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ihavethedreamies · 6 months ago

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Oasis | S.Coups

Choi Seungcheol (S.Coups - Seventeen)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~4.6k

Pairing: S.Coups x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Sci-Fi AU!, Reader-Insert, Smut, Some Plot, Hookup/One-Night-Stand/Strangers to Fucking

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Violence (mentions of weapons, but nothing else), Pet Names (Doll, Sweetheart, Princess, Pumpkin, etc.), Daddy Kink (as required by law), Swearing, Kissing, Thigh-Riding, Cockwarming, Couch Sex, Slight Breathplay, Soft Dom! S.Coups, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom!), He's got some ~fancy~ tattoos ;)

Author's Note: Okay this one was…normally I can stay calm writing, but not for a Scoops. He's just so fucking hot…

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-> Wonwoo's <-

I am cross-posting this on Archive and Wattpad. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other sites. Happy reading!

The only problem with being in a small village in the middle of the desert is there were very few places to hide. You turned a corner around a sandstone building into an alleyway. Luckily, there was a pile of crates with a small enough hole for you to hide. Crawling into the space, you tried to stay as quiet as possible while also catching your breath. You worried your panting would be too loud. You clutched your bag close to you, not wanting to lose the contents again. Having found what seems to be an extremely valuable artifact, you had tried desperately to get it back after it had been stolen. You had reported the chunk of crystal to the Assembly and they said it was possibly valuable enough to bring to headquarters. Though, while you were camping out, about a third of the way through a four-day journey, your camp was ransacked, and your crystal stolen. You followed the thieves that turned out to essentially be a gang, and you took it back. They had found you though and had been chasing you for a good hour. They obviously understood the crystal's value if they were pursuing you so intently. Peaking around the crates, you saw a few of the goons run down the street past the alley, but you weren't brave enough to get away yet.

"Fuck!" You shrieked, a hand having grabbed your braid at the base, hauling you out of your hiding hole. Your hands grappled at his, trying to get him to let you go, legs scrambling on the ground.

"You stupid bitch-" He grumbled, yanking your hair harder till you fell back against his legs.

"Where's the rock?" He snapped and you just glared up at him, not wanting him to realize if you looked at your bag. You grunted at the tug on your hair, but immediately stopped wiggling when you felt something metal press against your neck.

"If I get this back from you, the boss might just promote me-"

"Kind of hard to get a promotion with an extra hole in your head." A new voice spoke and you could feel the gangster freeze behind you, the knife pressed to your neck retreating slightly. You assumed this new man had pressed his own weapon, a blaster most likely, against the guy's head.

"Drop the knife." This new man's voice was steady, strong, and you felt safe already. You heard the blade clatter on the ground, and the hold on your braid released, so you scrambled away from the gangster. Instead of going forward, you basically crawled around and behind the aggressor, and stopped once you were safely behind your rescuer. Just from behind, you could tell he was strong, his bare arms showed his biceps were nearly as big as your thigh, maybe bigger. Smooth geometric tattoos painted his arms, looking similar to a circuit board. His hair was bright red, slicked back just enough to keep the longer strands out of his face, the ends resting just above his shoulders. He had a belt strapped around his torso over his vest, various things attached to it along with several ammo cartridges. Another strap around one of his thick thighs had the holster for his blaster and his pants were tucked into a pair of knee-high combat boots.

"Now screw off before you can't." The man pulled his blaster away, but literally kicked the guy's ass, sending him onto his face a few feet forward. The gangster scrambled to his feet and fled. Once he was gone, the man before you turned around finally and your breath left you right after you had caught it back. He was fucking gorgeous. You wondered if the slit in his eyebrow was from a scar, or just for looks, it was hard to tell in the dark light.

"Are you okay, doll?" He kneeled in front of you, even like that you felt tiny…Tinier than usual. You wondered if he could see your reddened face in the low light.

"Y-yes." You nodded, letting him wrap his hands around your arms to help you stand up. Your own hands went to his biceps, trying hard not to squeeze to test the muscle there, and your shaking legs finally got you up. You wished he didn't have the leather gloves on so you could feel more of his bare skin on yours. After you were both up, the top of your head only reached his chin, and he smelled good-

"Why were they after you?" he asked and you had to step back to look at him even with your head tipped up.

