#i spend a lot less time on here because of how frustrating and empty the fandom has become

[mythunderstorm]

We‘ll be okay | DR3

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

summary: It’s normal to argue. You know that. But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less, even tho you know you and Daniel will work it out in the end.

warnings: bit angsty, actually not sure what else to say. Soft ending tho

a/n: i‘m so sorry for not posting a lot atm. I have so many drafts but I can’t seem to finish them. Whenever I try to write it’s like my brain shuts off completely. Not even sure if this is any good but it’s the only thing I was able to complete, so enjoy ig haha

masterlist

Arguments. They‘re normal, every couple has to face them at one point. Some argue more, some less. But it’s normal. They happen, you talk it out, you make up. Normal.

You and Daniel argue. Normal. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens. Normal. What wasn’t normal, is that you had to leave the apartment. It wasn’t normal for him to yell at you like this, both of you throwing words at each other you didn’t actually mean. Not normal.

You had to get out, leave for a bit. Before anyone of you says something you can’t take back at the end.

You wander around, aimlessly. It‘s raining, hard. You didn’t bring an umbrella with you, but you didn’t care. The water droplets on your skin felt kind of refreshing.

Your phone beeped, your boyfriend worries about you being alone, out in this weather at night. He sent multiple messages, telling you to come home.

The feeling of relieve fills your chest, glad that he’s still caring about you, even after the fight. But you ignore his messages, at least for now, needing some space to clear your head a bit. He was really mean tonight, something that basically never happened, not like this. You understand that he’s frustrated, not being able to race this season, but that’s not your fault.

Just because you said that you’re glad to spend some more time with him now, happy to have him to yourself for a while, doesn’t mean you don’t support his dreams and career. You’re proud of him, always have been, always will. But being away from him so much is hard and you really really missed him over the last year.

After a while you stop at a little café that was open late. Exactly what you needed right now. You sat by the window, ordering a cup of tea while watching the rain pour.

Your phone beeps once again.

„I'm really worried about you, the weather forecast said that there will be thunder too, you should really come back home.“

Your thoughts and emotions whirle around your head as you stare out the window.

With a sign, you type back a quick message to let him know you’re safe and not outside in this horrible weather. You may be mad at him but you’re not so cruel to let him suffer and worry about your well-being for the rest of the night.

But a part of you still doesn’t want go back home.

You look around the café, noticing that it is completely empty except for you and the barista. It is quiet, calm, peaceful. No one would be yelling at you here. No one would be blaming you for everything.

At first you just needed a break, now... now you needed an escape.

You look out of the window again, watching the raindrops sliding down the glass. It’s like they’re racing against each other. Even something small like rain on a window reminds you of him. It keeps your mind occupied for a while, watching the water glide around the surface but you’re still thinking about him. You’re always thinking about him.

It’s like the weather mirrors your exact feelings at the moment, like it’s trying to tell you that you’re not alone.

You put your phone aside, not responding to the rest of Daniel‘s texts. His mind was always full with thoughts about racing, training and other things related to his profession. And you understand, he loves his job. And you don’t blame him for that.

But you have feelings too, you have feelings that you want him to acknowledge sometimes. You need him to realize that. To recognize how upset you are and how hurt you feel.

Your thoughts spiraled down deeper and deeper as you watch the rain outside. The water droplets, they look like tears.

You sign again, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. You know you and Daniel will work it out, like you always do. You love him and you know he loves you. Arguments happen and you understand he’s frustrated, even though it’s not okay for him to put the blame on you. You both need some space, time to calm down before you can face each other to actually talk about it. But you‘ll be okay. Everything will be okay in the end.

The rain starts hitting the window harder than before, making it difficult to see the world outside.

Taking a sip of your tea, you look at the clock. It’s already 1 in the morning. You feel a bit guilty. It's late, really late.

You pick up your phone, hesitating as you look at Daniel's last message. He was panicking about the storm and kept telling you that he was worried. You know him, he's usually not the hysterical kind.

„I‘m inside a Café, don’t worry. I‘ll wait a bit until the storm calms before I come home.“

You think for a moment, not sure if you should send the next text. You want to but.. fuck it.

„I love you.“ you type and hit send quickly, before you can change your mind. But you mean it, because you do. You love him.

A notification appears instantly on your phone. It's a message from Daniel. It reads „I love you too."

Your heart skips a beat. Of course, your love still means the world to him.

You close your eyes and picture his face. When Daniel smiles at you, his eyes sparkle in a way that no one else's eyes could. He's so good at showing his emotions through his eyes…

Ding. Another message.

„Please come home honey, I can't take it another second."

You smile softly at the nickname. You look out of the window again, the storm seems to get only worse. You want to go home, right now. But you know it wouldn’t be the best idea, not in this weather. But you don’t care. You pay your tea, tipping the barista generously, before making an exit to finally get home. To the person you love most.

As soon as you enter your apartment you see Daniel standing there, waiting for you. You lock eyes for a moment, neither of you saying anything... It's quiet. The only sound you hear, is from the rain outside.

Daniel is smiling at you, and he starts walking towards you. He softly puts his arms around your drenched body, pulling you close and kissing your forehead gently. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your face is turning red.

„Sorry“ you whisper into his chest, hiding your face in his sweater. You’re tearing up again, breathing in his scent.

"I should be the one to say sorry." You hear Daniel's voice whispering into your hair as he holds you tight. "I was cruel, I should never speak to you like that. Never." His words are soothing to your ears.

Even though you were fighting badly only hours prior, you felt safe. It has been a long time since you felt this safe. Since you felt this protected.

Just then Daniel takes a step back to look at you, as if he was admiring your face. Then he leans in to kiss you, needing to feel that you’re real. That you’re here, that you came home. The kiss only last a few seconds but it’s soft, gentle and full of love.

Yes. You‘ll be okay.

Daniel's lips on your face feel like heaven and you close your eyes, not wanting to let the situation end just yet... but before you could do anything, his hands reach for your face, gently moving you away. For a second, you were scared to look at him but he's just fixing your wet hair.

"Let's get you warm," he smiles as he guides you into the kitchen, the warm light from the lit oven illuminating your face. You enjoy the warmth for a moment while Daniel was already boiling water for some tea.

„I- I‘ll go change into some dry clothes real quick“ you whisper into the quiet kitchen, watching him move around the room to prepare the tea.

Your boyfriend nods and smiles at you, putting his hand on your thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Go ahead, let me make you some tea" he smiles as he pushes your hair away from your face again.

The kettle whistles, it's boiling. Daniel picks it up and pours the hot water into two cups, putting lemon in both of them. The scent of lemon fills the room, mixed with Daniel's cologne.

You disappear into your shared bedroom, quickly getting rid of your wet clothes, throwing them into the hamper. Grabbing one of Daniels Hoodies, you pull it over your head and instantly hold the collar up to your nose, taking in his scent. Wiping your tear stained face with the sleeves, you take a deep breath before returning back to the kitchen where Daniel‘s waiting for you.

He is leaning against the kitchen counter, watching you slowly while the tea waits for you on the table. Two hot cups of tea, steaming up the kitchen.

Looking at his face, you find him smiling at you when he notices you’re wearing his hoodie. He wraps his free arm around you, pulling you close.

He kisses your head softly and whispers in your ear. "Drink it, it will warm you up."

Daniel's arms encircle you, squeezing you like he never wants to let you go.

You didn’t want to ruin the mood but you had to ask. You and Daniel were always good at communicating in the past and you didn’t want to stop now by pushing this argument away, you had to talk about it for the problem to be completely solved.

„We still need to talk. Not now, but.. we need to talk.“ You whisper, leaning closer into Daniels arms, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

„You're right, we will talk." His voice is soft. „Not now though. For now, let's enjoy this tea. And... let's just be together." Daniel said as he kisses you again on the cheek and your still damp hair brushes against his face.

He was right. You need some rest. It's late, after all. And what happened shouldn't be discussed when you're both tired. Let alone now, when you're so peaceful.

„We‘ll be okay“ you whisper, a short promise. To him and yourself, that your love is stronger than an argument like that. You‘ll work it out. And it‘ll be okay. Like always.

[writingquestionsanswered]

how should i go about writing if i keep deleting and restarting everything I have every few minutes ??

The first thing to do is figure out why you feel the need to delete. Here are some things to consider...

1 - Do you know what you're trying to write? It's easy to imagine a writer as sitting down at the keyboard with an empty mind, and then--like turning on a faucet--a story simply flows out of them. But that's not really how writing works. Even the most organic writer sits down with a premise in mind, not to mention a basic grasp of how stories work--or at least they type of story they want to tell. If you sit down without these things and try to write a story, you're pretty much just snatching random ideas out of the air and hoping they take root, and it can be really hard to write a story that way. The solution is to spend some time learning about how stories work, then spend some time thinking up a premise, characters, and a story goal.

2 - Do you need a more solid plan? Not all writers can sit down with only a premise, characters, and story goal and create a story from that. Some of us need to do more planning. Some of us need to do a lot more planning. If you're trying to write a novelette/novella/novel, you might take a look at some different story structure templates to get an idea of the kind of structure that would work well for the story you want to tell. Story structure templates can be a helpful guide in figuring out what beats you need to hit, and you can use elements from different ones. Whatever works for your story. You might also consider doing a plot summary, timeline, scene list, scene cards, or any number of other things to help plan and plot your story.

3 - Are you focusing too much on quality? To (badly) paraphrase Ira Glass, the thing that got you into writing in the first place is your taste... you have good taste in stories, and you know what makes a story good. But if you're just starting out, or if you don't have a large volume of work under your belt, what you're putting out is probably not as good as you want it to be. That can be really, really frustrating, because we know what kind of writing we want to put out there, but when we feel like it's not happening, we want to backspace over it all. The thing is, though, writing is a craft. Like any other craft, the only way to get better at it is to practice, and practice means cranking out the less good stuff and accepting that it's a necessary part of the journey. If dancers watched the choreography for a performance one time and instantly did it perfectly, there would be no such thing as dance practice. If people took one piano lesson and could play a perfect concerto, we wouldn't have piano lessons or practice. So, even when the writing doesn't feel as good as you want it to be--or maybe feels downright awful--you have to push past the urge to backspace over it and get caught up on quality. You have to keep writing forward. And hey... editing and revision exists because there's always room to take the "rough draft" and make it better.

4 - Are you letting yourself get distracted? Few things make writing more difficult than distractions. If you know how stories work, know your premise, have done the planning you need to do, and aren't stressing about quality, but you still find yourself backspacing and starting over every few minutes, it could be due to distractions. If your phone is buzzing every minute, your sister is playing loud music in her room across the hall, the neighbor's dog is barking up a storm, or you can't stop thinking about something that happened at work--those interruptions are going jam up your momentum, and when you're constantly jerking to a stop like that, frustration makes you cranky and you're liable to backspace over something even if it's not a problem. So, if you can, try to eliminate distractions as much as possible when you sit down to write.

5 - Other possibilities... Even if none of the above situations seem to fit, it's still worth taking some time to consider what else might be going on. Can you find a pattern in what you're deleting and why? If you dig deep, and you maybe figure out what the issue is? What are some potential solutions?

I hope something here will help you get to where you're moving forward with your writing again.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[ladyveravincent]

Oh, the Longing...

I found this scene that didn't make it into the final cut of the chapters, and thought... you know what. I like this!! Let's add this in. Will I ever be done editing this story? Probably not. Apologies, poor readers, I believe every time you read A Court of Bones in Bloom, it will be a different version. Anyway...

Excerpt from Chapter 7

“Elain?”

The music of laughter swelled then faded as the door to the River House was opened and then shut. 

Lost in thought, again. A state of being she seemed to find herself so often these days, either through restless dreams through the murky realm, or mindless days in the garden, or over lonely cups of tea. The twins were great company, and so were her sisters, but there was an incurable ache in her chest. 

