#sammy can be so suave when he wants to be

[spark-my-nature]

Got You In My Head - SFK

Just before I fell asleep two nights ago, I had this idea, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. It felt so Sammy-coded, so here's my first real Sam fic!

Words: 5.2K

Summary: When the tension between you and your best friend Sam snaps, you lend each other a helping hand. Friends to lovers.

Warnings: Sexual content, masturbation, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up for the love of God), swearing, slight mention of alcohol consumption

Sam’s text didn’t end up coming through your phone until seconds before the boy was knocking at your door. Spotty service outside the city and all. Your best friend was always welcome, it wasn’t that his presence was an issue. But given your current state, a heads-up would have been to your benefit.

You see, the rapid-fire banging on your door came just as you were about to.

You jumped out of your skin at the noise, swiping down to check your notification centre.

Sammy Boy: hey, omw over to hang out, u better be home (2 minutes ago)

You groaned in frustration as you realized you would not be relieving the tension under your fingers anytime soon. In fact, you had a feeling it would only grow worse, considering the object of your frustration was the one knocking at your door. Before your daydream was so rudely interrupted, the imaginary Sam in your head was absolutely devouring you. You pulled your hand out of your sleep shorts regretfully, and retied the string as you padded towards your front door. Swinging it open, you looked at the beaming Samuel Kiszka that stood before you, holding a six pack of white claws.

“What’re you doing here, Samuel,” you questionned, not moving to let him in. He didn’t let that hinder him, pushing past you stubbornly.

“I was bored, and you never have plans on Friday nights, so here I am.” He shrugged with his back to you as he headed into the living room.

Following him in, you argued, “Has anyone ever told you you’re rude?” Flopping on the couch beside your friend, you took the can he handed you.

“Rude? No. Gorgeous? Yes.” He gave you an overly smug, suave-guy smile, and you snorted, finally cracking, and laughing. He giggled and leaned into your shoulder affectionately, kicking his sandals off under your coffee table.

“Yeah, you’re lucky you’re pretty, counteracts the charming arrogance,” you teased, shifting back and swinging your legs up over Sam’s lap. His hands settled easily over your knees, holding you in place as he cracked open his can. He took a loud gulp, swallowing with an obnoxious “ahhhh” before smacking his lips.

“You’ve hung around for this long, pretty girl, you must think I have some redeeming qualities,” Sam raised an eyebrow at you. You giggled, “Oh yeah, the way you drink like a four-year-old really makes me swoon.”

Sam snickered and reached his arm out, tickling the bottom of your bare foot in retaliation. You screeched and jerked your leg away, narrowly missing his jaw. Letting out a high-pitched laugh you swatted his hand away. “NO no! Don’t tickle, shit head!”

Sam smiled wide at your laugh. “Most people would refrain from name-calling when they want something, princess.” His hands settled back on your thighs. You snorted, “You just wanted an excuse to touch my feet, creep.”

Sam smacked a palm over his forehead. “For fucks sake, I don’t like feet,” he implored dramatically, clapping his hands in the air in front of him with each word. You tossed your head back laughing at how your little joke hit a nerve. “Whatever you say Sam, I’m not here to shame.”

An annoyed glare was shot your way. “At least I don’t have a piss kink-“ His sentence was interrupted by a throw pillow launched at his face. “I DON’T,” You yelled through laughter, sitting up and punching his shoulder. Sam joined you in laughter, unable to argue as he gasped for air.

You both slowly calmed down to occasional bursts of giggles.

Your head was back on the armrest of the couch, staring at the ceiling, catching your breath. You could feel Sam’s eyes on you, but you closed yours feigning ignorance. Then you felt Sam’s hand on your thigh start rubbing gently.

Touches like these were fairly common between you two. Though the line had never been crossed, the flirting was incessant, to the point Jake and Josh, and even Danny for cryin’ out loud had told you to get a room.

You always assumed Sam just didn’t feel that way about you, though. He never acted on it if he did, always backing down or killing the moment when any tension arose. But if you were being honest, you couldn’t say the same. Nobody could deny Sam’s attractiveness. His sharp angles and soft skin, the delicate pout of his lips and those gentle eyes. His long, shiny hair that always had pieces falling out of his messy buns. You couldn’t pinpoint when your crush on Sam started, but it had been simmering for years at this point.

Which is why when his large, warm hands slid up and down your thigh, your breath hitched. Suddenly reminded of the activities his arrival had interrupted, you became hyper-aware of the proximity of his hands to your over-heated centre.

Sam, of course, was ever observant, and picked up on the change in your breathing. He could feel your thigh tensing under his touch, and his eyes trailed up your body, landing on your face. Playing it off, you cleared your throat, and shifted slightly, taking a sip of your drink and avoiding his eyes.

You missed the small smirk that played on his lips as he too took a drink.

Sam pushed the limit, a talent of his, sliding his hand slightly higher, his pinky brushing the hem of your shorts. “So how was the shop this week?” he asked casually.

Your eyes shot to his roaming hand, swallowing subtly. “Oh, uhh… it was fine, y’know. Lots of orders right now, with all these new releases coming out,” you told him. He nodded, continuing to tease at your hem, “Sounds busy, you must be stressed?” he remarked, watching your face carefully.

“Well, yeah, definitely more wound up these da-“ an unintentional gasp interrupted you when Sam’s fingers slipped quickly up the short distance under your shorts, brushing against the crease where your thigh met your groin. Finally your eyes darted up to meet Sam’s, unable to ignore his touches anymore. Not when you knew damn well you didn’t have any panties on, and he had just felt the soft dusting of your pubic hair.

Sam’s pupils were blown wide, his soft lips parted. He looked half-stunned, in disbelief that he’d gotten this far. His eyes traveled from his fingers on your thigh to meet your stunned gaze.

Your voice was soft and hesitant when you spoke, “Sam?” He chewed absently on his lip before answering, “Yeah?”

You searched for the right words. What do you do? Should you joke, break the tension? Do you ask him what he’s doing? Should you just see where this goes?

You debated quickly, deciding to tease him right back like the little shit deserves.

Ignoring his response, you looked down where your calves rested across his lap. You bent your knee just enough to drag your leg across his crotch. You both gasped at the same time, him from the intimate touch, and you from the sudden awareness of his cock, hard and twitching where it rested down his pant leg of his sweats. Chancing a glance down, you caught the outline of his penis under the grey fabric before Sam pushed your legs off his lap suddenly, bringing his knee up to hide his groin.

While you were no longer frozen, the thickness in the air remained. Sam was hard. Your best friend was rock hard, right beside you. Hard… because of you?

You sat up, quickly resting your hand on his knee to slow him down, “Sam, h-hold on.”

His eyes met yours again, and you watched his adams apple bob. He looked almost scared, but his flushed cheeks and blown out pupils gave away the desire coursing through his veins. You flickered your gaze to his mouth, licking your lips and meeting his stare.

The tension was palpable, neither of you daring to move or break the spell, until you exhaled shakily.

Sam muttered lowly, “Y/N?”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“I’m… I won’t lie, I’m really fucking horny.” Sam blushed at his confession, searching your face for any signs of a reaction.

You bit your lip, struggling to maintain his intense eye-contact. “Me too,” you breathed.

Sam exhaled slowly, resting his hand over yours on his knee, and slowly, he lowered his knee, effectively sliding your hand up to rest mid-thigh. His erection demanded attention in the confines of his sweats, and you looked down from his eyes to take in the sight of it.

Fucking grey sweatpants, a blessing and a curse.

You muffled a quiet moan, biting your lip. Sam sat up straighter at the noise, taking a deep breath to calm down. “Can we…?” he gestured to your room down the hall. Your jaw dropped slightly at the implication.

Sam’s eyes widened, “No, no, we don’t have to, I’m sorry, I just thought we could uhh, um-” He frantically thought for the right words. You sat up straight beside him, “No, it’s fine, I-“ you started to reassure him, but he interrupted your soft words, “-masturbate together.”

You blushed bright pink, despite the rush of heat you felt growing in your shorts. Sam looked at you, gaging your reaction carefully. You bit your lip, and after a moment, nodded. “Okay,” you breathed.

Sam’s eyes widened. “Re-…really? You wanna?” he confirmed shakily.

You nodded again, a shy smirk spreading across your face. Sam smiled back, his own cheeks flushing. You took the lead and stood up, grabbing Sam’s hand, and gently pulled him up and down the hall. His eyes dipped down, roaming your body shyly. Your thin shirt left little to the imagination, nipples poking out under the white fabric. Enjoying the way Sam looked at you, you smirked, feeling your confidence returning. “Checking me out, Sammy?” you teased softly.

Sam smirked in return, “I can’t believe this is happening, you’re so hot,” he confessed. You giggled turning and pushing past the door into your bedroom. “I’d tell you the same, but it’d go right to your head,” you told him, and he smirked anyway.

You thanked your earlier self for changing the bedsheets earlier, and tidying up. You sat on the edge of your bed, pulling Sam down to sit beside you. Holding his hands in yours, you looked in his eyes shyly. “This won’t make it weird between us right?” Sam shook his head, and in a surprisingly tender move, he cupped your cheek. “I gotta be honest, I’ve liked you for a really long time,” he confessed softly, eyes trailing over your face, “You are… hilarious, sexy, smart… sexy…” he trailed off, smirking and you giggled, leaning into his touch. “This might be new for us… together, but it’s not the first time I’ve thought about it.”

You bit your lip, looking down. “Well, in the name of honesty…” Sam cocked his head curiously. “I was actually in the middle of… yknow… when you knocked.” You chuckled shyly.

Sam’s eyes widened and he breathed out softly. His hand moved over his erection, palming it slowly. “I interrupted you?” You watched his hand breathlessly, nodding. “Fuck, that’s so hot. What were you thinking about princess?” Sam breathed, touching himself with more conviction.

You swallowed hard, staring at his movements. “Thinking about what it would be like to fuck you,” you whispered hoarsely. Sam groaned at your words, head lolling forwards, his hair falling around his face. You bit your lip hard.

You pulled his arm gently, lying back on the bed and guiding him to lie beside you. You both settled on your backs, face to face. You both giggled shyly, more from nerves than anything, but lust took over when you watched Sam’s fingers slip under his waistband.

Under the cover of his pants, you watched his hidden fist wrap around his cock. A shuddery sigh escaped his parted lips, and his eyelids fluttered, gaze trained on your face. He nodded downward, silently telling you to join him. You bit your lip, sliding your hand into your shorts. Your fingers met your clit, and you swirled them around your clit slowly.

You whimpered quietly, causing a groan to rumble out of the boy beside you. His fist moved up and down his cock steadily, and he watched your hand moving under your shorts.

Lust clouded your brain, so incredibly horny for the gorgeous boy beside you. You looked up at his flushed face, his brows furrowed tightly. God, Sam was beautiful.

You whined softly, circling your clit faster. “Fuck Sammy, you’re so sexy,” you moaned breathlessly. Sam’s eyes squeezed shut for a second before training back on you. “God, babe, you are too,” he strained.

A naughty idea flashed across your mind, and you figured you’d already gone this far, why not.

Bringing your free hand up to the hem of your shirt, you slowly pulled up the fabric. Sam’s jaw dropped, watching closely. You pulled your shirt up over your breasts, exposing your chest to his hungry eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam breathed, his fist moving faster in his pants, his eyes absolutely glued to your tits. “Fuck-“ He bucked into his hand involuntarily, eyes fluttering but desperate to keep them open. You moaned, loving the feeling of his eyes all over you like this.

“Your tits are so perfect, princess,” he whined, hair increasingly disheveled on the pillow. You panted, still rubbing your clit steadily. “Yeah, you like that Sammy?” you cooed seductively. He groaned loudly at your words, nodding quickly.

“Touch ‘em then,” you dared him softly, feeling brave. His eyes flew wide open, unsure if he heard you right. You blushed, but nodded in confirmation. Sam extended his free hand, hesitantly cupping your breast. He whimpered under his breath, squeezing softly, then swiping his thumb across your nipple. You gasped and moaned, feeling incredibly naughty, letting your best friend touch your tits, the thought surprisingly getting you even more desperate.

You looked down at the action in Sam’s pants, biting your lip. Sam followed your gaze, looking back up at you darkly. “You wanna see?” he smirked. You looked into his eyes and nodded hungrily. His devilish smirk widened and he lifted his hips off the bed. He hooked his thumbs into the band of his sweats and pushed them down to his knees, kicking them off. Once he settled back down, you dared to look down.

Your mouth watered at the sight of him. He was longer than you imagined, perfectly girthy and achingly hard. His fingers curled around his cock once more, watching your face as he brought his hand up his length, putting on a show for you. Your breathing picked up, soft whimpers leaving your lips. Sam’s fist jerked lazily over his cock and he let out soft little gasps and grunts. “Love the way you watch me,” he muttered.

“I like the view,” you whispered back. He smirked at you through his lust induced haze. “Yeah? Like what you see?” He squeezed his cock, face twitching with a sigh. You whimpered, “Yeah, I really like your cock,” you stared at it as you spoke. Sam groaned, encouraging you to continue. “It’s so big, Sammy. So pretty,” you moaned, fingers flying over your clit now.

Sam’s jaw hung open, growling ferally. He slowed his movements, calming himself down to prolong his pleasure. “Can you take off your shorts?” he asked hopefully.

You blushed and smiled shyly. “Yeah, fair’s fair,” you giggled breathlessly. You untied the bow holding your shorts up, and pushed them down, kicking them off. You layed back down, scooting a little closer to Sam so your side was pressed against his. You hooked your leg over his, letting your knees fall open. Sam leaned up on his elbow to get a better view of your pussy. Under his chin, you could see his jaw drop in pleasure, his fist pumping himself quickly. You resumed flicking your fingers across your clit, wet noises now echoing from your soaked lips. His chest heaved as he stared at your centre, spread wide open for him.

Sam whimpered, “Fuck…” His head fell back and he let go of his cock suddenly. His hand moved over your bodies to rest on your upper thigh. He made eye contact with you before asking, “Please princess, can I touch your pussy?”

You felt faint with desperation, nodding enthusiastically. “God, yes, Sam. Wanted to feel those bass fingers for ages.” You gave him a mischievous smirk, knowing he

Sam wasted no time, rolling on his side. In this position, his cock pressed against your thigh, a delicious feeling you memorized for later. His fingers came over and immediately dipped between your soaking wet lips. You both moaned simultaneously, Sam’s fingers rubbing up and down your slit, slipping effortlessly between your folds with obscene wet sounds. You arched into his touch, sighing with a high-pitched whine.

Sam’s eyebrows tightly knit together. “Fuck, you’re so soft and wet… pretty pink little pussy, so fucking soaked for me,” he praised. Sam slipped his middle and ring finger into your entrance, immediately pumping in and out. You groaned loudly, bucking your hips to fuck back against his hand, feeling his perfectly curled fingers dragging across that perfect spot with every thrust. You hadn’t bet on your best friend being so vocal, but his filthy words fanned the fire burning in you.

“Oh fuck Sam, yes, god, just like that, mmmmm,” your eyes fell shut, feeling your orgasm simmering under the surface.

Before you could protest, Sam’s fingers slipped out of you and he crawled over your body, laying between your legs. You barely opened your mouth before he latched his lips on your clit. You cried out, his tongue lapping up your slit lazily, his hooded eyes fluttering up to meet your gaze. He stared into your eyes as he licked and sucked at your pussy, his fingers returning to slip inside. They pumped in and out, matching the pace of his tongue. You stared down at the beautiful boy between your legs, adrenaline pounding your heart. The moment was surreal, all this time you’d imagined exactly this in the middle of the night, desperately craving relief, and now Sam, your Sammy was eating you out with a passion matching your own, staring into your eyes.

Your jaw hung open, brows tightly knit as you panted and whimpered. “Sammy… so close,” you whined, grinding against his face. Sam grumbled drunkenly against your pussy, “Cum for me, princess,” before diving back in. He flicked his tongue rapidly over your clit and then with another, final suck, you were hurtling over the edge. Crying out hoarsely, you rode against his face, working yourself through it as Sam moaned into you.

Your thighs finally gave out, collapsing back onto the bed. Sam gasped for air, lifting himself up off his elbows and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and licking your juices off his fingers. You watched hungrily. He knelt at your feet, panting softly, staring at you in awe. “You taste so good,” he whispered, almost to himself. You smiled lazily up at him, “holy shit,” you giggled breathlessly, no other words coming to you.

A huge smile spread across Sam’s face, “Yeah? S’good?” he asked eagerly, the boyish charm you loved peeking through. You bit your lip, nodding, and you fisted the collar of his shirt, tugging him down over top of you. He laughed, catching himself and leaning his face over yours.

When your eyes met, there was a surge of electricity between you, like the world froze for a moment. Just the two of you existed in this little world, nothing mattered to you except Sammy. Wordlessly, you both crashed your lips together simultaneously, finally kissing each other with all the pent up emotion from years of tension. Nothing had ever felt more right to you, nothing could ever be more perfect than Sam’s warm soft lips molding to yours. Your heart pounded in your ears like a middle schooler, but Sam’s kiss felt like your first in this moment.

He moved his hand up and tenderly cupped your face, deepening the kiss. You moaned quietly, your hands slipping up under the hem of his shirt, which for some godforsaken reason was still on. Running your hands over his smooth, lean chest, Sam ran his tongue along your lip, silently asking for entrance. You happily obliged, meeting his tongue with yours. The makeout was getting sloppier and more desperate, and you finally parted with a gasp of air. Your eyes fluttered open at the same time, and you both giggled softly. Sam’s cheeks tinted pink, and he whispered, “Please tell me this isn’t a one-time thing, I can’t go without kissing you now that I know what it’s like.” His puppy-dog eyes pleaded with you and you leaned up to kiss him softly again.

“It’s you and me, now, Sammy. Always,” you whispered against his lips. Sam’s stretched into a huge smile and he kissed you again desperately. You pulled away just long enough to pull his shirt over his head before you reconnected. Hands roamed across bodies, mouths working together. Sam slid the hand on your cheek down to your breast, squeezing gently with a soft moan of desire.

You remembered that he had yet to get off, and you smirked against his lips. Sam pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, mirroring your mischievous smile. “What?” he pried.

Your hand slid down his chest further, across his abdomen, thoroughly enjoying the way his breath hitched at your descent. Your fingers raked across his pubic area and wrapped lightly around the base of Sam’s cock, achingly hard and hot in your hand. Sam shuddered, his breath picking up as he watched you. You stroked him a few times, getting used to the feel of him in your hand, Sam’s jaw clenching. He growled lowly as you sped up your movements. You watched his face in wonder, holding his pleasure in your hand, literally. “Fuck,” he breathed softly.

You spread your legs a little wider, running the tip of his cock through your folds just to watch his reaction. Sam’s brows knit tight together, his eyes fluttering shut with a feral sounding moan. His head fell forward, giving you access to whisper in his ear.

“I want you to fuck me, but first I wanna suck your pretty cock.”

Every muscle in Sam’s body stiffened, and his face shot up to look at you in disbelief. You smiled innocently. “Will you let me? Please Sammy?” you cooed, twirling his hair around your finger with your free hand.

Sam looked like you just gave him a puppy for Christmas. He nodded eagerly, rolling beside you to flop on his back and looking over at you with a giddy smile. You giggled at his enthusiasm, leaning over him to kiss him again. As your lips worked against his, you ran your hand down his front lovingly. He sighed softly at your touch, a rush of butterflies swirling in your stomach at the sound. You kissed down his sharp jawline, Sam’s head lolling to the side, and lazily kissed down his neck. Shifting up on your knees to crawl down the bed, you kissed his tummy with a smile, then his hip bone, and then a gentle trail down his thighs. He squirmed under your attention, a dopey grin on his face as he watched. You switched, kissing up his other thigh, your cheek brushing the delicate skin of his balls. Sam whined quietly, biting his lip hard. You eyed his cock, lying against his stomach. It twitched, precum pooling on Sam’s stomach.

You leaned down, flattening your tongue and licking slowly up his length. Sam groaned, tensing to keep still. Smirking at his reaction, you did it again, this time picking him up and taking his tip into your mouth. His jaw fell open and his hand reached down to brush your hair out of the way, bunching it in his fist gently. You hummed into him, swirling your tongue around the head experimentally. “Shit- agh,” he hissed. You looked up at him innocently, taking more of his length in your mouth, gently pumping the rest. Sam’s head fell back with a groan. “Princess, I’m gonna cum too soon, can I fuck you now?” He begged.

You giggled, mouth still full of him, making his hips buck slightly. Pulling off him, you let a drop of spit fall on his cock, coating him and stroking him languidly. Sam whined desperately, “Please, please stop, I wanna be inside you!”

His words flooded your core, and you let go of him and crawled up to straddle his waist. He gripped your hips, dragging your sopping wet core over his length deliciously. You both moaned, and too impatient to wait any longer, you grabbed him and lined him up with your entrance, sinking down on his cock.

Sam’s eyes rolled back at the feeling of you, the perfect stretch of him bringing forth a shuddery whimper. “Yes, aaaagh,” he groaned. You started rolling your hips, riding him steadily. His hands squeezed at your ass, his head tossed back.

“So good, Sammy, you feel so fucking good,” you panted, gripping his shoulders.

Sam looked up at you, brows furrowed. “You’re so fucking tight, so wet and warm,” he thrusted up into you meeting your hips. “Fucking made for my cock,” he growled through gritted teeth.

You cried out, riding him faster, feeling your orgasm brewing already. “Wanna feel you cum in me,” you begged him, “make me yours, Sammy, I’m all yours.”

Sam looked like he felt faint, but he wrapped his arms around you and effortlessly rolled you onto your back without slipping out. You gasped, and he started pounding into you relentlessly.

“That’s right. All… fucking… mine…” he thrusted with each word, his cock diving deep with obscene wet slapping sounds.

You couldn’t form words, simply moaning way too loud and arching your back.

Sam grabbed your right leg, bending it up and placing it over his shoulder, diving deeper into you. He let out a hoarse yell, fucking into you harder and faster.

With a scream of his name, you came hard, white hot pleasure searing through your body. Faintly, you heard Sam letting go, hips faltering as he shot spurt after spurt of his cum into you. When your vision cleared, you looked down at him, eyes widening at the dripping wet mess coating his lower half and your sheets. Sam looked equally dumbfounded, slipping out of you slowly. He sat back on his ankles as both of you caught your breath. “That’s so fucking hot, princess,” he breathed, astounded.