"Uh…" You weren’t sure if he was trustworthy, even if he saved you. Maybe he just wanted the crystal for himself…

"It's okay, doll. I'm a Ranger." He pulled the chain around his neck up and out of his shirt, an upside-down triangle-like designed pendant on the end. You recognized it, and the title, so you relaxed. They were basically freelance, vigilante, bounty-hunter guys. They would help people in need and take out or get criminals without having to worry about legal red tape. It was an elite group, and their identities were not widely known. Sighing in relief at the news, you opened your satchel and pulled the crystal out. It wasn't refined and it was pretty heavy. You handed the rock to him and he looked it over, holding it easily with one hand while he holstered his blaster. The thin but tight black shirt he had on under his utility vest struggled over his chest as he did so, when he spoke you finally brought your attention away.

"This is a diamond, doll." He smiled and your jaw dropped. No wonder it was so valuable. That would make sense why the Assembly Headquarters wanted it, they had the largest bank on the planet.

"Seriously?"

"Yep." He once again held the gem in one hand, pulling a device out of a pocket of his utility belt. The Ranger clicked the end against the gem and looked at the panel on the side as the device beeped.

"About 13 hundred carats." He smirked, arching one of his thick eyebrows.

"Where'd you find this?"

"I'm a Scavenger, so I look for scrap and crashed ships or satellites. This was in some wreckage out near Dekkos." you told him, a bit surprised he handed the gem back to you.

"Are you bringing it to the capital?"

"Yes."

"You will probably have more of those gangsters plus anyone else who finds out after you, why don't I escort you?"

"You would do that?"

"Of course, doll. I'm Seungcheol, but my team calls me S.Coups."

"S.Coups?" you questioned and he chuckled, a bit embarrassed.

"Uh, the S is for Seungcheol, and then coups like coup-d'état."

"You overthrow someone?"

"Well, kind of. Our first mission was to get a corrupt mayor out of power, so…" He smiled, somehow his extremely handsome face looked cute.

"Are you sure you don't mind escorting me?"

"I told you," he leaned forward so he was more eye level, "of course I don't mind."

"Can I call you Cheol?" you asked him, his name was kind of long and you weren't sure about his nick name…

"Of course, doll. What do I call you?" You told him your name in response and when he said it with a smile, your ovaries exploded.

"I know its late, but I was planning on getting to the next town over, it's about an hour, is that okay?" he asked you as you followed him to the main street and toward the edge of the village. You had wrapped the diamond up in a head scarf you had and tucked it back in your satchel. Cheol suggested you grab your stuff from your rover and leave it for the time being, since more goons might know it's yours. He wouldn't even let you carry your own bag.

"That diamond is enough for you to carry, (Y/N)." When you got to his own rover, you halted in shock. Not only was it new, but it was a really nice model too. Yours was nearly thirty years old and was not exactly top of the line, even new.

"Oh, this belongs to the whole group. I just have it most of the time since I'm the leader."

"You're the leader?" You hadn't known that.

"Well, kind of. I'm co-commander along with Woozi." He opened the passenger door for you and you climbed up onto the wheel and into the rover. The seats were nice, and actually seats versus what looked like a restaurant booth. The inside panels were just a flat holo-screen, and it even had heating. Your rover only had air-conditioning, so at night it could be kind of cold. You asked him a series of questions as you drove to the next town, and he answered each one humbly. Your eyes kept flitting to his hands on the steering wheel, then up his arms and traced every line of his tattoos, to his side profile-

"Your eyes might burn me, doll." He tried not to smirk, casting you a knowing side glance. You floundered for an excuse.

"Its fine, sweetheart." Seungcheol rested back in the seat and you shuffled in your own seat, your face not the only part of you heating up. By the time you reached the next town, all you wanted to do was get in bed, and maybe get him inside you…

"Do you mind sharing a hotel room, I can keep you safer that way." His suggestion was genuine, truly just wanting to protect you. And you were more than willing.

"That's fine!" Seungcheol smirked, walking past you into the hotel, one much nicer than the inns or motels you usually stayed at. You cringed at your own eagerness, following after him with your head bowed in embarrassment.

"Can we get a suite with two bedrooms?" He pulled his credit chit out, the hotelier tapped on her console telling you there was one available on the fifth floor. You watched her as she worked, and she kept looking up at Seungcheol and all over him. She wasn't blind, you didn’t blame her. He took the room and you balked at the price.

"Don't worry, doll." He cast you a gentle smile, so you didn't. Judging by his rover, even if he claimed it was the whole group's, he had money to spare. You followed after him, casting a glance back at the hotelier who was glaring at you. Wanting to stick your tongue out at her like a child, you restrained yourself and waited for the elevator with him. Right as the lift was reaching the ground floor, a group of about seven entered and headed toward the elevators as well. Because of this, the lift was full, and you pressed your small self into the corner, Seungcheol working as a barrier between you and the group of men that had entered as well. You doubted they even knew you were there. They had left the button pressed for the fifth floor, and you both waited for them to get out, then headed in the opposite direction. He tapped the clear card against the lock and it dinged, opening with a click. He carried both of your bags in and you looked around the suite in awe, never having stayed somewhere so nice.

