have I gotten better at kissing?”

“Yeah, you could say that” You respond nonchalantly, peaking at him through one eye. 

“Well I’ve got all the time in the world to keep proving it to you” He says before getting up to get a cloth to clean you both up. As you watch him walk away you can’t help but think about what the rest of your nights are going to look like now. 

[rcksmith]

Nobody else — Five Hargreeves

Requests: “Hello! May I request number nine from the fluff prompts and number seven from the smut prompts for Five? Maybe where the reader is a super skilled fighter, and the other Hargreeves siblings can’t get over how amazing she is, but that causes Five to become a little jealous?”

“Okayy if you're not tired of Five and smuts yet, can I request 18,70,74 and 84 from smut list with fem reader?”

Fluff prompts:

9. “So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend?!" "No, that girl is my wife!”

Smut prompts:

7. “The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh.”

18. “Are you sure? Once we start, i might not be able to stop.”

70. “Maybe I should leave you like this, that way anyone who wanted to use you could have a go with you. Would you like that?”

74. “I think I like you better with a gag in your mouth.”

84. “Let me show you what happens to little brats who don’t follow the rules.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

Thank you for requests💖 I hope you guys like💖I decided to compile these two requests, since they were the same energy and they prompts connect to a central plot. I added all the elements that were asked for individually, and made sure that all ideas were respected and written down. Good reading.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves / Fem! Reader.

Warnings: explicit smut, dirty talk, bad words, fluff, fight, mention of death, jealousy.

— — — — —

People need each other to find support, comfort and understanding. Thomas Merton said: “Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life alone, but with the other. ”

And as cliché as it was, it was the truth. And that is exactly what happened to you.

It was difficult to explain how many years you had already been killing for the commission. Ever since, maybe? You did not remember a time when that work was not part of your life, your routine, your system. But you could feel, vaguely like a hazy dream, that one day the act of breathing was ... light.

Killing without conscience brought many regrets, and the weight of guilt filled your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

But you were good at that. God, you were very good. Maybe it was the endless years of training, your quick thinking, or the simple fact that you had a lot more physical stamina than the other agents. But, whatever it was, it helped you move up the board quickly.

Murdering with a gun was easy, quick, clean, and there were already many agents who did that job. For someone like you, so empowered, the commission has relocated you to more… arduous and dangerous missions.

Your job was to kill those whose gunshots could not show up at the necropsy. Someone who needed to die without the body revealing what had happened very well.

Shoot JFK? It wasn't with you.

End Hitler? It wasn't your job.

To kill Socrates with your bare hands and make everyone believe it was poison? This is where you came in.

The difference between the jobs was that you had to do the whole process. And a melee interaction instead of a weapon always brought people who wanted to fight for their lives. And that is why the commission chose you to do that, without any partner.

They elected you because you fought like a super soldier, focused on your goal like a robot, and never came back without success. It didn't matter how many fights you had to fight with your target, how many punches you had to throw and also take, or how many injuries you returned. You always won.

Over time, you learned things in practice, tricks that made it easy, scams that would save you effort. You learned to study each person in seconds, find their weaknesses, and use his own strength against them.

That's when you met Five Hargreeves. And Thomas Merton's quote made sense.

You two were so much similar. Both the best in their fields, wrecked in a sea of ​​personal traumas, buried by a job that got the best of you two. You two felt misunderstood, alone in the vastness of that world. And when you two met... well, were no longer alone.

You two got involved, in all possible ways and ways. Loved each other, adored each other, and completed each other. Life went out of automatic mode, and for the first time in a long time, you two managed to breathe lightly. The food now tasted good, the heat of the sun on the skin was now better, and the world... the world was ruled by the red color of love.

So it became the most obvious and coherent decision to you two get married. Five could no longer imagine a life in which you did not exist, and you did not know how the world could go without him.

“I can't believe we did that!” You laughed, astonished, as you entered the apartment that you and Five shared.

You two had just married, something just for you two and the ceremonialist. You two chose something very intimate, reserved. And now the ring on him left hand looked like the most beautiful thing in the world for you.

Five laughed softly, hands moving up your arms, bringing you closer.

“We did. Wife.”

After that, your two contract with the commission changed. Five would only continue to do that if no one dared to touch a hair of yours, and you swore to The Handler that if someone did something to Five, you would destroy that place brick by brick.

Five saw in you a strong and atrocious ocean, which could swallow whole cities only with the force of its fury. And he liked that. He liked having someone as competent and firm as he was. Five liked to know that if there was a disaster, he would not be the only one who would go after a solution.

You were the type who knew that if you wanted things to happen, you had to do it with your bare hands. And Five loved it, because he felt understood. He carried so many responsibilities on his back that it was relieving to find someone who also felt the same things.

Five knew that, when him found way home, you were going with him. And you went. You two exchanged vows that would be together in joy and sadness, in any situation. And if the situation now said to go to 2019, well, you would.

“It makes me so sick, God!” Five heard you say when you two fell out of that blue portal he created.

He would have laughed if his muscles didn't hurt so much. For someone so trained you got sick of his powers very quickly.

"Five?!” And then the voice of one of the brothers was heard.

And that's how you two ended up there. A week later, in the Hargreeves' living room, with Diego swearing that you wouldn't be able to beat him in a fight.

Five laughed against the margarita's straw, sitting comfortably at the bar, giving up on telling his stupid brother that you had already killed much more dangerous people with your bare hands.

“I do not want to hurt you.” You smiled understandingly, and Klaus laughed.

“I bet 50 bucks that she beats your ass, Diego.” It was only logical that he was going to encourage his brother to fall.

“There is no way you can hurt me.” Diego guaranteed, getting up and starting to push the sofa away, making room for a fight.

“Are you up for it or are you scared?” He played with you, and Five laughter it back there, having a lot of fun.

“This is ridiculous, Diego.” Allison stressed, but it was obvious that she wanted to watch too.

You smirked, getting up from the bar chair next to Five. You didn't want to defeat your husband's brother in that fight, you understood that the circumstances between the two of you were not fair.

You were created to kill, injure and decimate. Body wrestling was your job and it wouldn't be fair to Diego. You knew, from Five, that the Hargreeves were created to be heroes. Saviors of the motherland. Hurt and kill if necessary, but don't make it a goal.

But not with you. Killing was your goal, always. And your weapon was not super powers or pistols, but the body itself.

“Okay.” You laughed and went to the circle that Diego had made “But I don't want to hurt you. The first one to fall to the ground loses.” You were trying to be peaceful.

Diego agreed, giving him a friendly smile before saying:

“But I will use my knives to distract you.”

It was logical that he wouldn't make it cheap and easy, even if it was for himself, you knew that.

So you agreed, took off the suit you were wearing and rolled up the sleeves of your white dress shirt, while the Hargeeves sat in a safe area, away from that makeshift ring.

Diego delivered the first blow, and you just deflected the trunk, taking him by the same arm and twisting it against his back. At that moment, if it was something for real, you would put more strength to break the bone, but you didn't want to hurt him, so you just released Diego with a little push forward.

Diego turned to face you again, the naughty smile on the face of someone who knows his own potential. He was very good, you knew that, but the different upbringing made you a better opponent.

This time, the blow came from below. It was a trip that you jumped while pulling on the fist he used to land another blow in the same second, forcing him to come forward with force while you deflecting once more. Diego staggered forward, steadying himself on the floor once again.

It was all absurdly fast, as if you were a robot. A machine programs for that.

Diego hurled the knife in the wind while attacking with his other fist. You dodged again, but this time you struck back, slamming a blow down the side of your stomach, blocking his attack with your other arm and unleashing a kick in the chest, which made Diego stagger backward.