You chuckled, “I-I’ve never… that’s never happened,” you panted.

Sam’s face contorted into the biggest shit-eating grin you’d ever seen on him, and that was saying something. You rolled your eyes and giggled, pulling him down with you as you flopped back on the bed. “Shut up,” you smirked.

“I didn’t say a thing-“ “You were thinking it” You both giggled, high off the endorphins. You snuggled into Sam’s side, nestling your head in the crook of his neck and kissing his sweaty skin tenderly. His arms wrapped around you snugly, like they were meant to be there.

You hummed contentedly. “Well, we can add that to the list of things we’re great at together,” you joked softly.

Sam snickered, running his fingers through your hair gently. “Oh yeah, we’d win awards,” he agreed. You couldn’t stop the huge smile on your face as you breathed in his familiar scent, your hand lazily running across his chest. Sam felt it in his neck, smiling wide in return as he looked at the ceiling. “What’re you thinking?”

You bit your lip, nuzzling further into his neck. “Thinkin’ about how much I love you, Sammy.”

Under your fingers, you felt his heart beating faster, and it made you smile impossibly wider. You felt his lips press a soft kiss to the top of your head, and he softly told you, “Love you more, baby.”

You did a happy little wiggle against his side, and he giggled softly. “You’re so cute,” he sighed.

You lifted your face from his neck and crinkled your nose at him. “You’re cute.”

Sam pecked your lips, “nope, you.” You faux-glared at him, “YOU Samuel!”

He shrugged dismissively, “We can do this all day, but the fact remains, that you are the cutest girl in the entire universe, and I am so… so fucking lucky,” He looked at you, the silly banter turning serious. Your eyes softened as you looked into his.

“I feel so lucky too,” you whispered. “Fallin’ in love with my best friend, and all.”

Sam leaned his forehead against yours, his hand snaking into your hair to hold you close, his other arm wrapping around your middle securely. “God I’m so glad you were dumb enough to fall in love with me too,” he smiled.

You giggled softly and leaned in to kiss him deeply. You kissed for a while, and then you pulled back, giggling as he chased your lips. “Jake and Josh are gonna lose it,” you grinned.

Sam laughed, “I mean, yeah, but I wasn’t thinking about those idiots right now.” You cocked your head playfully. “Oh? And what were you thinking about, pray tell?”

Sam smiled mischievously. “How I made you squirt the first time we had sex,” he admitted.

You rolled your eyes with a groan. “Boys,” you sighed, shaking your head.

Sam laughed. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Sort of.”

You snorted as Sam leaned close to you again, brushing his nose against yours. “I was mostly thinking about how much I adore you, and how you’re my best friend, and how it’s probably not appropriate to call you that after the mind-blowing sex…” You giggled, making him smile wider. “So I was also thinking about… how I wanted to ask you to be my girlfriend.” He said shyly.

Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest, and you let out a breathless giggle. “Go ahead then,” you smiled.

Sam laughed lightly. “Not letting me off the hook, should have expected it.”

He sat up then, facing you as he knelt. He took your hands in his sweetly, and he brought them up, kissing the back of each hand, holding eye-contact as he did. You bit your lip, smiling wide.

“Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?” He asked softly, cocking his head and looking at you with that heart-stopping smile of his.

You nodded quickly. “I’d be honoured, Sammy,” you answered, pulling him into a kiss.

He melted into your touch, humming softly in contentment. Everything this boy did made your heart flutter.

You weren’t sure when you’d ever been this happy. Everything had fallen into place, exactly the way it was always meant to. With Sam by your side.

[ask-joeydrewstudios]

Sammy and susie fluff pls! Ideas; -sammy notices susie is stressed out with work and so decides to dance with her in the studio (it cheers her up!) - susie notices sammy has been working long hours to finish up a deadline, she finds him the following evening fallen asleep at his desk. She finds and puts a blanket on him and a note to take a break - just a general sammy enjoying listening to susie sing~ Can't wait to see what you write~

((i am so sorry this took so long for me to get around to posting oh my god. i can be such a perfectionist with my writing OTL anyway back to the fic itself: fluff. fluff. this is Pure Fluff. i just wanted to write fluff. I might write that second one at some point, but for now have the first one. here it is on AO3 as well. ENJOY!))

   It wasn’t unusual for the door to Sammy’s office to be thrown open in a fuss. Usually he was the one doing the throwing, but sometimes it was from the whiny janitor, or the eldest of the living toon trio, or a frustrated band member coming to throw the pump switch to take care of some misplaced ink. They’d enter, do what they came to do, he’d tell them off for disturbing him, they’d leave. When his door was thrown open today, he didn’t expect it to be any different. As the wooden frame struck the wall behind it with a loud BANG, Sammy jumped. Before he could even turn around to scold the person, he could hear the clicking of heals on his office floor and the hoarse voice of Susie Campbell already endlessly ranting to him. She was the one person he could never be mad at, at least not for long.

  “Sammy these deadlines are absolutely ridiculous! I’ve been working here for three years, THREE YEARS, and I’ve never recorded so much as I have in this past week!” She started. She sounded about ready to cry, which broke his heart. He didn’t give the unfinished, now unimportant sheet music that scattered his desk another thought as he turned around in his chair, leaning on the back rest with his arms.

   “I’ve been recording so much, I’m starting to lose my voice… All I’ve done today is record, all I did yesterday was record, all I’ve done this whole damn week is record record record, and at this point if I don’t get a break soon… I’m afraid I’ll actually lose my voice! I can’t lose my voice! I’m a voice actress, Sammy! That’s what I do!”

  Sammy nodded along to her rant, snuffing out his cigarette in the ash tray andflicking the dial of the radio on his desk. It hissed with static briefly before the slow jazz came through.

  “If I lose my voice, I wont be able to work here anymore! I wouldn’t be able to work anywhere! What good’s a voice actress that can’t talk!?”

  Her ranting continued as he stood and sauntered over to her, hands in his pockets.

  “My entire career is going to be over just because Joey Drew couldn’t give us a more lenient deadline and I worked my voice into exhaustion!”

  Now she looked about ready to cry. There were dots of tears in the corners of her eyes, and she was biting her lip. He slipped his hands out of his pockets and into her own, and he began to hum along to the tune of the radio.

  “…Sammy, what on earth are you doing?”

  “Dancing with you.” He murmured.

  “This isn’t the time for a dance…”

  “Sure it is. If you didn’t want to dance, you would have left by now.”

  She hesitated. He was right, if she truly didn’t want to dance she would have left when he turned on the radio. With a sigh, she draped her arms around him, and he did the same. While the radio droned on, they slow danced. She buried her face in his shoulder and he rested his head on hers and kept humming. When she began to sob, he held her tighter and ran his fingers through her golden curls, but he didn’t stop dancing. Neither of them did.

  The song ended, and another one began. When that one ended, yet another one played. They danced the whole time through, Sammy humming for most of it to help calm her down. As they neared the end of the third song, he realized she was no longer sobbing - she now rested her head gently on his chest, head tucked under his. Just as the song finished, he gracefully dipped her. Her sparkling blue eyes pierced straight through his very soul, and before he could pull her back up again she pushed her lips against his.

  He felt his face flush, but he kissed her back for a brief moment before standing her back up and finally stopping their little dance.

  “Feeling a little better?” He asked. She gave a nod and a meager smile.

  “Good. I’ll have to talk to Joey later about the schedule, I can’t have my darling little Susiebell losing her voice now can I? In the meantime… get yourself some water, enjoy your break, and… try not to talk too much.”

  With a pat on the head and a kiss on the cheek, he sent her on her way. There wasn’t much for her to do with herself if she couldn’t work or talk, so she got some water and relaxed in the break room, counting the seconds until her next recording session… she hadn’t dreaded her job so much since she auditioned.

  Suddenly there was a commotion from outside the break room door. She turned her attention up the stairs just in time to see her boss yelling at someone with the door open.

  “I’m going right NOW, Lawrence! Oi vey…” He muttered nonsense to himself as he came down the stars, scanning the large area for a moment before finding her and walking over.

  “Ah, Susie! It’s… been brought to my attention that your schedule for this week is a bit…”

  “Absurd?” She interjected, her voice cracking.

  “Yes, well, that’s certainly a word for it…” Joey nervously clapped his hands together. “Regardless, it’s been advised that I rearrange some things, not just for your comfort but for your health as well. That being said, Lawrence and I have managed to pull some strings-”

  “That was ALMOST ENTIRELY MY DOING, DREW.” Sammy yelled from the hallway beyond the door.

  “…Okay, fine. It was mostly Sammy, but the point of the matter is that you now have tomorrow off. In addition to that, your remaining sessions have been spaced out so that they now run into next week - that gives you more time to rest up between them. I’m also looking into rescheduling some of your smaller roles to some other voice actors, so you have less work to strain yourself over.”

  Her eyes lit up. Had Sammy really gone to all this trouble moving schedules around just so she didn’t burn herself out? He’d never do this for the band, or the other voice actors…

  “And… in the future, I’ll have to be a little more… considerate when setting these deadlines and assigning roles. As Sammy said, we certainly can’t have one of our best voice actresses losing her voice.”

  She smirked. With the tone in his voice, she could tell Sammy really went off on him. Joey was sweet enough, but sometimes he deserved a bit of a reality check.

  “So unless you have any reservations…” he began.

  “None at all, these changes sound lovely.”

  “Wonderful. I suppose I wont be seeing you tomorrow, then. Enjoy your break, Miss Campbell!” He smiled at her and then left. There was a brief exchange of words from behind the breakroom door before Sammy came down the stairs and sat at the table with her. She slid her hand into his over the table.

  “Thank you, Sammy.”

  “You’re welcome, dear.”

[please don’t repost to other websites!]

[zeusdni]

i'm saying this right off the bat but frank is a badly written character, from the fatphobia to the way that rick doesn't understand how to make him relatable to other chinese children. frank could've and would've been as great as he was if he was just kept fat. yes i know that it's shown to be an insecurity of his but you do realize that a character can be fat and not insecure? it's not that hard to understand. frank is fully capable of being fat and powerful, he didn't need to slim down when he got that blessing of mars, he could've stayed fat and became stronger and more powerful. there's athletes that have fat on their ABOVE the muscle and that's what could've happened with frank, there was no need to make him not fat. no going into other issues with frank, the name calling. there was absolutely no need to call him a canadian baby man or whatever it is that rick wrote, there was no need to make him the butt of the joke numerous times, there was no need to make him the butt of LEO'S jokes all the time, there was no need to make him looked down upon and insecure. yes rick has also made leo the butt of the joke but this is about frank. in frank's mind he has the legacy of his mother to live up to, his grandmother to make proud and to prove to his father that he didn't make the wrong decision in giving him the gift that he did. frank places expectations that aren't inherently there on himself time and time again, he doesn't exactly have that many people to lean except maybe hazel and we don't really see him doing that (not that i recall) so in a way he's isolated himself from everyone even when there's people there ready to help if he asked

frank is dealing with a lot of things and doesn't seem to have much self-confidence and when he comes across leo, someone that he perceives as having too much self-confidence he's in a way threatened by him, especially when he sees the uncanny resemblance to sammy, leo's great great grandfather. he has the charm and the suave that frank has and manages to make people laugh, he brightens the mood and brings what frank can't to the table and because of that frank is jealous. i won't say whether or not this jealousy is justified especially when frank sees that leo may or may not have a crush on his girlfriend but what i can say is that frank has the right not to feel secure on his place on the argo II, he's a shapeshifter yes, a power that any demigod may want but that doesn't mean immediately that he's the most valuable demigod on the ship, yes he can transform into something that can carry them around but jason can lift them all up on his winds with no problem, he can transform into a aquatic animal but percy can breathe and swim underwater without even thinking about it, annabeth and leo are the brains, piper can sway people with her voice and hazel can shift the earth and bring precious metals from beneath it as well as mastering the mist. he doesn't have a role that needs to be filled and thus he's insecure. not just because of how he perceives himself but also because there is no vacancy for him to fill.

[duskholland]

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. What happened?”

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

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

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

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

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom gulps nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

Tom follows you…?

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute.

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

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

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

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

Y/N: hey x

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

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, is it a home game?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me a spin, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

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

“Dutchy?” you question.

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

You coo. “That’s cute.”

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

And Tom… Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

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

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

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

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, darling.”

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

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

“What, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What— Tom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Penalty.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

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

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

“Funnier than me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says.

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

He isn’t doing much, just staring at you, lips parted. His eyes skitter across the shapes of your face before linking up with your own, and you feel your heart clench in your chest as Tom shifts his hand to cup your cheek.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs. He’s speaking quietly, voice gentle as if he’s being fragile with you. “I, um… I want to ask you something?”

You tilt your head to the side. “Right now?” you ask. To prove your point, you snake a hand down between your bodies and apply pressure to his member with the flat of your palm. Tom groans, eyelashes fluttering out across the top of his cheeks. It seems to take him a lot of self-control to nod, and you feel his hips quiver as he holds himself back from grinding into your hand.

“Yeah.” Tom takes a moment to pause. “We’ve been hanging out for a while, Y/N, and I really like you. I think that you’re so talented. And beautiful. Shit, you’re really beautiful.” He chuckles, his nerves showing on his face. “I can’t imagine being with anyone else. I wouldn’t ever want to be with anyone else. So, darling… Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He pulls back to peer at you, teeth clenched, eyes wide.

A smile breaks out across your face.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Tom,” you whisper. You lean up to kiss him just as he leans down, and you gasp as you accidentally hit Tom’s nose with yours. He groans, pulling up and dramatically falling onto his back as his limbs splay out. “Shit,” you giggle, sitting up and crawling closer. Tom’s pouting, tenderly poking at the edge of his nostril as he grimaces. “Sorry, baby.”

Tom melts, pulling you back on top of him. “Call me baby again and you can do anything you want to me,” he mutters. A small blush finds his face as he comprehends his words, and you end up smiling softly as you settle over his thighs. One of his large hands curls between your legs and you whimper as he teases you over your panties for a few moments. When he finally dips his fingers beneath the silky material, you find yourself whimpering.

“Feels good,” you moan, pressing your hands to Tom’s chest as he rolls two fingers around your slit. You get antsy and grind down against his touch, wriggling up his legs until his fingertips nudge against your hole.

His hair is spread out against the white sheets of the bed, face screwed into an expression of concentration as he curves his digits into your heat. You whimper, tossing your head back as he works you open with ease, brushing up against your g-spot and stimulating it until you’re gasping. As heat slowly begins to take over your body, you reach down to the hem of your shirt and pull it off. Next to go is your bra, and you guide Tom’s other hand to the curve of your breasts as you ride down on his hand.

“Look so pretty up there,” he murmurs, biting at his lip. “Like an angel, or a princess.” Tom skims his thumb over your nipple, smirking as you whine. “My princess.”

You gnaw on your lip for a moment before sitting up, letting Tom’s fingers slip out from you. You reach down and hook your thumbs beneath the material of his boxers, and Tom seems to get the hint.

“I need you,” you say, speaking quickly. You have to roll away to kick off your pants, and by the time you’re ready, Tom’s sitting up again. He slides up to sit against the headboard, fiddling with a condom and sheathing himself before you can spend too long admiring his length.

“C’mere then, lovie,” Tom coaxes. He pumps his cock in his fist a few times before hitting at his thighs, beckoning you forward. His lips kiss your forehead as you straddle him. Blindly, you reach down to cover his hand in yours, and together, you guide his tip to your entrance. Your slit is hot and pulsing, your body worked up from the teasing and the anticipation. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks, voice softer.

You shoot him a teasing look. “Yes,” you emphasise. You bite your lip as you slowly lower yourself onto him, gasping softly. “Been thinking about this for so long, Tom.”

Tom grasps your lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it harshly before flicking it up and stealing your mouth in a deep kiss. You moan as you settle there, in his lap, your walls stretched around him completely. You can feel everything—the curves of his cock, the press of his tip against your velvety walls, the feeling of his skin on yours. You love it.

It’s quick to become hot and intense. Tom’s hands on your waist, your fingers tangled in his hair. The stretch burns to enjoyment before long, and then you’re just lost in it. You feel so bare to him, beyond the fact that your naked bodies are intertwined so closely, like he’s able to see straight through you. For someone who spends so much of his life fighting aggressively, Tom is remarkably soft. His hips are firm, and his thrusts unrelenting, but his lips on your face are warm, and the words of heated affirmation he whispers into your ear make you melt.

“So tight, princess,” Tom moans, grasping at your waist. He kisses you, groaning into your mouth as you continue to ride him. You alternate your movements, swapping between deep bounces and swirling your hips in broad circles so that you get to feel every delicious line, bump and curve of him. “God. Feels like fucking heaven.”

“I know,” you manage, voice hoarse. You’re not embarrassed by the way there are wet sounds of arousal filling the air—it only seems to spur Tom on as he squeezes at your waist.

Things blur quickly. You can tell that he’s wound up from the stress of the game, and his hand is shaking when he reaches up to cup the top of your heat. You’re quick to match his arousal, feeling your own climax jerking closer as Tom brings his thumb down to your clit. You’re aroused, and your slit is wet, so it’s seamless as he toys with the bud.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, the syllables blurring as your eyelids drop closed. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and his begins, but you like it. Tom wraps his other arm around your hip and holds you close, touching his lips to yours as he finally spills.

“You’re so perfect,” he moans, his eyes screwing shut. “Shit, Y/N—”

The action of him throbbing against your walls pushes you over the edge too, and you’re panting into him as warm shivers spread over your entire figure. You’re full of a golden buzz as you stop moving, stilling with his cock still pressed inside you. Tom’s lips come down over the top of your head, following in a line from your forehead down your nose before going to your lips. When he finds your mouth, both of you are smiling.

“Wish we could do that forever,” he murmurs. “Felt amazing, darling. You’re amazing.” There’s a rosy flush to his cheeks, and he looks at you like he’s won the greatest prize of the night. “Stay?”

“Overnight?”

“Yeah. Right here.” Tom reaches out to hit the mattress. “I’ll cuddle you,” he promises. “Make you tea. Bring you breakfast.” He smirks. “Make love to you all night.”

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

Tom raises a brow as if he likes the sound of that, then seals the deal with a softer kiss.

“Perfect.” His hands skim up to cup your breasts, and he pecks your lips a final time. “Girlfriend.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

There’s an hour to go before you skate in the biggest competition of your life. You’re at the largest arena in London, killing time on one of the practice rinks as you try to forget that you’re so close to delivering your final routine of the season. This routine will decide if you come out on top or not and reveal whether you’ve managed to impress the Olympic talent scouts.

You feel a blend of two very fine emotions—confidence and nervousness. You’re prepared, you’re in control, and you’re ready, but that doesn’t make the prospect of going out there any less daunting. Adrenaline soothes the nerves, and distraction is your best friend.

Tom’s sitting on one of the benches, flitting between watching you and messing around on his phone. You’ve learnt that he’s the only person you like to be around before a competition, and in the month you’ve been officially together, he’s become your rock. He seems to get you—understands the way your brain spins when you’re stressed like this, knows when to step near and when to leave you alone. As if sensing your thoughts lie with him, he glances up from his phone.

The month off from competitions has been kind to Tom. He’d had a cracking set of bruises following his broken nose, but they’re healed now, and his skin carries the golden glow of a champion. After mouthing a few words to him from across the ice, you watch him sit up straighter and put his shoes to the bench. Tom had brought his skates to the arena, despite not being the one competing, because he knows, just as you, that sometimes the best way to relax before a competition is to mess around and distract yourself. Sitting beside him is a very large banner, hand-painted, that wears the words, Go Y/N!. He’d made it with the rest of his team, and you’d almost cried when he’d unrolled it and given it to you, grinning with pride like a small child showing off his art project.

You do a few spins as you wait for him, the small practice arena blurring. A few other people are hanging around—mainly your friends, and a few coaches, but none of them pay attention to you. You go so fast that you miss whatever it is Tom scoops up from the bench and then proceeds to hold behind his back, keeping it out of your sight as he skates towards you. A frown finds your lips as you drift nearer, squinting your eyes.

“What’s that?” you ask, trying to make out the object.

Tom juts out his lower lip, eyes dancing teasingly. “Not gonna say hello, darling? That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

You shoot him a poisonous look but sigh when he just smirks in response.

“Hello,” you say. You skate forward, planting your hands on both of his cheeks and drawing him in close. Tom’s lips are warmer than yours, and you savour their firm press. When you pull back, you cross your arms over your chest. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Begrudgingly, you shut your eyes. You hear the rustling of plastic, and then smell the scent of fresh flowers. Tom presses a bouquet into your hands, and your lips twist up at the corners.

“You can open them now.”

It’s a bunch of roses, dark red and delicate. You trail a thumb over their petals, breath caught in the back of your throat. Your boyfriend continues to speak as he watches you.

“You said that no one had ever bought you flowers before,” he explains, voice steady. “I was going to save them for afterwards when you win, but I know you’ll end up being given about a thousand when they all see how talented they are, so I wanted to get in first.”

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

“They’re beautiful, Tom,” you whisper. His confidence in you, and the support he shows you, every single day, means everything to you. He means everything to you. “I love them. I…” You look up, meeting his eyes as you finally speak the words that you’ve felt so strongly but kept tucked away in your heart for fear of rejection. You aren’t scared anymore. “I love you.”

Tom’s eyes widen, his lips briefly parting. There’s a heart-stopping moment when he betrays nothing, but then life twitches across his face. He relaxes, sinking forward to touch your waist as he pulls you closer and brings his lips to yours.

“I love you too, darling,” he says. He’s able to press his nose against yours now, and you feel his cold tip press to your face as you shift the bouquet into one hand and curl the other around his back. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

You smile against him. “It was lucky, wasn’t it? That out of all the people on the rink that day, it was me you managed to crash into.”

Tom chuckles. “Felt less like luck at the time,” he admits. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

You smirk. “I was pretty mad. Can you blame me, though?”

“Nope.” Tom kisses the tip of your nose. “Worth it, anyway.” He surprises you by skating back, plucking the bouquet from your hand with ease before spinning you beneath his arm, cooing as the hem of your dress flutters in the air. “Did I ever tell you how much I love your outfit?” he adds. “You look like a princess.”