"I'm going to shower quick." Seungcheol deposited your bag in one of the bedrooms and headed toward the other. There was a bathroom attached to each room and so you followed suit. Only taking a rinse off since you had showered the night before, you found yourself watching some show on the couch. You had changed into shorts and a tank instead of your leather leggings and vest. Your knees were pulled to your chest, feet resting on the cushion, and you were really trying to focus on the show. It was so hard though to not think of him in the shower. He was too freaking hot and there was only a door in between you and him. Naked.

"Fucking fuck…" You huffed at yourself, trying to snap out of your pervy thoughts, but it was futile. Especially since he had just come out in nothing but his pants. At least he wasn't just in a towel, but his muscular and toned body was perfectly on display. He had more of the circuit-like tattoos curling up over his shoulders and down his chest and sides of his stomach. You had noticed earlier not only were his arms and thighs thick, but he had a butt too. Fuck. He saw you gaping at him, it was kind of hard not to. It was like you had zoned out…or in rather, on him and he huffed a laugh, a bit embarrassed. However, he felt more smug than anything and his own eyes flicked over your mostly bare legs and the low cut of your tank. He would be lying if he said he wasn't just as attracted to you as you seemed to be to him. It was up to you make a move though… When you snapped out of it and your eyes met his, he was smirking and hummed with an inquisitive tone.

"Yes?" He teased and you choked on your saliva some, eyes flitting back over his bare chest.

"You curious?" You nodded dumbly.

"Come here, then." Seungcheol smiled and he nearly guffawed at how fast you leaped off the couch, but you approached much slower. You stopped right before him, hand coming up and hovering over his skin. You flitted your gaze up to his face and he nodded, taking a sip out of the bottle he was holding. As soon as your fingertips met his warm skin, the other hand flew up and you brought them down to rest on his abs.

"Fucking hell." You whispered and he really tried not to laugh, but you could feel his chest rumble a bit. Tracing each curve and angle of the tattoos snaking over him, you noticed they seemed to let out a slight reddish glow, lagging behind your tracing fingers over the black lines. Your mouth was hung open as you touched him like he was the best thing you had ever had the pleasure of touching, and he smirked harder. Getting annoyed with his smugness, even though it was warranted and caused by you, you dug your dull nails in a bit and scratched down. Seungcheol sighed, a low groan rumbling out after and your cunt clenched around nothing.

"What-?!" You squeaked as he crouched a bit, wrapping one around your upper thighs under your butt, and easily lifted you up against his shoulder. He carried you over to the couch, his bottle still in his hand and you wondered if he could hear your heart pounding. He could probably also feel your wet leaking through your panties and shorts. You glanced down and saw that the tattoos were on his back too. The man sat on the couch, adjusting you on his lap so you were straddling one of his thighs. You nearly whined, having to spread your legs pretty wide to accommodate, and you could feel the hard muscle through his pants. While they weren't super tight, with how he was sitting, the stretched over his thigh just right. He smirked again as he took another drink, your shorts so thin he could feel your pussy clench as you settled.

"Whatcha thinkin' about, doll?" Your fingers were lazily and lightly rubbing over his skin, it tickled a bit. Those tattoos definitely shimmered when you touched them…

"Can I ride your thigh?" Your voice was so soft that despite how close you were, he almost didn't hear you.

"You want that, sweetheart?"

"Yes, -dy." He barely heard the last part, your face blossoming red when you let the word slip, eyes widening in panic. Seungcheol groaned when he heard it, adjusting his footing and bounced his leg under you a bit, forcing it up and against your needy cunt.

"You wanna ride daddy's thigh, pumpkin?"

"Fuck, yes please~" You gasped, but held back from moving, nodding.

"Go ahead, then." He took a casual sip from the bottle, glancing over your shoulder at the TV like he was actually focusing on it. He licked his lips, swallowing a chuckle when you began to grind down onto his leg, so hard he felt your pulse from your core. Your little mewls grew louder when you leaned forward, losing strength in the rest of your body, resting your forehead on his collarbone. Your fingers dug into the waist of his pants on either side of you, getting closer and closer. While Cheol had his number of sexcapades, he had never had a girl be this eager to fuck herself on his leg. Most of the time he was worried if they would find out he didn't, by any means, mind getting called daddy. You were the first one though to jump on it immediately, and with no hint or prompting from him. He was thanking fate that he was the one that rescued you.