In a matter of seconds, the knife was at the end of its course. And while Diego was advancing again, the wind that the knife was making hit your hair. But the knife didn't finish course. You stopped the blade with your hand, holding to the object with your palm.

At that moment, you saw Diego's eyes falter. And a surprised gasp by the Hargreeves graces the ambience. Then it was your turn to attack. You threw the knife on the floor, driving the blade into the wooden floor as you went.

There were punches, deflected blows, creeps. The two of you were dancing to an agitated song, which was reaching its climax.

Diego had holding you in him arms, and you turned your body, locked him left arm in your hands while you used the momentum to propel your legs up, past his neck and turning, taking you both to the floor. He fell on his back while you used your own momentum to balance yourself, standing upright.

“YES! YOU OWM ME 50 DOLLARS!" Klaus's voice was heard.

You laughed, and you were about to walk away when Diego dug his left hand into your heel. He pulled you in a single stroke, and it made you fall, your back hitting the ground as he took the lead. Diego put his legs on your hips the first second you fell on the floor, and he used his own strength to keep you there.

You laughed out loud, and so did he.

“This is cheating!” You scolded him, punching him in the chest.

“Whatever, but you had to fall too!”

Diego was a good loser, you recognized that by the intonation of the voice. He was not possessed or reviled because you won, but he wanted it to be an eye for an eye, even if only as a joke.

But as soon as Diego got up off you, holding your hand for you got up too, your eyes went to Five. And you found the green irises burning in an atrocious fire. You frowned, not understanding, but you didn't have time to go over there and ask what happened. Klaus and Luther came to you and Diego.

Klaus charging his brother and Luther asking you how you did that final blow.

“It's for me to use when he pisses me off!” Luther looked directly at his brother in a silent threat “ But he will not get up alive!”

“Fuck you” Diego said before practically shoving 50 dollars in Klaus's face.

“Is easy.” You replied Luther “I'll show you."

But while the brothers were having fun, marveling at you, Five burned in a visseral cholera.

Wasn't it enough for Diego to have literally been on top of you, you had to want to teach that stupid gorilla too ?!

Oh fucking no!

When Diego went to Luther and started explaining with you, him your side, how the scam worked, Five was exploding. Now that stupid men butcher knife would be on your side?! Agreeing and explaining whit you as if it were your husband?!

Wasn't it enough just fucking being on top of you?!

Definitely fuck not!

“Take it easy, buddy.” Klaus appeared beside him “You are looking at them as if you want to kill someone.”

Five just snarled, not bothering to respond, his eyes never leaving you.

“Wait..." Klaus looked better at who Five was staring “Are you jealous of Y/n ?!” He was amazed.

“Shut up!” Five forced himself to swallow a handful of margarita.

“Oh my God!” And he wouldn’t stop “You like her! That must be why you live in a bad mood! You must be in the friend zone! ”

“Didn't I tell you to shut up already ?!” Five looked deathly at his brother “And I'm not in the friend zone with her.”

But Five realized that he gaved too much information to his brother, because now Klaus's face was opening in a shocked smile.

Goddam!

“So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend ?!" Klaus was loving the situation.

But, out of the corner of his eye, Five can see Diego holding your arm, showing Luther the place to deliver any stupid blow.

You gotta be fucking kidding!

“No, that girl is my wife!” Five tapped the margarita glass on the counter, teleporting to you and pushing Diego's hand off your arm, replacing his own.

“The show over!” He growled as he left the room, pulling you with him, your feet stumbling a few times before picking up the pace.

“Five!” You said, but he didn't seem to hear.

The image of Diego's legs at your fucking waist, the body sitting on you, the hand on your arm, rewound Five's mind like a curse. He felt his anger inflate, jealousy whispering in the back of his neck like a little devil, making him see the situation bigger than it really was.

You called him again, but for Five, it was like you called his brother's name. And then he exploded in his own fury.

He couldn't wait to go up all those stupid stairs, all those corridors, Five just pulled you against him, disappearing in the blue flash and reappearing in the his room.

“You are crazy?” You pulled the wrist out of his grip.

“I should be asking you that!” He said “Did you see that scene ?!”

“What a scene?” You frowned.

Five focused his eyes on you, in angry energy.

“Diego on top of you, fuck!" He snarled “Luther drooling like a dog on you!”

“Five.” You thought all that was absurd “They are your brothers!”

“You have no idea how much i don’t give a fuck!”

The situation was ridiculous, and you ended up laughing in disbelief and bewilderment.

“We were fighting!” You defended yourself "Nobody was drooling on me!"

“I swear to god tha ...” Five walked over to you, his eyes flooded with rage, his body enveloped in that intense and explosive energy.

You lifted chin to get a better look, your chest stuck to him, Five's breath hitting the top of your nose. That week had been full of emotions and issues to deal with, 24 hours being insufficient to do everything, explain everything. And, well, you and Five didn't have much time alone...

All of this compiled with the fact that your husband possessed the beauty of an angry god,and that excited you so fuck absurdly.

Suddenly, the air in the room became caustic, seething with the expectation of something improper happening, injecting heat into your chest that descended to the middle of your legs.

You sighed softly, and Five immediately noticed the waters where your thoughts were sailing.

“Does it turn you on?” His voice was hoars “See me angry?”

The sigh you gave was your whistleblower, your chest started to rise and fall more breathlessly than usual, your core starting to pulse. You wouldn't be able to say anything even your life would depended it, you drowning in the malicious and hot climate of that room, compiled with the absurd beauty and intensity of the adult in front of you.

God, you needed him!

“Yes, you like.” Five had an arrogant, boastful tone, mocking how sensitive you were.

But his eyes took on a more conscious tone, and he whispered as he said: "Are you sure? Once we start, I might not be able to stop. ”

Five knew his own limits, his own anger, his own strength. If he touched you now, in most simple, he wouldn't be able to stop. You agreed, hands moving gently up his body, resting on him hips.

“I will not be gentle.” Five wanted to you know again.

He had already fucked you hard, drowned in insatiable desire, marking your skin with slaps, hickeys. Five had already mistreated your mouth, made you scream. But never fucked you in anger. He never took his anger out on you. And now, submerged in jealousy, he knew how much strength he would discharge on you.

“I don't want it to be.” But you gave Five the go-ahead on a needy sigh, your fingers running around his waist.

Five dropped his mouth to your ear, tracing a path across your skin with warm lips, now bringing hands up to your skin, feeling how hot, needy you were.

“You're wet and I haven't even touched you yet.” His words hung over you like a warm warning of what was going to happen, what to expect.

You moaned softly, your body shivering, screaming for you to get more, seeking some friction, some contact. Then, as if Five read you thoughts, his left hand clung fiercely to the back of your neck, curling him fingers in your hair.

He forced you to look at him, watching the rage and the extraordinary lust.

“Let me show you what happens to little brats who don’t follow the rules.”

Five left you brutally, telling you to take off all your clothes, watching all your movements while he got rid of the shirt himself. He left him tie beside the bed, sitting on the mattress and pulling you onto him lap as soon as you finally got naked. He fit thigh in the middle of your legs, making you sit on his thigh.

You groaned, the friction in the place you most wanted, the core pulsing against the dark cloth of him pants. You rummaged your hips for more than you wanted, but Five dropped his hand on your ass, releasing a loud, stinging slap. The groan was unable to be controlled, and you buried your face in the curve of him neck, sobbing there.

“You will be grateful for every slap I give you, do you understand?” He snarled, fingers tightening on your flesh, marking your skin.

You agreed, and thanked him when Five slapped your ass harder. This time, he moved him thigh beneath you, brushing your pulsating core, leaving you in an extremely needy state.

“Fi-five!" A sob escaped, followed by another thanks when a slap hit your in ass again.