“Nesta!” Elain blinked away the fog in her eyes before she turned to greet her sister. Early spring was a harsh time, but in Velaris, the stars still managed to twinkle despite the frost lingering at nighttime. 

“You’ll freeze in this weather, here take mine,” In a few short steps, Nesta’s shawl found its way around Elain’s shoulders, and her elder sister sat to join her on the stone steps of the veranda. 

“It seems that the edelweiss and bugloss will bloom in time for the ceremony.” A poor attempt to placate the silence. She had made a crucial mistake when Nesta and Cassian arrived at the family dinner. 

“Lainey!” Cassian chuckled as he glanced up from ravishing his mate. But those sharp gray eyes glanced at the disappointment on her sister’s face as she pushed past them out onto the lawn. Throughout dinner, Nesta’s gaze watched with utter scrutiny as Elain sat next to the empty table setting, and occasionally looked out the window, urgency in her brown eyes. 

“He’s not coming,” Nesta responded shortly as she helped her sister clear the dishes. When everyone went into the drawing room, Elain went to sit on the veranda to somehow try and hold frustration and longing lodged in her chest. 

“Is that why you’re out here? You’re worried the flowers won’t be ready for my ceremony?”

“I just needed some air,” she replied tightly. A few tense moments passed before Nesta cut through the poorly veiled truth. 

“I’d like to think our relationship finally has healed over these past months, but the truth is, that I was absent from your life for a year. I missed out on a lot. But I’m still your older sister, and I know you. I can guess, I can gather, but unless you tell me, I can’t help you.”

“It’s not up to me.” 

“Fine. Just tell me when you’re ready.” The shawl was placed back on Nesta’s shoulders as Elain dashed toward the door. 

“At first I resisted it because the idea was just so… Fae. And no matter how many years we spend here, we’ll always be different.” 

An owl hooted in the distance. 

“It feels like nothing else like there’s nothing or no one else you’d ever want or need. That someone sees exactly who you are, and to your shock, you see them- all of them, too. It’s a connection that I often wonder what I did right to deserve it.” 

“Well then, I must’ve done something wrong.” 

“I always held the belief you’ll marry for love. And nothing, not even a mating bond, has changed that. And you know me, I’d never let you accept anything less.” 

Her fingers ran over the metal latch’s coolness to quell the fire in her throat. Could she tell Nesta everything? How far she was lost to him, and only him? Or did she suspect?

“I’ll bring the arrangements and pastries tomorrow around noon. See you then.” 

~

Azriel felt little satisfaction when his knife landed perfectly in the center of the wooden target. Another sleepless night spent in the training ring, somehow more favorable to the alternative, which was listening to his brother and his soon-to-be mate through the walls. Her gift proved useful, and whether or not it had, he would’ve loved it all the same. 

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you can’t kill a wooden beam.” Nesta stood on the balcony, arms crossed and her cold face painted with a glimmer of amusement. 

He threw the knife again and hit the target with deadly precision.

“You never know,” he shrugged.

Nesta scoffed and descended the stairs to join her friend. Azriel had always liked Nesta. There was an innate understanding between the pair. The icy rage within him recognized the cold sharpness in her, and to watch her learn to trust others again was nothing short of healing. As she passed, she briefly placed a sympathetic hand on his tense shoulder.

“We missed you at dinner.” The thump of the knife in the wood signaled another perfect target. Nesta leaned against the railing of the training ring while her long hair swayed in the wind.

“Cas and I placed bets about whether or not you’ll be at the ceremony.” Az eyed Nesta, removing the knife from the block with little effort.

“I’ll be there.”

“Will you?”

“Of course, Nesta.” 

“Oh good! Well, I’m now ten coins richer,” she said brightly.

“I’m surprised Cas wagered ten coins against me," he chuckled. Thump. Perfect target.

“He didn’t, he wagered five.”

“But you said you’re ten coins richer.” 

“Oh I did, didn’t I? Oh, well. I guess that means Elain owes me five, too.” The knife clanged on the ground, a full foot from its missed target.

“Lucky me,” Nesta whispered in glee. She triumphantly pushed off the railing to leave but stopped to pick up the knife off the floor.

“When will you say something?” Her cold face mirrored his icy one, holding their emotions so tightly to their chests. He said nothing as he rubbed the back of his neck, earning a sigh from Nesta for his silence.

“You know me, there’s nothing I hate more than when our family plays busybody. But, it's getting harder to watch my sister set out an extra plate every family dinner.”

Azriel’s heart stopped.

“Good night, Az.”

~ A Court of Bones in Bloom A03

[storiesforallfandoms]

neglected ~ shawn mendes

word count: 2091

request?: yes!

“hiii, here’s a shawn mendes x reader request i had since you’re requests are open now…

so what if the reader joins shawn on tour but starts feeling left out because shawn is only paying attention to his friends and then eventually the reader gets fed up of it and just snaps at shawn. then they have a fight about it, but at the end it’s all fluffy.

love u, stay safe :)”

description: when he starts neglecting her while on tour, she has enough and decides to voice her frustrations

pairing: shawn mendes x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

Going on tour with your boyfriend for the first time should’ve been a magical experience. Getting to watch him perform every night, getting to go to the after parties with him to celebrate, spending a lot of alone time together in hotel rooms and the tour bus. How could it not be the time of your life?

That’s what you expected anyways. Reality was not as amazing as you thought.

You knew that Shawn would be busy. You didn’t expect him to drop his work to spend time with you. You didn’t want him to do that anyways; you were actually very excited to watch him perform and to be there for his shows and soundchecks.

No, it wasn’t the work that was making this experience less stellar than you expected. It was Shawn’s friends and his attention towards them.

You loved Shawn’s friends and you were glad they agreed to come on the tour for a while as well. Shawn had been having a hard time mentally on tour so you suggested that he bring some of his friends with him to help him feel more at home while on the road. At first, you were glad to see that it was working and to see how happy Shawn was. But then you started to notice how much more time and attention he was giving his friends versus how much he was giving you. It got to a point where he wouldn’t even notice you weren’t there.

Like the night that everything finally came to a head for you.

You had been to Shawn’s show, cheering for him from your VIP section. When the show finished, you went backstage to meet up with everyone. You were almost shocked when Shawn immediately ran up to you and gave you a big kiss.

“We’re going out for after show drinks,” he told you. “You’re coming with us, right?”

“Of course,” you said. “I gotta go to the bathroom first. I had one too many sodas during the show.”

Shawn chuckled and kissed you again before letting you go.

You were buzzing with excitement as you quickly did your business and washed your hands. You were hopped up on post show adrenaline and the excitement of being invited to the night out. You didn’t want to leave the guys waiting for too long.

Once you stepped out of the bathroom, though, you found the backstage area empty except for Shawn’s manager. He looked at you in shock when you appeared.

“I thought you were going to the after party,” he said.

“I am,” I said. “I mean, I thought I was. Are they all gone?”

“Yeah, they left a few minutes ago.”

You bit back the hurt you were feeling. You were sure this was a misunderstanding. Maybe they were waiting for you outside.

But when you went out back where the car had been, all you saw was the tour bus and the stage crew carrying the equipment out. A lump was forming in your throat as you dialed Shawn’s number. You let it ring until it went to voicemail, then tried again to the same results.

Suddenly, your sadness washed away and was replaced with anger. You couldn’t believe that he left you! He invited you to go, he was the one who brought it up to you, and for the quick five minutes you were in the bathroom, he left!

You were fuming as you ordered an Uber to the arena. Most of the fans had cleared out by now, so you were safe to stand in the front of the arena as you waited for your Uber to arrive. You hoped your driver wasn’t very talkative because you truly were not in the mood for small talk.

Your driver gave you a small smile as you got in. “Coming from the concert?”

“Yeah,” you deadpanned.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound good. Was it not a good show?”

“It was a good show until the end,” you muttered, turning to look out the window to signify to your driver that you were finished with the conversation.

You uttered a small “thank you” as you got out of the car at the hotel you were staying in. Your anger had started melting away in the car ride over, so now instead of the angry stomp you had planned, you were just barley dragging your feet to the elevator. You watched as the numbers ticked upwards until the soft ding filled your ears and the doors opened on your floor.

Your and Shawn’s shared hotel room wasn’t too far from the elevator, luckily, because all you wanted to do now was lay down in bed and cry. You couldn’t believe Shawn had so easily forgotten you, and now he wasn’t even answering your calls. This was supposed to be the time of your life, and instead all you felt was sadness. Part of you just wanted to pack your things and go home. It wasn’t like Shawn would even notice you weren’t there.