"I'm-" You gasped, your hips stuttering.

"Close, pumpkin?" He finally put the bottle down, his arm curling around your waist, helping you keep your rhythm. His face got close to yours, so much so your lips were barely touching and he swallowed your moan, invading your mouth with his tongue. You fell apart then, whining as he helped you ride out your high, catching every little noise you made with his lips. Your head was swimming, you nearly gasped for air when he left the kiss. Your panties were sticking to your even wetter folds, and he could feel that your slick had soaked through his pants too.

"Did a good job, sweetheart."

"Thanks, daddy." It seemed you were a bit shy with the daddy-kink play, but you had started it.

"What now, doll?" Your eyes met his, unsure with what answer he wanted.

"What do you want me to do to you now?" He arched a brow and your mind ran rampant with all the possibilities.

"W-what do you want to do?" You threw the question back and he tilted his head in thought, humming. You could feel that his cock had gotten hard against your knee, your mouth watered when you glanced down at the tent pitched, wondering just how big he really was.

"What if…" As he spoke, his hand drifted from your hip, over your ass, and into the back of your shorts. You moaned when his fingers hit your soaking cunt, lightly circling the pad over your entrance.

"…you sit on my cock and we watch a movie?" His suggestion took you a second to piece together. Cockwarming? Fuck, yes PLEASE.

"O-okay." You nodded and his hand withdrew. He easily moved you to turn around and assisted with getting your shorts and panties off. Cheol adjusted his position and you rested against his chest, reaching down to release his cock from his pants. Your eyes widened, breath hitching when your hand met the flesh, finally getting him out to see what you had to work with. You were going to get split in half, and you couldn't be more excited.

"Daddy~" You whined, head falling back onto his shoulder, your nose brushing over the side of his throat.

"Can you take it, pumpkin?" He stroked the soft skin under your belly button, the sensation made you shiver, already sensitive.

"Yes."

"Yes…?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl." You sat up a bit more, propping your hips up as he guided the tip of his fat cock to your glistening folds. A bit concerned when you let out a small choking noise, it soon faded into a moan, which rose into a whine as he sank deeper and deeper. You thought he would be in your throat by the time he was all the way in. Your tight core fluttered around his cock, the delicious burn of the stretch bringing you dangerously close to another orgasm already. When he had about another inch to go, you lost your strength. You slumped back into him, gravity pulling you the rest of the way done so his cock buried in completely. Your cunt twitched along with the rest of you, trying to adjust to the stretch and the intense pleasure it caused. If you were already so sensitive, he wondered how bad you would get after sitting on his cock for a good hour.

"Hm, so good, sweetheart. Taking daddy's cock like a pro." His groan rumbled through him and over you, his strong arms wrapping over you to hold you up and to him. After about five minutes, your brain started to function a bit more, and you tried to get more comfortable on his lap as he started something you really cared not for. It wasn't what the movie was, but you could only think of him splitting you open and his bare chest pressed to your back. You had your legs spread wide over his lap, knees over his so he could easily hold them open for you. Every few minutes, your whole body twitched from the pleasure, your breath shuddering, trying not to move. You really were a princess, more like a queen, taking his huge cock so good and sitting still so obediently. He had to push away the thought of immediately taking you as his wife, but man did he want to. Have you whenever he wanted…

"D-daddy…!" You gasped, cunt clenching hard suddenly and he huffed as you came, not having moved for the last half hour. He wondered how that was possible, and so did you. Seungcheol had to be a drug itself, because you were already addicted. You needed him so bad-

"Fuck, hold on…" He grunted, shutting the TV off and wrapping his arms around you tighter, hand on your opposite hip and the other across your chest so his hand could rest under your jaw. He splayed his legs better, sliding down the couch a bit to get better leverage, and your nails quickly dug into the back of the couch to prepare. He gave a shallow but hard thrust and you squealed, releasing babbles as he fucked up into you. Each thrust shattered pleasure through your body, his skin getting hotter against yours. Moreso than was natural, and you realized you could feel the pattern of the marks covering his torso with the heat. They must have been some kind of cybernetics…

"Want more, princess?" He rumbled and you whined an affirmation, his thrusts still hard but too shallow. You didn’t want to be able to walk the next three days… The hand he had on your hip shifted so he splayed his fingers over your lower stomach, index and middle fingers resting in a V right around where he had his cock inside of you. His other hand your jaw moved down to your collarbone, lying over the top of your chest, his pinky slightly under the hem of your tank. The heat of his tattoos increased, and suddenly it was like every one of your nerves was set on fire. He froze his pace, grunting as your cunt clenched harder as you came again already, soaking down his balls and over his pants. He chuckled as your core pulsed over and over, seeming to never end. You nearly blacked out, gasping for breath and wondering what the hell that was.