Five's hands roughly grabbed your waist, holding you firmly in place as he started to rummage in him thigh, making you moan louder every second. That was torture. You pulsed and wet him thigh, your body rigid from wanting more of that friction, the sobs escaping your lips, the muscles contracted.

“Such a needy slut." He snarled in your ear “So desperate for my thigh.”

You groaned at him words, your fingers around him shoulders, squeezing there while Five took you so badly in him thigh. He dropped his mouth to your hot neck, pouring a hickey there before sighing hoarsely:

“The only way you're getting off is on my thigh."

It sent electric currents to your swollen core, and moans got even bigger when Five increased the speed of his movements, rubbing your clitoris in those mind-boggling movements. His strong grip, compiled wheezing on his neck, his hoarse voice and the movements of his thigh took you to the limit. And you were pushed into that abyss of the climax.

“So fucking quickly.” Five delighted, in a groan, and stuck his hands on your back, holding you there, turning you in one movement to the bed.

Your back hit the mattress, Five’s warm hands roamed your legs, squeezing thighs and parting them, exposing your wet, red core at the climax. Five groaned loudly, as if seeing you hurt physically, and he took his hands off you to grab the tie next to you.

“Be good and open your mouth for me.” You obeyed, and he wiped the cloth over there, fastening his tie.

You sighed brokenly, your heart beating fast, breasts stiff and sore, your ass burning with slaps, core sensitive to climax.

“I think I like you better with a gag in your mouth." Five reflected, him hands roaming your trembling body, squeezing every bit of skin, reveling in how your skin felt at him touch.

Five reveled in the breath you took, enjoying how you looked like a fucking goddess like that. So vulnerable, so needy, so needy.

He was controlling himself until now, pushing you to the limit, making you sensitive, teasing you, making you sensitive to what was coming. Him smile was purely lustful, and Five leaned toward you, roughly sucking the nipple from your breast, nibbling at the needy skin. Then he brought hands up to his pants, opening his belt and zipper, pulling the pieces down far enough for his dick to pop out.

The moan you gave when you felt the hot, luscious member on your thigh was enough to inflate him ego even more. Five turned your body down, pulling your waist up, leaning into your ear to whisper:

“I'm going to fuck you so hard that you'll never forget that day.” Then he entered you, rough, strong, badly.

He forced your walls to get used to him size and sank to the bottom of the well, clutching his hands to your hips and pulling you against him dick. You screamed against the tie, pressing your fingers to the pillows, sobbing when Five set a fierce, wild and badly pace, mistreating every inch of you.

One of him hands went to your neck, closing his fingers there and pouring out all the fury and jealousy he felt in the thrusts, going in as deep as he could and pushing your limit. The pornographic sounds of the two of you moaning, the sound of his hip hitting your ass, invaded the room, mixing with the smell of sex, lust and hunger.

You shouted him name when Five left and brutally entered you, making you choke on your own sobs.

“What's it? Are you unaccustomed to my dick?” He tasted it, leaving your neck to slap your ass aggressively “Is it too much for you?”

You sobbed, stopped by the tie, and Five hit you again.

“Do you think someone can fuck you like me?!”

Now him voice was angry and his movements too. Five fucked you like he had spent his whole life in fury at you, waiting patiently for the day when he would discount everything on you. Him hand went to your mouth, pulling tie from there and releasing your toxic moans.

“Answer me, fuck!” One more slap, leaving your ass on fire.

“N-no!” You cried “Nobody ... no-nobody fucks me like you!”

You talks with a more thrust, and Five pushed your chest to the bed, keeping his hand on your back, him moans mixing with your.

Then he reached the peak of anger.

Five came out of you, turned you up and bent your legs, placing your knees on your shoulders. He entered in a brutal way inside you, the new position making him occupy all the minimum vacant spaces. You screamed, tears welling up in your eyes, your hands tightening on his arms, your heart already racing.

It was too much. Your body begged for more, for the climax, for the lust, for anything fierce that Five could give you. He dropped his mouth on yours, biting your bottom lip instead of kissing you, making you swallow his lines when he said:

“Maybe I should leave you like this, that way anyone who wanted to use you could have a go with you. Would you like that? ”

You desperately denied it. Five could very well come out of you and not let you come, and just that thought made your body tremble and tears flow.

“Plea-Please!” You sobbed “I beg you!”

That did things with Five. He stuck his body to your, him arm going around your waist and fucking you as if that could chase away all his anger. This time he kissed you, sticking his lips to yours as he felt you pulse around him and break up in a hushed scream, trembling at the climax.

Five did not falter, his black hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, his heart pounding. He cum strongly inside your core, filling you with hot cum. You groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as he came inside of you, slowly calming down.

The two of you sighed, the room flooding with the smell of sex and desire, your hearts thudding at the same pace. You whimpered in his mouth, and when Five want to leave inside you, you denied it, tightening your legs around him waist.

“N-No.” You moaned softly, "Stay inside, please."

Five drew air through his teeth, him hands gripping the sides of your body, stirring inside you, beginning to feel the lust rising.

He kissed you again, whispering:

“You want to have a child of mine, don't you?" It was an arrogant, provocative voice, and you sighed. “You are such a fucking sensitive little thing.”

Then Five started moving again, and you stayed in that room for much longer.

[skiesofthesketchy]

Stood Up {1}

Pairing: JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: You have a date with your friend that you’ve liked forever, but he never shows up.

Note: Heyyyyy Please read the warnings before proceeding. This is one of the darker things I’ve ever written, and it might trigger some people so please be careful. I’m usually a fluff writer but I’ve been feeling... ya know, down lately so this is what I made. I’m working on the second part to Unsend still, but haven’t been in the mood lately so sorry it’s taking so long!

Let me know what you think! :)

Word Count: 6.5k

Stood Up: {Part 2} / { Part 3}

WARNINGS: Violence and abuse! sexual violence! trauma! swearing, angst

WARNINGS: Violence and abuse! sexual violence! trauma! swearing, angst

***

Y/N’s P.O.V.

10:00 PM

I pulled my sweater tighter against me when I felt a small burst of wind, the chill making goosebumps surface on my bare legs. I looked left and right down the black street, but nobody was around. It was quiet, almost silent besides dried leaves scraping against the pavement, and the only light was the orange glow from the street lamps and the red neon sign above my head casting onto the empty street. It was a nice night, even with the cool breeze, but I could feel my nerves kicking in.

I tried to remain optimistic though. Maybe he’s just running late... I pulled out my phone again to see if JJ had texted me back, but he hadn’t.

On my way! See in you 20 :)

I sighed, looking at the last text I sent him. I only sent it hoping to remind him that we had plans tonight in case he forgot. He always forgets. 

‘He’s just a forgetful person,’ I tell myself for what feels like the thousandth time. It’s usually that phrase that makes me feel better, or ‘He’s got a lot going on.’ I never make it a big deal when he misses our plans, even though it feels like a small piece of my heart breaks off and dies every time it happens. 

‘This time is different though,’ I told myself. It was just yesterday that I mentioned the movie theater was showing a bunch of Quentin Tarantino films this week. I tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal, just a fun thing me and my friends could all do together, but I was truly very excited about it and really hoped they’d be down. 

“Are they showing Kill Bill?” JJ asked with a smile. The other pogues didn’t seem interested but I was happy that JJ was. 

“Yeah. Tomorrow night actually,” I shrugged.

“We should go.”

I smiled softly at him. “Sure, if you want to.”

He chuckled, blue eyes lighting up as he poked my cheek. I knew he could see right past my nonchalant demeanor. “That’s your favorite movie ever. Of course I want to go see it with you! My treat.”