Your cheeks hurt, and when you stop spinning, you turn to face him.

“I feel like a princess,” you admit, accepting the flowers for the second time. “Does that make you my prince charming?”

Tom nods, smiling. “It’d be an honour.”

The air between you stills, and all that’s left is love.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, glancing down. “What if I fuck this up? What if I fall over? Or- or what if I don’t land a jump? What if my ankle can’t take it?” You gnaw on your lip. “Then it’ll all be over.”

Tom soothes you with a hand on your cheek. “You won’t fuck it up,” he says, voice confident. “You’re incredible, Y/N. You know the routine, and you know yourself. You’re ready for this.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting warmly. “You’re going to go out there, smash it, then you’ll come back, and we’ll celebrate. Alright?”

You look down at the roses, then back to your boyfriend’s face, and you know that you believe him.

“Okay,” you agree. You bite your lip before darting up to kiss his cheek. “Love you, Tom.”

His eyes are full of adoration. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”

Tom presses his forehead to yours, and you relax there. With your fingers grasping the flowers and his hands caressing your waist, you let him support you. You let him kiss you, and hold you, and love you.

(And, later on, you let him hold your shiny gold medal, too.)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

i hope you guys liked dutchy as much i liked writing him :’)) this has taken almost a month! if there’s any interest, maybe we could do a hockey!tom blurb night soon...? idk ! i’d be down. let me know if you’d be too <3 thanks so much for reading!!!! please let me know what ya think!

mlist and taglist can be found through the link in my bio!

[readyforthegarden]

can you do the first kiss prompt “you just cant help yourself, can you?” with sammy <33

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the sounds of drunken kiss noises that Jake was making towards you as Sam sat down next to you by the campfire. Ever since the band of brothers had helped you move (more like go through all of your things while you and Danny loaded the rented van) and found your seventh grade year book with a sparkly pink pen heart drawn around your best friend Sam’s photo, the second oldest Kiszka loved to rib you for it.

Sam leaned down, picking up a small pebble and flicking it at his brother, grinning when it thwacked him square in the forehead.

“One day, he’ll stop teasing you.” Sam said softly. You nodded, your fingernail scraping absentmindedly at the damp label on your beer bottle.

“Well it’s been two years now, so…” you trailed off with a shrug. Sam nodded, taking a swig from his own bottle, looking around the party. You watched the light from the flickering flames cast shadows and highlight his face as he moved. His long, slender nose leading a perfect ski slope to his plush lips. The way his hair had grown out again, shining healthily in the glow of flames. Truth be told, your crush on Sam, no matter how much you touted it was just a school girl thing, it was over that summer, you barely liked him that way anyway, had never stopped. In fact, it’d grown bigger since the seventh grade.

“Do you want to know an embarrassing Jake story? Finally make it even?” Sam quirked an eyebrow towards you. You nodded, scooting closer to him as he leaned in, holding up a hand to hide his lips as he started whispering. “Jake sneezed on stage so hard in Indiana, he had a huge trail of snot hanging down his nose to his lips. I think he thought it was sweat and he kept licking at it. Finally Josh saw it and told him, but it was a good half hour of loogie-face.” You giggled, imaging the suave Jake Kiszka with a gross string of snot on his face.

“That’s disgusting!” Sam laughed and nodded as you asked if that was the absolute truth. “Rockstars, they’re just like us, huh?”

“More than you know. How’s your new job going? My mom said she ran into yours at the store a few weeks ago, and she mentioned it.”

“It’s okay.” you nodded. You told him some small details, trying to make sure not to bore him with your average job. “Sorry it’s pretty boring to hear about.”

“No it’s not.” Sam shook his head. “I like hearing about your life any time I can.” your cheeks reddened and you could’ve sworn you saw Sam’s eyes flit down to your lips before coming back to your eyes. “I miss you…a lot. Sometimes I wish you knew how to play an instrument so we could’ve fit you in the band. Then I could be traveling the world with both my best friends.”

“It’d be cool, for sure.” you agreed, feeling deflated at him calling you just his best friend.

“Yeah, but then I think about how being that close to you, all the time, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you. We’d make everyone miserable, fighting making up, fighting again…”

“Wait, what?” You blinked rapidly at Sam as he smirked.

“You’re not the only one who drew hearts in their yearbook.” Sam winked. You felt so incredibly flustered, mouth opening and closing like a fish while your brain comprehended his words.

“I don’t believe you!” You gasped. “All this time I thought you thought of me as a sister, you broke my heart taking Jenny D. to the eighth grade formal, by the way.”

“I’m sorry. To be fair, she told me you were going with Mike S., so I only went with her because I thought you were going with him.”

“Yeah that was a mistake. He kissed me that night, my first kiss, and slobbered on me so badly I could still feel his spit on my chin after three washes.” you shook your head. “Man, you could’ve been my first kiss if we’d gone together…”

“Damn. I wish I had been. I at least wouldn’t have slobbered on you. Not until the third date, anyway.” Sam laughed, then paused, giving you a look that made it feel like everyone else around you both had disappeared. “We could still have a first kiss, though.”

“Sam, I think that boat sailed for both of us a long, long time ago.”

“Yeah but you and I have never kissed.” he smiled gently. “So if we kissed now, it would be a first.”

“Sam,” you breathed nervously.

“I know that after all these years, the first person I think of when I get home from tour is you.” he admitted. “My crush is still very much alive, is yours?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” and without another wasted moment, Sam leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. It was a small lingering kiss, but it was everything you had dreamed and imagined through the years. Fireworks in your stomach, tingles in your toes, a smile tugging at the corners of your puckered lips.

When you pulled apart, the firelight was being blocked by a figure, and you both looked up to see Jake smiling down at you both, his eyes hazy and unfocused.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” He asked, winking at you. “Man that crush is getting out of control.”

“Get lost, Jake.” Sam laughed, trying to gently move him away.

“You get lost!” Jake grunted back, not liking getting sassed by his baby brother.

“You know what, we will.” Sam took your hand, tugging you up and leading you around the other young man.

“Where are we going?” You asked as Sam led you to his car.

“A date.” he grinned, fishing his key from his pocket. “We have just over a decade of them we need to catch up on.”

[aingealcethlenn]

Just Another Night

Characters - Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Thor Odinson, Natasha Romanoff, Y/N

Pairing - Bucky x Y/N

Summary/Request - A night out to unwind after a busy week, Tony decides to place a bet against Bucky. Little does he know, Bucky was prepared.

Word Count - 1,077

Warnings - Language (minimal), Fluff (If you spot any other warnings I should add, please let me know so I can edit this post to include them!)

A/N - Based on the song “Just Another” by Sammy Arriaga

Tags (Want on or off? Send a message/ask or add yourself here) - @lostinwonderland314

Story -

The bar was loud, but Tony had - of course - reserved a large corner near the door to the patio just for them. Bucky sat at the table with the rest of the Avengers team, laughing along as they all joked.

Thor had brought in alcohol for himself & the super soldiers, so they would all be able to unwind and relax just as the others can with the ‘mortal beverages’ they usually serve.

After, admittedly, one too many drinks, Tony decided to push Bucky just a little. “So, Barnes, when are you going to bring a female friend back to the tower?”

“Stark!” Natasha piped up.

“What?! It’s just a question,” he defended.

“What business is it of yours, Tony?” Steve questioned, knowing how shy and reserved his friend had become.

“I bet you’re too shy to even talk to a girl anymore, huh, big man?” Tony continued.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Stark.” Bucky quipped.

“Oh? Really? How about you prove it then?” Tony laughed in reply.

“Fine,” he shrugged.

“See that beautiful girl at the bar? The one with the whiskey glass on the end?” Tony nodded toward the bar where you sat, ignoring the commotion around you.

He looked at the girl and then back to the table. “I bet you fifty bucks you won’t walk over and get her number,” Stark pressed.

Steve just shook his head while the rest of the group chuckled and taunted Bucky.

“You don’t have to do it, Buck,” Steve offered sympathetically.

Bucky quickly finished the rest of the drink in his glass, “It’s fine. You’re on Stark.” He set the glass on the table, sliding his chair back and slowly sauntering over to the bar where she stood.

He leaned on the bar next to you, smiling softly. “Hey doll, what brings you here tonight?”

“Just enjoying an evening out,” you smile back with a cautious glance to the table he had come from. “What brings you over here?”

“Well, my friends there,” he nods toward the table where they were all sitting and watching, “bet that I wouldn’t walk over here. So, if you could play along for just a minute, maybe? Take my phone here,” Bucky pulled out his phone and set it on the bar. “Fake some digits or something; they’ll never know.”

“I suppose I can help you out, but last I checked, you already had my number,” you give him a sly wink.

“They don’t know that, though.” He chuckled, “besides, I have a plan. Let’s walk by the table as we stroll out to the patio; maybe you could let me hold your hand?”

Bucky offers his hand to you. Finishing the drink in your glass, you gladly take his hand and follow him to the patio. He holds the door open for you, and as you walk passed you reach up and plant a soft kiss on his lips. You chuckle a little to yourself as you see him glance at the table and smirk.

“You know, they are going to be pissed.” He smiled, “They wanted a number, but I got a kiss.”

You laugh, “Well, like I said. You already had my number, so it didn’t seem fair to leave you with nothing.”

Bucky’s arms wrap around your waist and pull you in close, placing a feather kiss on your forehead. All the Winter Soldier stories talked about how rough he was, how strong and fierce, but the person you knew was soft. He was the person you could turn to in the darkest of times and know that he would hold the light steady until you found your way again.

“I feel like I should have had a pick-up line to use,” he smirked. “Make this just like any other Friday night like back in the day.”

“I prefer you without the 40s suave demeanor. I love the Bucky that you are now; all the flaws, scars,” you run your hand carefully down his arms - fingers delicately dancing over the grooves of his left. With a bit of cheek, you add, “And muscles.”

He breathes a laugh, and the two of you lean into each other, his lips brushing yours softly, delicately, like butterfly wings flitting. The embrace was just long enough that he could inhale your breath, feel the warmth of your skin. The taste of your deep red lipstick still lingering even after your part.

“What do you say we go back in,” Bucky had a sudden boost of confidence, “and finally introduce you to everyone?”

With a small touched smile, you felt warmth flood your chest.

He takes your hand and leads you inside again, this time stopping at the table. He takes his seat and pulls you to sit on his lap - the smile never leaving his face as he glances at all the blank stares and dropped jaws around the table. “You owe me fifty Stark.”

“Bucky - be nice,” you laugh.

“Uh, Buck?” Steve inquired, not able to help but look you up and down as you sit on the lap of his friend.

Sam, Thor, Tony, and even Natasha couldn’t help but look you up and down, a bit surprised that Bucky would have the confidence to talk to someone like you, let alone start dating you. Instantly.

"And you are?" Sam exasperatedly finally broke the silence.

"This is Y/N," Bucky offered, "We’ve been seeing each other for a little while now and figured it was time she met all of you."

"So you knew who she was and took the bet anyway?! That's bullshit Barnes," Tony scoffed.

"I think it was genius on his part," Nat snickered. "Pay up, Stark. He won fair and square."

Tony grumbled as he tossed a fifty-dollar bill at Bucky.

"Good for you, Bucky," Steve gripped his shoulder, "It’s good to see you genuinely smile again." He looked at you sitting on the other side, offering a hand he said, "It’s nice to meet you, Y/N."

"It's nice to meet all of you too, finally.” You took his hand, reaching awkwardly over Bucky. “He speaks so highly of all of you, and it's good to put real faces to names."

"Well,” Nat snipped kindheartedly. “I, for one, am just glad to have another girl join the mix.” She grinned. “Even if it is just the feared winter soldier’s girlfriend." Nat’s grin grew into a warm and welcoming smile.

[tarantula-teeth]

“Rhonda Hurley was the coolest, smartest and funniest person I had ever met. She was tough —tougher than Dean, tougher than Dad—and she made the best grilled ham sandwiches in the world,” Sam says, smiling down at his hands. He’s holding a blue scarf, a filmy silk scrap of fabric. The box he pulled it from, the one stashed under Dean’s bed, sits emptied on the war table between him and Garth. “She had moles under her eyes and down her neck and never wore shoes and she called me ‘Bruiser’ when she helped me with my homework.”

“She sounds like...like she was important,” Garth offers. He runs his fingers over the pile of Dean’s silver and tin rings they’d found in the bottom of the box.

“She was...she was family. Maybe the first person me and Dean ever knew and loved outside of Dad.”

***

He’s 13 and Dean’s working at the garage under the table because he doesn’t have a work permit or degree. Rhonda always helps Sam with his homework while they wait for him to come home, leaning over his Algebra worksheet with her long blonde hair in a peppy ponytail on the top of her head and her yellow waitress uniform on. She works the graveyard at the all-night diner in town.

That’s how Sam and Dean met Rhonda. Well, Sam met her first. He’d been camped out in a corner booth at five in the morning, three weeks out from when they’d last seen Dad. He and Dean were crashing in the car, too broke to keep up the hotel room. Sam was eating a bowl of oatmeal, no fruit or sides but lots of sugar packets, and a glass of orange juice while he went over his math homework. Dean hadn’t ordered anything before he went to work.

“Check that one again, bruiser,” the beautiful waitress who smelled like vanilla had said. She tapped her sparkly blue fingernails over problem six before collecting Sam’s empty bowl. “Don’t forget about PEMDAS.”

“Thanks,” Sam said to the table. A darted glance revealed that the waitresses’ name tag had ‘Rhonda’ written on it in little yellow stick on letters. “Do I need to order something else to stay?”

“Nope,” Rhonda replied, popping her gum. “You’re just fine, sugar.”

“Sorry I don’t tip more.”

“I’m sorry you have to listen to old Fred holler at the golfing channel,” she’d replied and they’d both looked over at the gentleman waving a cane towards the ceiling mounted television.

Sam broke first, breaking into giggles. Rhonda had smiled back with big, bright teeth as white and pretty as hominy. She’d come back twenty minutes later with an obscene stack of pancakes in one hand and a monkey dish of chocolate chips in the other. The whipped cream can was in her apron pocket. She’d told him she was going to split the pancakes with him and then watched happily as he scarfed them all down. Then, she’d helped him with his homework.

It didn’t take long for Rhonda to meet Dean. She kept Sam company most mornings and nights in between waiting tables. Sam knew Dean really liked Rhonda because his whole neck turned red whenever she laughed at his jokes. One thing led to another, and then Sam was waking up on Rhonda’s overstuffed grandma couch every morning and Dean was making scrambled eggs for her to eat when she got off her overnight shift.

***

They’re fishing for dinner while Dean’s at work, sweaty and lazy in the Oklahoma heat, and the fish aren’t real interested in biting. Rhonda’s wearing a gold bikini top and Wrangler cut offs and her blonde hair is pinned up in a blue silk scarf. Sam has never seen a more beautiful person.

He tells her as much.

“You Winchester boys,” Rhonda said through a smile. A cigarette dangled in the corner of her mouth. “You’ll ruin me for the rest of the male population.”

“You don’t need to worry about them,” Sam said, casting his line out again. He’s stopped wearing his shoes to match Rhonda and he sticks his foot into the river while he reels. “You got Dean. And I’ll be your brother-in-law eventually. You’ll have Dad, too. Once he’s back.”

Rhonda, pink across her nose in a way that certainly isn’t a sunburn, stared at him from her side of the canoe. Her eyes are brown like chocolate. She recovered quickly enough, her mouth curving into a little smile.

“Me and Dean are married in this scenario?”

“Yep. And I’m his best man.”

“What if I want you to be my best man?”

“I guess I could do that too. But not a flower girl.”

“No, I suppose we’d have to let old Fred handle that.”

***

Dean really loves Rhonda. He almost tells her about the truth when they leave, about the supernatural. But he stops. And his eyes are sparkly with tears when he looks away. Sam thinks he should.

He tells him as much. They’re about to leave Rhonda’s trailer park, drive back to the hotel dad left them at. Sam’s still crying a little, quiet and painful because he’s trying to stop. He’s got his Algebra book in his lap, close to his chest. They won’t have time to return it to the school, Dad was only a half hour out when he got ahold of Dean. It smells like vanilla.

“I can’t, Sammy,” Dean says. He smudges his fingers, black with car grease, under his eyes. He sniffs. “Dad won’t like Rhonda. Once we see him? We can’t talk about her again. We gotta move on from Rhonnie. For good.”

“That’s stupid, Dean,” Sam says. He’s mad now and it makes it worse that Rhonda’s still sitting on her trailer steps with mascara dripping down her chin and her yellow waitress uniform on. “He’s stupid.”

“Sammy,” Dean says, aiming for firm and landing on heart broken.

Sam gets out of the car. Dean doesn’t stop him. He walks up to Rhonda and sets his cheek on her bony shoulder, wraps his arms as tight around her as he can. She squeezes him back, just as tight.

“I love you, Rhonda,” Sam whispers, tears burning hie eyes. “I was so happy to know you.”

“Oh,” Rhonda says, sniffling. “I love you too, bruiser. You be good. Be safe. You’ll be okay. I love you.”

And she’d pulled the scarf from her hair, letting it down in a blonde cloud smelling of Suave Sun Ripened Strawberry shampoo. And she’d pressed the scratchy blue scarf into his hands. And kissed his forehead.

And put her hands on his shoulders. And breathed in deep. Then out. Then she’d turned him around to face the Impala and given him the gentlest push.

And he’d started walking. And Dean started driving. And Sam watched Rhonda Hurley and her trailer park shrink in his side mirror.

***

“I must have left the scarf when I went to college,” Sam says. He’s a little teary. Garth is flat out crying, hand over his own mouth. “Rhonda Hurley. What a woman.”

“To Rhonda,” Garth says, lifting his wine cooler.

“To Rhonda,” Sam echoes. He takes a long drink from his coffee cup.

Inspired by @skepticalfrog’s Rhonda art pieces.

To Rhonda Hurley.

[princesscas]

hey again mandy!! i was wondering if you could rec some fluffy destiel fics? just your favorite ones if you’ve got some, either fluffy or angsty! i’d love to add some diversity to my bookmark list ☺️💕

Ooohh yeah! You sent this right as an anon sent the same request :3

Anon: I have seen your answer to an anon and now I want you to do a list of your favorite destiel fics please!! I just need to read fluffy fics but I also want some that have very good plot and also good portray of the characters but with a happy ending i can’t stomach more sadness. Thanks!! By the way for these who haven’t read it I want to recommend a very good fic call I don’t care where you been.

So I’m not too big on angst, like yes I do love angst, it can be good for the plot/character development/etc, but sometimes too much angst is well, too much for me to handle lol. Fluff is my bread and butter when it comes to not only writing, but reading. It can do me no harm, besides making my cheeks hurt from smiling so dang much! 

So here is my list of fluffy, plotty, longfics! These are pretty old, because I haven’t been in the market for any destiel longfic in the recent years, besides oneshots and a few WIPs here and there. (i’m still neck deep into the stucky dumpster lol) 6 canon fics and 6 AU’s :D 

CANON

Professional Couple Only by saltyfeathers (Fake/Pretend Relationship) - There's a haunted apartment building in Vermont, and the ad says "Professional couple only". Dean and Cas rise to the occasion.

The Silence Between Heartbeats by yesmsmoran (elliedew) (2x20 AU) -  "Fic that replaces Carmen with Cas. And then, when Dean wakes up and he meets Cas for the first time he freaks out because it's the only man he's ever loved and he's so confused as to how he can be real when he obviously had to be something the djinn created."

i wanna see your animal side by microcomets (Animal Transformation) - Dean gets attached to a dark-haired, blue-eyed kitten. He hates cats, so he can't really say why.

Just To Make You See by youaresunlight (Mutual Pining) - “I’ve been reading,” Cas explains, lifting his coat to reach for something inside. It’s another magazine but not one about nature or economics. It’s a GQ with a suave male celebrity gracing the cover. “There’s an article in here that gives advice to those who are ‘seeking to escape the friend zone.’”

And I Will Walk On Water by tracy_loo_who (Post-S4) - This fic is set after season 4 and totals ~122,600 words. It's a story about friendship and love, recovery and trust, free will, and Dean and Castiel's journey through it all. It's also about chocolate and hugs. If you read it, I really hope you enjoy it. ♥

Broadway Musical by Griftings (HILLARIOUS GO READ IT) - This is the day that marked the Holy and Blessed Union of Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle.The merging of prominent bloodlines is always a grand occurrence, but breeding pedigree hunter families like Winchester and Harvelle is something to be rejoiced. It is also something to be meticulously planned, which thankfully the Host is very good at.Or, the romantic comedy where Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle are destined to get married, Castiel is given the task of playing matchmaker and fails terribly, the entire Heavenly Host becomes a sitcom audience, God warns against male pregnancy, and Jimmy Novak is incredibly unimpressed with angels in general.

AU

a world above water by museaway (Fairy Tale AU) - Castiel’s hope for freedom is threatened by a chance encounter with the Crowned Prince of Lawrence, who is trying to avoid an arranged marriage

To Find a Family by linasane (Kid Fic, Domestic) - When Dean's little brother gets taken away, he's expecting the fight that ensues. He's expecting the stress that comes from separation, expecting to do all he can to get Sammy back from whatever awful foster family he's been placed with. He's not expecting Castiel Novak. (Castiel, in turn, isn't expecting his first foster child - five years old and angry - to be the one that leads him to the family he's always wanted, but life has a funny way of working itself out).

Shorten the Distance by GhostGarrison (Online/Long Distance Relationship) - "Nerdytr3nchcoat" and "Impala67" weren't looking for romance on the dating website called 'dateangels.com'. Castiel was looking for friends and Dean was just looking to get his nagging brother off his back. What they didn't expect to find was each other. [a long distance, online relationship fic]

Cooking with Gas by WinJennster (Food Network/Chef!Cas) - Castiel Novak has it all. He's rich, famous, has a top rated cooking show and restaurant, drives an expensive car and wears Armani. His producer throws a contest to spend a day with Chef Novak, cooking and learning techniques. Castiel wants no part of it, but Balthazar insists and Castiel will do as expected. What Castiel wasn't expecting was to fall head over heels for the winner. Dean Winchester hasn't had a successful relationship in his 34 years on Earth. He's got a past he'd like to keep hidden, and his life rotates around his family and his business. Winning a contest to spend a day with his favorite TV chef is a shock, but a welcome diversion from his day to day life...until he meets the guy, and he turns out to be a big jerk. Dean figures he should have expected that. What he wasn't expecting was that same gorgeous blue-eyed man to sweep in and shake up his entire world.