"W-what?"

"I can use these to affect the nerves of people. I use it to knock out targets, or to ease the pain of someone I’m helping. Can make you real sensitive…" He hummed by your ear, his teeth nibbling on the ridge.

"Where do you want daddy to fuck you next, doll?" You nearly didn't register his question, still trying to find your place in reality.

"Bed…" You knew it was cliché, but…

"Of course, sweetheart." He sat all the way up, the position change shifting him inside you and you gasped, whining in disappointment as he pulled you off his cock. Just as easily as he lifted you before, you carried you to his room, grabbing the end of the duvet and easily pulling the whole thing off, letting it float to the floor. Resting you down like you were as delicate as a flower, you sighed at the cool fabric hitting your back. Seungcheol kissed the corner of your mouth, and you tried to follow his lips, but they left yours, moving down your jaw and to your neck. Letting him move you, he brought on of your thighs to his hip, slinging your other knee over his elbow. Your cunt eagerly sucked his cock back inside and you whimpered as he slowly bottomed out. Giving you just a second to adjust, he leaned down and kissed you again. You mewled, your knee resting over his shoulder more than his elbow, the other leg wrapping over his hip as tight as you could manage. A trail of saliva connected your lips when he finally pulled his tongue out of your mouth.

"Ready, pumpkin?"

"Yes, daddy!" You squeaked in delight as he started to move, immediately barreling his fat cock into you, the head battering your cervix. His pace was so intense, your wet dripped over his groin and down your butt to land on the sheets. It must have been an extremely secure bed frame, because it only shifted a bit despite his powerful thrusts. You couldn't even make little noises, your mouth hung open in a silent moan, drool spilling out of the corner of your mouth. You were so fucked out and he wanted to keep you like that from then on. Always drunk on him…

"So fucking good…" He chuckled, hand gripping your leg at his hip, easily slinging your other leg over his shoulder, folding you in half. You saw stars, the first thrust at the new angle fucked another climax out of you, your cunt squirting and creaming his cock even more and he grunted at the tightness. His tattoos started to heat up again, you could feel the change on the back of your thighs where he pressed down into you. Not sure what sensation he was going to surge you into, you couldn't get ready. The same intense arousal sensitivity started to rise again, but something else hit you. A slight tightening at your neck, but his hands were nowhere near. It was very slight and it didn't restrict your oxygen at all, just giving you a dull squeeze in the best way. Your gasps were from the intensity of your pleasure rather than the press of your throat. Then, your senses shifted, your vision blurred and it seemed like you could only hear the woosh of your pulse and his grunts. You felt his skin on yours hotter than before, his cock seemed hotter too, and the scent of sex intensified. When his mouth went back to yours, it was like you could taste his tongue, taste him even more and his groan vibrated your tongue wrapped around his. Without warning, the heat spiked, and your eyes rolled back in your head. His hot cum pumped into you, your own final orgasm hitting you, rolling over and over, dulling before reigniting into another full climax. The heat of his cum spilling out from where he was inside you seemed to sear over your skin and when he had stopped, your senses returned to normal and it was like someone threw cold water on you. Your hearing returned to normal, and you could hear the noise of the street again. You finally registered that he had pulled away from the kiss, hovering over you with a smile. Not a smirk. You could barely get anything out but a whine.

"Did daddy fuck you good, doll?" You nodded lazily and he laughed, kissing you again.

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Seventeen Master List

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garoujo · 2 years ago

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HOW LONG THEY LAST DURING NNN — BLUE LOCK

feat : nagi seishiro, kunigami rensuke, reo mikage, bachira meguru + itoshi sae

♱ warnings — f!reader, how long they last during no nut november, all characters written 18+, teasing, you call sae for some ‘help.’ / note. another one 4 u guys ! i rly got a sudden rush of motivation 4 these <3

・✶ ｡ﾟNAGI SEISHIRO — NOVEMBER 10TH

honestly nagi wasn’t really too fussed about the challenge, he’d heard a few of the guys talking about it in the changing room after practice and he’d got roped into doing it simply because ‘everyone else was.’ he thought it would be easier than it actually was, not realising just how severe the effect you have on him is — even just seeing the swell of your ass in those tiny shorts or having you pressed up against him while he slept was enough to have his cock throbbing and chasing release.