I ignored the fluttering in my belly, but couldn’t hide my smile. He remembers my favorite movie and wants to watch it with me. “You don’t have to pay for me,” I shook my head with a laugh. I didn’t expect him to, but the fact that he offered made my chest warm. JJ doesn’t have much money to begin with, and with what he does have, he usually spends on weed and beer, necessities in his daily life.

“No, no,” he tsked, bringing me into a hug. My giddy grin was thankfully hidden in his chest. Being this close to him always makes me feel lighter than air, warmer than the summer breeze. “You’re my girl. Let me take you out,” he finished, chuckling into my hair. 

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, like I always did when he called me his girl. I nodded in agreement once I pulled away from his embrace. “Ten o’clock tomorrow, okay?”

“I’ll be there,” he replied, saluting me with a wink before turning to join the conversation the rest of the pogues were engaged in, leaving me to internally gush about going on a date with the boy I’ve liked since forever. 

Maybe it wasn’t a date, or maybe it was. I didn’t really know, but I didn’t care as long as I got to spend time with JJ. It really did feel like this time was different. My thoughts swirled, wondering if he likes me back. Wanting to take me to a movie makes it sound like he likes me, right?

Date or not, I wanted to look nice, so I spent more time getting ready than I normally did. I experimented with some light makeup, trying to make it subtle but still pretty. I left my hair down after making it look somewhat decent, something I hardly ever do because my go-to is always putting it up. I even picked out a dress to wear but made sure to choose one that JJ had seen me in plenty of times. I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard, but still hoped he would notice my appearance and think I looked pretty. 

10:10 PM

The movie started ten minutes ago, and still no word from JJ. I glanced down at my shoes and hugged myself tighter. ‘Maybe he did forget... again.’ I didn’t want to believe it, giving JJ the benefit of the doubt like I always did. But he still wasn’t here.

Yo are you coming? I sent another text.

I was really excited about tonight, not just because I’d be seeing one of my favorite movies in the theaters as if it was premiering for the first time. Now I just feel... heavy. Like I’m carrying the weight of the reality I should’ve realized a long time ago. If I was important to him, he would remember our plans.

My frown deepened. That’s what it comes down to, right? If he actually cared about me, he would be here, or at least tell me he’s not going to make it. Constantly forgetting our plans is a huge sign that he doesn’t like me the way I like him, that I don’t matter to him enough to follow through. It’s a sign I’ve been ignoring even though it’s been there the whole time, blaringly obvious and all too painful. 

No. JJ does care about me, even if it’s just as a friend. He’ll be here. He told me he would be.

10:20 PM

Spinning around and looking at the movie theater entrance, I thought about going inside and watching the movie anyway, but I suddenly wasn’t up for it anymore. This sick feeling in my gut was all I could think about. 

Of course JJ doesn’t like me. Why did I get my hopes up so high when all he’s ever done is not show up? It hurts. It feels like something crawled up inside of me and slashed its claws at my dumb, naive heart. Its terrifying and hoarse voice whispering in my ear, “What did you expect?”

Perhaps this is my fault; letting myself fall for someone that doesn’t feel the same. JJ Maybank: one of my closest friends, the biggest player on the whole damn island, and the most emotionally unavailable boy I’ve ever met. Of course I had to fall for him. I’m a fucking idiot. 

I slumped my shoulders, feeling defeated and tired. It’s like I was tossed to the side without a second thought, much like the trash lining the curb. My throat tightened with the emotions threatening to pour out in sobs, but I held them back. It’s not his fault. I’m the one with these stupid feelings, waiting around for him to feel them too, but he doesn’t. 

10:30 PM

I checked my phone one last time, still nothing. With a deep sigh, I started walking towards the direction of my house. I focused my attention on my sandals hitting the sidewalk, each step feeling like another crack in my heart. 

‘You’re fine,’ I told myself. ‘Don’t cry. You’re fine.’

But I wasn’t, and I felt the stubborn tears brim my eyes. I turned the corner and this street was much darker, the street lights dim and far apart. The sound of someone else’s footsteps pricked my ears, and I kept my head down to hide my frustration and the sadness running down my cheeks. I wanted the footsteps to belong to JJ, finally showing up but just a bit late. I knew better though, and didn’t bother looking up. 

“Well, look who it is. A little pougie.” I halted in my tracks, my eyes flicking up to find his cold ones, and I shot him a glare. As if I needed something to make my night even worse. Fucking Rafe.

“Not even gonna say hello?” he asked. I kept my posture stiff and my stare hard, trying to act tough even though I was most certainly in a vulnerable state.

“What are you doing here, Rafe?” Rafe was predictable in the way that he lived to torture me and my friends. That’s the only reason he’d ever be caught dead in The Cut.

He stopped right in front of me, his tall frame dark and intimidating. Even under the blanket of night I could see his eyes were bloodshot and a sickening smirk lined his lips. He ignored my question as his eyes dragged up and down my body, making my stomach twist and skin crawl. “Where’s the rest of your dirty crew?” he spat.

“You’re lucky they’re not here.” I kept my tone steady, but I could feel my hands start to shake and an uneasy feeling settled inside of me. I need to get out of here. 

With hands stuffed in his pockets, he leisurely walked around me, eyes still glued to my bare legs. “You look pretty,” he whispered. “Were you on a date?” 

“No.”

“Then why are you all dressed up, darlin’?” His gaze met mine again when I spun around to face him, and with the way his features slightly softened, he probably noticed that I had been crying. “Oh. You were stood up, huh?”

Is it that obvious? “No,” I snapped. 

He chuckled darkly, stepping even closer to me, and I took a step back. “His loss.” Then he just stood there staring at me while I was lost in a sea of confusion. Is he trying to be nice?

“Well. It’s been not so nice talking to you. I’m going home now.” I turned around to escape this unpleasant conversation, but I was spun back around with the man’s grip on my arm. 

“Don’t leave. I’m not done talking to you.” I felt fear creep under my skin as I looked up at his face again, hardly able to make out anything but his eyes. He wasn’t asking, he was demanding. 

“Leave me alone.” I tried to snatch my arm out of his grasp, but he pushed me into the brick wall of the building we were in front of. 

The sudden movement caused me to stumble and twist my ankle. “Ow! Rafe, what the fuck!” I felt the pain shoot up my leg, but couldn’t focus on it for long. Rafe’s menacing features had panic surging through my veins as he came closer.

I pressed my back into the hard wall trying to separate myself as much as I could from the man towering over me. “You’ve had a rough night. Let me make you feel better,” he said. He stepped into me, his chest pressing against mine as he looked down at me.

“Get the fuck off of me,” I choked out. 

His wicked laugh fanned over my face and I felt angry tears fall. “Come on, little poguie. At least I actually want you.” His words seemed to drive a knife into my chest. JJ doesn’t want me, but I don’t have time to think about that right now. I can hardly think of anything right now. 

My palms rose to his chest, but he caught my wrists in his hands, keeping me from shoving him off. He laughed again, and the realization that Rafe isn’t sober washed over me like a tidal wave. What have I gotten myself into? “Let me go!” I screamed.

He shut me up by forcing his mouth onto mine. I screamed against his lips but he pressed into me harder. I started thrashing my body under the weight of his, but his hold became tighter. He brutally clutched both of my wrists into one of his large hands while the other came up to slap over my mouth, cutting off my cries.

“Just let it happen, darlin. Enjoy it,” he whispered into my ear. Hot tears ran down my face as I felt his lips on my neck. He sucked harshly on my skin as I squirmed, trying desperately to escape, but I couldn’t. Even if I couldn’t, I would die trying.

His mouth attacked my throat while I struggled between him and the wall. With the adrenaline pumping through my body, I used all of my strength and pushed him as hard as I possibly could. With the few inches I created between us, I picked my leg up and stomped my heel into his foot. 