Life In Pink by youaresunlight (Kid Fic - SO FLUFF) - At just 33 years old, Dean Winchester is one of the most sought-after wedding planners in the city. He’s chased his dream ever since he was a kid and is now on the brink of making partner at his firm. But the wedding that’ll make or break his promotion? Is his best friend Dr. Castiel Novak’s. It’s going to be the event of the season - unlimited budget, no expense spared - and it’s the kind of task that Dean has been waiting for… except he’s hopelessly in love with Cas.

Kiss the Baker by Ltleflrt (Bakery AU) - Jo is pregnant and craving something a little bit unusual. When she sends Dean on a mission to find her some chocolate cake donuts with bacon sprinkles, he's sure that he'll fail. Luckily his partner Benny comes to his rescue and introduces him to a quirky little bakery that sells all kinds of weird (and delicious!) baked goods. And they do special orders!Dean finds excuses to keep going back, and Castiel finds excuses to keep giving him special treats.

And I believe this is the fic Anon was referring to: don't care where you've been by thanks_tacos (A/B/O) Dean's life is finally changing. After years of enduring Alastair's abuse, the alpha dies and Dean's married off to the next alpha the system pairs him with - Castiel. The man is strange and distant, but not exactly bad, and Dean's determined to be on his best behavior and not mess up the chance he was given. Soon enough, though, he fucks up anyway and has to call the alpha for help.Castiel's lived his entire life without an omega by his side, and he was fine with that. He doesn't know how to proceed once he's suddenly married to a beautiful man who's obviously been through a lot. Omegas were always a confusing subject to him, so he tries not to interfere much - neither of them is there by their choice. But when Dean calls for help, he understands he's going to have to set some things straight and engage more.

[spacetime1969]

Surviving Jurassic World! A Brooklynn Exclusive! Intro: Part 1

December 19th, Instagram posts by BrooklynnUnboxesOfficial:

[Image ID: a selfie of Brooklynn standing in front of the ferry to Isla Nublar and she is wearing her signature pink hair and jacket.]

Hey Brooklanders! Getting on the ferry to Isla Nublar! Make sure you're subscribed so we can unbox Jurassic World together!

[Image ID: A selfie of Brooklynn standing in front of the Camp Cretaceous building.]

Welcome to Camp Cretaceous Brooklanders!

[Image ID: A group selfie of the Camp Cretaceous kids. Darius and Ben are smiling at the camera slightly hesitantly, Kenji is attempting to look suave, Yaz looks like she doesn't want to be there, and Sammy is waving enthusiastically at the camera.]

Meet the campmates! They'll be with us as we unbox Jurassic World together!

December 19th, YouTube video posted to BrooklynnUnboxesTheWorld:

The video starts with Brooklynn in the back of a truck as it drives through the jungle of Isla Nublar.

BROOKLYNN: "What's good Brooklanders? It's your girl Brooklynn coming at you from the best place ever: Camp Cretaceous!"

The video cuts with the Jurassic Park music as they drive up to the Camp Cretaceous Gates. You can hear Brooklynn and the other campers wow as the big wooden gates open and they drive through.

BROOKLYNN: "Now, before we get into our first day of unboxing Jurassic World, let me introduce the other campers."

Brooklynn turns the camera showing the Camp Cretaceous living area and the other campers.

BROOKLYNN: "This is Darius."

Darius waves awkwardly at the camera.

DARIUS: "Uh hi, I'm Darius and I'm here because I beat a really awesome VR dinosaur game!"

The video cuts from Darius to the other campers one after another.

BEN: "I'm Ben, my mom works for Mr. Masrani, she thought this would be a good experience for me."

KENJI: "I'm Kenji. I'm the cool one in this group, just so you know. My dad owns the condos on the island, so he got me a ticket when he heard about the new camp."

YAS: "Yasmina, I'm an athlete and I'm here because Jurassic World is my corporate sponsor."

The video cuts back to Brooklynn now with Sammy.

BROOKLYNN: "And, last but not least, we have Sammy! Who, guess what, just happens to be a Brooklander!"

SAMMY: "Hey fellow brooklanders! I'm Sammy Gutierrez." She says waving at the camera. "My family's ranch supplies all the beef for the park."

The video cuts back to them in the back of the truck. Suddenly, the truck's brakes screech and the camera tilts as Brooklynn has to brace herself against the truck.

BEN: "Uh Dave, what's going on?"

DAVE: "Nothing you need to worry about. But you should all definitely stay in your seats."

The electric Dino prods that Dave and Roxie are holding crackle as they come to life. The two counselors walk into the jungle and away from the truck.

DARIUS: "Uh, guys... Guys!"

The camera turns to look at Darius, who is looking in the opposite direction Dave and Roxie are heading.

The camera turns just in time to catch a blur of green as a compy jumps out of the foliage and on to Darius. There's quite a bit of screaming for a second, and then the camera refocuses on Darius. Who has a small green dinosaur sitting on his chest.

DARIUS: "Wow."

The compy jumps off Darius and is caught in a blanket by Roxie.

DARIUS: "A real live compsognathus!"

Darius says as he looks at the dino through the back window of the truck.

KENJI: "Oh please, it took a blanket and a cat carrier to catch it. Boring!"

Darius turns to look at Kenji.

DARIUS: "Scared you pretty good."

The rest of the campers laugh.

The video cuts back to Brooklynn who is once again in the camp living area.

BROOKLYNN: "How about that Brooklanders! Our first dinosaur at Jurassic World! Now, since today is our first day most of the time has been spent just getting to and settling into camp. But there is one more thing I want to show you. After all, this is Jurassic World."

Looking out at sunset from the top of the observation tower, the sounds of dinosaur footsteps are audible but no dinosaurs can be seen. Then, from around the corner, dinosaurs start to emerge from the trees, passing right underneath the tower as the campers wow.

DARIUS: "There's brachiosaurus. Parasaurolophus. Stegosaurus! Ankylosaurus!"

Darius is practically squealing.

Brooklynn turns the camera to look at him.

BROOKLYNN: "Wow, you really do know your stuff, dino-nerd."

KENJI: "Check out the… brontosaurus."

DARIUS: "They don't have those here, it's a common mistake."

Darius says, still fully focused on the dinosaurs below.

Brooklynn turns the camera back to the dinosaurs.

DARIUS: "No way! Are those sinoceratops? When did you get those!"

DAVE: “They are cooking up all kinds of new dinos in that lab.”

SAMMY: "Where are they herding 'em to?"

ROXIE: "They're herding them back to their nighttime enclosures."

Roxie then gestured them over towards the zip line.

DAVE: "Now, enough banter! It's zipline party time!"

Video cuts to Brooklynn, now strapped into the zipline and is preparing to swing down.

BROOKLYNN: "Here we go, Brooklanders! Zip lining over dinosaurs!"

She jumps.

BROOKLYNN: "Who hoo!"

The video glides over the dinosaurs below, the sunset lighting everything beautifully. There’s swelling music, and beautiful shots of the dinos below.

The video cuts back to Brooklynn in the living area.

BROOKLYNN: "Well Brooklanders, thanks for watching! Make sure to like and subscribe! And I'll see you guys next time on Brooklynn Unboxes… Camp Cretaceous. Bye!"

Video end

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’ve started a new story! 

This is a Camp Cretaceous AU where Brooklynn keeps filming the entire time. As told through her videos and social media posts.

Kind like a watch the show fic, but without the mysterious host aspect and it actually works in the context of the world.

Intro: Part1 | Part2

[johnkrrasinski]

So It Goes... 

full masterlist

Pairings: Rock star/Bassist!Bucky Barnes x female!reader (AU)

Word count: 7,149 

Warning: fluff, SMUT! but mostly just me falling in love with bucky, really.

Summary: natasha romanoff aka your annoying roommate coerced you into the howling commando’s live performance at a divebar near your dorm. little did you know, it was going to lead you to the man of your dreams aka the charming rock star boy/bassist, james buchanan barnes.

a/n: this one’s written for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​‘s “Little Darlin’s Mysteru AU” challenge. i chose band/rockstar au. here’s another love letter to bucky barnes because i love that man with my entire heart and every fic that i write about him is basically just me expressing my deep affection for this man. hope you guys enjoy this one cause i certainly do! also, rock star/boy band bucky is such a concept omg i’m in love

You laid in your twin-sized bed as you heard the chirping sounds of the birds outside of your window. They were singing cheerily as if they knew what you were feeling and they were celebrating with you. It felt like you were in a Disney movie that you used to obsess over as a kid, where you are the lovestruck princess because you just met a handsome prince who swept you off your feet at first sight.

The birds outside of your window are your animal pals who swoon over you swooning and they spontaneously harmonize and dance to this newfound joy. You couldn’t resist the smile taking over your face. It was too early for you to be awake on a Saturday morning. You were always up by 10 AM. No more, no less. But it was currently 8.45 AM and you still had at least one more hour to get up and be productive.

But not today. Today, you were going to welcome this exhilarating sensation in your bones, and you were going to savour every second of it. Because you couldn’t shake away those baby blue eyes and that suave, boyish charm. The way, they electrified you by first glance and made you tremble when those pupils dilated. You could still feel the way his soft, plump lips hypnotized you last night. And the raunchy way he held you at the bar.

Even when all was said and done, he found a way to haunt you in your dreams.

And you didn’t mind one bit.

-

You were currently in the middle of a crisis due to your upcoming final week. If there’s any word to describe you as a college student, it would be ambitious. The idea of failing or getting less than B+ makes you go ballistic. You were an active student. You joined multiple organizations that expanded your social life. You got along with mostly everyone in your classes and you had your professors’ respect too for your excellent grades and polite manners.

But your lack of dating life irked no one else more than your roommate, Natasha. You loved Natasha with your entire heart, really. She was like a sister to you. You were an only child so you cherished her older sister role in your life. She was, in fact, several months older than you and she always protected you like her own. Starting from the asshole that broke your heart in high school, despite only knowing him through your story, to incessantly pushing you to stop being such a nerd and have more fun.

Natasha was the kind of woman you don’t wanna mess with. She was loyal, brave and quick-witted. She knows how to keep her GPA high, whilst also maintaining a fun social life. She managed to do it all so effortlessly. 

“C’mon, y/n! Just one night! You need to let loose and release all tension on your shoulders, baby. It’s good for your brain before finals start!”

“Noooo, Nat. Rock bands are not my thing and I’d have a higher chance of acing the tests if I study now, okay? Just go. Have fun without me and tell me how it goes.”

“But my boyfriend’s performing, y/n. And I want you to meet him! I promise they are really good. Even if you're not into the music, you can still go for the drinks, right? Also, they’ve got other cute members available so, you might find your own rock band boyfriend too if you go.” She winked. Her smirk was menacing.

“Ugh, I’m not interested in finding a boyfriend, Nat.”

“I know, but wouldn’t hurt if you do, right? Then we can go on double dates and have them write songs about us. Oh God, it’s going to be awesome.”

“Whoa, slow down. I haven’t even learned their names, yet and we are already discussing double dates?”

“Alright, let’s just start with putting on your sexy clothes and meet them yourself. Then we can move onto picking one gorgeous beast for you.”

“What makes you even think that they’d be interested in me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, y/n. Have you never owned a mirror? You are a total babe. You just need to get yourself more action.”

“Ugh, I don’t know, Nat…”

“You are going. And I’m not leaving until you get up and put on something cool. I have patience, baby and I’m going to annoy you all night if you stay. What do you prefer? Going out and have fun and meet some cute boys or me annoying you all night so you can’t study productively.” She glared at you. Her tone indicated that there was no compromise.

“Alright, I’m going. But that’s only because I wanna meet your boyfriend, alright? Not because I wanna find a boyfriend or whatever stupid shit you’re thinking.”

“Yay!” She jumped in excitement. Her face was content with joy and satisfaction from succeeding in persuading you. “Alright, let’s dig through your clothes.” She started rummaging your shared closet and observed meticulously each one of your outfits. “Hmm… Let’s try this one!” She picked up a strapless black sequin dress that you hadn’t worn in forever. You didn’t even remember packing it up in your baggage and brought it with you to your dorm.

You began stripping yourself out of your oversized hoodie and high-waisted shorts. You didn’t feel embarrassed changing in front of Natasha, you had seen each other naked many times. You were roommates after all and sometimes, you just had to be comfortable with the fact that you had private body parts underneath and within the course of four years, eventually, you had to get used to flashing one another at some point.  

You put it on as you started to feel a little uncomfortable. You weren’t used to wearing skimpy dresses. Already wearing it for less than three minutes, you were constantly lifting the hem of the dress to prevent it from exposing your boobs and revealing your inner thighs. And the material felt itchy on your skin too. “Nat, I’m not sure about this. Let’s just wear a leather jacket and jeans.”

“Nonsense! You look bomb! Give your leather jacket and jeans a break, alright? Okay, turn around so I can see your behind.”

You twirled as she said, restlessly.

Tonight was going to be a longspun night…

-  

The air felt crisp against your skin, as the breeze swept through your freshly curled hair, causing a few strands shading your sight. You struggled to walk steadily in your 7-inch heels that belonged to Natasha because you didn’t have a pair of your own. You were cool with wearing ankle boots pairing them with a sparkly dress. But Natasha didn’t think it was a cute look.

“What? Boots and dresses don’t go along, honey. Oh my, you need a serious makeover!” She was derailed.

You eventually settled with a silk red dress with a seductively low cleavage on the front, exposing the globes of your breasts. You were already as uncomfortable as it is, this dress didn’t make it any easier to act normal.

So you had to endure walking in these deadly shoes of torture, whilst clad in nothing but a scanty material with makeup painting your entire face. Great. What had you gotten yourself into? Damn you, Natasha.

You and Nat were walking arm in arm to the bar where “The Howling Commandos” were performing. That’s the name of the band that Natasha’s boyfriend was in. They have been a group for 5 years now, they had been doing this since they were in high school. Clint and the rest of the members were several years older than you and Nat. As soon as they graduated, they decided that they wanted to keep making music rather than working mundane, dead-end jobs.

Yep, Natasha told you that much.

Clint and Nat had been dating for two years now. They rarely saw each other due to the band’s packed schedule. Although, they would FaceTime each other every night, talking about each other’s days. You heard it all, from their most disgustingly adorable flirtations, to the most inappropriate, not so PG-13 confession.

They would literally pretend to smooch one another through the screen when you were doing your homework or when you had your nose deep in a book. You’d try to cover your ears by putting on your earbuds and turning up the volume so you could give them privacy but also, you didn’t wanna hear them talking about what they wanted to do to each other if both of them were here.

You knew Clint well enough to not feel like you were meeting a complete stranger. Natasha would often tell you to say hi to him and she had told you a lot of wonderful things to Clint. Clint would often talk about the band too on the phone, how someone called “Bucky” would piss him off by stealing his leftover sandwich. Or someone called “Sam” would often interrupt their chat by reminding him that it was soundcheck time.  

“I gotta go, babe. Sammy’s not gonna stop yelling.”

“Aw, okay, tell the boys I say hi! Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

It’s like a daily podcast for you every night.

The dive bar where The Howling Commandos were performing thankfully wasn’t that far from your dorm. Natasha was super thrilled when Clint told them that they were going to perform here. They were finally able to see each other after a while, and because this was going to be their last gig until they come back with a new album, he said he was going to stay and spend some time with Nat.

You were happy for both of them. You’d never say it out loud but, a part of you was secretly jealous of their love. They managed to maintain such a fun, loving, and healthy relationship despite the distance and differences. Natasha once told you that she was never one to settle with a man for too long but, Clint changed the game for her. You smiled at the thought. They were genuinely in love. If you were to find yourself a boyfriend, you wanted the type of love that they had.

But not tonight. You were okay with being single. Just because a part of you wanted what Clint & Nat had, doesn’t mean that you actually need it or you’d die. You were too much of a goal-oriented person to be chasing over something that should come naturally. You had grown so comfortable in being alone, that you stopped desiring love so much. It wasn’t getting you anywhere. So you lived your life, being grateful for your friends and family. You invested your time in your education and passion. You were content.

When you arrived at the bar, the room was full with a crowd. You walked in with Natasha trying to make a space for yourself so you could walk through them. You could barely anything else due to the number of bodies blocking your view. Natasha held your hand as she took the lead and fought through the crowd to get to the front, where she could get the best view.

There was a blonde-haired woman standing on the front, so close to where the band were going to play. When Natasha slightly grazed her whilst trying to stand next to her, she didn’t look the slightest bit happy. She glared at Natasha as Natasha noticed. She glared back at her.

“Excuse me, there’s more space in the back, maybe you can stand there instead of cutting through the line.”

“Excuse you, miss. I’m dating the band’s drummer, so I can stand wherever I want, thank you very much. If you don’t like that, then the exit is right there.” She pointed to the door of where we walked in from.

The blonde woman rolled her eyes as she folded her arms against her chest. After you stared at her reaction, you realized that you actually know her. She was in the same social science class with you. You had never really talked to her because she often sat in the back and immediately left after the class was done, but you remembered her name. Her name was Dottie Underwood. Your classmates called her Dot. The ones that she liked anyway.

You decided to stay quiet and let it pass. It’s not like she even recognized you even if you start a chat with her. You don’t think it was a good idea either since she and Nat literally just snarked at each other. You directed your sight to the stage and waited for the famous Howling Commandos to appear.

One of the spotlights turned and highlighted a man walking on stage before he talked into the microphone at the centre. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, a group of brilliant lads, that make all the ladies go feral wherever they go, and their showstopping music are going to make us sing and jump tonight. Please welcome, The Howling Commandos!”

The crowd roared with cheers, the sounds of their enthusiasm filled the atmosphere. Their claps were jovially in sync as four, drop-dead gorgeous young men stepped into the stage as their presence shifted the energy in the room.

The first one was a blonde-haired with breathtaking bone structure, forming a ridiculously handsome face. His hair shone under the spotlight like the sun amidst the clear sky. He had an amiable demeanour about him. His smile was gentle and welcoming. He waved to the crowd and stood directly behind the microphone.

The second one to walk in was a dark-skinned man with an undeniable charisma oozing out of him. He had a neatly trimmed beard that only added to his spicy appeal. His smile was radiant as he also waved the crowd. He stood on the left side of the stage, a couple of steps behind Steve who was apparently the lead singer.

The third one to walk in was Clint. He was everything Nat described him to be. Placid and nonchalant. His smile was amenable as he greeted the crowd. He walked directly to the background, where the drumset was placed. He sat down on the drummer’s chair as he picked up the sticks he was going to play with.

The last one to enter was a literal Disney prince coming to life. His prominent boyish charm completely bedazzled you. His blue eyes gleamed under the spotlight as they lingered on you for a second. He immediately shifted his gaze as he kept walking towards the right side of the stage, but you swore that when he caught you staring dumbfoundedly at him, you could see the flash of a quick smirk on his face.

He only nodded to the crowd as he confidently picked up the bass guitar that was previously placed on the floor and put on the leather straps around his neck. His eyes turned back to you as you found yourself still bluntly staring at him. Something about him just enchanted you. He had that boy-next-door charm about him but also, a bad boy persona that was irresistibly enticing.    

That flash of smirk that you saw earlier resurfaced and it was getting harder for you to pay attention to anyone or anything else in the room other than him. His gaze grew more intense as the noises of the crowd faded into the background. You were lost in this lethal game of eye contact until Natasha accidentally elbowed you by screaming her lungs out to respond to the lead singer’s introduction.

“Good evening, SHIELD’s Nest! How are we feeling tonight?” The lead singer vivified the crowd. They responded with a reassuring reaction. “I’m Steve Rogers and these are my buddies,” he turned his head to the left, as he started introducing the other band members.  “The handsome guy right there is Sam, and in the back, there’s Clint, our brilliant drummer boy and this ladies’ charmer right here is Bucky.” As he pointed to the magnetic man who had held your attention hostage since he first walked in.

“And we are The Howling Commandos.” He paused for a second before carrying on with his prelude. “Alright, so the first song that we’re going to play tonight is called ‘Rusted Love’. Enjoy.” Steve removed his mouth from behind the microphone and started cueing the band to play. “1,2…”

Sam and Bucky started strumming the first few notes as a few people cheered. Then Clint jumped in, flaunting his talent in mastering the drum with his sticks. The energy in the room felt more energized as people started moving a part of their bodies. Then Steve amazed the room with his sultry voice, singing the words that echoed through the Sound system of the bar.

“I’m a flying kite in a hurricane, you paralyzed me with your touch and your lips got me addicted…” Steve shut his eyes, relishing the rune. You had a feeling that those lyrics wouldn’t just stay lyrics tonight…

-

They played another four songs that night. The crowd danced, jumped and screamed the words to their song passionately. You, on the other hand, was probably the most tranquil person in the crowd. You didn’t really know much about the band, let alone their music. So when everyone was constantly pushing you because they were too lost in the moment, you eventually tried to get out of the crowd and sat on the bar instead. Natasha was also too lost in supporting her boyfriend, that she almost didn’t notice you leaving.

Through the vibration of the crowd and the music, you had to really lean in to get Natasha’s attention and to get her to hear you. “Nat! I’m gonna sit in the back and wait there. I’m a little thirsty.” She had a giant smile on her face due to the zest the band inflicted. “Okay!” She yelled back, then carried on with her foxy moves.

You struggled to walk through the crowd, trying to not step on anyone’s feet as you made your way to the barstool. What you didn’t notice was, Bucky’s disappointed on his face when he saw you walking out on him. He noticed that you weren’t exactly as thrilled as anyone else. Although, he noticed your stolen glances as you shied away from him when he stared back. He even tried to wink at you once but you immediately looked to the floor, hiding away your blush. He swore he saw the way your cheeks reddened. Not that he wasn’t used to getting that reaction anyway…

You exhaled a breath of relief as you finally broke out of the congested mass of people. You sat on the barstool as you ordered a glass of rum and you waited as the music still reverberated robustly in your ears. You sat there as you started looking through your Instagram. Nat’s icon was the first one to appear in the row and you clicked it to see what you were expecting. She recorded a video of the band, then zoomed in to Clint, as he was ardently drumming the beat.