You were debating booking the next flight out of there and back home as you laid down in bed, but the minute your head hit the pillow your tears were unleashed. You curled up into a ball, allowing the tears to flow freely down your cheeks and soak into the pillow beneath you until you eventually cried yourself to sleep.

~~~~~~

You were awoken to the sound of a loud bang. You jumped awake, thinking someone was breaking into your room or something. It wasn’t until you heard a familiar laugh that you realized it was just Shawn finally coming back from his “after party”.

You looked over at your phone to see it was 3am. About time he got back.

Shawn switched on the light in the room without warning, causing you to yelp as you quickly covered your eyes.

“Shit, I’m so sorry baby,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d be awake.”

“Hard to sleep when you’re banging around the room and laughing at the top of your lungs,” you grumped. You blinked your eyes, trying to adjust to the bright light and to get rid of the spots currently in your vision.

You looked up to see Shawn had that goofy smile on his face that you normally loved to see. You knew this meant he had had a good night, which usually you’d be happy about. But the events of the night were still fresh on your mind and you weren’t about to let him get away with neglecting you this time.

“Did you have a good night?” you asked him.

“Oh yeah, it was great! We went to this local bar that had a local band playing. We drank a bunch, played some pool. One of the guys in the band recognized me and let me get up on stage with them. I actually followed all of them, I’m gonna post a video of them performing on my story and hope it helps them gain a bunch of followers.”

“Sounds awesome. Thank you so much for including me in your oh so fun boy’s night.”

Shawn looked up at you, a confused look on his face. He was finally registering the sarcasm dripping from your tone.

“What do you mean? I invited you to come, babe.”

“Yeah you did, and about five minutes later while I was in the bathroom, you fucking left me at the arena!”

“What? No, I - ”

“Yes you did, Shawn! I went to the bathroom, I told you I’d be back and I’d be down to going out after your show, and then when I did come back from the bathroom you had just up and left me! No texts, no calls, no telling me where you were going. Just gone without a trace. You didn’t even text me to see if I had gotten back here safe from the arena.”

His face was turning a light shade of pink. “I just thought...I mean I knew you would’ve - ”

“Don’t lie, Shawn,” you cut him off. “You didn’t think of me at all. You just wanted to go out and have a good time with your friends. Who gives a fuck if your girlfriend is there or not, even though you were the one who invited me to come along with you guys.”

“Hey, you were the one who told me to invite the guys on the tour with me.”

“Yes, I did. I’m not claiming that I didn’t. I did that because I knew you were having a rough time mentally on the tour and I thought it would help to have your friends here with you. But what I didn’t think would happen would be that you were spending all your time with them and none of it with me!”

“That’s not true! I do spend time with you!”

“When? When was the last time we hung out without your friends, Shawn? When was the last time we did something outside of the hotel rooms and the tour bus and the backstage areas, just the two of us, without your friends? Tell me.”

You crossed your arms and looked at him, expectantly. He was silent and you could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t have any response.

“That’s what I thought,” you said.

“Okay, maybe we haven’t been spending much time together lately, but you’ve been on tour with me longer than the guys have. I spent time with you before they were here, and now I should be spending time with you while they’re here? That doesn’t seem fair.”

Your anger came to a boil. You got up from the bed and got so close to Shawn that you were basically in his face. He had to take a step away from you because you were so close, your anger radiating off of you.

“I was on tour with you a whole week before the guys came! So don’t pull that shit on me! I have every right to be upset about the fact that you have been neglecting me in favor of your friends. I love them to pieces, and you know that, but I do not love you shoving me to the side because of them. If you don’t want to spend time with me, just tell me so I can pack my shit and go home.”

You didn’t realize you had started crying again until Shawn reached out and wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. He held your head in his hands, sadness written on his face.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” he said. “You’re right, the way I’ve been treating you is unfair. I’ve never gotten to take my girlfriend or my friends on tour before. I was so excited to be able to spend this time with everyone that I forgot I should be dividing it equally, not just expecting you to want to spend time with me and the guys all the time and not having alone time together.”

You sighed and moved closer to him, burying your head in his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“I want you to be happy while you tour,” you told him. “I just want to be able to spend time with you, too, and to make memories while we’re seeing the world together. I don’t mind if the guys tag along sometimes, but other times I do want it to just be us.”

“I know, babe. I promise from here on out I will spend equal time with you and with the guys, and I won’t leave you alone in arenas when we’re going out ever again. I’ll wait for you, even if that makes us the last two people in the building and they’re forcing us out so they can lock up.”

You giggled. “I won’t make you take it that far. That’s not fair to the custodians then.”

Shawn chuckled as well and kissed your forehead. The two of you got into bed together and you settled into Shawn’s arms. You were starting to feel the tug of sleep pulling you into the world of dreams when you felt Shawn’s lips against your forehead again.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” you mumbled back. “Go to sleep, I’m tired.”

His chest vibrated as he chuckled and you felt him stretch out towards the nearby light switch before the room was plunged into darkness and you finally drifted off to sleep.

[youchangedmedestiel]

Confession time

It has been 6 months (more or less) since I joined Tumblr and AO3 and I finally told my friends. I couldn't not tell them because it has become a big part of my life now, especially writing fanfics. A year ago I wasn't even writing a single word in my native language. And NOW I can't stop writing. Like it's a new hobby. And I think I just can't live without it anymore.

It took me a long time to tell them because I was scared of their reactions to be honest. I know they are open because otherwise we wouldn't be friends but still. I was scared they find that ridiculous or worse that they didn't understand how important it is for me and how much it changed me.

And man, they reacted sooo well. One already read fanfics since high school and loves Dean and Destiel. Plus I already send her some of my fics. The second one hasn't watched SPN and doesn't know a thing about Tumblr and fanfiction. And the last one is a Sam girl and is not really into reading fanfiction but still wanted to read what I wrote about Destiel. So I picked one, that wasn't easy to choose but I did and I hope she likes it or at least doesn't throw up while reading it.

Anyway, their backgrounds might be different, but all of them found it awesome and asked me why I haven't told them before. And I told them that it was also because I had to process the whole thing on my own, because it FUCKING changed me and the perception I had of myself. But that's also why I had to tell them, because it changed me that much and if they didn't know about it, it's like they would know me anymore.

So if you don't know how to talk about it to your friends but want to and you need inspiration then here below, this is what I sent them to explain. It might not be everyone's experience though but there this is mine:

"I should tell you because it's been 6 months now, so I've had plenty of time to accept it. You know how abnormal I am about Supernatural and especially Dean and Cas. Like, it never did that to me with any show before and when I say THAT you don't know what I'm talking about because I didn't tell you. The THAT: I created a Tumblr account, where I follow people, people I don't know follow me and I post stuff on it on SPN, on Destiel. I also created an AO3 account. Where I read fanfics but not only. Hold on tight. Me, who didn't like French or English classes when we were at school. You know me, I've never been literary, let alone in another language. But now I write fanfics in English and I LOVE it. It's my new passion, it's become a big part of my life and I think it helps me on a daily basis, I'm sure it does, like it helped me a lot especially when I had nothing to do all day when I was unemployed and it still helps me. Because it's a way of expressing myself and when I'm inspired it's an incredible feeling, I've never really known that before (except maybe when I was drawing) and I can't live without it now. I spend a lot of my free time on it and it's still not enough, which is also why I get frustrated when my weekends feel too short. It's because I'd like to take more time off to work on all the fanfic ideas I have. Because I can't always write between my evening shower and preparing dinner because it's too short, sometimes I need to take time to be able to sort out my ideas. But sometimes it just comes to me, like Saturday morning when I was just waking up in bed, I wrote a few hundred words because an idea popped into my brain. So I wanted to tell you because it's important to me. It may sound ridiculous to some, but I don't care because the feelings it gives me when people like what I write or comment that the characters sound like themselves or that I've made them cry make me happy (yes, I do like making people cry, apparently lmao). Yesterday I wasn't doing too well, I couldn't get any work done. I must have PMS going on or some crap like that, I felt empty and I didn't feel like doing anything because I couldn't see the point, whatever. I wrote a few cute words about Dean and Cas, my loves, and it made me feel better. It's kind of magical. I feel like my writing has improved a bit in 6 months. I don't think I can live without writing anymore anyway, and I never thought I'd say that one day. Here you know everything, it frustrated me that you didn't know, because it's cool to share it with strangers online but if my friends don't know about it, it doesn't make sense 😘 especially given the role and place it has in my life."

[letstalktea]

Parasite

Content: Tav x The Emperor, endgame spoilers, mild angst, smut referenced but not shown

Word Count: 1.4k

Where did they end and the parasite wriggling just behind their eye begin? They had been asking themselves that question a lot lately, especially after the worm had stopped moving and the only thing left to remember their adventure by was some deeply seeded trauma that had fundamentally changed who they were. Their companions had been freed from both the parasite and their own past – as much as they could be, anyway – but Tav was still left staring straight into the endless sky, at the glittering star dust of the Astral plane through the empty eye sockets of a long decayed skull. Even knowing the Netherbrain was gone, this was the only place they felt completely safe anymore.

"You've come again."

Tav turned their head to stare at the grand illithid floating beside them, seemingly appearing from nowhere but knowing he must have sensed them coming.

"You did too."

The Emperor wasn't a prisoner of the prism anymore now that the brain that tried to control him was no longer around, so being here was a choice rather than a strategy. Or maybe there was still some strategic element to his presence. 

"I find myself curious as to why you keep coming back here. Did I not make myself clear that we have no further reason to associate in this capacity?" 

"You did." They sat up and leaned back on their palms. "And yet, here you are. Curiouser and curiouser. If I didn't know better, I'd think you missed me."

"You are allowed to think whatever you want, as illogical and irrational as it is."

"I would appreciate it if you at least pretended. I miss when you tried to play on my mortal emotions. It was nice to live the lie that you cared about me as more than just a tool."

"I have no reason to cater to that charade anymore." 

"Please? For old time's sake?" They patted the space beside them as they stared up at him.

He didn't move.

They shrugged. "I tried."

Then they burst into laughter. "I can't believe I used to think you actually cared about me. A mind flayer caring about some random mortal? Preposterous! You probably thought I was a joke. Was I at least a funny joke? Tell me you were at least laughing while I played your fool."

"I don't find your bouts of mania amusing." 

They stood up with a deranged look in their eyes, practically shouting as they approached him. "Then was it at least entertaining to play with me as I fell for you? Is that why you offered to spend the night with me? Was it your grand finale to make me trust you and ensure I would do whatever you wanted when the time came? Was I the only one who cared?"

"You already know the answer." He said with a flat affect.

"Right," they muttered. "I wish I didn't. It's unnerving how easily I can hear your thoughts these days."

"You made that choice when you accepted the tadpole."

"Nah. What I did was less like choosing and more like picking the only option that made sense." They clumsily held up three fingers and counted their list of grievances. "I couldn't trust you, wouldn't betray you, and wanted to save my home. I made the only logical decision."

"Because even after I attempted to manipulate you and opened my mind, you did not trust me."

"You were always a liar, especially in your own head. That's what the worm in my head was saying and it turns out it was right. Even now I suspect you are trying to lie in whatever way lets you win this little tête-à-tête because you don't like me picking at your presumably perfect plan, even after it's long since unneeded."

"You misunderstand." He finally floated downward and allowed his feet to touch the ground so he was standing in front of them. "I am pleased by your decision not to trust whatever honeyed words others may speak to you. I am frustrated that you suspect me of such things however. Have I not proven myself your ally even now?"

"You've proven that you still find me useful and are willing to work in our common interests. Although, I wouldn't mind if you wanted to prove that your continued presence in my life has a deeper meaning." 