I prepared to bolt with the time I had bought myself, but a second later he was landing a ruthless slap to my face. I registered the burning pain as he pinned me to the wall with his body again. “Oh, now you’re really gonna get it, pogue.” His sudden anger shook me to my core, his sick laugh echoing in my ears like a fire alarm. 

His hand landed on my thigh and dragged along my skin, pushing my dress up higher and higher as I felt the screams get caught in my throat. I dug my nails into his arms but he wasn’t bothered. He kissed me again and I took his bottom lip between my teeth, biting down hard until I tasted blood.

He yanked his head back, face twisting in rage. Even with his violating hands still searing into my skin, I brought my knee up into his crotch, and he yelled in pain. I didn’t waste any time and took off running, but I was yanked back by my hair. 

“Fucking bitch!” My head throbbed as I crashed to the ground, feeling my elbows scrape the pavement. I was seeing stars as I felt Rafe’s weight drop on top of me, his form straddling me. I threw my fists wildly into his stomach and chest, desperately trying anything to escape him, but I knew my efforts were becoming futile. His ring-clad fist connected with my cheekbone and a sob crawled its way up my throat.

“Stop!” I screamed. His hand suddenly grabbed my throat, cutting off my cries once again. I clawed at his skin to get him to stop, but he only increased the pressure on my esophagus until I couldn’t breathe, and I squeezed my eyes shut. My world was spinning and my terror didn’t let me register the pain anymore, only the horrendous realization of what’s happening to me taking over my thoughts. 

After what felt like minutes but was only a few seconds, I felt his breath fan over my face from where he hovered over me. “You’re not fucking worth the trouble.” He released my neck and I felt him get off of me, but I dared not open my eyes. I was too scared of what might happen. It surely became known when I felt a sharp kick to my stomach. I whimpered, then he landed another kick to my side. “Nobody wants you now! Nobody will ever want you! You’re just a dirty little pogue,” he seethed. 

“Fucking bitch,” he spat again, and I heard his heavy footsteps as he stormed off, leaving me on the ground in pieces. 

11:00 PM

I finally sat up, finding the strength to put myself together again, but was pulled into a coughing fit, my throat burning. I wish I could say I was numb, but I was brutally aware of the torment my body has been through, of the emotional trauma I’d have to live with. 

I carefully stood to my feet but folded in half with arms wrapped around my stomach, clutching myself in pain. Everything hurts. I forced myself to straighten, holding back the tears. I felt broken in every way possible, but I willed myself to figure out how to get help.

I picked up my bag that had been tossed to the ground and rummaged through it for my cell phone. With a heavy heart, I called the one person that I needed more than anyone.

But of course, he didn’t answer. More tears were shed, even though it felt like I couldn’t possibly cry anymore. “Answer, goddammit,” I sobbed. I called again. “Please, JJ. Please. I need you.” Again, the call went to voicemail. 

I let out a wail of anguish. Even with nasty bruises already forming on my skin, the loud shatter of my heart is what hurt the most. He’s never here. Even when I need him. 

I didn’t even want to call anyone else. My ankle, my face, my stomach, my throat. Even though I was shaking in pain, I wanted to wallow in my heartbreak alone, so I slowly started walking again, and limped all the way home. 

***

JJ’s P.O.V.

“How was the movie last night?”

I stretched my arms over my head with a yawn, barely registering what John B. asked. “Huh?”

He chuckled and sat next to me on the pullout couch in the living room where I slept. “You got back pretty late last night. I’m guessing you and Y/N had a good time?” Now I’m thinking it’s not just my sleep induced brain that’s making me so confused.

“What do you mean? I wasn’t with Y/N,” I groaned while rubbing my eyes, the sunlight seeping through the windows too bright and annoying.

“What do you mean, dude?” His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes suddenly flashed with anger. “You were supposed to take her to a movie last night.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I grumbled, getting even more annoyed. He doesn’t have a right to be pissed at me, not when I have no idea what he’s even pissed about. It’s too fucking early for this shit. 

John B. stood up with a sharp laugh. “I can’t believe you forgot again, man. Seriously?”

I sat up, my anger matching his now. “You wanna tell me what this is about?” He shook his head before looking at me again, baffled. 

“Y/N? Kill Bill? You guys had a date planned.” 

I glared at him before realization finally hit me. I slapped my hand to my forehead. “Fuck. Was that supposed to be last night?”

He shook his head again. “You’re unbelievable, really.” I sighed. It was an honest mistake. At least I know she’ll forgive me. She always forgives me. 

“I’ll fix it. I’m sure she won’t be mad.” John B. rolled his eyes. “And it wasn’t a date, by the way.”

“Yeah? Did you tell her that?”

“Stop talking in riddles, man. What the hell do you mean? Of course she knows.” He hit me on the back of the head, reminding me of my headache, the dreaded hangover starting to take effect. “Hey! What was that for?”

“She likes you, idiot! No idea why, considering you’re just a dick that doesn’t bother to show up to the plans you guys make.”

“Is this why you’re yelling at me? She doesn’t like me, dude. Not like that,” I rolled my eyes. I could punch him for getting on my case over nothing. Y/N doesn’t like me, and missing plans has never been a big deal. I just want to deal with my hangover in peace.

“You don’t deserve her. And she doesn’t deserve your shit,” he said, walking away into the kitchen. 

“You’re getting mad over nothing. Fuck off,” I grunted, head in my hands. I need coffee and advil. His yelling is making my headache worse.

He sauntered back into the living room, throwing a bottle of painkillers at me, too forcefully if you ask me. “Just tell me, if you weren’t with Y/N, what did you do last night?”

I smirked, remembering the events that took place. “A hot blonde that I met at the boneyard,” my smirk widened. I expected some sort of congratulations from my best friend like usual, but I was met with a scoff and a water bottle being thrown at me.

“You’re a prick. You know that?” 

“And you’re an asshole. What do you want from me?”

“Whatever, dude. Let’s just hope Y/N forgives you this time,” he snapped, walking away and finally leaving me in much needed silence.

“She will!” I yelled after him, hearing his bedroom door slam shut.

I sighed before gulping down the painkillers for my headache. I grabbed my discarded shorts from yesterday on the floor and grabbed my phone out of the pocket. I had forgotten that I put it on Do Not Disturb mode after the hot blonde and I left the party. Girls like it when you give them all of your attention, and aren’t distracted by calls and texts. 

I sighed again when I saw the text’s from Y/N.

9:36 PM: On my way! See you in 20 :)

10:10 PM: Yo are you coming? 

I sure feel like an asshole now. I hoped that she would’ve watched the movie without me anyway, but considering she called me twice at 11:00, she probably didn’t. I feel even worse now that I can see she waited over an hour for me. I typed out a text to her, but I wasn’t sure how to word this apology.

Hey, sorry I missed out last night. Got held up :)

I opted for keeping it nonchalant, not wanting to make this a big deal. I’ll make sure she knows how sorry I am the next time I see her. I’m not worried though. She’s the only one out of the pouges that doesn’t get mad at me when I do stupid shit, and she always forgives me. This time won’t be any different.

I laid back down with my arm covering my eyes, and I thought about what John B. said. Y/N doesn’t like me. She’d be stupid to like a fuck up like me. No, no, we’re just friends, and have been for years. I laughed at the thought. 

John B. was right about one thing, though. I definitely don’t deserve her. She’s way too good for me, especially when I’m not good to her.

***

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I stood in front of the mirror and peered at my naked body in the reflection, tears spilling down my cheeks for what felt like the millionth time. 

My eye was swollen and bruised, a cut on my cheek from Rafe’s ring. Large spots of sickly green and deep violet stained my torso. Dark rings around my wrists from his tight grip. A lighter purple ring wrapped around my neck from where Rafe’s hands had cut off my breathing. 