She put on a heart eyes and fire emoji with the text; “that’s my man!”. The next one was her and you singing along to the second song they played that night. You were able to actually mouth the words after they played the last chorus and you were a quick learner, so you memorized the repeated words easily after the third time. You scrolled through your feed a few more minutes until your order finally arrived.

“Enjoy, miss.” The waiter winked at you. He was probably in his mid-20s, he had warm brown eyes and a sweet smile. His dark hair was slicked back as you stared a little longer than you should. He was obviously attractive, but, you didn’t say anything back to him. You just smiled back in a friendly manner and uttered silenced thanks.

After sitting by yourself for about a half and an hour, like all good things, the show must come to an end. Steve Rogers concluded the show with a final thank you and goodnight as the spotlight shut down, like the drapes closing over a theatrical show. The crowd clapped and some of them started leaving, while others immediately went to the bar to quench the thirst from screaming along to volatile rock music and jumping up and down, getting lost in the tune.

Natasha patted your back as she jumped on the empty chair next to you. Thank God, she was quick on her feet, otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to get a seat. “Hey! God, I need a full shot of whiskey right now.”

“Yeah, go crazy.”

She scoffed. “Huh. As if that wasn’t crazy enough, back there.” She signalled the bartender to make an order. “So, what do you think? That was fun, right?” The cute bartender from earlier walked to her as he asked her what would she like to drink and she quickly replied.

“Yeah, they’re pretty good.”

“Pretty good? They’re damn talented. Especially the drummer back there. He totally killed it.”

“Yeah, okay, they are amazing. But you know their music isn’t my kind of music, so can’t say  I really enjoyed it that much.”

“Okay, but you must’ve at least enjoyed the view, right? Don’t think I didn’t catch you and bass boy making several eye contacts back there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You took another sip of your glass to cover your embarrassment.

“Oh my God, you totally do! Look at you blushing!”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are! Admit it! You like Bucky, don’t you?” She playfully pushed you to tease you.

“Oh my God, shut up Nat! You’re causing a scene!” You tried to lower yourself, now that you’re able to speak in a normal volume.

“Nope, I won’t stop until you admit it. Don’t worry, y/n, Bucky’s always been a charmer, so I totally get your attraction.”

That caused a peculiar sickness in your chest. It’s not like you were falling in love with Bucky, no. You didn’t even know him enough to like him. He may be an eye-candy but if he’s really as “charming” as everyone is saying, then that means, he’s one of those dangerous fuckboys that you should avoid at all cost. Because that means, he’s probably only going to manipulate you into thinking that he really cares for you, when in reality, he only wanted to get in your pants. Nope, not gonna happen to you. You weren’t going to be a new notch in his belt.

“Well, then that means he is bad news and that gives me even more reason to feel anything but attraction toward him.”

“Oh, no, y/n, I don’t mean it like that. He’s really sweet, and he’s always been the most chill one in the group. Trust me, you’re gonna love him. Just, give him a chance first, alright? I’ve known him long enough to know that he’s into you.”

“Into me? Nat, he doesn’t even know my name.”

“He will.” She winked again, as she took a sip of her whiskey.

Not long after that, Clint appeared from behind, without Nat realizing. He surprised her by wrapping her waist from behind as he whispered into her ears; “how’s my best girl?” Nat was slightly stunned but as soon as she realized it was her boyfriend, her expression instantly turned into a joyful one. “Hi, baby!” They immediately smooched as she wrapped her arms around his neck while standing face to face now.

“Did you like the show?”

“I loved the show, you guys killed it as always. Oh, and by the way, this is y/n, my number one bestie and the best roommate anyone could ever ask for. Now you finally meet her in person!” Her excitement was genuine.

“Hi, y/n! Heard so many great things about you, but you probably can’t say the same, huh?”

“No, actually I can. Nat wouldn’t stop talking about you every night even when I’m blatantly ignoring her.” You joked.

“Well, is that right?” He looked at Nat to assess the truth on her face.

“Yep,” you carried on. “She would say you’re hot, funny and kind, and all these wonderful things. Including the ones that I’m not supposed to hear.”

They laughed. They kissed once more, as Clint stood next to her seat, ordering a drink for himself. Next to you, you could hear Nat saying, “oh, where are the boys? Are they not thirsty?”

“They’re just packing up, babe, they’re gonna join us in a few.”

“Good, ‘cause I think there’s someone y/n would like to meet.” She teasingly wiggled her eyebrows at you, as you sent her a murderous glare. Your lips silently mouthed, “what the fuck?” but Clint picked up her tone and he quickly got the message.

“Oooh, who is it? Is it Steve, Bucky, Sam? Just let me know which one you like and I’ll deliver them at your door tonight, y/n. They’re all single and ready to mingle anytime now.”

You laughed nervously. “No, no, no, no. Nat’s just saying shit.”

She turned her head to her boyfriend and shook it.  “No, I’m not. She and Bucky practically eye fucked on stage.”

You instantly slapped her arm, staring deadly into her eyes. “Ouch!” She put her hand on the spot that you struck, even though it wasn’t even that hard. Classic Nat. Dramatic as always.  “Nat, you can’t just–”

Before you even managed to finish your sentence, she darted her eyes to somewhere behind you as she pointed at whatever got her distracted. “Oh, here they are!” She smirked. She raised her eyebrows at you before she stood on her feet and hugged the anticipated men.

“Hey, guys! Killer show back there!” Nat started hugging Sam and he kissed her cheek, and then she moved onto Steve and the last one to join was Bucky. You muttered ‘shit’ to yourself as you pondered on how you should act. Should you act like nothing ever happened during the show between you two? Or were you going to address the elephant in the room, and just straight up flirt with him, now that he wasn’t being so closely watched anymore?

You didn’t know which would be the best option so you just took a big gulp and drank down the entire glass of Rum you had left. Maybe if you were less sober, you wouldn't excessively overthink. You weren’t even sure whether he was really staring at you or not. For all you knew, he could be staring at another beautiful girl in the crowd that was standing beside or behind you. And if you act impulsively now, this would be like that cheesy moment on Rom-Coms, where a girl waved back to the guy who she thought was waving at her but it turns out, he was actually waving at another girl who was coming from the same direction as her.

Nope, you weren’t going to be that girl.

So you just smiled and nodded along as Natasha introduced you to the rest of the boys. You didn’t want to be rude so you sat on your chair, facing them with an interested look, even though all you wanted to do was just shrink and leave this goddamn place.

“Hey guys, here’s my bomb-ass bestie slash roomie. Her name’s y/n! Isn’t she stunning?”

When Steve was about to offer his hand to you, Sam immediately inserted himself in front of you and Steve. “Well, hello, good-lookin’. Can I buy you a drink?” Sam, being the cool dude he was, he leaned back against the bar counter on his elbows as he shamelessly flirted with you.

“Nope, thank you. I just had one.”

“Oh, you look like you could use another one. Here, let me get that for you.” He cued the bartender to make an order and you instantly tried to stop him, telling him that it wasn't necessary, but it looks like the bartender was already taking his order for you.

And then, out of nowhere, Bucky suddenly stooped in like a hero. “Hey, Sam, why don’t you back off? This one’s mine, alright?” That elicited a questioning look out of you. “Mine?” He didn’t even know you.

“Oh wait, so this is the one you told us about in the dressing room?” What the hell? You thought. They were talking about you as if you weren’t there at all.

“Yep, so why don’t you fuck off and get out of here before I get myself drunk enough to shit on your bed?” His tone was menacing but you could tell that this was a normal, daily conversation between the two.

“Jeez, alright. I’mma leave. You don’t need to wave your dick all over my face.” Before Sam moved to another spot, he patted you on the back and said, “good luck.”

What? What the hell was that for? The bartender came in with your order and served another glass of Rum right in front of you.

“You don’t need to drink that if you don’t want to.” He carefully spoke to you, as if he was trying to not scare you away.

“No, I think I need to. Tonight’s been a pretty crazy night.” You took a sip, the cold drink felt nice on your tongue.

He chuckled. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Oh, how crazy can it be for you? Isn’t this like, what you do, every night?”

“Yeah, but, you never really get used to it, you know? Sometimes you just wanna sit in the bar and have a nice talk with a pretty gal and hide in the booth or something.”

That… Warmed up your heart. Damn, if this is his way of flirting, it was truly working. You could see now why everyone was calling him ‘a charmer.’ He really had a way with words. And stares. His baby blues really know how to captivate you and froze you on spot.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.” He offered his hand to shake yours.

“I’m y/n.” You shook it with a smile.

“Did you like the show?” He asked.

“Gotta be honest with you, buddy, your music isn’t exactly my kind of music. But you guys were awesome.”

He paused for a moment as if he was contemplating what he was going to say next. “Think I got a little distracted up there.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?”

“Cause there was this pretty lady in a red dress that I couldn’t take my eyes off of.” His gaze even grew more intense now. He was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room. Then his eyes darted to your lips, as he licked his. And before you knew it, he started inching his face closer to yours as he held his gaze on your plump, painted lips, while you could feel his breath more and more as the seconds went by.

And then… His lips were on yours. It’s like the clock just stopped ticking and every noise faded into the background and you were the only two people in the room. His lips felt soft against yours, and the way he licked your bottom lip made your head spin. You ajarred your mouth to let his tongue enter as it got tangled with yours.

You were aware that Nat, Clint and Steve who were having a conversation are now watching you like hawks, but you couldn’t care less. Not when Bucky’s hands grabbed your face, so he could have more control over your mouth. You were practically out of breath by the time he looked into your eyes, that are now slightly darker than a few seconds ago. He loved the sight of you, with your lips slightly swollen.

“Let’s go somewhere more secluded.” You could only nod and then took his hand after he offered you his as you got off the stool. He led the way and you couldn’t help but notice the glances that were thrown by several women along the way. They were staring at him with incontrovertible full of hunger eyes, one even shamelessly put her hand on his shoulder, as she coquettishly smiled at him. Bucky only smiled back and nodded at her but he kept walking with you in his hand.

Even if you were practically a pair, you felt invisible. Everyone’s eyes were on you, but not precisely on you. This must’ve been something normal to him, you thought. You weren’t used to big crowds and inundated with attention, and you weren’t used with unquestionably holding a stranger’s hand and letting him take you wherever he had in mind. But you did anyway, and you weren’t having second thoughts.

Bucky led you to the cramped lavatory and locked the door. The lack of space made it even harder for you to breathe when Bucky was this close to you. He pressed his body to yours, as he kissed you once more. Slowly, but you felt the spell in your bones. “All I could think about on stage was tasting those luscious lips.”

You were spellbound by his magic. You could barely speak another word when his baby blue eyes were looking at you so intensely like that. But you gathered every cell in your body to utter the words anyway, “do it again, then.” You boldly challenged him.

He grinned a Cheshire cat smile. He grabbed your face again and eagerly consume you with his mouth. He then moved his hands to the back of your thighs to elevate you onto the sink. He put his hand on your thigh and the other hand went to the back of your head as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, while still kissing you even deeper.

He pulled away to stare at your distraught state and asked the question, “can I touch you?”

You licked your lips, as you nodded. “Please.” His mouth was on yours again, as the hand that was on your thigh moved to the bottom your dress, delicately inserted his fingers to feel you against your red lace panties. You could feel yourself growing wetter and wetter as he motions his fingers in circle harder.

Your breath quickened. Your mind was getting hazy as the second passes by. The right strep of your dress had fallen off of your shoulder, and Bucky utilized that opportunity to pull down the other strap and he began groping your breast, tenderly pinching your nipple. That elicited a petite yelp out of you. He groped your breast once more as he was still toying with your nipple.

He began kissing your neck, shortly finding your sensitive spot as you threw your head back. You shuddered. Your hands grabbed his hair, wanting to feel him closer. “Bu- Bucky… Please. I need to feel you.”

You didn’t wait for his response and immediately lifted up his shirt. You were stunned by the sight under the dimmed light of the bathroom. Clothes really didn’t do this man any justice. He should never be allowed to wear any coverups, ever again now that you had seen him. He was sculpted by the Gods themselves. His biceps felt robust in your dainty hands and the V-shaped line on his hips led to somewhere you really wanted to wrap your lips around.

Your hands quickly zipped down his jeans and his boxer along with it, and you didn’t hesitate in feeling his throbbing member right there, right then. It felt tremendous in your trembling hands, and you felt it getting harder with every stoke of your palm.

“Oh, fuck, doll, don’t stop.” His voice was raspy in your ears. It was the sexiest goddamn sound you had ever heard.

“Yeah, just like that. Go faster, doll.” He sucked your earlobe and his hand fisted your hair, making a mess out of it. You didn’t mind one bit. You wanted to be a mess for him and only for him. You somehow still managed to pamper him with all the senses you had left, even if your mind was clouded with every part of him.

“Bucky, put it in me. Please.” You begged with a quavering voice.

“Your wish is my command, doll.” In a second, he pushed into you and it sent an electrifying jolt all over your nerves. You threw your head back in mingled pain and pleasure. He felt even more full now that he was fully seated inside you. He lifted you from the sink and pushed you to the wall on the opposite.

You circled your arms around his neck as your back was slammed against the concrete. Then Bucky began thrusting vigorously. You shut your eyes and moaned his name. Bucky, on the other hand, didn’t. He kept his eyes wide open to watch you with full attention. He loved seeing the way you were drunk in him. The way you forgot your name more and more every time he slammed back into you.

He loved the squelching noises ringing in his ears, better than the melody he was used to creating in the studio. The sound of your heartbeat was far more gratifying than the way Clint played his drum. Oh, how he could write an entire album solely about you in this state alone.

“You feel so good around me, doll. So. Fucking. Tight.” Your moans became louder with his filthy words in your ears.

“I’m gonna make you mine.” This time, his voice was sultry. It was rather beguiling than mortifying.

His hips kept moving and out of you with a vehement tempo, and then just like that, you crumbled. You screamed your pleasure, not caring if anyone could hear you. Bucky was still moving, trying to reach his own climax. Shortly, he was with you. He unleashed his cum deep inside you, adding the mess that was dripping all over your thighs.

You were a beautiful mess. And Bucky loved it.

After a few minutes, coming down from your high, you breathed into Bucky’s neck, not wanting for it to be over yet. You were a little scared that Bucky was going to walk out and pretend nothing ever happened between you. You didn’t know how many bathroom stalls Bucky had brought different women to and fucked them silly right there. You had a lot do unravel about him, yet, you weren’t certain whether he wanted to let you in or not.

“You okay?” Bucky whispered into your ear. You only nodded, still a little hazy from ecstasy.

“I’m gonna put you down now, yeah?”

“Okay.” He slowly set you on your feet, as he was still staring at your face. You leaned against the wall, trying not to collapse. Bucky picked up his shirt and put it back on along with his jeans and boxer.

“Let’s get out of here.” Bucky offered you his hand, like the gentleman that he was as if he hadn't just fucked you into oblivion in a public restroom.

You took his hand with a smile. You didn’t know what was going to happen after you walk out of the door, but you were going to savour every second of being in his arm if this was going to be last time you’ll ever see him.

-

You went home with a contented smile on your face. You were like a teenage girl who had just been asked to prom by her crush. How could you not, when Bucky offered to walk you home and left a kiss on your cheek before he called it a night?

Natasha was going to stay at Clint’s hotel, so you were supposed to walk home alone. You knew eventually this was going to happen but Natasha and Clint used it as a reason so Bucky and you would spend the night together too. You didn’t mind one bit, though. You wanted to elongate your time with Bucky and your wish was granted.

You offered him to come inside and stay for a little while, you were secretly hoping that you could go for the second round, but Bucky only chuckled and shook his head.

“Not tonight, doll. I ain’t that kinda man. And you need rest. But I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?” Then you and Bucky exchanged your numbers and he waited until you were really gone from his sight.

You walked up to your dorm with butterflies in your stomach and sparks fly all trailing over your footsteps. Thank God, Natasha wasn’t here. If she were, she would’ve relentlessly teased you all night and made you admit that she was right to coerce you to come.

And you would’ve had to admit that she was right. And you didn’t like admitting that you were wrong.

But tonight, you were going to admit it to yourself though. Sometimes, doing something that frightens you the most would endue you in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine.

And you were going to thank your lucky stars tonight for embedding Natasha Romanoff in your life because, without her, you would’ve stayed in your shell and Bucky could’ve fucked someone else in that restroom instead of you.

That might’ve happened in another universe, but not tonight. Tonight it was you and you were really hoping that you were going to see him again in your dreams tonight. You had one taste of him and it wasn’t enough.

Bucky texted you not long after you took a shower.

“Dreaming of me, yet?” Wink emoji.

“Well, if I were, I wouldn’t be texting you right now, would I?”

“That’s true, but at least you’d be drenching your sheets because of me and I don’t think I have a problem with that.”

“I don’t need you to do that, maybe I can use some toys in my drawers tonight. They seem pretty bored.” Thinking emoji.

“Oh, doll, you are killing me here…” Drool emoji.

“You like it.”

“I do.”

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

“Goodnight, doll. Thinking of you here.”

You turned off your phone and the screen went black. You changed into your pyjamas and washed off the remnants of your makeup and let the slumber take over you.

Bucky’s face loomed over you, somewhere in a fancy balcony, the view of the city stretching over, added to the beauty of the scenery. He was wearing a navy blue suit with a white dress shirt and no tie. The first couple of buttons were unbuttoned, giving you a majestic picture that he was. His hands that were in his pockets, took yours as you exerted yours to him.

He leaned in with a bright smile under his stubbly face, his blue eyes sparkled like Sirius star.

“Fly with me, doll.”

“What if I fall?”

“Then I’ll catch you.”

[ladyofmaidensandwine]

Just One Dance

Requested by @rileynicole1967

Request: “so maybe you could do a one shot for deanxreader based off the song “can I have this dance” from High School Musical. so basically dean doesn’t do the whole dancing thing and the reader finally gets him to dance with her and she helps him and it’s so fluffy”

Absolutely, luv! Side bar, I’ve never seen these movies, but I gave the song a listen. Hopefully this is just as fluffy as you were wanting!

Characters: Dean Winchester, Fem! Reader, Sam Winchester

Pairing: Dean x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Excessive fluff, implied smut without detail.

Wordcount: 2,852

                 There are some things a hunter doesn’t get, and a normal, carefree night on the town is one of them. At least, it usually is. This particular Saturday you have no monsters to kill, no wounds to mend, and no research demanding to be done, and you practically beg Sam and Dean to come with you to a local pub promising good music, food, and beer.

             Maybe it’s slightly overdone, but you rarely have any occasion to dress so nicely, and as you look at your reflection, you have to smile. You admit to yourself you look beautiful, outfit the perfect color to compliment your complexion and your eyes, and comfortable so you have no qualms about dancing the night away, which you have every intention to do.

             You open the door to your room in the bunker, right across from Dean’s, and hear a low whistle that causes your cheeks to heat slightly. “I feel underdressed, sweetheart. You look gorgeous.” Dean says with that easy, charming smile. The bastard has you positively whipped, and he doesn’t even know it. “Well, one of us has to look good.” You tease, brushing off the compliment in favour of poking fun at your best friend. He chuckles, rolling his eyes fondly. “Yeah, whatever. C’mon, let’s get Sammy’s ugly mug and hit the road before all the good parking is gone.” Dean beckons. The casual way he rests his hand on your back has your heart doing acrobatics, and you thank whatever God is listening for the years spent mastering your perfect poker face when you show no outward reaction. 

             You’re not a bird that hangs off the arm of the first handsome man she sees. In fact, you have a sense of pride in the way you don’t fall for charm or suave lines and you’ve never been the type to go for a one-night-stand just because someone buys you a drink and throws you a smirk. Dean Winchester is the only exception to your impervious shield- a simple smile from him has you feeling faint, and it’s not just his looks that have made you fall for him. Dean has been your friend and confidante. He knows things about you not another soul is privy to, and the same applies to you. He protects you, but doesn’t underestimate your skill and ability as a hunter. He’s your hero, and if you had a bit more gall, maybe you’d finally tell him that.

            It’s a perfect night at the pub- not too crowded, but with enough background chatter to make an ambience like home. The first round is on you, as you’ve promised, and Dean watches you carefully as you head to the counter to order your drinks. Sam sits across from him, a smug and knowing smile on his face. “What?” Dean finally grumbles, raising a brow. Sam shrugs, but that grin only gets wider, Dean’s green eyes narrowing in annoyance. “It’s just funny,” Sam begins, fighting to maintain a nonchalant front while wanting to laugh at Dean, “you sitting here, watching her, Y/N standing there, looking back at you. Cute.” “Sam.” Dean says, tone sharp with a warning Sam promptly ignores. “Hey, if you have any plausible reasoning for me to believe you’re not smitten with her, now’s your chance to convince me.” Sam invites. Dean glowers at him from across the table, wishing you’d hurry up with those beers already, and Sam smirks, knowing he’s won. “That’s what I thought. Want my advice?” “Not really.” Dean mutters, rolling his eyes. God, where are you with the drinks, somebody save him. “Well, I’m gonna give it to you anyways. Stop being such a dumbass and go get your girl. At this point I won’t even complain if you snog her in front of me. Point is, Dean, you’ve got no rationale to not go after her.” Sam says pointedly. “I think you oughta just-”

                “Hey, sorry I took so bloody long!” You call, hurrying over with four longnecks in your hands, and Dean shoots Sam a smirk. Perfect timing as usual, thank God. “S’alright. Didn’t miss much.” Dean shrugs, sliding over so you can sit next to him in the booth. “Oh, good. I put in some song requests- DJ says this place is great for dancing.” You inform, smiling brightly. Dean instantly shoots upright, cutting you a narrow-eyed look full of suspicion. “Dancing?” He repeats, already smelling a scheme as you give him an innocent smile. “Wouldn’t you know it, this pub happens to be known ‘round here for the music? Coincidence, of course.” You say slyly. Dean shakes his head, unable to maintain his glare so he hides the smile pulling at his lips by taking a swig of his cold beer. “Coincidence. Yeah, ok. Y/N, for someone who lies for a living, you’re pretty shit at it.” Dean smirks, and you laugh, knowing he’s teasing. “Alright, so maybe I had a slight ulterior motive when I said we should come here tonight, but I promise it’ll be fun!” You say pleadingly, turning to Sam for back up. 