They reached out their hand to wrap around one of the tentacles hanging from his face, recalling how they'd done it the night they'd spent together; the moans they didn't know he could make as they kissed their way up each one, the frantic heat as they tore at his clothing even knowing he didn't have human anatomy because they wanted to know his body, their giddy joy and laughter as their body lifted into the air for the first time and the giggles as they tried to figure out how hovering was supposed to work, the way they leaned against him and let him use his own mortal memories to pleasure them until they came on his fingers– Then they saw how their fingers looked wrapped around his tentacle and quickly withdrew.

His gaze was unwavering, but there was an understanding – real or fabricated they couldn't tell, but they chose to believe it was genuine. "You'll find such desires dissipate over time."

"I know." They had already reached that point. They simply liked to pretend there was still more of their original personality left than really was. It was distressing how quickly the person they were fell away.

It was disconcerting how easily they understood his motivation for playing on their fickle mortal emotions and even more so how they could imagine doing the same thing, if need be. Now, however, their emotions and reasoning weren't so malleable by pleasantries. Now they could hear his genuine thoughts and have an inkling as to what machinations ran through his head. Their favorite was the small corner of his mind that called them such pretty things like divine or exquisite before those stray thoughts were buried beneath every other logical one. It was nice to hear someone think they were still beautiful when every other voice usually screamed at their mere existence.

"Are you finished with your delusions?" The Emperor asked.

They waved him off with a thought as the illusionary world – the one they'd conjured in their head so many times lately as their mortality began to slip further and further away – began to dissolve around them and give way to the reality of the cellar they made a serviceable home in. 

"I would appreciate some understanding and sympathy for my current situation."

"I understand that you have become a greater existence than you previously were, so sympathy is unneeded."

If they could have, Tav would have rolled their eyes. Instead they simply rose into the air so they were hovering just barely above their fellow illithid. "How anyone believed you to be a human man with that dismissive attitude, I will never understand." 

The Emperor followed their lead, rising into the air so his gaze was level with theirs.

They turned away from him, choosing not to delve into his thoughts or accusations about the hypocrisy in thinking others foolish for believing his deception when they themselves had fallen for his ruse until they saw the tentacles on his face and him pleading for aid.

"I'm hungry," Tav said, trying to ignore how that comment and its implications weren't unnerving in the least to them, not like it had been when they had first transformed and devoured the brain straight out of an exiled prince's skull.

No. Instead the most disturbing thought in their head, the one they tried to push aside using what little of their mortal morality remained intact, was the creeping desire to have a tadpole or two of their own. It felt natural as an illithid to want an entire colony at their disposal. Nevermind that they were not an Elder Brain with that kind of power nor did they have a desire to become the very thing they defeated, but they did have an itching for power and control that surpassed their conscious mind.

If that desire was loud enough to slip through their carefully maintained demeanor for The Emperor to hear, he at least had the decency not to say anything. That, or he was formulating a new plan to either support their twisted desire or find his next ponzi to be their undoing once the last of their mortality finally gave way to illithid motivations.

[conceptsformyowner]

Stored in the closet

Public Toy Journal #23

This week, the fate of my chastity was decided, and I spent several hours cramped inside my Owner’s closet.

🌄 Daily

Tuesday 🦵😫

On Tuesday, my Owner got me on top of them and used my body. They put their fingers in their toy’s mouth, made it lick them, told it how worthless it was, what a slut it was. After using it twice, my Owner put me next to them and forced their leg up my crotch and made me hump them while they orgasmed for a third time, making me kiss them all over and tell them I’m worthless.

Fuck

They kept me humping a bit longer, it was exhausting, frustrating, I wanted to come so bad. They made me say how much I wanted to come, over and over. They told me my orgasms belong to them. And that I’m not going to come right now.

After eventually mercifully allowing me to stop humping, we cuddled and took some rest.

Later that day, it was finally time. It was time to throw the die.

In case you’re unaware, this is the end of Locktober. After accumulating points via behaving well and helping them use me for orgasms, I’ve made my chances pretty good for this dice throw. Basically, we throw a d20 and (because of how many points I had) depending on the outcome:

My chastity ends now if it falls below 17

My chastity ends a month from now if it falls above 17

My chastity ends two months from now if it falls exactly on 17.

Here’s what happened:

I got 7!

We’ll now start applying the chastity points system we’d been planning for the last couple of days.

Am I looking forward to the orgasm session? Yes. Will I regret looking forward to the orgasm session? I think also yes.

I want to learn to hate orgasms. And this is the way to do it.

Wednesday 🛐🕓🕔🕕🕖🕗

On Wednesday, my Owner had to leave the house for a few hours.

Before they left, they told me to do a number of chores, then spend an hour working on my art, then write on my journal, and finally go to store myself in my room.

Naked and chained as always, I set up the videocall on my computer facing me, so that they could join in to check up on me whenever they liked, and then I got to work.

Once done, it was time to go get in my room.

I emptied the small closet space where I would spend the evening at least until my Owner arrived back home and released me. I grabbed my toy-let (a small bottle) and squeezed in. I placed the wooden panel on the side from where I entered, leaving me trapped in a small cubic meter (or a bit less) with only a small window to the outside above the wooden panel. Through the window, I reached over to the closet door, and finally closed it shut.

It didn’t seem that small. Like, yes, I could barely move. I couldn’t stretch my legs or torso, and my arms could barely pass by the sides of my body if I wanted to move them between my front and my back. But it didn’t feel completely trapped and hopelessly cramped…yet.

That’s what I came to realize eventually that day, at first it feels like hey look I have so much room in front of me! There’s a lot of empty space! But as the minutes and hours go by, I find that the amount of empty space doesn’t matter as much as the specific dimensions. Yes, sure, there’s enough space there to fit probably my whole bed (a large blanket and a couple small pillows) along with me, and I know that’s something my Owner is planning on trying, but all that extra space doesn’t help me because my position is still limited by the dimensions of the box. So the volume of my storage isn’t as important as the proportions, because the proportions are what determines what positions I can be in and how bearable and sustainable they are.

I was allowed to have my phone in there this time, since I was alone in the apartment and my Owner still wanted a way to talk to me and for me to be able to respond.

My responses, however, were limited to my toy-phrases. This means I could say yes, no, thank you, you’re welcome, ready, and other such simple phrases but always followed by “, Sir”. Exception was if they told me they love me I could say it back, and if they asked a questions I could also answer, always ending each sentence with “, Sir”.

I’d been made to put myself in storage at 16:16hs. Unable to do anything on my phone other than look at my chat with my Owner, it wasn’t until 18:16hs that I got a message. Two hours.

I lov u How r u? Enjoying your room?

[”How r u?”] ⮪ uncomfortable bored in pain hot and slightly suffocating, Sir [”Enjoying your room?"] ⮪ yes, Sir [”I lov u”] ⮪ I love you, Sir

[”uncomfortable bo…”] ⮪ Good Pretty captive toy

aaaaa yes, yes I am. I love being their captive, their toy. Just stored away and forgotten about. Its emotions or thoughts dont matter. It only exists to suffer and be used, and then to be stored away casually, without a care.

And yes, yes I was uncomfortable, bored, in pain, hot, and slightly suffocating.

I'd already been in there for two hours, which is the most time I had ever spent in there before thay day. I had luckily learned quite a bit from that experience, though, since the positions were much more bearable at that moment than they had been last time I had been in there for that long. I'd learned to relax my body and the difference it made was massively more significant than I would've thought, making it possible to be stored in there for much, much longer. Still, I was incredibly uncomfortable.

I was in pain, not really from the position, but from the prolongued contact with the hard wood or painted plaster surfaces that were now the boundaries of my reality. Also yes from the position, mainly on my legs and from the exhaustion on my whole body.

It was hot and stuffy, the air having grown quite thin and the temperature bearably uncomfortably hot.

The landmark of the view I had from in there was the small slit of light that emanated from the opening at the side of the not-hermetically-closed closet door. It shot one strong lonely beam of light into my small nook, giving me a limited view of the sky outside the bedroom window. Blue skies and birds outside my prison.

It was nice to have my phone to know how much time had gone by. It wasn’t an activity, nor would i call it stimulating but it at least provided me with some knowledge. I could sort of congratulate myself on reaching different checkpoints. One hour, two hours…three hours…

I saw the beam of light slowly turn a warmer color as it became dimmer and dimmer, leaving my phone’s screen as the only light. But even that wasn’t turned on most of the time, I only had use for it if my Owner messaged me.

However, I did find a sort-of loophole in my talking rule.

Alright I’m heading over to pickup something at @musingsformyowner before going back home.

🎉🎉🎉

Hsahsha I feel like I’m chatting with my aunt

😫🥵💨🌇🌆🏙️🌃 🔎🧛‍♂️❓🥺

I lov u I’ll be home soon My pretty toy I love that u r there waiting for me Imma give u treat when i get home as aftercare

🙀😻😻😻 I love you, Sir 🦁👋🐱

U want me to tell the kitty you said hi?

Yes, Sir

Ok

Thank youuu, Sir

[ 20 minutes later ]

Kitty got really happy you said hi

🥺🥺 💞💞

I’m coming back home now Are u ok?

Yessss, Sir 😩😫🥵😣====😍🥰😻😺

Hahsahhah lov u

Yes, who would’ve thought. The capitalistic artificial corporate-virtue-signaling “language” of emojis. That’s my new way to communicate via text with my Owner when stored or in toy-Mode.

I entertained myself exploring the emojis a bit, seeing how I could tell my Owner different things. I wrote this but didn’t get to send it:

🕐🕑🕒🕓🕕🕖🕗🕘🕙🕚 😳😍🙂🥲🙃😣😩😶🫥🥰🥰🥰

In any case, I had nothing to do but wait now, again.

I’m on the bus Start playing your audio loops and stop using your phone.

I quickly complied and started playing the degrading audioloops I transcribed in previous journals.

I then spent the next hour or so alone with my thoughts, as I did most of the time I was there. I’d have many ideas about things in there. I wanted to take pictures, panoramic pictures where you could just see my whole world from my perspective. A small box, my legs, the toy-let bottle. That’s it.

I had also spent time thinking about how long I could be kept there. I thought about being fed through the window, ugh, hot. I thought about being made to pee in the toy-let bottle, in full knowledge that the human bathroom was only 3 meters away, but it was not for me.

I had discovered I could lift the wooden plank blocking my exit. I could lift it half-way up, so that it closed the upper ‘window’ but also created an opening at the bottom. This helped a lot with the air flow, since the air could now enter through the bottom and leave through the top once it had heated up. I was surprised at how well this worked. It wasn’t easy, I had to intently pressure against it and not move much from there if I didn’t want it to slide back down.

I tried lifting it all the way up, so that now the window was now just at the bottom and omfg. Suddenly the space seemed a lot more enclosed. Seeing the walls meet the roof at all sides, and having the opening pretty much out-of-sight near my but made it feel very very enclosed. Damn.

While I was trying that I also thought about other waste disposal options of course, along with access to toy-parts that outside parties might want to play with.

All of that had been before the texting, 3 hours is a really long time.

Now that my Owner was coming home, I had been left to forcefully listen to my Owner degrading me on a loop, the sky outside now almost black, making any stimuli other than their voice disappear with the light.

I heard the apartment door open. I started getting really excited and horny and suddenly slowly active, even though I was exhausted and was probably wearing a very given-up expression on my face, which is my Owner’s favorite expression to have on my face.

A few seconds later, I heard water flowing in the kitchen. They seemed to be washing something.

Silence.

A window closing.

Silence. Only the degrading phrases looping loudly everywhere around me.

Another window closing. Probably to keep the bugs out now that it

🔊 ...you're only good for being tortured, used, restrained, and abandoned... 🔊

The room light was suddenly on, blasting my space with sudden strong orange light coming in through the gap at the side of the closet door.

I heard them enter the room. I heard them close the bedroom window.

🔊 ...you don't matter, the only thing that matters is what I want and what I say... 🔊

I then heard the shower. I stayed there while they showered, until it eventually stopped.

🔊 ...I use you whenever I want, in whichever way I want, for as long as I want... 🔊

They seemed to have entered the room again, sit down on the bed, and then finally open the closet door.

ALL THE LIGHT

A gush of fresh air hit me, along with the warm image of my Owner sitting there, freshly showered and looking slightly above me.

They reached above the wooden shelf that was my ceiling and took a shirt. They put it on and then finally, they looked at me and smiled. They greeted me happily, checked in with how I was, had me turn off the audio, then helped me get out and back to the world after 4 hours of storage.

They made me stretch for a few minutes, rearrange the closet with the things I had to take out to enter it, take a (actually amazingly nice) cold shower, grab a donut from the fridge, and then lie down with them in bed.