My hot tears dripped from my face and landed on my collarbone, bringing my attention to the hickeys littering the side of my neck too. I wanted to vomit. I could take the physical assault, but that’s not all this was. He violated me. Kissed me. Sucked on my neck while his hands traveled under my dress. 

Going to the police was a thought that bounced through my mind, but I couldn’t, not yet at least. I was much too unstable. I needed support if I was going to report it, but I still hadn’t told anyone what happened. I spent all of yesterday locked in my room, letting myself wallow in the pain.

JJ had texted me yesterday morning, apologizing for not showing up. A simple text wasn’t enough this time. He texted me again that afternoon.

I’m really sorry, Y/N. I’ll make it up to you. Please don’t be mad at me :(

I wasn’t mad. I was heartbroken, and didn’t bother responding to that text either. If he had shown up, I wouldn’t have been assaulted by Rafe. If he was there, we would have been happily watching my favorite movie, eating snacks and probably laughing at the gore displayed on the screen. If he was there, I wouldn’t have been crying in the dark streets alone, trying to wrap my head around the fact that I could have been raped. That I was almost raped.

The other pogues were trying to get a hold of me yesterday too, inviting me to their plans, but I never responded to anyone. I didn’t want to face them, or anyone for that matter. I didn’t even think I wanted to tell them what happened. It was all too much, and I didn’t want to relive it by telling anyone what Rafe had done to me. Not to mention it would add even more ammunition to the war between us and the kooks. 

I don’t feel any different today, still just wanting to curl up in bed and be alone for probably forever, but I don’t have that luxury today. My mom had left for work this morning before I even woke up, but she sent me a text asking me to run some errands. When I protested, she gave me the whole lecture on how I only ever spend time with the pogues and never help out. I didn’t have a choice. 

With one last glance in the mirror, I wiped the tears off my face and started getting dressed. I had to cover the bruises somehow, but makeup was not going to do the trick. Despite the hot temperature outside, I threw on a large sweatshirt over my sports bra. If I put the hood on, nobody would notice the disgusting marks lining my neck. I found a pair of my mom’s oversized sunglasses and they covered enough of my face to hide the cut on my cheek along with the black eye. I put on shorts and shoes and grabbed my bag before looking in the mirror one last time. Nobody would notice.

***

JJ’s P.O.V.

“Have you guys heard from Y/N?” Pope asked the group. “She hasn’t responded to any of my texts for like two days.” I frowned. At least I wasn’t the only one she was ignoring. I thought that she was probably still mad at me for bailing on our plans, but since she isn’t responding to Pope either, maybe she’s just busy with other things.

“No, I haven’t,” Kie answered. “Pretty weird, right?”

“Yeah, I wonder what’s up.” Pope’s face looked concerned suddenly, and I found my own expression matching his.

“Why don’t you ask JJ here,” John B. said, tone sharp with annoyance. Kie and Pope both whipped their heads towards me, eyebrows raised in question. I just scoffed, turning my attention back to waxing my board.

“What the hell did you do?” Pope asked. His accusing words pissed me off. Who said this was my fault?

“Nothing, okay? I just forgot we had plans, and--” I was cut off by John B.

“No surprise there,” he mumbled under his breath. 

Kiara sighed, her disappointed eyes casting down on me. “Seriously, JJ?”

“What? You guys can’t pin the blame on me! I got distracted, it wasn’t my fault.”

John B. scoffed and I wanted to punch him, much like yesterday morning. “Yeah, what was her name again? The distraction, I mean.” I rolled my eyes. 

“Come on, dude. Not cool,” Pope added with a shake of his head. With all three of them staring at me in dismay, it felt like my friends were attacking me. It’s also like they knew something I didn’t. Why is everything always my fault? 

“Stop turning it into a big deal. I just forgot, okay? I already apologized, so it’s fine.”

“So she forgave you?” JB asked, eyes narrowed like he already knew the answer.

“Well, no...” I let my head drop, looking down at the golden sand with all of our beach gear. “She never responded. But come on, this is Y/N we’re talking about! She never stays mad for long.” The words were meant to get my friends off my back, but I found myself taking comfort in them too. I had never really seen Y/N mad before, but if she actually was mad at me, I hoped she’d let me make it up to her and forgive me. I let myself believe that everything would be fine.

Nobody had anything else to say, only sighing and turning their gazes away from me. I felt the anger sitting in the pit of my stomach, but at least they dropped the subject. I’m more upset that this might actually be my fault. ‘Y/N isn’t the type to get mad easily,’ I reminded myself again. But she’s also not the type to ignore her friends. My mind drifted, wondering if she’s okay. 

“Eat up, boys,” Kie said, taking a stack of sandwiches out of the cooler she brought. We all sat down on our towels and started eating, but I couldn’t shake the thought of Y/N from my mind. Maybe I should text her again.

Hey. We’re all at the beach having lunch if you wanna join us. Even if you don’t, that’s ok. Just let me know you got this. We’re all worried about you. I’m worried about you...

I typed it out, but couldn’t bring myself to send it. If she really is ignoring us, I’m sure it’s for a good reason. Maybe it’s best to just give her space. She’ll reach out when she wants to. Whatever the reason, though, I really hope it’s not because of me. She’s the one person I can always count on to be on my side, and I don’t know what I’d do if I was the cause of her distancing from us.

“Oh, no way. It’s Y/N!” Pope interrupted my thoughts. My head turned to see where he was looking, and sure enough, it was my girl, passing through the boardwalk.

Pope was up on his feet and ran to her, calling over his shoulder that he’ll bring her over to us.

***

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Y/N! Hey!” I stopped in my tracks when I heard my name being shouted, and I noticed Pope running up from behind me.

“Oh, hey Pope,” I said, trying to swallow down my nerves. I didn’t plan on running into my friends here. I didn’t need them finding out about what happened the other night, so I put on a half-hearted smile, trying to act normal, trying to act okay.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked with a laugh, pulling me into a bear hug. I held back my wince from where he grabbed my sides, the bruises there shooting pain through my body. 

“Oh, ya know,” I gulped. “Just busy with my family.” I was glad that my sunglasses were dark enough so that he couldn’t see my eyes. If he could, he’d know I was lying within seconds. “Sorry I’ve been M.I.A.”

“It’s alright. Come on. We’re having lunch right now.” He grabbed my hand and started pulling me towards the beach, and the other pogues sitting together on the beach came into my focus. 

My eyes widened. “Uh, no, Pope. Sorry, but I have to go.” He stopped and gave me a weird look. “I... I’m running errands for my mom,” I shrugged, hoping he would let me go so that I don’t have to talk to the others, talk to JJ. 

“Just come say hi then. Everyone missed you!” He tugged my hand again, but I didn’t budge from where I planted my feet in the sand. 

“No, Pope. Really, I have to get going.” I didn’t have any other excuses up my sleeve, and I could feel my resolve coming undone. He gave me another weird look, probably wondering what the hell is going on with me. I wanted to tell him. I did, really. But I was not ready to talk about it. I didn’t need him or the others seeing what I looked like under this sweatshirt, or the black eye I was sporting under my glasses. I knew it would only cause more problems, more rage, and I couldn’t handle that right now. If anything, I just needed a hug.

“Is everything okay?” I looked down at my feet and sighed, trying to muster up the strength to lie to one of my best friends. When I looked back up to him, he had sent a look towards the pogues, and they all got up and started making their way over.

“Yes, Pope. I’m fine,” I breathed out a laugh, trying to cover up my panic. “I gotta go, now. Really.” I turned around to run away, but I was too late. The pogues had already crossed the beach and were surrounding me. 