              “Don’t look at me! You’re on your own.” Sam proclaims, holding up his hands in surrender as you huff. “Fine! But you’re both dancing with me. I’m not settling for a ‘no’.” You assert. Dean chuckles, giving you an amused smile. “You can think that if you want, sweetheart. I don’t dance.” He says firmly. “What do you mean? You dance with me to your bloody cassettes in the garage all the time!” You demand, raising your brows. Sam laughs, nearly snorting beer out of his nose, and Dean flushes up to his ears. “Dean dances with you?” “Sam!” Dean growls, thoroughly embarrassed. “Oh, come off it, it’s not a big deal, you baby.” You scowl playfully. “No, Y/N, Dean doesn’t dance, ever. Makes you awfully special, huh, Dean?” “Shut your mouth, Sam.” Dean snaps, glaring at his brother indignantly. You’re at a loss, looking between the two in confusion. “Look, Y/N, you’ll have to settle for the less good-looking Winchester tonight. I don’t dance, ‘specially not here.” Dean says with a shrug of his broad shoulders. You smile, a mischievous look in your eyes, and he knows you’re nowhere near dropping the subject. 

             Three beers later, you’re out on the dancefloor, laughing at Sam’s awkward moves. Dean’s smiling, eyes glued to you. It’s rare he see’s you this happy and carefree, and you look so beautiful in the low light of the bar. The power could go out and your smile would light up the whole place. He hates admitting it, but Sam makes a valid point. There’s nothing stopping Dean from telling you how he feels about you besides his own paranoia, and even that is n shaky grounds. He’s not entirely oblivious. Dean knows there’s some unspoken thing between the two of you, and knows you feel it, too. But letting it lie as is and pursuing something more are two totally opposing ideas, and he’s getting tired of his head and his heart pulling him in different directions over you.

              You catch Dean’s eye, and leave Sam, grinning at Dean. “Come dance.” You say. He shakes his head, a small smile playing across his lips. “Told you, sweetheart. I don’t dance.” Dean claims, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the booth. He’s content where he is, just watching you, but you’re the most stubborn woman he’s ever met, and honestly, he should’ve known better because when do you ever take no for an answer? “Just one dance. Come on, even Sam is having fun.” You try to persuade him, Dean’s eyes flicking to his brother and back to you. “Y/N.” “Dean.” You mimic. You stare him down, eyes narrowed slightly. Dean almost laughs- he’s seen this face before, your shoulders back and spine tall. It’s the posture of a hunter, the determined face you make when you’re dealing with police giving you a hard time or a monster making threats. Now you’re using against your best friend to try and convince him to dance with you. “Please.” You pout, and he sighs. God, why are you so hard to say no to?

                    It’s a silly question because he knows exactly why you could ask for the moon wrapped in a bow and by God, he’d figure out how to give it to you because you have Dean Winchester completely at your mercy. “Dean, please, just one dance! That’s all I’m asking.” You practically beg, and he can feel himself breaking. “Sweetheart, I really don’t dance, not for anybody.” Dean tries. “Not even for me?” You ask him. Damn it. Damn you to hell, you’re good. That’s his weakness, you’re his weakness, and you’re using it to play him like a fiddle. Dean closes his eyes and his shoulders slump, and when he looks at you again, you’re beaming like you won the grand prize because you know you’ve got him. “One dance. Got it? Just one. And- and don’t expect no fancy shit, or nothin’.” He huffs, trying to maintain his grumpy facade. He doesn’t last a second because your mile-wide smile is even bigger as you take him by the hands and half-lead half-drag Dean onto the dancefloor.

                     Dean’s nervous as all-get-out. When was the last time he’s ever really danced, much less in front of people? “Just take my hand, Dean. C’mon, you killed three vampires just the other day and you’re telling me you’re nervous now?” You say, teasing him gently. “Yeah, well, vamps I can behead.” Dean mutters, earning a snort of laughter from you that makes his lips twitch up into a smile. “Just look at me, yeah? Just like in the garage.” You tell him. He nods, swallowing, and keeps his eyes locked on you, which really isn’t hard to do. Just as he eases into it, the faster-paced song transitions to a slow-dance, and he freezes, instantly panicking.

              You squeeze Dean’s hand comfortingly. “Dean, we can sit down, I’m only kidding, I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable.” You explain with a guilty frown. Here you are, trying to get the boys to relax, and instead poor Dean is looking at you like someone told him his impala is being towed. Dean stops you, shaking his head. “No. No, just, uh, don’t laugh at me. I haven’t done this in... well, ever.” He says gruffly. You smile fondly. Your knight in shining plaid is nervous you’ll tease him for being a clumsy dancer. “Promise I won’t laugh. Well, maybe a little.” You say, and Dean shoots you a glare that vanishes when you give him a cheesy grin. “You’re a dork.” He smirks. “Takes one to know one, Winchester.” You wink.

              “Dean, you’re stepping on me.” You tell him, biting your lip to stifle a laugh at the instant mortification on Dean’s face. “Shit, sorry!” “S’okay. You’re doing great. You are one in a million, Dean. Big, bad hunter, scared to dance with me.” You laugh softly. Dean huffs, and you smile. He’s slowly getting the hang of it, with your help, of course.

           “Hey, what was Sam talking about earlier?” You ask.  Dean falters, and you nearly trip, stumbling into his chest. You don’t know if you’re really standing still or if it only feels like time has halted, Dean’s green eyes staring into you. 

                        His eyes drop to your lips. You’re not sure you’re breathing. 

     “Sam doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Dean says after a long moment. His eyes dart away, and you frown slightly. “That’s not what I asked you.” “Y/N.” He says intently, hoping you’ll drop the subject, because the direction the conversation is going, Dean is going to be forced to make the decision he’s been putting off for so many years. “Dean.” You echo, just as firmly, not letting him escape your gaze. Dean steps back slightly, and you realize the song is over. You let go of Dean’s hands, disappointment and embarrassment washing over you. “Thanks for the dance.” You say, trying to hide your sadness.

               You make it all of three steps before Dean reaches out for you. “Hey, Y/N, wait.” He says quickly, hand grabbing yours. “What?” “Can I have this dance?” “You don’t dance.” You say, confused. He looks at you for a long moment, a smile slowly forming on his face. “No,” Dean agrees, holding your gaze with his, “but you do. So?” “So what?” “So, can I have this dance?” Dean repeats. You nod, and he leads you back out. It’s another slow song, and Dean pulls you a little closer than before, staring at you intensely.

           “What?” You ask, quirking a brow. “Can I ask you something?” “Ok?” You agree hesitantly. “Why do you always sit next to me in the booths?” Dean asks. You swear you can your heart plummet like a lead weight. “What?” “Yeah. How come you always share with me when we have to bunk up because there’s only two beds in motels? And how come you wanted to dance with me so bad?” He presses. “I- well, I-” You stammer, absolutely thrown for a loop, and he smiles briefly. “See, ‘cause, I’ve got this theory that the answer to that is sorta like the answer to the question you asked me earlier.” He continues, confusion and dread creeping up on you. “Dean, listen, we don’t have to talk about it-” “I think we do. I want to. Here’s the thing, Y/N. I don’t dance.” “Then why are you-?” You trail off. “Because you asked me to. And I can’t say no to you. What Sam said, earlier- you are.” He says, ducking his head. “I am what?” You frown. “Awfully special. To- to me.” Dean says quietly, blushing, and suddenly it makes sense. “Oh.” “Oh? That’s all you’re gonna say? I tell you I have feelings for you, and all I get is ‘oh’?” Dean asks, blinking in disbelief. He looks like he’s about to bolt, so you lean up and before he can make another smartass comment, you press your lips softly to his. 

                 “Oh.” Dean breathes, staring at you. You smile, and he grins, and both of you laugh, not caring if anyone is looking. “Man, we’re a couple’a real idiots, huh?” Dean chuckles. “If I knew this is how it would end up, I would’ve asked you to dance with me a long time ago.” You tease, earning yourself another brief kiss. “I’ll dance with you all you want, sweetheart.” Dean says with a warmth in his eyes you’ve seen a thousand times before but never knew the reasoning for. You laugh as Dean twirls you, ducking under his arm with a bright smile he can’t help but return.

              At some point you vaguely recall Dean promising to show you the rest of his dance moves in private, and you stealing the keys to Baby from his back pocket. You’re not sure how you managed to make it safely back to the bunker, and you definitely forgot to bring Sam, but you and Dean had spent years pining after one another and weren’t about to waste another night.

              You smile, looking over your shoulder to find a familiar freckled and scruffy face pressed against your pillow. Dean’s still asleep, his arm a solid and warm weight over your bare waist, his chest firm against your back. His dark blond hair is a mess from you running your fingers through it, and you don’t want to know how your own hair looks, but you really don’t even care. You scramble for the sheets as the door knob turns. Sam gives you the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen, and the urge to fling a shoe at him is strong. “Y’know, when I told you to do something about your puppy love for Dean, I didn’t exactly mean ditch me at the pub to go sleep with him.” Sam says with a wiggle of his brows. Your face feels hot. “Sam.” You whisper warningly. “I told you he liked you.” Sam says. “Go. Away.” You whisper, glaring. Sam snickers. “You owe me, Y/N, we shook on it.” “As I recall, you said he wouldn’t dance with me, so you pay up, Sam.” You retort. Sam scoffs, and you glare even harder. “Sammy, shut up and leave us alone.” Dean’s sleepy voice grumbles, his eyes not even open as he blindly flips his brother off. Dean waits for the door to close and Sam’s footsteps to retreat down the hall before he finally looks at you.

             “Jesus, thought he’d never leave.” Dean mutters. You grin, and Dean gives you a devious smirk, planting a kiss on your neck. “Dean!” You laugh. “Who says I was done with you? Sam can handle a few hours without us, and I’ve got you all to myself.” Dean says, and you don’t bother pretending to be mad when his lips meet yours, feeling him smile.

          Who knew all it would take to finally get you and Dean together was one dance?

TAGS-

Forever Tags-

@justagirlinafandomworld

Dean Babes-

@herstarburststories

SPN Pond-

@spnfanficpond

[brittywritesstuff]

offer me that deathless death, good god let me give you my life

Read on AO3

Warnings:  A bit of sexiness

“Cas!” The details are hazy as to how they got here; Dean can hardly remember any of it. It’s all a blur of blood, sweat, tears and celestial power… The important thing is that he’s back. He’s here and he’s real and he’s back. The thing resonating the loudest in his head now: We’ve got time. He throws his arms around the angel; one hand splayed out between his shoulder blades, the other grasping the back of his head, Dean’s fingers curling in that mess of dark hair. Sam’s behind him, shuffling his weight, ready to give his greetings, but Dean couldn’t fucking care less.

He pulls back just enough to grasp Cas’s face, his eyes dragging over him, like he’s making sure everything’s there. Every freckle, every line, the breathtaking blue of his eyes, the perpetual stubble, scratchy beneath his fingers. “You-- you’re here. You’re you?”

Cas holds his gaze, tears flooding that stunning blue. “Yes.”

“Man, it’s so good to have you back.” Sam crowds in, clapping Cas on the shoulder. Dean relents and steps back, his hands falling away from Cas’s face. He doesn’t want to let go, though. He’s afraid if he lets go, Cas will just disappear. Or the Empty will take him back. And he can’t. He can’t handle that. Sam seems to take the hint and steps back, glancing at Dean with a smirk. “Sorry. I’ll let you two catch up.”

Sam remains and clears his throat, watching his brother, who can’t take his eyes off of Cas. Eileen is at his elbow, and tugs at his sleeve. He looks down at her, and they exchange a look. Leave them alone. “Alright.” Sam shakes his hair away from his face and nods, like he’s made a decision. Dean tries not to hear the smirk in his voice. They’ll have a conversation about this later, he knows, and he’s not entirely interested in it. But, for the moment, he’s glad that Sam is leaving it be. “We’re heading to bed. I’m beat.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, his eyes still fixed on Cas. “Night, Sammy. Eileen.” Sam waits a beat, then takes Eileen’s hand and finally leaves, and Dean drags in a breath. His heart is racing, and he wonders if Cas can hear it. Suddenly, the panic room makes him feel too vulnerable, remembering what happened here. “Can we--” He stops and clears his throat. “Can we talk in my room?”

Cas’s eyes search Deans, and he nods slowly. “Of course, Dean.”

They walk together to Dean’s room, their footsteps too loud and echoing in the silent, still bunker. Cas steps through the door first, and Dean follows, closing it behind them. With Cas’s back to him still, Dean scrubs his hands over his face, trying hard to calm his nerves. He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it to the desk chair. It misses and flops to the floor, but he doesn’t bother to pick it up. “D’you-- you wanna make yourself comfortable?” He asks.

Cas turns to him, his brow drawn together in confusion.

“The, uh,” Dean gestures to Cas’s coat. “The coat. You wanna-- you can-- if you want.”

Cas looks down at himself, his fingers trailing the lapel of the coat. He hesitates a moment before shrugging out of it, and the suit jacket. He drapes them carefully over the back of Dean’s chair, then bends to pick up Dean’s, giving it the same treatment. Watching it makes Dean’s heart ache.

“Listen, Cas,” he starts. Cas stands upright again, his eyes fixed on Dean’s, and there goes his heart again -- ready to pound out of his chest.

Cas tilts his head, and Dean tries to read the look on his face. Is that pity? “You don’t need to say anything, Dean.” He huffs, a wry smile turning up one corner of his lips. “I told you my truths, and I made it clear I know that it — you — it’s something I can never have. I made peace with telling you. I understand it’s… it’s unrequited. You don’t owe me an explanation--”

“But I do!”

Cas stops, closing his mouth. His brows draw together, and he tips his head.

Clearing his throat, Dean swallows against the sudden dryness. He glances away, focusing on a spot on the wall like it’ll give him the strength he needs to say what he’s gotta say. “Look, Cas,” his gaze drops to his shoes briefly before he finally forces his eyes up again. Cas, of course, is watching him patiently and intently. Dean moves closer and clenches his fists. Spit it out, Winchester. “Fuck,” he breathes, shaking his head, “there’s a lot. I… All that stuff you said, about me, I…” The lines between his brows deepen. “You really think that?”

“With my entire being,” Cas says, with no hesitation.

Dean nods, like he’s trying to rattle the thoughts into their proper places. “I never got the chance to say anything. You say it, and the Empty’s there, and you’re gone. That wasn’t fair.”

Cas sighs. “I’m sorry, Dean. I--”

“That wasn’t fuckin’ fair because you died not knowin’ my side of things.” Clenching his jaw, Dean takes another step forward. He reaches out, settling his hands on Cas’s shoulder. He pauses a beat, then decides, fuck it, and slides his hands up, his fingers brushing Cas’s neck before cradling his jaw. “No one’s ever seen me like that. Not even me, Cas.” He searches the angel’s eyes, feeling tears well in his own. “You’ve seen everything, and you still-- you--”

“Love you,” Cas finishes for him. “Yes.”

Dean punches out a breath, and when he blinks, those tears spill over. Instead of wiping them away, his thumbs brush Cas’s cheeks, once again delighting in the scratch of stubble. “I ain’t ever felt like this about anybody. And it scares the shit outta me. And I guess I never thought... I never thought you could or whatever, but damn it, Cas. I do love you. You can have me. All of me.”

Cas’s lips part in surprise at Dean’s words, but Dean takes the opportunity he’s wanted for years. He leans in and kisses Cas. It’s slow and tentative at first, but Cas relaxes into him, his hands gripping at the back of Dean’s shirt. Dean’s tongue glides along Cas’s bottom lip, begging entrance, and he groans when Cas allows it. One hand shifts to the back of his head, gripping at Cas’s hair as he deepens the kiss, holding Cas as close and tight as possible. His fears from earlier had yet to dissipate; the last thing he could possibly handle is Cas disappearing again.

When Dean needs to breathe, he tilts his mouth away, his forehead pressed against Cas’s. His eyes remain closed, and an actual fucking smile turns up his lips. “I shoulda told you a long fuckin’ time ago, Cas. I shoulda done this long fuckin’ time ago. I’m sorry. I just--I--I didn't--”

Cas’s hands smooth up Dean’s back, and pull him closer. “Please don’t apologize, Dean,” he whispers, his breath warm on Dean’s face. “Just... don’t stop.”

Dean doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s spent years denying it. He’s spent years beating himself up over it. But he’s done. He’s lost Cas too many times, but he finally has him, and he’s not gonna fucking let go.

He captures Cas’s lips in a heated kiss, groaning at the taste of his tongue. His movements are sloppy; it’s definitely not his best work, but he doesn’t give a damn. He doesn’t give a damn about anything except this, here, that Cas is in his hands, moaning under the feeling of Dean’s kiss. That’s all he wants to think about.

Relinquishing his grip on Cas’s face, he works his hands between them to loosen that ever-present blue tie, yanking it away to let it flutter to the floor. He pulls back enough to look at Cas’s face as his fingers work at the buttons of his shirt. Cas is breathless, his lips red from Dean’s kiss, and his pupils blown. Fuck, Dean’s never seen anything so stunning.

When he gets the shirt open, he takes a breath and runs his hands up Cas’s stomach, over his chest, pushing the shirt from his shoulders. There’s only been a few occasions over the years in which Dean has seen Cas shirtless, but to have him so close, and be allowed to touch him… it’s a whole different playing field. One he never wants to leave. “You sure about this, Cas?” His voice is strained, rough, and quiet -- full of emotion and desperation he’s never felt before.

Cas lifts his hands, pushing Dean’s open flannel from his shoulders. He smirks as it falls to the floor and slips his hands under Dean’s t-shirt. “I have never been more sure of anything, Dean, as I am of this. Of you.”

It’s all the confirmation Dean needs. He dives in for a hard, heated kiss, pulling away only long enough to yank his t-shirt over his head. The feeling of Cas’s skin against his own sets him on fire, and for the first time, he feels alive. Putting an end to Chuck and his story had been a relief, but this… This is something else. This is what he’s been searching for his whole life. Kill after kill, conquest after conquest… it’s never made him feel like this.

He hastily and clumsily toes out of his boots; Cas follows with his shoes, and Dean pushes him back to the bed. The frame groans beneath the weight of two grown men atop it, but Dean pays it no mind. There’s not a single part of this that can deny he hasn’t thought of this before; hasn’t fantasized about it in the shower a time or two or ten. He’s not as graceful or suave as he’d like to be, but again… it doesn’t matter, because it’s Cas. Finally, it’s Cas.

The rest of their clothes are shed hastily, falling forgotten to the cold cement floor. They move together until they break, and Dean huffs a laugh when the lamp on his desk flickers. Closing his eyes, he drops his head, pressing a warm kiss to the hollow of Cas’s throat. Cas tips his head and Dean looks up to see him smiling.

“What?” Dean shifts to settle beside Cas, laying on his side. He props his head against his hand, his free hand smoothing over Cas’s chest before it stills.

“I’m just--”

“Happy?”

Cas covers Dean’s hand with his own and shifts to turn his head toward Dean. “Yes. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“Yeah,” Dean huffs, his eyes dragging over Cas’s face. “Me, neither.”

Dean falls asleep that night with his chest pressed flush to Cas’s back, his arm wrapped firmly around the angel. He knows Cas doesn’t need to sleep, but he’s grateful for the pretense. Because he craves the intimacy, the normalcy, the pure elation he feels in getting to hold Cas in his arms after… well, everything.

+

Dean wakes in a panic. “No, no, no, no!” His breathing is heavy and labored, the sheets clinging to his sweat-damp skin. He’s sprawled on his back, and his hand is pressed to his chest as he sits up; his heart racing. “Cas!”

Cas’s hand settles on his shoulder, and when Dean turns, the other grasps his jaw. “I’m here, Dean. What’s the matter?”

Swallowing as he heaves a breath to calm himself, Dean closes his eyes and leans in to press his forehead to Cas’s. He lifts his hands, pushing his fingers into Cas’s hair. “Had a dream you were still gone. Fuckin’ nightmare. Sam ‘n’ I just… didn’t care. Didn’t try to bring you back.” He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Cas wipes away his tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“Dean. It was a dream. I’m here. It’s alright.”

“It felt so fuckin’ real.”

“I’m real. You and me, this. Us. This is real,” Cas whispers.

Dean kisses him, desperate to anchor himself in Cas. In his words, his kiss, his touch, in this. The dream had terrified him; the idea that there could be a world without Cas in which Dean wouldn't care. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Every time… every single time he’d lost Cas over the years, he was broken. Every time, he’d wanted to welcome death, himself. Because the pain was nearly unbearable. Life without Cas was Hell on earth for Dean, and he’s been to Hell a few too many times. He never wants to go back. The next time Dean dies; the next time Cas dies, it better be together, only to find each other in the afterlife.

Because life without Cas is Hell, but he knows the only Heaven he’ll be sent to; the only one he wants is one in which he’s with his angel. Until then, he’ll hold on for dear life yo the time he has with him now… to the life they’ve finally been afforded together.