I felt amazing. They cuddled me and talked to me, we talked. Everything was great. I was still a bit subby and horny and I’m a slut so of course the first thing I thought was oh they could totally tie me up spreadeagle now on bed, to make sure I stretch, and leave me there.

Slut

I stretched a lot, enjoying the nice surface of the human-grade bed sinking beneath me, very unlike anything inside my little toy room.

I was happy. My body felt perfectly fine, only tired, but actually completely fine.

I am so happy.

⏰ Now

It’s two days late for this journal. The weekend was quite eventful but I need to get this published already, so I’ll leave that for the next one, as agreed with my Owner.

I love being their toy.

See you on Sunday.

[kazumasougi]

so what’s your verdict on ragnarok? i saw some people say that it was good but not as good as the first game so i’m curious to know what you think. going to play it this summer 😎

okok this might get long so here’s the non-spoilery short of it: i really loved playing through ragnarok but i do agree that i liked 2018 more! I’ll put the significantly longer portion under the cut and ill do my best not to spoil any main story portions while talking about it lol

ragnarok definitely lets you explore far far more. i think theres a couple of places where you can tell they didnt want to drag the story out so they cut stuff for time but i personally feel like the game could’ve very well used that. and i think the fact that 2018 is like a good number of hours longer than ragnarok makes it a little bit surprising when you get to the endpoint.

also unlike 2018— though this matters less to me— there are parts of the game that you can only actually finish once youre done with the main story. it has a few epilogue pieces which are definitely a nice send-off for the game and you can explore just a little bit more, but if im honest it feels a bit empty..? though im not done with postgame so when i get there ill probably post abt it more 😼

storywise i feel like there’s some things that could definitely have improved or been changed in some way… i absolutely loved the new dynamics between old characters and getting to see how theyve grown with each other since 2018. its super heartwarming to me. but some parts really did feel rushed and while the ending was good some parts just felt kind of… abrupt??? i’d love to know how they would have refined the story with just a bit more time because personally it feels like theres still a loose end or two that hasnt been addressed. that said its by no means a BAD story— i really liked going through it! the best way i can think to put it is that it’s an emotional rollercoaster from start to finish.

in terms of MECHANICS… i’ll be completely honest some of them were so incredibly frustrating that id considered giving up on some of the fun side stuff they encourage you to do (like nornir chests and whatever else may have you). even some parts of the main quest were a little bit confusing to me…?? at some points there are puzzles that aren’t super straightforward and it got a little tiring to play guess and check. that said there aren’t a lot of them, but it definitely left me a little bit annoyed during gameplay. i should mention though for some of the mechanics in question they DO have a crazy good range of accessibility settings that help you more clearly see things like interact-able objects and targets etc. so making use of those definitely lessened the annoyance for me personally lol. that said it does not work for all of them and if you Want to go collecting extras then you might have to sit there frustrated a few times before it works out 🥲

one more thing i should probably mention in regards to game mechanics is the skill trees… i’ll keep this explanation light as to avoid heavy spoilers but essentially they give you a LOT of skills to upgrade with XP. and i mean a lot. i have not used even half of them they do nothing for me 💀 i would guess this is their way of letting you do more with XP since in 2018 you rack it up faster than you can spend it but there are so many in ragnarok. and if im honest it feels like a lot of them are kind of … useless in combat. or at least very very situational. they do give you the chance to upgrade skills you use the most which i really like but i find it kind of weird how many of them are reliant on hyperspecific situations while also costing a significant amount when you unlock them.

OH. and also. i kind of wish the companion armor had some sort of effect…???? like in 2018 i loved atreus’ healthstone effect because it suited my playstyle. but all companion armor is purely cosmetic. they seem to have replaced that with accessories you can equip them with that have different effects but i also didnt really feel much of a difference with them until postgame 😿 an edge ragnarok has on 2018 though is definitely that you can customize what your armor looks like while taking the stats of another. which is awesome because im tired of making him look like hes wearing a sweater vest at a holiday gathering. ill admit though the menuing is a little bit more confusing lol

ANYWAY. to finish this off i feel like i loved a lot about ragnarok but after having seen what they did in 2018 i feel like they probably couldve pushed it a bit more. that said the story is absolutely crazy and i loooove certain routes they went with it so it definitelys worth playing imo. i just wouldnt expect it to be just like the first game 👍 there are some major changes i havent listed because i think seeing them for yourself will be awesome

[astrabear]

For the WIP tag game: the venting fic 👀

Please and thank you 😊

Ahhh, the venting fic. I wrote it (what there is of it) in November of last year, when I was frustrated by some conversations about Nile and Booker. It's a thousand words about Nile, most of which she spends in conversation with Andy. I stopped working on it when a) I was no longer so frustrated, and b) I realized that if I just wanted to use Andy as a mouthpiece to make all the arguments I wanted to make, it would require Nile to make all the arguments I was arguing against, which would by definition be out of character with how I see her.

It's also way too talky, but that tends to be the case with all my rough drafts. There are bits of it I definitely want to hold onto, but it's so far down on my priority list I'm not sure if I'll ever get around to reworking it. (I've put the entire thing after the cut, because why not.)

It had been a slow, lazy day, and Nile had an itch under her skin that she couldn’t shake. Nicky helped her practice with his new scope, but the meditative calm of distance shooting couldn’t soothe her. She sparred with Joe for a while and learned a new throw, but her edginess was untouched by exertion and adrenaline. A long soak was next on her list, but when she lowered herself into the water she found she was far too impatient and jittery for a bath. She apologized to her mother’s voice in her head, scolding her for wasting water, pulled the plug, rinsed quickly, and went looking for Andy.

She found her sitting in the living room, of all places, which meant it must be a bad pain day. Andy never just hung around indoors if she could help it, and Nile made a note to check in with Nicky. In the meantime…

“What would you say if I told you I wanted to call my mom?”

Andy looked up from her magazine. “I’d say of course you do. You’ll never really stop wanting to.”

“Okay.” Nile took a step toward Andy. “What if I said I was going to call my mom?”

Andy sat up straighter and put the magazine aside. “I’d say you made that decision already, and some things can’t be undone. If you needed me to, I’d remind you of all the reasons you made that decision in the first place.”

“And what would you say if I wanted to call Booker?”

Blue eyes stayed locked on brown. “I’d tell you to cut the bullshit and tell me what’s really going on, instead of beating around the bush like this.” Andy tossed the magazine onto the coffee table and patted the empty space beside her. “What are you really asking me?” Nile didn’t sit.

“I just… I think I really need to talk to somebody.”

“Like a shrink?”

“No, like a…” Nile shook her head impatiently. “Like a person, a person who isn’t you or Nicky or Joe. I thought, when I was first getting used to all the, you know, this, I thought it meant the world was getting bigger. I was going to be able to see so much, experience so much. But for a while now my world has been the safehouse and the three of you, and that’s too small Andy, I feel like I’m going to explode. Like one of these days I’m going to go for a run and just keep going.”

“What’s stopping you? You want to talk to people, go talk. You want some time to yourself, go take it. You're not a prisoner here." "But I thought... we were supposed to be laying low?" "We are. First rule of stealth, don't get so caught up in acting sneaky that you draw more attention to yourself. Joe flirts with every vendor he meets and Nicky charms the hell out of all the old ladies in a five mile radius. Not just because they're just like that, but also because "those nice young men who helped me carry my groceries" are a lot less memorable than "that creepy house where they keep to themselves and never talk to anyone." Nile considered this, and while she considered she sat down. Not next to Andy, though. This conversation was not going the way she'd expected. She wasn't sure if it was a disappointment, not being yelled at. Andy went on, "You're smart enough not to say things you shouldn't. But there's nothing wrong with going to a bar and unloading on the bartender about how much you miss your family. You’re one of us, and you will be for a long, long time. We’ll teach you how that works. But you’re still you, it’s still your life. You’re alive, so be alive. You wanna get laid? I can see if the boys are free tonight.”

“What?!”

“What?” They stared at each other, Nile aghast and Andy confused, until Andy’s eyes widened with realization and she burst out laughing. “Not like that! To be your wingmen!”

“Oh thank God.” Nile collapsed back into her chair.

“Get dressed up, hit a club with the guys. You’d be doing me a favor, really.”

“How, by giving you a chance to practice with your axe and pull your stitches without Nicky stopping you?”

Andy grinned. “Of course not.”

“And you’d really be ok with that? Me meeting other people?”

The grin became a smirk. “If you’d rather, I can tell you some of the times I went out and… met other people.”

Yes. “No, thank you very much.” She shifted uncomfortably and took a steadying breath. “And after that, after going to a club and whatever… what if I still want to call Booker?”

“You can want to all you like.”

“But I can’t do it.”

Andy sighed and leaned back. “What would that mean for you, ‘can’t’? If I said that and you did it anyway, we wouldn’t kick you out. We wouldn’t hurt you. I just said you’re not a prisoner. But Nile,” she sat up and leaned forward, eyes intense, “I told you to go out and meet people because I trust you. I don’t trust easily. You have integrity, and good judgment, and a good heart. You can get in touch with Booker. But we’re staying away. Nicky and Joe deserve to have their privacy; they need to feel safe. If you tell him anything about us – and I mean anything, not just where we are but what stories we’re telling you, if Nicky looks tired or Joe seems sad, a joke we made that you didn’t get – I won’t be able to trust you anymore. Not fully. Not like I do now. That’s not a threat; that’s just a fact. It’s up to you.” She stretched for the magazine, wincing slightly, and settled back to read.

Nile, who had been shocked into silence, found her voice. “So it’s like that? I can do what I want, but you’ll still punish me if I step out of line?”

“It’s not a punishment. It’s a consequence. Booker betrayed us, so we don’t trust him. If you give him access to Joe and Nicky, even indirectly? Same thing. Might as well get mad at gravity when you step off a cliff. You’ll still be welcome here, and we’ll still train you. But you’ll have hurt us. Is it really so surprising that we might react?”

[all-timelee]

Of Course || Paul Lahote

// I haven’t posted anything in a very long time and I’m not entirely sure why I’m back, but here we are. I hope people enjoy this, I’ve been reading through the Twilight books for the first time and watching the movies a lot frequently, hence the Paul Lahote imagine. \\

Warnings: Some swearing, that’s pretty much it

Word Count: 1.0k

Masterlist

“Can’t you be happy for once?!” You yelled, exasperated and frustrated at his constant state of annoyance. You had tried everything you thought of to make him happy, to get anything other than eye rolls or snarky comments out of him, but you were done. Jacob was going to tell you what his problem was or you were going to leave. “What’s your problem?” He spoke lowly, not even bothering to take his eyes off the screen in front of him. “My problem? You spend all day sulking around this house like someone pissed you off and I don’t get it. I don't understand why you always seem so mad at me. I need to know what the fuck is going on with you or I can’t do this anymore.”

He finally put his phone done, his eyes slowly gravitating to your form. “You can’t be that stupid. You still see a future here?” You twisted your face into an angry expression as you glared harshly. “Stupid fucking mutt,” you muttered, storming past him to grab the bag you’d already packed. You could feel his eyes on your body as you gathered your things and headed for the door. “Have fun with Bella,” you spoke, your hand on the doorknob as you spoke of the one thing you knew would get under his skin. “But she’s never going to love you back.” You smirked as his eyes shone with rage, quickly exiting the house, getting as far away from Jacob as you could.

You headed for the beach, setting your stuff down next to a washed up log before sitting down on it yourself. Your chin rested on your knees as you stared out across the water, unshed tears blurring your vision. You had done a great job of holding them back in his presence, but he wasn’t here and here you were, alone. You could sense the empty feeling creeping up your throat, a sob threatening to push past your lips so you dug your face into your legs and began to cry.

You hadn’t noticed anyone else on the beach until they sat next to you, jolting you out of your daze, your eyes darting up to meet a familiar pair. “Paul,” you spoke quietly, letting your head droop back down now knowing who the stranger was. “So I take it you guys finally broke up?”

You didn’t move for a bit, didn’t say anything back. You weren’t sure how much you really wanted to talk about Jacob, you just hated him so much, but it still hurt. “My…everything hurts,” You finally muttered, almost quiet enough for him to miss what you said.

Your mind wandered back to the last time Paul and you had been on this beach. You were his imprint, but you hadn’t wanted to be. You and Jacob were doing well back then, but you should have known that it wouldn’t last like you’d sworn it would. You left Paul, told him to leave you alone, that you were better off without him and you had been proven wrong.