so nagi’s only idea was to sleep more, wake up to game and try not to let his mind wander to the tight hug of your cunt around him, milking all the cum from him that’s making his balls feel so fucking heavy right now. it’s like a boss fight in a game, he’s convinced himself with every mind-numbing throb — anything to distract him and push him to survive, level-up. although you still had to wake him up to eat, deciding to crawling into bed next to his sleeping figure to jostle him awake with a quick press of your lips against his cheek, it was his favourite way to be woken up, feeling you sweep the the snowy bangs out of his face as you let your fingertips bathe him in featherlight touches that make his nose twitch before he grunts.

nagi’s limbs are still thick with sleep when he wakes up, but his cock isn’t — feeling it throb immediately when his arms instinctively wrap around your waist, pulling you closer until his chest is flush against your own and he’s breathing deep in the crook of your neck. “seishiro..” you gasp with the first grind of his bulge against your body, letting you feel the heavy weight and the way he’s so uncomfortably hard and straining against his boxers. “ah—no fair.” he whines with the first touch of friction he’s longed so much for. “it’s stupid and a pain anyway.. just wanna feel you, pretty thing.” he continues and you can’t help but meet his eager humps with ones of your own, helping his clumsy palms at your body ease down your panties. “don’t wanna do it anymore, ‘ts only gonna get harder from here so i’ll pass.” cums in his pants before he can even put it in, but fucks you breathless after.

・✶ ｡ﾟ KUNIGAMI RENSUKE — NOVEMBER 21ST

kunigami was a competitive guy so ofcourse he was going to take part of everyone else was, but honestly he thought he would find it a lot easier than he actually does. the first few days are fine, kind of, he still can’t deny how fucking hot he thinks you are — he’s a little more agitated than usual, consistently rock fucking hard whenever he’s around you and really only has the energy to offer you grunts and groans as conversation.

if anything he trains even more, using all those built up hormones to try and take his mind off of it — but seeing him so sweaty only makes you miss him more. it isn’t until the third week that you can really see how much kunigami is struggling, he’s basically avoiding you because hes panting like a dog whenever you’re around, swallowing the carnal instincts he can feel burst along his skin that’s telling him to bend you over and lose himself in the addicting spread of your cunt around his fat cock.

you’re oh so oblivious to these thoughts though, making yourself busy as you clean the kitchen but the moment you choose to bend over to clean the countertop is so poorly timed when kunigami tries to move past you quickly to grab his protein shaker, groaning low and ragged when his hips accidentally brush your own — giving his cock some much needed attention. his hands are immediately on your waist, keeping you pressed and pinned beneath him as his chest cages you against the counter “fuck this, dumb fucking bet.” he grunts with another animalistic rut of his hips, clothed cock grinding against your cunt as he breathes deep and almost rips your sweats off—followed by his own. “as if i’d give up this fuckin’ pussy.”

・✶ ｡ﾟ REO MIKAGE — NOVEMBER 23RD

another one who ended up getting roped into one of the team bets, but honestly reo did a lot better than you expected him to do. it was only evident he was struggling when it got around three weeks in and his balls felt so fucking heavy, every little thing you did was like the sexiest thing he’d ever seen and he couldn’t help but chase every little touch from you, every little piece of friction that felt like electricity in his system — shooting straight through to his cock.

but you honestly began to think he might do it, until he came home after a particularly long day followed by a visit to his parent house. you can tell that reo’s tense immediately when he walks through the door, his eyes heavy and drowsy despite the way they still trail along your figure — only stopping when he sees the way you approach him draped in his shirt. “you okay? how was it?” you ask earnestly, resting your palms against his cheeks before you’re leaning in to press a quick kiss against his lips.

but reo has other plans when he can basically feel the heat of your body through his clothes, the chaste brush of your lips against his feels like fucking heaven and it’s almost unnaturally fast the way hes slamming his lips against yours again. “fuck, need you. now.” he grunts as his mouth moves messily with yours, making you gasp before he’s taking the opportunity to push his tongue between your lips — grazing it along your own as he swallows up the pretty sounds he’s been dying to hear for weeks now. “let me have you right here, fuck.. can’t wait any longer.”

・✶ ｡ﾟBACHIRA MEGURU — NOVEMBER 2ND

bachira doesn’t even make it through the second day before he’s failing, he’d really only agreed to it because he thought it would be fun — didn’t actually realise that he wouldn’t be able to touch you until he got home and seen you looking so pretty for him. he doesn’t even try, immediately sees you standing in his practice shirt, putting away the groceries and he’s immediately up against you.