“Y/N! Hey, we missed you!” Kie smiled, pulling me into a hug. Again, I had to hide my grimace from the pain that engulfed me so that my friends couldn’t see. I knew I couldn’t keep up this act for long, and I felt my heart sinking further into my chest.

“Yeah, I’m glad we ran into you,” John B. smiled with a nod in my direction. His expression was soft and kind, and it strangely made me feel like he understood that I wasn’t all the way okay.

“There’s my girl,” JJ’s voice rang through my ears. He looked relieved, and pulled me into his chest, squeezing me tight. This time, I wasn’t able to hold in the small noise that escaped past my lips. When he pulled away, he looked down at me with concern. “You okay?”

I pushed him away. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I couldn’t put on a half-assed smile this time. He’s the one causing my pain. The one that bailed on me. The one that wasn’t there when I needed him, leaving me alone and in broken pieces on that horrible night.

“Why are you wearing a sweatshirt?” Kie laughed. “It’s like one hundred degrees out here.” I just shrugged my shoulders, even though I was dying under the heavy material and the heat of the sun. I looked over my shoulder down the boardwalk, trying to avoid their worried glances, especially JJ’s. I could feel his eyes burning into me, and I couldn’t bear the weight of it for much longer.

“Yeah, what the hell? It’s burning hot out here,” Pope added, and pulled my hood off my head. 

“Pope, don’t,” I said. “I have to go.” I turned away after putting my hood back on and started walking, not even caring that they definitely know something’s wrong now. I just need to get away before I break down.

JJ was the one to catch up to me, leaving the pogues behind us and sharing worried looks. “Y/N, wait.” He grabbed my wrist, and I winced at the contact. “I just wanted to say that I’m so sorry for missing our plans. I got held up with a touron, and you know how it is. She was so hot, how could I not go home with her?” he laughed. Looking up at him, I felt my heart shatter all over again. Of course. He wasn’t with me because he was hooking up with some girl. This fucking hurts more than the punch Rafe landed to my face, and I felt anger swell inside of me.

“Come on, you’re not mad at me, are you?” He smiled, bringing his hands up to cradle my face. He was being his charming self like usual, which is precisely the reason I even fell for him in the first place. But his cute dimples and bright eyes aren’t going to fix anything this time. If anything, they’re just another stab to my chest.

He could sense I wasn’t giving into him. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise,” he pouted. My lips parted to speak, but no words tumbled out. He suddenly ripped my sunglasses from my face.

“JJ, don’t!” His face dropped at the sight of my bruised eye. The glasses fell to the sand when he stepped closer to me, eyes scanning my face. I pushed him back, but he swatted my hands away.

“Y/N?” His features quickly turned from worried to angry. “What the fuck happened?” I felt tears pricking my eyes, but I held them back as I tried to push him away again. He yanked my hood off my head and I knew he was piecing it all together now.

He reached for the bottom of my sweatshirt, and my hands grabbed at his to try and stop him. “Leave me alone,” I yelled, but he didn’t. Despite my attempts to stop him, he had grabbed the bottom of my sweatshirt and started pulling it up over my head. “JJ, stop!” I yelled again, but I couldn’t fight him back anymore because it hurt too much. He had taken it all the way off, leaving me just in my sports bra, my beaten body on full display.

A series of gasps surrounded me as the other pogues gathered around us again, shocked and bewildered expressions on their faces. I watched JJ scan my body. His eyes lingered on the bruises on my belly before flicking to my face again, and then my neck. With the way his eyebrows furrowed and he clenched his jaw, I could tell he was examining the hickeys on my skin. Tears ran freely down my cheeks, and the silence was deafening. 

“Oh, Y/N...” Kie whispered, eyes becoming glossy.

“What the fuck happened?!” JJ burst. His face was twisted in rage as his hands reached for me. I stepped away, but he grabbed my arms. “Who the fuck did this to you?!” I shook my head, trying to swallow the sob that was making its way up my throat. “Y/N, who the fuck was it?!”

“JJ! Lay off!” John B. spoke up. Kie had wrapped her arms around me, wanting to shield me from our angry friend. They could tell JJ wasn’t helping. 

John B. and Pope pulled at JJ’s arms to get him to step back, but he exploded even more. “YN! Tell me who did this to you!” Seeing his reddened face and furious eyes made my own burning anger swim to the surface.

“Stop yelling at her!” Pope told JJ, him and JB still holding the blonde away from me.

“No! I swear to god I’m going to kill ‘em. What the FUCK happened??”

“It wouldn’t have happened if you had bothered to SHOW UP!” I flared, my voice slicing through the chaos among the group. My heated gaze met JJ’s, and his entire face fell at my words, the rage washing away from his pools of blue and replaced with sadness.

Everything seemed to still at my outburst, even my tears. I watched as JJ crumbled beneath the weight of my words. As angry and heartbroken and hurt as I was, I wanted to see him this way. I wanted him to feel guilty. 

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t show up. I should've known you wouldn’t answer when I called you for help. Because you never do.” With every word I spat, I could see the effect they had on him. I kept my ruthless stare fixed on him. “Congrats on fucking some touron, though.” 

Everyone stayed silent as I picked up my sweatshirt and sunglasses from the sand. I glanced at JJ one last time before putting my glasses back on and turning around, leaving everyone behind me without another word. 

***

Read: Stood Up - Part 2

Masterlist

***

[rafesgfs]

hoe hoe hoe - part one

Warnings: dark!Steve, student/teacher relationship

Word count: 2.2k

Pairings: Professor!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Your dad's best friend isn't exactly who you thought he'd be.

chris evans masterlist

Walking in the front door, the smell of eggnog, and pine hit your nose, mixing in with the warmth of the newly cooked food in the kitchen. Looking around the house, you registered how much decorating you had left your father to do, pondering whether or not he strained his back putting up the Christmas tree. You'd have to make it up to him somehow.

"Dad! I'm home." you yelled out, stepping out of your shoes. Even with the amount of work he had done, he still had the time to shovel the driveway despite the heavy amount of snow that had precipitated last night. The mixed-breed boxer pawed his way to you, the dog panting as he snuggled himself against your leg. "Hey, cutie."

Your father stuck his head from the kitchen, motioning for you to come into the room. "In the kitchen. I was getting worried that you got stuck in traffic. It's an absolute nightmare coming into the city from 122 right now."

Entering the kitchen with Dodger, you went to hug your dad, your arms wrapping around his waist. The man chuckled, giving your cold body a hug back before kissing your forehead. You sighed, pulling away, looking around the kitchen to see the dining room covered with food. "Traffic was a bitch, but I managed to get out of it. Although, I may have made a couple of people mad, but you gotta do what you have to do, right?"

"You got that right, pumpkin." he replied. For someone with a 20 year old daughter, the man was young, having you with his high school sweetheart at 19. He gestured at the food. "You hungry? I made all of this and I'm not sure that everyone at the party will eat all of this."

"Jesus, Dad, were you drunk when you made all of this? This is enough to feed the whole country." you commented, walking up to the table to grab a mini quiche off the plate. Your tongue swirled around the food, relishing the flavor. It was a gift having your father as a successful chef.

"I may have went overboard with the cooking, but I got excited." he explained, chuckling. Pouring some eggnog in a mug, he offered it to you, taking a sip of his own before announcing his news. "An old friend of mine is coming for the party. My best friend in college. He's in town for the holidays, and he'll be staying with us for a few. That okay?"

You nodded, washing the remaining quiche in the eggnog, swallowing it down. "Yeah, that's fine. Who's this friend of yours? Have I met him before?"

"You used to call him Uncle Steve, but he left for Brooklyn when you were four. I doubt you'd remember him but he gave you that necklace last year when he couldn't make it. He's a professor in Brooklyn now, but he wanted to come to Boston, spend the holidays with us."