Suddenly, you felt overwhelmingly guilty, as you felt his hand rubbing circles on your back, it just made you  want to cry more. You didn’t deserve his comfort, he should be angry at you, letting you hurt because this has to be close to the same thing you’d put him through less than a month prior.

You lifted your head, your eyes turning to meet his. “Why are you here? I was such a bitch to you.” He shrugged, not making any move to leave. His eyes were full of concern at your state, which just confused you even more.

“You’re my imprint. This is what I was put on this earth to do, to protect you. If it were anyone else, I probably wouldn’t be here, but you’re upset, and I want to help, unless you don’t want me to.” The last part came out quieter than the rest and he reluctantly began to pull his hand away. “No! I-I mean, no, I don’t want you to go,” you spoke quickly, ignoring the hint of a smirk that pulled at his lips. You slowly moved your body closer to his, your head resting against his shoulder. “I’m sorry about what I said to you. You didn’t deserve that.” You felt his arm pulling you flush against his body, his head leaning against yours. “It’s alright, don’t worry about it, I understand how it all must’ve sounded.”

And it was quiet. You sat in silence for a while, just his presence bringing you enough comfort to stop the tears from wetting your cheeks, the previous feeling of despair you’d been feeling had since dissipated, being replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach.

You flinched suddenly, your nose scrunching up as a drop of water landed on it. Paul felt your sudden movement, giving you a questioning gaze before more drops fell from the sky, the two of you surrounded by rain in what seemed like an instant. “What the fuck…” You trailed off, moving quickly to stand and grab your things, Paul following your lead and grabbing your hand before the two of you took off into the woods.

You had reached your car quickly, both jumping into the vehicle in record time. “You want to come back to mine?” You asked shyly, being met with a warm smile and a nod in response. “Yeah, sure.”

The drive felt like it lasted forever, there was an awkward tint to the air, neither of you wanting to push the boundaries of whatever was going on between you two too far. You were careful as you two climbed up to your room, trying not to wake your parents, and offered him some dry clothes. You slipped into the bathroom to change yourself, taking a bit of time to dry your wet locks before entering your room once more.

“Come lay down with me,” Paul spoke quietly, offering his hand out to you. You took it, letting him pull you into his chest as your bodies hit the bed. As stiff as your frame was at first, it didn’t take long to relax into his warmth, your eyes gradually falling shut as his lips pressed a gentle kiss against the skin of your forehead. “Go to sleep, lovely.” His voice lulled you a bit deeper into unconsciousness, a small smile gracing your lips. “You’ll be here when I wake up?” He chuckled a bit at the question. “Of course.”

[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.”

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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!

[rin-itoshi]

mc’s departure | obey me

summary: how the brothers would react to MC returning to the human world after a year in the devildom

contains: fluff , angst , ?!!!!&;@;&:idk

♯ LUCIFER

he’s the one to see you off, reminding you of the many things he had taught you so that you’d never forget.

his pride is much too large to admit that he will miss you to death and that he loves you dearly.

after you’re gone, he’s gone for hours at a time, holed up in his room with as much as work as he can take on.

he overworks himself with the intention of getting rid of the heavy emotion on his heart.

everything reminds you of him, even the paper clip on his desk that you had once found under his bed.

he gets easily irritable, feeling rather empty now that you’ve gone and left him alone in this now quiet house.

barely leaves his room, only works.

never cries but gets quite emotional when he finds a belonging you left behind.

♯ MAMMON

he cried every single night up until your departure but never showed you that side of him once

after you left, he cried non-stop, not caring if he looked like a cry baby in front of his brother’s who watched him with pitiful eyes.

once his eyes dried up, he soon never returned home as he partied all day and night.

he forced himself to attend parties after parties in order to forget about you.

it never works because everything reminds him of you.

sometimes he sits in his car and just stares into space, wondering what you’re doing now that you’re back on earth.

literally cannot stand the mention of you or your name or he may break down.

pretends to be okay but can’t go a day without getting upset about your absence.

money soon becomes pointless when he realizes no amount of cash will bring you back to the house of lamentation.

♯ LEVIATHAN

curled up in his bath tub and cried himself to sleep.

stopped leaving his room in general, continuously playing games all day and night.

couldn’t look at his ruri-chan figures because they somehow reminded him of you and how much you used to admire them with him.

every inch of his room has your touch on it and it makes his heart ache painfully.

struggles to attend online school but manages to make it through the day by zoning out in class.

claims he doesn’t care about a normie like you but genuinely misses you

sends you messages, forgetting you can no longer contact him without your D.D.D

writes about how much he misses you on his blog fully aware you’ll never see it.

♯ SATAN

reading. that’s all he does.

he hides in his room and reads every single book he has stacked up along his room, even rereading them if he finished everything.

uses books to get his mind off of you—or more so the lack of you.

will sometimes get excited about a stray cat he sees but stops himself when he realizes he can’t tell you because you aren’t here.

gets angry. a lot.

the smallest things set him off and he can longer feign a smile when he hears your name or anything related to you.

he misses you so much that he wants to tear out his hair and rip apart all these book page by page.

his room is in shambles and he can’t seem to think straight anymore.

♯ ASMODEUS

loses his interest in everything.

forgets his skin care routine and lets himself go without caring about it.

forces himself to go to parties and tries to sleep with someone to feel better but when it fails, he stops sleeping around in general.

like mammon, he doesn’t come home often to avoid seeing the house he had lived in with you happily.

cannot forget about you no matter what he does, and that frustrates him the most.

wishes he had done something to stop you or at least slept beside you one last time.

neglects himself for a while.

♯ BEELZEBUB

poor bby isn’t hungry for once.

can’t seem to eat now that you’re not sitting beside him, giggling about something he had said.

spends a lot of his time doing weight training and exercising to get his mind off of you.

misses all the meals you used to make on the nights you were in charge of cooking.

sometimes forgets you’re not around whenever he’s about to go downstairs to eat dinner.

clings to belphie in hopes to fill the gap in his heart.

accidentally broke down your room door in an angry fit when your absence finally set in.

♯ BELPHEGOR

either he sleeps even more or somehow gets less sleep.

no matter what, he feels sluggish and blank.

locks himself in the attic, almost as if he was never released in the first place.

even though he hated humans, your absence affected him the most after he had grown to love you as a human.

nearly went demon mode on diavolo when he found out that you were being sent back to the human world.

partially wishes he never met you but cherishes his memories with you too much to ever wish for that wholeheartedly.

sleeps in your bed often to hold onto your lingering scent that was fading quickly.

complains to beel that you were nothing but a stupid human who turns their backs on demons like them, but he never means anything he says.

“Why is it so quiet in here?” Diavolo asks as he opens the front door of the House of Lamentation with Barbatos at his side. The man’s golden eyes scanned the entry hall, noticing how it was so eerily dark and quiet that it almost felt like something out of a horror movie. It felt like no one had lived here in over two thousand years. “Hello?”

Upon receiving message from Diavolo, everyone had exited their rooms for the first time in a while, looking like they were dragged through the mud. The state they were in made Diavolo jump with surprise, shocked to find that even Lucifer looked like he was ill. “What happened to you guys?!”

“What is it that you need, Lord Diavolo?” Lucifer asked as he ran a hand through his hair to compose himself a bit in front of the red haired man. “If is nothing important, may I kindly ask you to leave and return another time?”

Diavolo sighed, shaking his head lightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what’s up with you guys, but I brought everyone’s favorite person along with me so sing your praises now!”

Mammon huffed, “If ya’ talking about that butler of yours, ain’t nobody care right now! We got bigger things to worry about!”

Barbatos simply smiled, taking no offense to the sly insult thrown his way.

Diavolo cocked a brow in confusion. “What? Of course not! It’s-“

The person stepped out from behind Diavolo, catching the attention of every single male in the room. The seven brother’s choked, staring at the one person they had longed for these past few days.

“[y/n]!” They shouted in unison, practically flying down the stairs to get to you. Mammon was the first to reach you, wrapping his arms around your entire body as he tackled you to the floor. The other brother’s climbed on top of you two, hugging you so tightly that you feared this would be where you’d die. “You’re back!”

Diavolo chuckled boisterously. “This is amusing! You lot are acting like you didn’t know they’d return today!” His laugh came to an abrupt stop when he saw the flat expressions coming from each and every brother. “Oh- Did I not inform you?”

“Obviously you didn’t.” Belphegor scoffed with a roll of the eyes, burying his face in the crook of your neck to inhale your scent. “[y/n]...”

“Ya can’t ever leave again! I’ll seriously get angry at ya if this happens again! Ya either go to the human world with me or ya don’t go at all!” Mammon snapped, cupping your cheeks while getting dangerously close to your face to yell at you.

“I’ll severely punish you if you ever leave this manor without giving me a heads up as to where you’re off to. You’re not just an exchange student anymore. You’re special.” Lucifer explained, a panicked glint in his tired eyes as he reached out to pat your head gently with his gloved hand.

Satan sighed, pressing his forehead against your back. “If you leave again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to control my emotions, so don’t leave.”

The avatar of lust whined loudly, “my beautiful self can’t handle a life without you! Don’t ever go anywhere without me again!” He clutched onto her waist tightly.

“Don’t... Don’t go anywhere.” Leviathan said with a sad frown on his lips as he held your hand, bringing it up to rest against his cheek. “It’s so empty without you.”

“Let’s eat dinner together, [y/n].” Beel suggested, his voice full of emotions as he drooled at the thought of dinner with you.

A million emotions ran through your veins as you sat there, basking in the warmth of their touch. It was overwhelming to receive so much love all at once but it was amazing.

A smile slowly crept onto your lips as you leaned into their touch, enjoying the way they clung to you as if you’d disappear any moment now. “I missed you guys, too.”

“What a lovely reunion!” Diavolo exclaimed happily, snapping a view blurry photos on his D.D.D to send to the group chat later.

After the heartfelt moment, they quickly disappeared upstairs to fix up their appearance before rushing downstairs to the kitchen where you stood. They clung to you like bugs to a light, hounding you about your sudden departure, only to find out that you had gone up there with Diavolo and Barbatos to help the man experience human world activities he had never gotten to try before. Diavolo was sure he had told them that but seeing as they were genuinely distressed, he assumed the message never reached.

Even though they were beyond pissed with Diavolo and his carelessness, they were just glad you were back. Them being here with you really was their idea of a perfect life.

a/n: UH YEA K GOODNIGHT

[phoenixyfriend]

Future Emotions AU

Time travel, returned-to-light Vader to 14yo Anakin, BUT he doesn't get any actual memories or abilities, just Emotional Reactions from outside that don't make sense to him. Walks into the crèche and starts crying. Why is he crying? He doesn’t know!

Sees Palpatine and it's just Complicated Revulsion Loyalty Hate time.

Sees Obi-Wan and it's... also complicated.

Sees Padme on the news, literal wall of Grief and Love.

"Anakin? Anakin! Why are you crying?" "I don't kno-o-o-ow!"

Literally everything in the temple makes him feel sad and guilty for some reason... except Yoda. Anakin spends a LOT of time with Yoda because the only thing Yoda brings out of this Absurd Brain Thing is exasperated frustration and a bit of gratitude

(Because Yoda stayed alive long enough to give Luke the training to stay alive, and died from Being Old Disease instead of Getting Stabbed Syndrome.)

(Not that Anakin KNOWS that.)

Sees Ahsoka and it's time for Guilt and Adoration and "I'm keeping her."

@atagotiak​ asked: Would it be “I’m keeping her?” Because on some level it’s also “it’s best if she stays away from me”

Which... well... it's less guilt than almost anyone else in the Temple, and Anakin doesn't know WHY he feels these things...

She escaped at Malachor so the guilt is there but not the horrified grief. He didn't kill her, which is SUCH a low bar. But it does mean that whoever is put in charge of dealing with his sudden emotional instability decides that maybe it would be Good to have Anakin hanging out with This Child as like... slow exposure therapy.

(Actually with Yoda involved and his history of "throw a child at the problem," Anakin is going to be encouraged to spend time with The Eight-Year-Old He Cried On whether he wants to or not.)

The only things that don't make Anakin feel Bad Things right now are droid repair and Racing.

He’s insecure so he always kinda expects people to dislike him. But now he expects people to hate him and is also absolutely certain he deserves it. So that’s fun.

Poor Obi-Wan, too. He has NO idea how to help.

(I'm trying to figure out the list of people Anakin didn't screw over or get killed. Do we know how Quinlan died?)

(And I GUESS Jedi who died in the war before Anakin Lost His Goddamn Shit.)

Granted he might not know much about a lot of them and if he doesn’t recognize them his subconscious is probably gonna be like “they died, my fault”