[zeusdni]

this is a bit incoherent sorry

hazel is a character that we all have some semblance of knowledge of, she's frank's girlfriend and an important person on the Seven's voyage and sister to nico and sadly that's all she's boiled down to sometimes. she's essentially stripped from the fact that she's an extremely powerful girl that has the power to bring a tavern down at the age of what? 13? not even percy knew how to unlock that type of power on purpose at a young age. she's continuously reduced to being a cinnamon roll who's shocked by every little thing, ie. cursing, pda. which is the furthest thing from the truth as it's stated that she had such a foul mouth that the nuns rinsed her mouth with soap on numerous occasions. yes hazel lifts eyebrows and may get flustered over the casual intimacy the couples display on the argo II and when it's insinuated that she and leo have been displaying that sort of intimacy but that's to be expected, she's a 13 year old girl i'm sure some of us have had our faces heat up from this type of display insinuated or otherwise. the way that hazel is essentially regressed to being a helpless baby that frank shelters shows that you all have the mindset that because she is a girl she is a damsel in distress and not only this but you all put her in a caregiver aka the mammy stereotype.

this isn't me pulling this shit out my ass this is me seeing it happen in real time, y'all reduce to either being a peacekeeper for the seven, continuously intervening and keeping everyone in line or only as frank's love interest which she is more than. yes she does keep frank's firewood safe but from what we've seen it's barely mentioned between both of them and while yes it's something that hazel's conscious of she doesn't necessarily devote all of her time and attention to. she's also the more emotionally mature one in the relationship which can raise some eyebrows, yes she's older chronologically but not biologically. she doesn't devote all of her time and attention to just one thing, yes at the start she's scared for nico and rightfully worried because he's her only family at the moment; she doesn't want to lose that connection to the mortal world. it could be argued that she genuinely does care for him but what i can gather from the timeline that rick has given us, nico stole her away from the underworld around the time that percy disappeared from chb which isn't a very long time to get to know each other and considering nico's history of disappearing i don't think they had much time to sit down and have sibling bonding especially with him slipping up numerous times and calling her bianca most likely placing in her head that she's just a replacement for a sister that he's lost before. so she'll do anything to keep him safe yes but she's not going to forget how he wasn't 100% invested in getting to know her unlike frank who pushed pass her ability to summon gems and instead got to know her which then led to a relationship, there was a build up and i think that's really what hazel craved.

a true relationship where she sat down and got to know the other person which may have helped with her becoming friends with percy. now you may be thinking that i forgot about leo and sammy but i didn't i'm getting to this right now. from the memories that we've seen, sammy was an incredibly big part of hazel's life, essentially being the light in the darkness in the awful catholic school that she went to, he was suave and charming and wooed her almost effortlessly. swept her off her feet in a sense and when she met leo and he had that same type of playfulness and almost charm it's easy to see why she may have almost seen herself as the charmed schoolgirl that she once was and why she shared those memories with leo but that doesn't mean that she was only a starstruck girl. she managed to somewhat make friends with leo and then make peace that he wasn't sammy and never will be and in a way she used leo as a tool to in a way get over her trauma and not care about how leo may feel in that moment. that's one of her most selfish moments that we've seen so far, she doesn't think about how her actions may affect leo. (i'm not sure if she's registered the hints of the crush that leo had on her but this could also add into essentially worsening his mental state and feeling unwanted) hazel is an inherently flawed character as are most of the girls on the argo II which is why she's so wonderful to look at. she's flawed and emotional, she doesn't always think before she acts, she's clueless on the new modern world she lives in, she wants to keep the peace but doesn't always know how to do it, she's selfish and it's all so interesting to look at

[seven-oomen]

Daddy’s little soldier trope | The parallel between Dean Winchester and Chris Argent

One of the tropes that became increasingly popular with the shows Supernatural and Teen Wolf is known in fandom as Daddy’s little soldier. This is a trope that usually features a son, who has been emotionally and/or physically abused and/or groomed by a father figure in order to carry out their legacy. However misguided that legacy may be.

The two most well known fictional characters for this trope, as far as I’m aware, are Dean Winchester (Supernatural, air date in 2005) and Chris Argent (Teen Wolf, air date in 2011) and this little piece of meta I will be drawing the parallels between these character and how they’ve grown over the years.

Let’s start with the Supernatural side. For the people that don’t know him, this is Dean Winchester.

When we first meet Dean it’s in the Pilot episode of Supernatural where he is portrayed as a confident, suave, and sassy hunter who drops by on his little brother’s doorstep because their father has gone missing and he needs his help. However, as the season progresses it becomes increasingly clear that Dean is far more complicated than what he appears to be.

Beneath all the confidence and sass lies a young man who’s increasingly taken out of his comfort zone while trying to keep his crumbling family together. Dean is shown as compassionate, insecure, and completely under the influence of his father’s will. Carrying out John Winchester’s wishes and commands even if that doesn’t benefit him and even endangers him. 

There’s also evidence throughout the show of emotional neglect, manipulation, and one could even go as far as to say Dean was brain washed into being Daddy’s little soldier. Following John Winchester’s every command as that who Dean was trained to be from a young age.

The show even draws the comparison that on occasions that Dean didn’t follow John’s command, he passively endangers his little brother and angers his father. (The episode where Sam is almost killed by a Shtriga after Dean leaves the motel room to go to the lobby/arcade.) When Dean returns to the motel room and learns that Sammy was attacked and almost had the life drained out of him, John yells at him and blames him for the attack. Even though Dean, was most likely (judging by the actor), around 8-12 years old.

This was one of the forming incidents for Dean to obey his father’s wishes, no matter the consequences. Because his father convinced him if he didn’t, people, and especially Sam, would get hurt.

Throughout the next few seasons we then see Dean within this role as Daddy’s little soldier, carrying out hunts for his father and uncovering more and more truths about who his father was along the way.  While also trying to keep his family from falling apart and keeping his younger brother as safe as he can. 

Dean is shown as a character that doesn’t seem to care about his own safety and who will sacrifice himself for his father or brother, without any questions asked. By all accounts, he sees himself as the expendable soldier he was raised to be.

It is only after their father has died by the means of a demon deal in Season 2,  and after learning of God and Angels and their heavenly war, that Dean finally starts to question everything he’s been taught. Although he doesn’t fully break away from his programming until later seasons where he truly tries to live life as he’s always wanted. Even though he eventually does return to hunting and the hunters life, he’s far more nuanced in his view regarding the supernatural due to everything he’s learned.

-

Now let’s have a look at Chris Argent, who first appeared in the pilot episode of Teen Wolf; Wolf Moon.

Chris Argent is a human hunter who was born into the Argent family of hunters. When we first meet him he’s depicted as a ruthless hunter who follows the hunter code: “We hunt those, who hunt us.” to the letter. He is shown as a smart, strong, and deadly hunter, who’s intimidation tactics leave a lot to be desired. (I honestly didn’t think one could threateningly wash a car or pick up a dessert, and that remains to be debated, but it was very funny to watch.) 

His devotion to the code is practically drilled into him from a young age by his father (and presumably mother), even if his father himself didn’t really stick to the code and used it more as a guideline.

Chris was raised as a soldier by his father, a fact that he makes abundantly clear on multiple occasions by stating; Our men are raised as soldiers, our women are raised as leaders. As far as Chris is concerned in the early seasons, that is all he is. A soldier raised for war.

Chris in the beginning obeys his father’s every command even if that may endanger him and doesn’t question it. As is evidenced when his father sends him off on an arms deal at the age of 18, without telling Chris that he’s dealing with the Japanese Maffia. This eventually leads to a situation where Chris ends up killing an Oni demon and barely escaping with his life.

After the incident Chris continues hunting and working for his father and eventually marries and has a daughter. Although he chooses not to raise his daughter in the life he was raised in. Effectively breaking the cycle of abuse. (At first, his daughter does end up hunting later in life, an event which eventually causes her death. Although Chris is generally not abusive but protective in the way that he trains Allison.)

His daughter Allison, and his father and sister’s disregard for the hunter’s code when it inconveniences them, is eventually what makes him see reason. And he adopts his daughter's code: “We protect those who cannot protect themselves.” as a result.

There are several instances in the first three seasons where we see the illusion of Chris’s little soldier image breaking. The first is when his wife is bitten and turned, and Chris begs his father to make an exception to the code. His father reminds him that they can’t, but Chris keeps protesting.

It is his wife, who has to step in and remind Chris that he is a soldier and he has to fall back in line. (So to speak.)

The other instances where his resolve and image break are when he finally learns the truth about his sister and father and what crimes they committed according to the hunter’s code. It is this disillusionment and the positive influence of his daughter and her friends that allows him to break free of the daddy’s little soldier ideal.

-

The parallels between these two characters are very clear. Both of them have been raised in a hunters life from a young age, receiving weapons training, learning supernatural lore, being emotionally groomed and manipulated by their fathers, while trying to protect a younger sibling.

Both of these characters also lost most of their family, be it by blood or found family, due to the lifestyle they were raised in. Chris’s wife and daughter are killed by Supernatural creatures, his sister turned into one by another. His sister then in turn kills their father by mauling him to death. Dean’s daughter (who was groomed by her Amazon mother to kill her father), surrogate father, parents, and other extended family like Charlie and Kevin, are also killed by the Supernatural.

Both of them also rose above who they were trained to be for a time, only to return to hunting in the later seasons.

The biggest difference between these two characters, is that one rose above his programming and re-found love and family, even going as far as to protect the supernatural from human threats (Chris), and the other eventually died a tragic death on a hunt started by his father 15 years earlier in the series finale (Dean).

-

I think for many of us the Daddy’s little soldier trope is very appealing. Mostly because it deals with children of neglect or abuse backgrounds breaking free from the influences of their parents and, usually, coming out on top.

Tagging a few people who might find it interesting below the cut.

@mostly-vo1d​ @veronicasummersfelton​ @msmischief101​ @gum-believable​ @fandoms-fiend​

[flamencodiva]

Who Do You Think You Are? - Enemies to Lovers

Description: Y/N Y/L/N and Dean Winchester seem to bump into each other quite frequently. What happens when these two hunters rub each other the wrong way?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Bingo Square: Free Space

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Child Neglect, Mentions of Drug Abuse.

Border by: @talesmaniac89​

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean growled as they pulled up the barn only to see it up in flames and a familiar figure staring at it. Dean glared at the familiar Pontiac and the figure sitting atop the hood staring at the blaze. “She is not going to get away with this.” 

“Dean,” Sam rubbed at his forehead, “hunts are fair game last we checked.” 

“That is a likely story,” Dean huffed. “Come on, let’s go tell her what’s what!” 

Dean parked the Impala and walked over to the Pontiac. He froze as the wind blew and Y/N’s hair flowed with it. Something about the moonlight capturing it made his heart pound in his chest. He liked her, but he couldn’t tell her that, he couldn’t tell her that even though he hated her, there was something that drew him to her. Shaking the thoughts from his head, he cracked his neck and walked over to face her. 

“Hey Winchester,” she threw back her head as she took a large chug from the beer bottle she was holding, “Did you bring marshmallows for the roast?” 

“Y/L/N,” Dean growled, “you took over our hunt… AGAIN!” 

“Wow,” Y/N snorted taking another chug of her beer, “you really think you are hot shit. I wonder when was the last time you got laid because you seem grouchy,” she smiled. 

“I like her,” Sam laughed, taking a drink of beer that Y/N gave him. “She’s sassy.”

“Trust me Y/L/N, if I wanted some I could get it,” he licked his lips before giving her a once over. “Yeah… no hunter in their right mind would ever touch you,” Dean sneered as he walked away. “Let’s go, Sam.” 

"Wow, someone really needs to get some," Y/N finished her beer before walking to the driver's side of her car. "It's a good thing I can beat you at pool!" She called to him before revving up the engine and driving off. 

Dean looked at Sam who was still drinking the beer Y/N had given him. “Do you have to drink that?” 

“It was a gift and she’s nice,” Sam shrugged.

“Are you serious?” Dean turned to Sam. “She is annoying! For the past six months, she’s been one-upping us on every hunt Garth has found us. I mean how is she ahead of us on all these hunts?” 

“Maybe she’s got someone on the inside?” Sam asked with a shrug. “Or Garth calls her, doesn’t get her then calls us?”

“Well next time we are going to take one hunt away from her,” He grumbled. 

One week later…

“Thanks, Garth,” Y/N hung up her phone. Cranking the radio to Black Sabbath’s war pigs, she pressed on the gas pedal and raced to her destination. As she drove in she noticed the familiar Chevy Impala. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed her guns filled with silver bullets and made her way inside when she heard voices. 

Dean’s gruff voice echoed in the building, “Good thing I got that shot in when I did.”

“What, the kill shot? No, I had the kill shot.” Sam argued. 

Y/N walk in as she looked around the corner to see Dean kicking the dead thing’s body so that the kill shot is facing out. She saw the hole on the body

“See that? That’s obviously one of mine.” Dean gave his brother a cocky smile.

“No way, How do you figure?” Sam placed his gun back on his waistband. 

“‘Cause it’s actually dead.” Dean kicked the body a few more timed. 

Sam scoffed, “My aim is just as good as yours.”

“I mean, your aim’s okay. Serviceable.” Dean put his gun away as he shrugged at Sam. Neither brother noticed Y/N behind them crossing her arms. 

“Serviceable?!” Sam huffed, “My aim is not serviceable Dean.” 

“See those inconsequential shots to the left arm and shoulder?” Dean pointed to all the bullet wounds on the body, “Those are all you.” 

“Ok seriously? Some of those are yours, Dean,” Sam let out a chuckle as he looked at his brother. 

“Wow,” Y/N spoke up making the boys point their guns at her as she placed her hands in the air, “It’s just me cowboys,” she laughed. “Hey Sam, is he this cocky all the time?” 

“Pretty much,” Sam smiled as he pulled her in for a hug. “How have you been?” 

“Sam… don’t feed the troll!” Dean rolled his eyes at the way Sam was friendly with Y/N. 

“Hey Sam how about you and I go celebrate how good an aim you got,” she looked over at Dean, “I’m sure you can find a bar skank to keep you busy short stack,” she smiled. “You can ride with me, Sam.” 

“He is not going anywhere with you she-beast,” Dean growled. 

“Don’t worry, Sam is safe with me short stack!” she called back as she climbed into her Pontiac with Sam. 

At a nearby bar…

Dean walked in and glared at the sight he saw. Y/N was hanging off of Sam laughing at something he was saying. Dean didn’t want Sam anywhere near Y/N. Not because he was jealous, no never that. He just didn't want her bad habits to rub off on his brother. He sauntered towards them as Y/N downed a shot of what looked like Jack Daniels.  

“So you mean to tell me that he is full of mud and gunk while you guys are hunting a woman in white?” she snorted. 

“Yeah,” Sam chuckled as he sipped his beer, “I mean, the Impala is possessed by the Woman in White and he just dives into the ravine and gets caked in mud.” 

“Well, it seems that your brother isn’t the big bad hunter he thinks he is,” Y/N downed another shot as she grabbed a dart and shot it at the dartboard hitting the bullseye. 

“You are a really good shot,” Sam smiled as he drank his beer. “Where did you learn to play?” 

“Deadbeat dad,” she scoffed. “Mom was a hunter, she would drop me off with him when they split.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam told her. “I understand how hard it can all be.” 

“So, you and Sam are a thing now? I mean Sam could do better,” Dean crossed his arms as he looked at Y/N. 

“Well Sam is the cuter, sexier, taller brother,” Y/N smiled as she winked at Sam who blushed. “Hey short stack, how about you and I play a game of darts? Loser has to stay away from the other for a good month?” she smiled wondering if he could up the ante on their bet.   

“Loser has to kiss Sam?” Dean asked, causing Sam to give him his best bitch face. “Good thing I never lose, right Sammy?”

“You are so on,” she laughed, “I’m on my…” she looked at her phone as it rang. Dean could make out the familiar strums of Motley Crue’s ‘Shout At The Devil. “You got Y/L/N,” she turned around to answer the phone. 

Dean found himself leaning in to try and catch the conversation. 

“I don’t care, Nick,” she grumbled, “I’m busy ok I’m working and it’s keeping me busy.” she placed her hand on her hip as she listened to ‘Nick’. “Does it sound like I care that they want me to be there? They terrorized me all my life, Nick. No, I will not be attending, you can bet your ass I will not make an appearance.” she hung up the phone and turned back with a smile. 

Dean could tell she was lying about something. He didn’t like liars. In fact, there was something about her that rubbed him the wrong way. She may be hot, but she had secrets.   

“Who was that?” Dean took a sip of his beer as she downed another shot. 

“No one important,”  she shrugged, “now are we going to play or not?” 

Dean glared at her as she got bullseye after bullseye. He was losing to her AGAIN! And this severely pissed him off. He was supposed to be suave, cool, and most of all impressive. But with Y/N, she outdid him left and right. There was nothing he could do that would be better than her. He watched as Y/N downed another shot and looked to Dean with a smile. 

“What were the terms of that bet again?” she walked up to him and let her fingers dance on his chest before she tapped his nose. She frowned slightly when Dean swatted her hand away. “What is your problem, Winchester?” 

“I don’t have to sit here and deal with a terrible shot orphan that no one wants,” Dean growled.

Before Dean knew what had happened, his cheek stung from the hard slap he received from Y/N. 

“You can go to hell Winchester, I see you again I will shoot you,” she growled before turning on her heel and storming out of the bar. 

“Dean, what did you do?” Sam asked. Dean just sighed and went to the bar to get himself a whiskey.

Make it a double. 

Three weeks later…

"Garth," Y/N sighed as she looked at her information. "Are there any hunters in the area that can help me with this? I mean there are Vamps left and this was too much for just me." 

"I think Sam and Dean are--" 

"NO!" she growled. "I want nothing to do with them. I want them far away from this Garth." 

"But, Y/N, they can help you if there are--"

"I said no Garth," she sighed. "I'll handle it myself." She hung up the phone before Garth could argue.

Grabbing her sword she called a familiar number. 

"You've reached T-bone," the voice said. 

Y/N took in a deep shaky breath, "Uncle T?" 

"Y/N, what's wrong? Where are you?"

She could hear him grab his keys. Closing her eyes she took another breath, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"I um… I just wanted to see how you're doing. I'm...I might be MIA for a bit. I just wanted to thank you … for being there when Dad couldn't." She could feel her tears trickling down her cheeks. 

“Y/N, just… just tell me where you are hun,” she could hear him reaching for the door. His breathing sounded heavy, he was most likely rushing to his car. “Tell me where you are and I can help you out. Whatever it is hun, you know I got you. I can call your dad, he loves you Y/N. I know it wasn’t easy but he does.”

"I gotta go, Uncle T., I wanted to… to let you know that you might not hear from me for a while that's all." She sniffled, "just tell Nick that he can focus on his better kids… Okay?" 

"Y/N… you know he--" 

"I got to go. I'll call you when it's all good." She hung up before he could say anything more.

Climbing into her Pontiac, she drove towards the barn. She knew it was going to be rough. She was prepared to die hunting, just like her mother. Swinging the sword in her hand she kicked the door open and went to town, chopping head after head, until her world went dark. 

“She smells delicious,” the voice whispered. 

Y/N groaned as she struggled against the bindings. Two Vampires were circling around her like sharks at feeding time. She could feel their fingers grazing her skin. Y/N could feel the bile rise up as they inched closer and sniffed at her skin. One of them ran their tongue along her cheek. 

“If you’re going to kill me do it now,” she spat. 

“Patience,” one of the vamps said. “I think you would make a fine addition to the nest.” 

Y/N watched as the female slit her wrist and the male tried to open her mouth. Her eyes widened at the realization of what was happening. She tried to keep her mouth closed, tried to keep from having to drink the vamp's blood. But it was too much. The male laughed when he successfully opened her mouth. The bitter iron taste reached her taste buds, she tried to spit it out but it was too late. It was in her system. She could feel it pulsing through her veins.  Before she could finally release herself from the restraints, the familiar sounds of bodies dropping echoed. Taking a shaky breath she knew she was done for. She was going to get beheaded by the hunters clearing the nest. 

“I’ll see you in hell,” Y/N smiled at the vamps as they waited for the hunters to approach. 

“You hunters are too late,” the female yelled. “She’s one of us now… she’s going to tear you apart and drink you dry.” 

Y/N used her strength to break from her restraints and grab her sword. “Hey bloodsuckers,” she called out to them.  

As the male turned around, Y/N swung her sword slicing his head off. The female growled at Y/N and tried to charge at her only to have her head roll-off. Y/N hissed as a bright light shone in her eyes. When the light moved away she could make out the two figures. Once she adjusted, she could recognize Sam and Dean. 

“Great,” she muttered. Looking to Sam, she tossed him her motel key before handing him her sword, “before you off me, in my motel room there are some letters that I carry around with me for occasions like this.” She looked up at him avoiding Dean’s gaze. “Just make sure they’re sent out. Burn my body and if anyone shows up for it… don’t tell them how I died just make up some story and that my wishes were to be burned.” She pushed the handle into Sam’s hand. “Thanks for being a good friend Sam… sorry I wasn’t a better one.” 

“Y/N, I can’t do this,” Sam shook his head, “We don’t have to do this.” 

“Sam, just… please… my uncles need to know… and… the sperm donor who I share DNA with… well, he can read what I wrote and go to hell.” She took his hand and force him to wrap his fingers around the handle as she aligned the blade with her neck. “Just let the sword do the work and go with the momentum.” 

“Y/N listen to me, which vamp gave you their blood?” Sam looked to the two Dead vampires on the floor. 

“The female... but I don’t see how--” 

“There’s a cure,” Sam looked at her. “Our grandfather Samuel, he taught us how to make it. We can cure you. It’s not too late!” 

“There is no cure Sam! It doesn’t exist! It’s a myth!” she hissed. “Now fucking gank me before I feed on some innocent bystander!” 

Dean grabbed the blood off the female vampire and watched Sam and Y/N. 

“Y/N,” Sam put the sword down as he looked at her, “I’m not going to kill you when I can cure you.” 

“I’m a worthless hunter who got caught and turned so… can we stop fucking dragging this out, grab the sword like a man and fucking KILL ME SAM!” she grabbed his hand and pressed the sword to her neck. A small drop of blood trickled down her neck, “Fucking do it already!”  

“Hey!” Dean pulled Sam away, “ Calm the fuck down sweetheart. No one is going to kill you,” 

“What do you care,” Y/N sneered, “pretty sure I’m a worthless hunter in your eyes. So you can get rid of me in one swing. I’m a monster… hunters kill monsters so do your fucking job and kill me!” she growled as she bared her teeth. The sound of Dean’s pulse echoed in her head. Her eyes seemed to zero in on his neck. 

“I am doing my job,” Dean glared at her, “I’m saving someone that CAN be saved.”  

“Oh Screw--” 

Dean didn’t let Y/N finish as he knocked her out and looked to Sam. 

“I’ll drive her to the motel you drive her car,” he placed Y/N in the back seat and drove off towards the motel. 

It didn’t take long for Sam to mix the ingredients they needed for the cure. Y/N looked at the brothers and gave a low animalistic growl. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she looked at the mixture Sam was handing her, “What is this?”   

"Just drink it… please," Sam pleaded.

"If this doesn't work are you going to do what I asked?" She looked at Sam. She could feel Dean staring at her. But she avoided his haze like the plague. “Sam? Promise me you’ll do what I ask if this doesn’t work!” 