“you’re gonna make me lose, baby. mhm, how am i supposed to resist you when you’re so cute.. no fair~” you try to spare bachira the humiliation honestly, doing your best to stay away from him around the house but he’s like a heat seeking missile driven purely by the throb in his cock. he’s palming at your ass and tits at every chance he gets, trying to pull you up against him just so he can feel you. “just lemme rub up on you a lil, kay? wont even cum.. just gotta feel it.”

the one time you finally give in is when he’s wrapped himself around you in the living room, nibbling playfully at your jawline as his hard cock strains against his shorts after practice. bachira’s rutting you into the couch beneath you like a wild fucking animal, breathing hard between breathless laughs as he sends you a look that’s a little wild, a little needy despite the way his lips curl into a smirk with the next languid roll of his hips “just keep this our lil secret, m’kay?” letting the head of his clothed cock catch under the hood of your clit through your panties so he can watch you twitch and gasp beneath him. “you’ve been teasing me, baby. how my s’posed to win when you’re cheating, hmm? been too long without your pussy.. need it so bad, mhm.”

・✶ ｡ﾟ ITOSHI SAE — NOVEMBER 28TH

sae was so close to making it the whole month, he was disciplined as always and would just spend extra time at practice, focuses on the ball rather than the weight in his. but you were so fucking pretty and he knew the effect you could have on him so easily, you weren’t someone who would just let him have this and you were specifically trying to rile him up recently, pushing at his buttons just to see how far he’d go.

even when you went to sleep, he’d deliberately resist cuddling up into you — just because he knows he wouldn’t be able to resist the swell of your ass being pressed so tight against him, even the thought makes him fucking throb. but he was lucky enough to be overseas for a few days with the team for a game nearing the end of november, or he thought that was lucky atleast.

“sae.. i miss you.” you gasp, something pretty through the speaker of your phone and the sound makes him press his own closer — cock twitching in his sweats as he sinks into the hotel bed beneath him. “what’re you doing, sweetheart?” sae’s voice is carefully neutral but he has to swallow a groan when he hears the first lewd squelch sound through his phone, listening to you sink your fingers into your cunt as you try to reach the spots he could so easily. “i can’t cum.. need your help, please!” you gasp and he hums like he’s not quite convinced despite the way he’s already pulling at his waistband, taking a slow handful of his cock with his next ragged exhale. “hm, and after you’ve been so well behaved.. i’ll need to deal with you when i’m home.” he grunts followed by a rough stroke of his fist along his cock that makes his toes curl. “but for now, sweetheart.. let me hear more of those pretty sounds.”

#݁ . ࿓ : sealed#blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #bllk smut #bllk x you #nagi x reader #nagi smut #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae smut #reo x reader #reo smut #bachira x reader #bachira smut #kunigami smut #kunigami x reader

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 11 months ago

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Heart’s Choice - Chapter 28

*Warning Adult Content*

- Carlos -

By the third day, I'm beginning to think John is taking the 'space' thing too seriously.

He hasn't texted or called 'I remind myself I basically told him not to' and communicates via Latoya and Nguyen, like a fourth grader with a crush, asking friends to suss out the crush's feelings in his place.

Kyle, meanwhile, is becoming a real pain in the ass.

He seems to have taken up permanent residence in the garage and continually bangs things and knocks things off the walls.

He's turning into a genuine poltergeist, making me wonder if it would be better for both of us if I exorcised him and sent him on his way.

Aunt Toni always said it was best to leave spirits alone unless they became truly malevolent.

Kyle might be a hazard 'he did make me break my arm' but I've never gotten the impression he actually wants to hurt me.

Rather, it seems like he's trying to tell me something but in true ghost fashion he can't just come out and say it and instead has to resort to making a mess of my tools.

Meanwhile, I'm not willing to risk another seance.

The demonic presence I glimpsed on the other side haunts my dreams and I'm afraid if I dare to open myself up again, it will be there, waiting in the dark.

Still, I'm getting a little tired of waking up to a mess or having loud bangs and clangs shatter my already frayed nerves.

Finally, after he knocks my tray of neatly organized wingnuts off the work table, I lose my temper and yell at him and he quiets down.

At least, until I'm changing the oil on a classic Chevy Impala and he decides to tip over the oil tray.

As the black oil spreads across the floor of the garage, I scramble from beneath the vehicle, knock my forehead on the bumper and let loose with a torrent of profanity.