But like. Wow. How the heck do you process emotions if you: 1) don’t know why you’re feeling them 2) have no way to try to figure out why you’re feeling them

Anakin sees Bail on the news "Who's that?" "A friend of mine, why do you--" "I resent him." "For... being my friend?" "I don't know."

Also weirdly grateful, but like. Hey! Also on the list of things Anakin feels bad about for no reason: Bail’s entire planet.

Anakin: I FEEL GUILTY ABOUT ALDERAAN. Obi-Wan: Okay, do you know why? Anakin: I'VE NEVER EVEN BEEN THERE. I’VE NEVER EVEN HEARD ABOUT IT MORE THAN IN PASSING UNTIL YESTERDAY.

There's a lot of "I don't even know who you are but I already hate you" about, like... Tarkin.

Anakin's looking at star maps one day and starts having complicated feelings about an empty patch of space. There's nothing there! There's not a single pla--why is gravity wrong.

Why is gravity wrong in this patch of empty space

Oh shit there's supposed to be a planet here

What the fuck.

"Master Yoda I was looking at stars to calm down but I started feeling gross and angry about an empty patch of space and then I did some math and there should be a planet there because of the gravity but there ISN'T and I keep feeling gross and it's the same kind of gross as when I think about Tatooine so maybe there's slaves on that planet that shouldn't be there."

Anakin and Obi-Wan and Yoda go to Kamino. They meet the clones. Anakin starts crying again. Obi-Wan has to excuse them from the Awkward Conversation With Jango in order to calm Anakin down. Anakin looks at Boba and gets angry despite the fact that this is a five-year-old child that's done nothing wrong.

I just want to take "Anakin has a lot of emotions and no idea how to deal with them" to a whole new level.

[heliotism]

HARD TO GET... ❪YANDERE SPARKLING COOKIE X HARD TO GET! READER HCS❫

requested by: @rhystheyare ! thank you for requesting!! <3

context; reader plays it hard to get with poor poor sparkling cookie, who doesn't even realize how quickly he's sinking into obsession.

you're a regular at the kingdom's local juice bar. you come by almost every night, and always order the same thing.

you're not an extroverted, but you have to admit that the bar's owner, sparkling cookie, is a nice cookie to chat with.

you wouldn't consider the two of you close— after all, you basically only come there to get your drink and that's it. you talk with sparkling for a bit, about the weather, the new cookies, this and that, and huh. that's about it.

he looks pretty cute?? but you aren't particularly interested— or at least, you try not to be.

your last relationship wasn't exactly the best, so... yeah.

at first, sparkling's the same. after all, you're just yet another client. he chats with you like he'd do with any other cookie at his bar. because he's polite, and also to keep his business going.

so yeah, it's all good and chill at the start.

slowly but surely though, sparkling gets to know you more. just the basics, like who are your friends, what you like and dislike,,

you're, like mentioned before, just another client. yet, with you, he feels... strange. warm. and he's never felt that before so double strange.

but something sparkling knows about that feeling is that he craves it. sooo time to try and spend more time with you!

it's like a drug, except he doesn't really realize it. soon, your attention and affection become his only motivation to open the bar.

“would [y/n] like this drink..?” “when are they coming?” “do they think about me?”

he doesn't even try to act like he cares about the other clients. maybe just a 'hi' and that's it. you, however, get all of his attention.

the clients are displeased, and they come less and less. but as long as you're here, it's fine!

it's not like he actually noticed them going away anyway lol

of course, sparkling tries to flirt with you. he's smooth as fuck, charming, has the best pick-up lines in the kingdom, yet you just don't react like he wants you to.

“[y/n], life without you is like a broken pencil... pointless.”

“ah, do you want me to buy you a new one?”

yeah. it's funny at the start— no, actuallly, it never was funny to begin with. why are you so hard to get?? are you just not interested in him??

it would be,,, quite terrible actually. that mere thought scares sparkling.

but he tries to stay positive!! yep, that's the spirit!!

every time you flash him a smile, even just a tiny one, his heart goes 📈📉📉📈📉📈📈📉📈📉📈📉📈📈📈

sparkling tricks himself into thinking that you do love him— even if you don't show it.

if you spend a lot of time at the bar, sparkling will think that tonight, you were happy to be with him and he did a good job! he'll be very happy :]

if, however, you only stay for a few minutes and don't even bother to say hi to him, sparkling will believe that you're upset with him and that he did something wrong.

but whichever you do, at some point, sparkling will grow more and more frustrated. you only come a few hours (or minutes) per day, which means he basically only gets to see you a bit. you also are a bit too distant for his liking.

but sparkling wants to see you more. more and more, until he decides that one day, he wants you just for himself. no one else can look at you and you can't look at anyone else— except him.

you won't be able to ignore his advances anymore. that's it.

you come to the bar, as always. it's totally empty, which means it's only you and the one and only bartender.

you go over to sparkling, greet him, and ask him for your favorite drink.

“sorry [y/n], we don't have that one anymore!” he apologizes, showing an empty bottle, “however, i just got some brand new juice from the yogurca kingdom! ...wanna try? ”

you're curious, so you accept. it's not like anything could happen anyway, right?

sparkling serves a drink, and smoothly sends it to you.

you take a tiny sip, and you're already on the ground, asleep.

... okay, maybe that drug was a bit too powerful.

nonetheless, he gently carries you in his arms into another room— one much tinier, and darker.

it will take you some time to wake up. that's okay! sparkling will use that time wisely and will just,,, stare at you. until you wake up.

and when you do, you're absolutely terrified. almost as much as he was whenever he thought you didn't like him.

“good morning darling! i hope you like your new home! ”

good luck dealing with 1. living in a cramped up dirty room for a while while seeing no one but sparkling and 2. a totally lovestruck and obsessed sparkling cookie who doesn't realize how terrible his actions are.

this was so hard to write bc im not that used to writing "hard to get" characters and i procrastinated a lot therefore it is trash and i apologize

want to request? click here before requesting please!

[mishkakagehishka]

repost from my old blog

Of course it’s possible! Sorry for the wait, but here it is!

Warnings: unhealthy and toxic relationships (reminder that yandere is abuse and not to be romanticised), unhealthy jealousy, possessiveness, drugging, kidnapping

Kalim Al-Asim

A rich kid who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and was never told no

You just know there’s a lot of potential here

Due to his generally kind and bubbly personality, I can’t see him as being a yandere from the get-to

Instead, he’d probably have an actual honest-to-goodness crush on you at one point, and, being Kalim, would immediately try confessing

He’d corner you between classes, softly bring your hands into his, look deep into your eyes and tell you that he’s fallen in love with you and wants to be your boyfriend

If you reject him, for whatever reason (because you don’t know him well enough, because you’ll, hopefully, be returning to your own world anyway, or because you simply don’t like him that way), he’ll turn to the yandere-ness pretty much immediately

And if you like him back, it’ll take a while for the yandere-ness to come in, but it will

As a yandere, Kalim is delusional and obsessive, and refuses to be told “no” - he’s spoilt and absolutely has to have his way, even if he doesn’t seem that way at first

So, to return to the case at hand, if you reject him, he’ll convince himself he can change your mind

He just needs to work a little harder. You don’t know him well enough? That’s an easy fix, you just have to spend more time together. You’ll be returning home soon anyway? Well, you’re still allowed to make connections and have fun while you’re here, in fact, you should make the most of your limited time here! And he can make sure you stay in Twisted Wonderland for as long as he wants you to stay. You just don’t like him? You just need more time for your own feelings to develop!

Absolutely refuses to come to terms with being rejected, and just starts spending more time around you, trying to buy your love by giving you expensive gifts and inviting you to Scarabia almost every other evening for parties

You might start thinking he got over the crush and now just wants to be your friend because he stops mentioning it, but he’s still obsessed with you

Always has to sit next to you during the feasts and he has to be the one dancing with you. Is not above abusing his position as dorm leader to intimidate any Scarabia student that tries to ask you for a dance

The change in his behaviour is subtle, but still has most of the students at his dorm concerned. Even Jamil gets worried, but, as long as Kalim’s not putting himself in grave danger, he doesn’t care enough to figure out what’s happening

When he thinks the time is right, he tries confessing again

This time, he even made sure to set a more romantic atmosphere, after one of his many parties, he’s sitting with you on a balcony, looking up at the stars, when he tells you how he thinks you should at least give him a chance

And if you say no again, he gets so frustrated, it’s almost painful. For just a moment, you get a glimpse of what a furious Kalim would look like, but he immediately replaces the frown with a stiff smile, ignoring the urge to scream and shout at you that you absolutely must give him a chance, that you have to be his

He tells you, through gritted teeth, to think it over. And, oh, look at that, it’s so late, he couldn’t possibly let you walk all the way to Ramshackle alone at this hour. Why don’t you spend the night in one of the empty single rooms?

Just pushes you in regardless of your answer and locks the door. He didn’t plan far ahead, but decides that just telling you he’ll let you out when you “realise how much you love him” will do the trick

Should you, at any point, accept his confession, things would progress fairly normally

In the sense that, at first, he’d be more or less the perfect boyfriend

Caring, always asking you if you’ve eaten, if you slept well, offering to carry your books for you, just all around is really sweet

But he does get a bit pouty whenever you don’t spend all your time with him

And then his behaviour starts changing

When you say you can’t hang out on a certain day, he’s immediately bombarding you with questions, asking if you’re feeling under the weather (he should come over to Ramshackle, right? He can help you feel better), if you made plans with somebody else (with whom? Are you cheating on him?), if you don’t like him anymore (he’ll insist you tell him you love him, so he can feel reassured)

He is always insisting on being in your company, and doesn’t want to give you a moment of solitude

Very clingy

Starts getting quite jealous of your other friends, namely ADeuce

Tells you he doesn’t want you to hang out with them because he “doesn’t trust them”

And then he stops trusting all your other friends. And then he stops trusting you.

He’ll ask you why you insist on having so many friends. Isn’t he enough?

As time goes on, he becomes more and more suffocating, and will request your “reassurance” more often

He’ll want to hear you tell him you love him thrice a day at least, and will squeeze your hand painfully tight if you hesitate even for a moment at his request

If Crowley actually finds you a way home, Kalim might throw a full-on tantrum about it

Even if you remind him that you said you’d be returning home someday, he won’t be having it

He’s just so frustrated, you were literally right in his grip, and still, somehow, you’re slipping away

Tries to sway you with promises of wealth, fortune, all the luxuries life has to offer, you wouldn’t want for anything as his spouse

But, if that doesn’t work, he’ll act like he understands, like he’s disappointed, but gets it

And he’ll invite you to one last party, to celebrate all that you’ve done for the school. A farewell party that all the dorms are invited to

And he’d ask Jamil to help him make a strong sleeping potion, to make sure he can send you over to the Land of Scalding Sands where you’d wait for his own return, under key and lock, and close watch of the many servants of the Asim family

Maybe some time away from him will remind you just how much you need and adore him, after all, that’s what you’ve been saying thrice a day all this time. Surely, you haven’t been lying?

[erensrag]

bimbo!reader x judgmental nerd eren

eren x y/n (wc: 3173)

warnings: nswf, slut shaming, slight dubious consent

i don’t think i did this correctly….

"no please, take your time. it's not like we've been here for hours." eren's sharp voice brings you out of your thoughts.

his piercing gaze is right there to meet yours when you finally stop staring at the wall. you chew on your pencil, quickly diverting your attention to the paper in front of you. you've done your best to avoid looking at him the majority of the time you've been here.

it's not your fault you can't look into his eyes for longer than a second. he's the one who's always observing you with that cold, calculating stare. you've been on the end of judgmental looks and not so quiet whispers for years now and have learned to not let them bother you—well you thought you mastered the art of simply ignoring those kinds of people. until eren.

you didn't even know he existed until a few weeks ago. the introduction for you two consisted of a simple bumping into each other in the crowded hallways of school, it ended with him bitterly muttering something about idiot cheerleaders as he stumbled away. not even sparing you a second glance. after that, you saw him often and he made his dislike for you evidently clear.

which makes no sense. how can someone not like you?

it's usually jealous girls giving you the stink eye and making up the ridiculous rumors. they're the ones who don't want to associate themselves with you. not nerdy nobodies who can't walk without stumbling over their own two feet. no, people like him usually worship the ground you walk on. or at least drool a little.

seriously you've tried everything to get rid of that menacing stare and frigid tone he always greets you with. it's like he's immune. "jesus y/n, how dumb are you?"