“Trust me it’s going to work Y/N. We are not losing a damn good hunter… not today.” he glared at Dean, who was standing behind her. 

Y/N closed her eyes, she placed her lips on the rim of the glass before drinking down the horrible concoction. It was vile, and it burned going down her throat. It hit her with the force of a wrecking ball, the urge to throw up strong as she dived for the small trash can by the bed. It was awful, she could feel her stomach empty but what came out was blood. 

Once she got it all out of her system, she looked to Sam, “am I cured?” she grumbled. “That had to be the most disgusting thing that has ever happened to me besides meeting your brother.” she gave Sam a soft smile not caring that Dean was in the room. 

“You aren’t a picnic either sweetheart,” Dean scoffed. 

“I’m going to go, Sam,” She offered him a smile, “I need to call my Uncle and let him know everything is…” the sound of  Ozzy Osbournes ‘Crazy Train’, came from her phone. “Uncle T… I’m fine it was touch and go for a bit, but things are okay. No, I'm not in any hospital or anything,” she rolled her eyes. “You didn’t need to--” 

Dean watched as her back straightened and she clenched her fist. 

“Nick,” she said dryly, “It was nothing you needed to worry… I… look asshole! You were nothing but a sperm donor okay. Most of my childhood you were drugged up and out of it so no I don’t have to respect you. So just know that the mistake you made is safe, no one knows anything about our ties so your reputation is good.” she pulled the phone away from her ear and hung up the phone.

“Y/N?” Sam placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You okay?” 

Y/N shrugged his hand off her shoulder and glared at the brothers, “You should have just killed me when I told you to.” she grabbed her things and marched to the door. 

“Way to say thanks bitch,” Dean barked. 

“What do you care?!” she growled at Dean, “I’m nothing but a terrible shot orphan no one wants, right?”  

Dean and Sam watched as she stormed out of the room. Dean winced when she regurgitated the words he last said to her before this hunt. Sam just glared at Dean, his chest heaved with anger. This was the first time in a long time that Dean had seen Sam angry at him. Without a word, Dean walked past Sam just in time to see Y/N turn her car to head towards the local watering hole a few miles west of the motel. Grabbing his keys, he followed in the Impala. 

Reaching the bar, Y/N ordered her usual shot of Jack. she was on her seventh shot by the time Dean found her. Dean cleared his throat as he sat by her and ordered his own shot of whiskey. They sat in silence, Y/N downing her shots as Dean nursed his. 

"Listen, Y/N. I think we…" Dean began but she cut him off.

“Go away,” she slurred. Downing her latest shot. “I’m going to stay out of your way… you stay out of my way and you can have all the pussy you want without my interference,” she hissed. “Should have just killed me yourself,” she downed her last shot before climbing off the stool and making her way out.

Dean slapped some money on the bar top, paying for both their drinks before following behind her and out of the bar, "Y/N… Y/N wait."

“Fuck, take the god damn hint! You don’t like me I get it… hell right now I loathe you,” she snorted, “I… don’t get me wrong you are an ass… but you are skilled, and your reputation precedes you… but let’s face it… we are never going to get along.” she laughed at the statement. “I… I thought you would be impressed that I was a strong hunter… that I can beat you at your game… but I guess you like easy,” she found the dirt on the ground to be interesting. 

"You're right. I am impressed but…"

“Oh please,” she shook her head, “I know my worth… I know I’ll end up dead on my next hunt… the orphan who won’t be missed. The one whose father was forced to care for her in her teens when he had a new family.”  stumbling as she walked to her Pontiac, she placed her hands on the hood to balance herself. “Nobody wants me… so… I guess I’ll --” 

Dean closed the gap between them as he listened to her self-pity. Licking his lips as he found himself close to her.  grabbing her by the shoulders, he caused Y/N to jerk her gaze up. "You're so fucking wrong!" he whispered and bright his lips to hers. 

“What was that?” Y/N’s head was swimming. Dean Winchester just planted one on her. 

“That was me making you shut up,” he growled as he kissed her again. Breaking the kiss he looked around before pulling her back behind the bar.  “You have people who want you Y/N. Your phone was ringing and buzzing with messages from people. A lot from ‘Uncle T’ some from someone you named 'Alien', then you had a 'Malibu Barbie'?” he shook his head, “whoever they are… they care about you. I had no right to say what I said… you are badass Y/N.” 

“We do this… it’s only one time…” she pulled his jacket and flannel off him as he pressed her between his body and the wall in the alley.  Her lips grazed his stubble jaw. “I don’t do long term… I don’t do commitment.”  she pulled his shirt over his head. Her fingers caressing his skin. 

“We are outside, sweetheart,” He let out a grunt as her hand slipped into his pants, “unless you’re into exhibitionism?” he gave her a bruising kiss, his fingers finding their way up her shit caressing every inch of her skin. 

“I can be very adventurous, Winchester,” she gasped as his hands found their way into her own pants. His fingers slipping through her folds, “Fuck.” 

Dean chuckled against her lips as he pushed her pants down to her ankles.Y/N was thankful for having her wide-leg jeans on. It allowed her to remove them from one leg so she could open wide for Dean. Her shirt hiked up to her neck as he pushed the cups of her bra down and suckled on her nipple. Y/N let out a soft moan as his fingers teased her entrance. It had been a very long while since she had sex with anyone.   

Dean’s fingers pumped into her, moaning at the feel of her pussy dripping with anticipation. He grunted when her fingers wrapped around his already painfully hard cock, pumping his length. Dean moaned as she worked him, his cock twitching in her hands. He could feel her walls clench around his fingers as he pumped them good and fast. He pressed on her g-spot as his palm lay flat against her clit.  

“Oh, fuck,” she breathed as the hand bracing his shoulder squeezed. Dean could feel his fingers being squeezed by her clenching walls. 

“You going to cum for me Y/N?” he breathed in her ear, “going to get your cum dripping all over my fingers?” he added more pressure to her clit with his palm making her buck into him. 

The coil snapped as she pressed her mouth onto his opposite shoulder muffling her scream as she came onto his fingers. Panting, she lifted her head and looked into his eyes, pupils lust blown as he brought his lips to hers kissing her hungrily. Tongue and teeth everywhere in a sloppy kiss. 

With a soft chuckle, Dean lifted her up and guided himself into her entrance. He moaned at the feel of her. It was tight and warm and slicked up just enough to let him enter with ease. He could feel her fingers digging into his skin as he pushed in inch by inch. When he bottomed out she ground her hips, giving it the right angle for him to let out a very soft ‘fuck’ in her ear. 

There were no words as they found a rhythm, Dean swallowing her moans in a hungry kiss. His hands cupping her ass as he thrust into her. His pace was fast as he could feel her walls clenching around his cock. Her fingers moved from his shoulders to his hair. She tugged on his short strands, driving him wild. His hips sputtered as he felt her cum around him and he filled her up. His lips on hers giving her a bruising kiss emptying inside her before pulling out and putting her on the ground gently.   

Breathing heavily, Y/N and Dean got dressed. Dean cleared his throat as they walked towards Y/N’s Pontiac. 

“So…” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. 

“It’s a one-time thing… it means nothing… like I said earlier, I don’t do commitment,” she licked her lips. “How about this… I scratch your itch… you scratch mine… friends with benefits... No strings attached.” 

“Friends?” Dean smiled at her. “Just a second ago you hated my guts.” 

“What can I say,” she shrugged, “you were very… persuasive.” 

“Ok, Y/L/N… Friends,” he pulled her body to his before giving her a searing kiss, “with benefits.” 

“Deal,” she smiled. Turning from him she climbed in her car, “I have to head to California for a bit… I need to calm down my Uncles… they don’t know that I’m a hunter so the call I made to them….” 

“I’ll see you around,” Dean reassured her. 

With a small wave, she closed the door, turned the ignition and drove off towards the horizon. Dean could only stand there and watch as the taillights disappeared.  

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Just One Dance

Requested by @rileynicole1967

Request: “so maybe you could do a one shot for deanxreader based off the song “can I have this dance” from High School Musical. so basically dean doesn’t do the whole dancing thing and the reader finally gets him to dance with her and she helps him and it’s so fluffy”

Absolutely, luv! Side bar, I’ve never seen these movies, but I gave the song a listen. Hopefully this is just as fluffy as you were wanting!

Characters: Dean Winchester, Fem! Reader, Sam Winchester

Pairing: Dean x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Excessive fluff, implied smut without detail.

Wordcount: 2,852

                There are some things a hunter doesn’t get, and a normal, carefree night on the town is one of them. At least, it usually is. This particular Saturday you have no monsters to kill, no wounds to mend, and no research demanding to be done, and you practically beg Sam and Dean to come with you to a local pub promising good music, food, and beer.

            Maybe it’s slightly overdone, but you rarely have any occasion to dress so nicely, and as you look at your reflection, you have to smile. You admit to yourself you look beautiful, outfit the perfect color to compliment your complexion and your eyes, and comfortable so you have no qualms about dancing the night away, which you have every intention to do.

            You open the door to your room in the bunker, right across from Dean’s, and hear a low whistle that causes your cheeks to heat slightly. “I feel underdressed, sweetheart. You look gorgeous.” Dean says with that easy, charming smile. The bastard has you positively whipped, and he doesn’t even know it. “Well, one of us has to look good.” You tease, brushing off the compliment in favour of poking fun at your best friend. He chuckles, rolling his eyes fondly. “Yeah, whatever. C’mon, let’s get Sammy’s ugly mug and hit the road before all the good parking is gone.” Dean beckons. The casual way he rests his hand on your back has your heart doing acrobatics, and you thank whatever God is listening for the years spent mastering your perfect poker face when you show no outward reaction.

            You’re not a bird that hangs off the arm of the first handsome man she sees. In fact, you have a sense of pride in the way you don’t fall for charm or suave lines and you’ve never been the type to go for a one-night-stand just because someone buys you a drink and throws you a smirk. Dean Winchester is the only exception to your impervious shield- a simple smile from him has you feeling faint, and it’s not just his looks that have made you fall for him. Dean has been your friend and confidante. He knows things about you not another soul is privy to, and the same applies to you. He protects you, but doesn’t underestimate your skill and ability as a hunter. He’s your hero, and if you had a bit more gall, maybe you’d finally tell him that.

           It’s a perfect night at the pub- not too crowded, but with enough background chatter to make an ambience like home. The first round is on you, as you’ve promised, and Dean watches you carefully as you head to the counter to order your drinks. Sam sits across from him, a smug and knowing smile on his face. “What?” Dean finally grumbles, raising a brow. Sam shrugs, but that grin only gets wider, Dean’s green eyes narrowing in annoyance. “It’s just funny,” Sam begins, fighting to maintain a nonchalant front while wanting to laugh at Dean, “you sitting here, watching her, Y/N standing there, looking back at you. Cute.” “Sam.” Dean says, tone sharp with a warning Sam promptly ignores. “Hey, if you have any plausible reasoning for me to believe you’re not smitten with her, now’s your chance to convince me.” Sam invites. Dean glowers at him from across the table, wishing you’d hurry up with those beers already, and Sam smirks, knowing he’s won. “That’s what I thought. Want my advice?” “Not really.” Dean mutters, rolling his eyes. God, where are you with the drinks, somebody save him. “Well, I’m gonna give it to you anyways. Stop being such a dumbass and go get your girl. At this point I won’t even complain if you snog her in front of me. Point is, Dean, you’ve got no rationale to not go after her.” Sam says pointedly. “I think you oughta just-”

               “Hey, sorry I took so bloody long!” You call, hurrying over with four longnecks in your hands, and Dean shoots Sam a smirk. Perfect timing as usual, thank God. “S’alright. Didn’t miss much.” Dean shrugs, sliding over so you can sit next to him in the booth. “Oh, good. I put in some song requests- DJ says this place is great for dancing.” You inform, smiling brightly. Dean instantly shoots upright, cutting you a narrow-eyed look full of suspicion. “Dancing?” He repeats, already smelling a scheme as you give him an innocent smile. “Wouldn’t you know it, this pub happens to be known ‘round here for the music? Coincidence, of course.” You say slyly. Dean shakes his head, unable to maintain his glare so he hides the smile pulling at his lips by taking a swig of his cold beer. “Coincidence. Yeah, ok. Y/N, for someone who lies for a living, you’re pretty shit at it.” Dean smirks, and you laugh, knowing he’s teasing. “Alright, so maybe I had a slight ulterior motive when I said we should come here tonight, but I promise it’ll be fun!” You say pleadingly, turning to Sam for back up.

             “Don’t look at me! You’re on your own.” Sam proclaims, holding up his hands in surrender as you huff. “Fine! But you’re both dancing with me. I’m not settling for a ‘no’.” You assert. Dean chuckles, giving you an amused smile. “You can think that if you want, sweetheart. I don’t dance.” He says firmly. “What do you mean? You dance with me to your bloody cassettes in the garage all the time!” You demand, raising your brows. Sam laughs, nearly snorting beer out of his nose, and Dean flushes up to his ears. “Dean dances with you?” “Sam!” Dean growls, thoroughly embarrassed. “Oh, come off it, it’s not a big deal, you baby.” You scowl playfully. “No, Y/N, Dean doesn’t dance, ever. Makes you awfully special, huh, Dean?” “Shut your mouth, Sam.” Dean snaps, glaring at his brother indignantly. You’re at a loss, looking between the two in confusion. “Look, Y/N, you’ll have to settle for the less good-looking Winchester tonight. I don’t dance, ‘specially not here.” Dean says with a shrug of his broad shoulders. You smile, a mischievous look in your eyes, and he knows you’re nowhere near dropping the subject.

            Three beers later, you’re out on the dancefloor, laughing at Sam’s awkward moves. Dean’s smiling, eyes glued to you. It’s rare he see’s you this happy and carefree, and you look so beautiful in the low light of the bar. The power could go out and your smile would light up the whole place. He hates admitting it, but Sam makes a valid point. There’s nothing stopping Dean from telling you how he feels about you besides his own paranoia, and even that is n shaky grounds. He’s not entirely oblivious. Dean knows there’s some unspoken thing between the two of you, and knows you feel it, too. But letting it lie as is and pursuing something more are two totally opposing ideas, and he’s getting tired of his head and his heart pulling him in different directions over you.

             You catch Dean’s eye, and leave Sam, grinning at Dean. “Come dance.” You say. He shakes his head, a small smile playing across his lips. “Told you, sweetheart. I don’t dance.” Dean claims, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the booth. He’s content where he is, just watching you, but you’re the most stubborn woman he’s ever met, and honestly, he should’ve known better because when do you ever take no for an answer? “Just one dance. Come on, even Sam is having fun.” You try to persuade him, Dean’s eyes flicking to his brother and back to you. “Y/N.” “Dean.” You mimic. You stare him down, eyes narrowed slightly. Dean almost laughs- he’s seen this face before, your shoulders back and spine tall. It’s the posture of a hunter, the determined face you make when you’re dealing with police giving you a hard time or a monster making threats. Now you’re using against your best friend to try and convince him to dance with you. “Please.” You pout, and he sighs. God, why are you so hard to say no to?

                   It’s a silly question because he knows exactly why you could ask for the moon wrapped in a bow and by God, he’d figure out how to give it to you because you have Dean Winchester completely at your mercy. “Dean, please, just one dance! That’s all I’m asking.” You practically beg, and he can feel himself breaking. “Sweetheart, I really don’t dance, not for anybody.” Dean tries. “Not even for me?” You ask him. Damn it. Damn you to hell, you’re good. That’s his weakness, you’re his weakness, and you’re using it to play him like a fiddle. Dean closes his eyes and his shoulders slump, and when he looks at you again, you’re beaming like you won the grand prize because you know you’ve got him. “One dance. Got it? Just one. And- and don’t expect no fancy shit, or nothin’.” He huffs, trying to maintain his grumpy facade. He doesn’t last a second because your mile-wide smile is even bigger as you take him by the hands and half-lead half-drag Dean onto the dancefloor.

                    Dean’s nervous as all-get-out. When was the last time he’s ever really danced, much less in front of people? “Just take my hand, Dean. C’mon, you killed three vampires just the other day and you’re telling me you’re nervous now?” You say, teasing him gently. “Yeah, well, vamps I can behead.” Dean mutters, earning a snort of laughter from you that makes his lips twitch up into a smile. “Just look at me, yeah? Just like in the garage.” You tell him. He nods, swallowing, and keeps his eyes locked on you, which really isn’t hard to do. Just as he eases into it, the faster-paced song transitions to a slow-dance, and he freezes, instantly panicking.

             You squeeze Dean’s hand comfortingly. “Dean, we can sit down, I’m only kidding, I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable.” You explain with a guilty frown. Here you are, trying to get the boys to relax, and instead poor Dean is looking at you like someone told him his impala is being towed. Dean stops you, shaking his head. “No. No, just, uh, don’t laugh at me. I haven’t done this in… well, ever.” He says gruffly. You smile fondly. Your knight in shining plaid is nervous you’ll tease him for being a clumsy dancer. “Promise I won’t laugh. Well, maybe a little.” You say, and Dean shoots you a glare that vanishes when you give him a cheesy grin. “You’re a dork.” He smirks. “Takes one to know one, Winchester.” You wink.

             “Dean, you’re stepping on me.” You tell him, biting your lip to stifle a laugh at the instant mortification on Dean’s face. “Shit, sorry!” “S’okay. You’re doing great. You are one in a million, Dean. Big, bad hunter, scared to dance with me.” You laugh softly. Dean huffs, and you smile. He’s slowly getting the hang of it, with your help, of course.

          “Hey, what was Sam talking about earlier?” You ask.  Dean falters, and you nearly trip, stumbling into his chest. You don’t know if you’re really standing still or if it only feels like time has halted, Dean’s green eyes staring into you.

                       His eyes drop to your lips. You’re not sure you’re breathing.

    “Sam doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Dean says after a long moment. His eyes dart away, and you frown slightly. “That’s not what I asked you.” “Y/N.” He says intently, hoping you’ll drop the subject, because the direction the conversation is going, Dean is going to be forced to make the decision he’s been putting off for so many years. “Dean.” You echo, just as firmly, not letting him escape your gaze. Dean steps back slightly, and you realize the song is over. You let go of Dean’s hands, disappointment and embarrassment washing over you. “Thanks for the dance.” You say, trying to hide your sadness.

              You make it all of three steps before Dean reaches out for you. “Hey, Y/N, wait.” He says quickly, hand grabbing yours. “What?” “Can I have this dance?” “You don’t dance.” You say, confused. He looks at you for a long moment, a smile slowly forming on his face. “No,” Dean agrees, holding your gaze with his, “but you do. So?” “So what?” “So, can I have this dance?” Dean repeats. You nod, and he leads you back out. It’s another slow song, and Dean pulls you a little closer than before, staring at you intensely.

          “What?” You ask, quirking a brow. “Can I ask you something?” “Ok?” You agree hesitantly. “Why do you always sit next to me in the booths?” Dean asks. You swear you can your heart plummet like a lead weight. “What?” “Yeah. How come you always share with me when we have to bunk up because there’s only two beds in motels? And how come you wanted to dance with me so bad?” He presses. “I- well, I-” You stammer, absolutely thrown for a loop, and he smiles briefly. “See, ‘cause, I’ve got this theory that the answer to that is sorta like the answer to the question you asked me earlier.” He continues, confusion and dread creeping up on you. “Dean, listen, we don’t have to talk about it-” “I think we do. I want to. Here’s the thing, Y/N. I don’t dance.” “Then why are you-?” You trail off. “Because you asked me to. And I can’t say no to you. What Sam said, earlier- you are.” He says, ducking his head. “I am what?” You frown. “Awfully special. To- to me.” Dean says quietly, blushing, and suddenly it makes sense. “Oh.” “Oh? That’s all you’re gonna say? I tell you I have feelings for you, and all I get is ‘oh’?” Dean asks, blinking in disbelief. He looks like he’s about to bolt, so you lean up and before he can make another smartass comment, you press your lips softly to his.

                “Oh.” Dean breathes, staring at you. You smile, and he grins, and both of you laugh, not caring if anyone is looking. “Man, we’re a couple’a real idiots, huh?” Dean chuckles. “If I knew this is how it would end up, I would’ve asked you to dance with me a long time ago.” You tease, earning yourself another brief kiss. “I’ll dance with you all you want, sweetheart.” Dean says with a warmth in his eyes you’ve seen a thousand times before but never knew the reasoning for. You laugh as Dean twirls you, ducking under his arm with a bright smile he can’t help but return.

             At some point you vaguely recall Dean promising to show you the rest of his dance moves in private, and you stealing the keys to Baby from his back pocket. You’re not sure how you managed to make it safely back to the bunker, and you definitely forgot to bring Sam, but you and Dean had spent years pining after one another and weren’t about to waste another night.

             You smile, looking over your shoulder to find a familiar freckled and scruffy face pressed against your pillow. Dean’s still asleep, his arm a solid and warm weight over your bare waist, his chest firm against your back. His dark blond hair is a mess from you running your fingers through it, and you don’t want to know how your own hair looks, but you really don’t even care. You scramble for the sheets as the door knob turns. Sam gives you the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen, and the urge to fling a shoe at him is strong. “Y’know, when I told you to do something about your puppy love for Dean, I didn’t exactly mean ditch me at the pub to go sleep with him.” Sam says with a wiggle of his brows. Your face feels hot. “Sam.” You whisper warningly. “I told you he liked you.” Sam says. “Go. Away.” You whisper, glaring. Sam snickers. “You owe me, Y/N, we shook on it.” “As I recall, you said he wouldn’t dance with me, so you pay up, Sam.” You retort. Sam scoffs, and you glare even harder. “Sammy, shut up and leave us alone.” Dean’s sleepy voice grumbles, his eyes not even open as he blindly flips his brother off. Dean waits for the door to close and Sam’s footsteps to retreat down the hall before he finally looks at you.

            “Jesus, thought he’d never leave.” Dean mutters. You grin, and Dean gives you a devious smirk, planting a kiss on your neck. “Dean!” You laugh. “Who says I was done with you? Sam can handle a few hours without us, and I’ve got you all to myself.” Dean says, and you don’t bother pretending to be mad when his lips meet yours, feeling him smile.

         Who knew all it would take to finally get you and Dean together was one dance?

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