"Wait, he gave me this necklace?" you asked, holding up the golden angel wings between your fingers. Your dad nodded, untying the knot on his apron. "Oh, wow. Hey, I officially get to thank him for it."

You dad agreed, nodding again as he popped a mint in his mouth, his teeth grinding down on it. "Yes, you will. He'll appreciate seeing you again. He's been talking about seeing his favorite girl—shit."

"Something wrong?"

"I forgot to pick up the ham today. I've been so busy making everything for today that I completely forgot about the main course for tomorrow." said your father, rubbing the bridge of his nose, mentally slapping himself. He sighed. "Can you take the pie out of the oven when it's ready? I have to run to the store really quick and get the ham."

Shaking your head, you stopped him, pushing his clearly exhausted body into the nearest chair, shaking a finger at him when he tried to stand back up. "No, no, no. You're tired and you need to rest. I'll get the ham, and anything else you need. Text me a list."

"Pumpkin, you don't have to do that. You just got home—" he was cut off by your insistent expression, the man relenting. "Okay, fine. Go to the Costco, they have a better selection there. And drive safe, it's supposed to be snowing tonight but with Massachusetts weather, you never know if it'll start early."

"Gotcha. I'll be back soon. In the meantime, you sit, rest, and text me a list of things I need." you said, grabbing the keys from the table. The cold air hit your face, your cheeks stinging from the impact. You winced, wishing home was somewhere warmer.

The drive to Costco was nostalgic, the familiar buildings and roads bringing back memories so deep you forgot they existed. The little ice cream place reminded you of your first kiss with your first grade boyfriend. You had immediately broken up with him the next day, claiming it was the way he walked when he asked if it was his sloppy peck on the lips. You had lied through your teeth.

Slosh was fun, it made it that much gross to walk through the barely shoveled parking lot, nearly slipping as you reached the entrance. One of the employees by the door handed you a cart, giving you a curt smile before returning to his spot.

Pushing the cart down the aisles, you immediately head to the grocery area, getting a text from your dad of all the food to get. With how short the list was, the cart had been unnecessary, but you decided to get all the last minute Christmas shopping out of the way, grabbing a Christmas card to match the present you had gotten for your father.

You had just bent over, reaching for the ham when you heard your name called, the familiar voice making you look up. A few feet behind you stood your history professor, a surprised smile on his face as he took you in. You returned the smile, stunned by the sight of you professor. "Professor Rogers? Hey, what're you doing here?"

The blond raised an eyebrow, his piercing blue eyes flickering to the necklace visible. He smirked inside, his heart warming at the thought. "I'm in the city for the holidays. I'm staying with a friend, catch up with them. What about you? Any exciting plans for Christmas?"

"Just spending it with my dad." you replied, reaching behind you to randomly grab a ham, not looking at the brand, and dropped it in the cart. "To be honest, I didn't think you could even leave Brooklyn. I mean, you practically worship the city, it's a surprise seeing you outside of it."

Professor Rogers laughed, his laughter was what you imagined angels to sound like. To say you had a tiny crush on the hot professor was understandable, although, so did everyone who had eyes. The professor leaned against the freezer, his eyes never breaking from yours. "Brooklyn's nice but it's nice to get out once in a while. That's a beautiful necklace you have there."

"Thanks, I got it from my dad's friend." you said, blushing slightly at the compliment. Taking a quick look at your phone, you noted you had everything your dad had asked for. Glancing back up at the Professor Rogers, you noticed how close he was, barely a few feet away. You gave him a smile. "It was nice seeing you, Professor. I'll see you in class."

Before you could move your cart, the professor placed a hand on it, motioning for you to pause. The blond scratched the back of his head, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Do you need help with anything? I can help you load this in your car, if you want."

"I didn't realize you worked at Costco, Professor." you teased, earning the cutest blush from the blond. Giggling, you shook your head, enjoying his company a lot more than it was allowed. "Don't worry, it's fine. It's not a lot, and I wouldn't want to bother—"

"You're not." he interrupted, sheepishly staring at the floor. The professor made himself look up, smirking when he realized you were blushing. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to. Humor me?"

Call it stupidity or side effects of Steve Rogers' presence, but you wanted to spend more time with him, no matter how domestic the chore. Your smile widened, if possible, and you nodded. "Alright, if you insist. I've gotten everything I need, so I can tag along with you."

"All I really needed was some coffee," Professor Rogers held up the little plastic container filled with coffee grounds. Your thoughts immediately went to his hands wrapped around the cylinder, mentally slapping yourself for finding the simple action hot. "I'm ready to go if you are."

"Oh, okay. Let's go then."

The wall from the grocery area to the checkout was rather fun, the professor making you blush too many times to count, the smile on either of your faces never leaving. It wasn't a secret how many people fought to be in his class, guys included, mostly trying to "bond" with the professor only to get turned down every time someone had the balls to ask him. But it never stopped anyone from trying. It was almost pathetic, but very amusing in a sadistic way.

Professor Rogers held your grocery bags in his hands, effortlessly carrying them while you tried to take them back, feeling bad for having your professor help you out. The man would wave away your pleas, and you gave up as soon as you neared your car, unlocking the doors, and opened the trunk, Professor Rogers unloading all the bags inside. You bit back a smile, admiring the view, jealously wondering who would be lucky enough to end up as his wife.

He closed up the trunk once he was done, shifting his weight between his feet. "So, are you staying in Boston for the whole break or...?"

"Yup. I haven't spent much time with my dad since summer, and I've been guilted to stay in the cold since he's too stubborn to go somewhere warmer." you answered, playfully rolling your eyes. Professor Rogers walked you to the driver's side while you played with your keys, not wanting to say goodbye to him already. "What about you?"

"Me, too." said the professor, tucking his hands in his winter coat. He sighed, the smile dropping. "It was really nice to see you. I'll see you soon, sweetheart."

You nearly swooned at the nickname, cursing your heart for being so easily affected. "You, too, Professor. Happy Holidays and all that."

He laughed, walking off with a wave, the smile that had fallen now impended on his face as he walked back to his car. Steve turned around to see you get in yours, unsubtly staring at your ass. He sighed once again, a wave of sadness washing over him, the feeling he got every time he had to say goodbye to you. It would only be a couple of minutes, but it didn't make him hate it any less.

You drove off after a few seconds of getting your shit together; seeing your unbearable hot professor made you feel like a disgusting head-over-heels in love teenager. Or in other words, it made you the same as those desperate girls back on campus. You scoffed at the thought, starting your car. Hopefully, you'd see him again before class starts, but you highly doubt it.

Snow was falling, the little flurries making it harder to see through the windshield, only to stop suddenly when you reached your house. You grabbed the groceries from the trunk, easily carrying it into the house, so focused on not slipping that you hadn't noticed a very familiar car in the driveway.

Opening the door with ease, you entered the house, almost getting knocked out by the eager dog, jumping up on you. Laughing, you placed all the bags in one arm, reaching down with your free one to pet Dodger. The dog panted happily, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as it dismounted it's paws off your legs. The house had gotten awfully warm, even for you, and you immediately set the bags down to take off your coat. You hadn't noticed the shoes besides the door.

"Dad, I'm back." you announced, picking up the bags and headed to the kitchen, your gaze on the floor, careful not to slip.

Your father clapped Steve's back, the broad blond's presence gone unnoticed by you while you dropped the bags on the kitchen island. Your dad smiled. "Thanks, pumpkin. Honey, this is Steve, my buddy from college."

You turned around, facing them, a grin on your face, only to drop slightly when you saw who Steve was. There, standing in the middle of your kitchen, stood your history professor, all six feet of him, nonchalantly grinning at you. He engulfed you in a hug, leaving you breathless. "Professor?"

"Hello, sweetheart."

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