and they definitely don't talk to you like that. you know you're not the brightest, which is why your teacher got this jerk of a nerd to tutor you right before exam week but is that really an excuse for him to treat you like this? biting the inside of your cheek, you nudge a corner of your sweater until your left shoulder is exposed. leaning forward and batting your eyelashes which gets no response from him other than a blank stare. "i'm not dumb. i just don't get it." you pout. "can't you just tell me the answer? we've spent like thirty minutes on this question."

"thirty minutes cause you're an idiot." he mutters more to himself.

"i'm trying my best!"

"you should've learned this months ago. you would've if you didn't spend your time skipping class to hang out with your pig muscle boyfriend."

"he's not my boyfriend..." you go back to chewing on the pencil.

"so you just make out with any guy behind the bleachers?"

"you seem to know a lot about me." you look at him again, that stupid cold stare looking back at you through those glasses.

"who doesn't. you're y/n. the whole school knows of your...activities."

"those are just rumors." some of them are. most are true. you enjoy living life to the fullest. it's not your fault the people in your school saw a confident, attractive woman and instantly decided to put less than appealing labels on her. "and besides they're none of your business."

"whatever. just solve this, this is taking longer than our usual sessions and my mom will be home soon."

you groan, looking down at the textbooks and not understanding a single word. “please just tell me the answers.” you ask one last time, desperate.

“no.”

you huff, returning your attention to the book. “you’re going to age badly with all that scowling you do. just so you know.”

“shut up.”

"eren..." you say after five minutes which causes a frustrated sigh to leave his lips. "do you have an issue with me?" it's been four sessions of the frigid tension he always puts between you two and there's a lot more to come before graduation so you just want to get whatever problems he has with you out of the way.

it takes a few seconds before he's looking up from the textbook, pushing his glasses up as he sends you probably the most intimidating glare you've seen from him. "excuse me?" the very tone of his voice has goosebumps forming on your skin but you force yourself to stand your ground. you're not going to let some loser who's probably never even kissed someone to look down on you.

"you— you just seem to—"

"i don't have an issue with you y/n." he slams the book on the table causing you to jump. "having an issue with someone like you would imply i care enough and trust me i'll never care for such a ditzy little slut who doesn't respect herself."

you've been called worse than that and usually by scorned boys you hooked up with. but they were popular gym rats, not some overconfident lanky freak. you had a snarky reply on the tip of your tongue but with the cogs in your brain suddenly malfunctioning, you could only stutter out a pathetic, "i—i'm none of those things!"

"really?" he scoffs, actually getting up and walking over and as he does you think maybe it would've been a safer option to just keep your mouth shut. "wide doe eyes without nothing behind them. check." he starts. "plump lips perfect for what you do best. check." and the asshole has the nerve to slowly swipe his fingers across your bottom lip.

you should stand up, tell him to go to hell and get out of here but you're frozen. limbs not moving an inch as he continues, "empty little head. check. skimpy outfits to attract attention. check. i mean let's face the facts.."

you never would've thought the loser that always sits in the back of the class with his nose buried deep in a book would speak like this to you. it's insulting. freaking degrading. he knows nothing about you and yet he has that expression on his face like he does. "if i'm such a ditzy little slut as you so nicely put then i'd be jumping at the chance to hook up with you but here we are." you seethe.

that seems to finally strike a nerve as he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. you cut him off before he can defend himself.

"is that it...you're angry i haven't made a move on you because that's what sluts do isn't it? bone everything they see? is your pride wounded that i don't see you in that way, eren?" you let out a mirthless laugh. "well news flash, pretty girls like me don't go for freaks like you."

you got up, ready to grab your things and run out all while trying to ignore the nerves inside of you. he just stands there, rigid and glaring. "really?" he asks once your books are back in your bag.

"y—yes. now if you'll excuse me—" your wrist is being grabbed before you can take another step and for a second both of you are stunned, you mostly frozen in your spot because this creep has the audacity to touch you after everything he just said. you don't know what his excuse is but he only stands there like a shocked puppy before pushing you on the desk.

a gasp escapes your lips at being manhandled by him  of all people, what the fuck is he doing? you're on your stomach, feet on the ground as the fucker puts a hand on your back, keeping you there. "w-what are you doing?" you pant out, bewildered at everything that just happened.

"i..." he trails off, not saying anything before manhandling you again. only this time it's for you to lay on your back and fuck, you could fight back. he's surprisingly strong for such a lanky freak but you're a cheerleader who does complex moves out on the field almost every day. you could kick him off, slam that big textbook in his face to the point his nose breaks and run out, making sure to report him.

but you don't. it's not that you can't. for some reason, you just don't want to. maybe it's curiosity, to see what exactly he plans on doing. to see if a loser like him actually has the balls to do anything but back away and apologize profusely.

"you're not fighting back." he simply says, sounding a bit confused as he comes to lean over your body. his hands on either side of your head as he stares down, those stupid piercing eyes staring down at you. "why?"

"shouldn't i be the one asking the questions here? like why the fuck you have me on this desk?"

he raises an eyebrow, leaning back and grabbing your thighs causing you to squeal in surprise. he spreads them, raising the dress you’re wearing until it's pooling at your stomach before you can even blink.

shit. what's wrong with him?

what's wrong with you? you should be kicking at him, you could easily shove him off. you could do it in a blink of an eye so why the hell aren't you.

where there's supposed to be fear...there's only anticipation. "you really are a slut." he laughs cruelly, pulling your panties down until they're completely off. where he throws them, you don't know. probably in some corner to hide so you forget about them, who knows what a pervert like him would do with it?

"you barely know me and yet...look at this." you shudder as his finger circles your clit before swiping across your cunt, bringing his hand up to show you your slick as if for emphasis.

"shut up." you grit through your teeth. "you're—" you don't have time to finish your insult before he's kneeling down, tongue immediately latching onto your clit.

your nails instantly scrape against the desk, shuddering as he begins to suckle on your clit. his tongue delves into you, fingers digging into your thighs on purpose as if the freak wants to hurt you. you can play that game too if he wants, fingers going to grab at the strands of his dark hair, pulling as you ground your hips against his annoyingly experienced tongue.

usually, your sexual partners don't willingly choose to eat you out but here is he. practically eager to get to business. he acted so high and mighty and still has the gall to continue doing so yet he's the one on his knees right now. freaking nerds are so easy. even overly judgmental ones with sharp gazes.

he’s basically lapping at you, moving from sucking your clit to eagerly drinking up your juices. never coming up for air as if he was made to simply do this. "f—fuck." you didn't want to make any noises, any implications that what he's doing is actually making you feel good but dammit it's hard when a tongue is diving deep into your most sensitive parts.

a particular bite has you instantly bringing your legs together but he quickly grabs them, forcing them apart to shove his face in between your thighs again. your breath catches in your throat as he licks up your dripping pussy. he doesn’t relent even once and the moans won’t stop escaping your lips, “sl—slow down. gonna…dammit.”

his tongue licks…freaking everywhere. the obscene noises causing you to hang your head back, he’s licking and sucking everything up as if it’s his favorite meal.

and it’s embarrassing. how fast you come. but how can not you? you mercilessly pull at his hair and shamelessly moan when you do. somehow you're the sweating and panting one as he stands up. "so that's what all the hype is about?" he tsk, seemingly bored.

it takes a few seconds for you to find the breath to say “don't act like you didn't enjoy that, with the way you were eagerly—”

"shut up." he takes his glasses off, putting them to the side before grabbing your thighs and pulling you closer to him.

"you're disgusting, you know? the nerve you have—"

"i spent the last two hours teaching you simple biology and somehow you couldn't do one question by yourself, if i'm testy that's all on you.

"it's not my fault." it comes out as a whine and you hate it, you were supposed to be insulting him. at least have some pride when you're about to be fucked by the guy who looks at you like you're nothing but a dirty piece of gum.

"shut up, for crying out loud. shut up." his voice is raspy as he unbuckles the belt to his revolting khakis.

you can't help as your eyes widen once his cock is in view. for such a nerd, he's actually packing. one hand holds your hips as the other guides his dick towards your leaking area and slight panic starts to take over. "a-aren't you gonna prep?" as orgasmic as that oral job was, you doubt just that will be enough to prepare you for that.

he grins, probably the first smile you've ever seen on his annoyingly handsome face. "don't worry, i'm sure a slut like you has a loose enough cunt."

"you little shit! that's—" your words get caught in your throat, back arching as he moves his hips forward, piercing inside of you. "fuck."

a broken sound leaves your lips as he continues to push his length in. it doesn't hurt like you expected it to but there's still a strong ache that you know will leave you limping tomorrow morning. it burns, burns so good you have to squeeze your eyes shut. you need something to hold onto as he starts to move, anything to give you some sort of balance but the flat surface underneath you offers no help. "ngh...eren..." you're not sure what you want to say but he doesn't give you time to think of something before he sets a rhythm.

it's surprisingly slow at first, like he wants you to feel every vein on his cock and you do. your walls desperately clench around him as you bite on your bottom lip, the room suddenly feeling too hot as his fingers grab your chin, forcing you to look at him. into that stupid gaze he won't stop staring at you with. his mouth is slightly open but no sound comes out. he's perfectly collected and you hate it. people like him should be cumming the second you touch them but he's...it's annoying.

his pace starts to speed up—he doesn't even give it another second before he's ramming inside of you. holding your hips with both hands as he sets a brutal pace that has you moving up and down the desk. "p-pretty decent for a nerd—ah!"

still, he stays silent. ugh, what's wrong with him? you bring your arm up to your mouth, muffling the moans spilling out of your lips in spite but his hands are immediately pulling them off. he chuckles, coming close enough that his breath fans against your face and a lewd moan comes out of you as he hits an even deeper spot. "don't do that, we all know this is what you want. to be fucked hard and fast to the point you're nothing but a mindless whore whose only purpose is to scream in pleasure."

you don't respond, biting down hard on your lips. his thrusts became more aggressive as he scoffs, "fine." his hand finds its way to your throat, squeezing slightly.

you suck in a shuddering breath just as his hold tightens, bordering on dangerous but for some reason the lack of air only makes your pussy throb, clenching tight around him. why does it feel good? why does everything he's doing to you only make you want more? his thrusts have now gotten erratic, almost forcing your body off the desk but the hold on your hips and throat keep you right where you are. you want to let out the moan clawing out from inside your throat but his grip stays, merciless as he pounds into you.

you don't know how much of this you can take, everything feels too hot. it's too much. "fuck look at you, didn't think you could look even more dumb." he pants, staring down. he finally removes his hand from your throat and you cry out the second he does.

"eren, please i'm—fuck...too much, it's too much." you gasp even though a sick part of you knows you could do this all night.

but right now...with the way his voice is dripping with cockiness— you hate it, hate the way he looks at you and talks to you. it's infuriating and too much. a tsk comes out of his mouth, "who knew you had a limit?" he rolls his eyes and in the next second, he's spilling inside of you. spilling and spilling until some drip on the floor.

like he's been holding himself back all this time.

fuck. he could've at least let you release a second time. you didn't think the asshole would be finishing right after you said that. you're panting, eyes staring at the white ceiling as he pulls out. he zips up his stupid ugly looking khakis as he steps back. "can you get off my desk now?"

the nerve of him...ugh. you slowly sit up, dress sticking to your skin due to the sweat and you have to refrain from asking to use his shower before leaving.

he gets you your bag and you slowly take it, throat aching and dry. there'll definitely be bruises around your throat and hips tomorrow and you're sure he's secretly delighted at that fact. "uh...." you trail off.

this is usually the part where they ask for your number, pleading for a second night with that desperate look in their eyes but he doesn't even send you another glance as he gathers up the papers on the desk, putting them into a binder. "make sure to study before sleeping tonight...if your body can handle that." his lips slightly curve up at that last part but he's not bragging, no just mocking you.

"o...okay." you lick your dry lips, suddenly needing a mint. "uh...bye?" you stand up too fast, cursing at yourself for it but his arm is around your hips before you can fall.

you bite the inside of your cheek, the proximity too close even though he was just inside of you a minute ago. he sighs, "do you need a ride home?" he asks grudgingly.

and you should say no. you don't need to be in an enclosed space with this asswipe for another second. just say no and walk into class the next day, demanding for another tutor. and then you'll never have to talk to him ever again.

but instead a weak nod comes out.