When I run out of air, I kick the overturned pan myself, for good measure and stomp over to the wall cabinets to look for the box of cat litter I keep on hand for just this eventuality.

Retrieving it, I return to the spill and swear again.

The viscous black liquid is following a very strange path across the concrete, like a tiny meandering river and is seeping into the crack in the floor.

"Motherfucking son of a bitch," I hiss as I splash cat litter over what little of the spill remains.

A host of random fears cross my mind.

What if it gets in the water table?

Could they trace it back to me?

Spring Lakes is a pretty environmentally conscious town and there are all kinds of regulations about things like this.

Could I lose my business license if someone finds out?

"Fucking hell, Kyle. I swear to God if you weren't already dead I'd kill you myself."

Ian was right about this damn crack.

I should have had it patched months ago but it was barely noticeable then and I hadn't wanted to bother Lucille about it.

It's widened and spread since, in fact it seems to have widened since yesterday and now it's spreading.

Frowning, I trace a hairline fracture that branches off from the main crack before curving back to rejoin it.

Experimentally, I push on it and sure enough it moves.

The crack goes all the way through the slab.

'Fuck.'

Sighing, I get up and grab a crowbar from a rack on the wall.

At least I can get the oil out of there before it sinks into the soil.

I work the tip of the bar into the crack and gradually lift the block.

To my surprise, the slab is only six-inches thick, perfectly fine for most domestic garages but for a working one like this, I'd expect at least nine.

No wonder it cracked.

Sweating and swearing, I roll the twenty-pound, shoe-box sized block aside and check what lies beneath.

I'm hoping for hard-packed earth that will make scraping up the oil an easy job.

What I see instead has me falling back on my ass in surprise.

Suddenly, Kyle's haunting makes a lot more sense.

Scrambling to my feet, I stumble across the garage and grab my cell-phone, heedless of the oil smeared on my hands and call John.

He answers immediately, as if he'd been staring at his phone, waiting to see my name.

"Carlos. Everything okay?"

"Not really," I say, a little breathlessly.

"You need to get over here."

"Where you at?"

Calm and even, despite its urgency, his tone soothes my nerves.

"Home. The garage."

"Are you safe?"

"Yeah. I just... I found something."

"What?"

"Bones. Under the floor. I don't know for sure but... I'm willing to bet they belong to Kyle's parents."

********

My garage is a crime scene and once again I'm packing a bag, though this time not to stay with John.

The department will put me up in a hotel.

Meanwhile, crime scene tape stretches across the garage door and someone has brought in a jackhammer to break up the rest of the floor.

Forensics is standing by with evidence bags designed for human remains, one of which contains the skull I'd discovered.

I watch as John works, giving orders and observing his team.

When he finishes, he walks over to where I wait beside his vehicle.

"We need to talk to Lucille," he says.

"Find out when this floor was installed."

"You think she'll cooperate?"

He shrugs.

"I've got an emergency warrant on the way. Latoya's bringing it. Hopefully her husband kept good records and she'll hand them over willingly. We'll search her house, regardless. You wanna come?"

I consider for a moment, squinting against the glare of sunlight as I observe the busy scene in and around my garage. It's like something from a movie, sort of unreal.

"Sure," I say.

"I get the feeling Kyle wants me to see this through. If those bones belong to his parents, then either Lucille or her husband killed them. I owe it to him to help put them and him, to rest and hopefully get some justice for what happened to them."

He nods and raises his hand as if to rest it on my shoulder or back but lets it fall without touching me.

"You're a good man, Carlos. I think Kyle knows that."

I laugh.

"Nah. I'm just a guy who can see ghosts who happens to work in the garage where his parents were buried."

"That's sick though. If Lucille knew, especially if she had anything to do with it, sending him to work for you."

"She must have known," I say.

"It makes sense now why she wouldn't let me do any repairs without her permission. She must have been scared I'd find something."

"Yeah. Come on, let's pay her a visit before she gets wind that something's up. Maybe we can take her by surprise."

It's only a half-mile walk to Lucille's house but I get in the passenger side of John's car and let him drive.

At the top of the hill where she lives, he parks in front of her house and takes a moment to inspect our surroundings.

As usual, the neighborhood is quiet.

The rows of houses... some older, some new... are neat and tidy, with little patches of green lawn out front and not a speck of faded or cracked paint in sight.

Except for Lucille's old Victorian, that is.

"Weird that she wouldn't pay to have someone fix up her place," I remark as we get out and climb the steps to the front porch.

"No weirder than finding skeletons under the garage. Maybe she's got more skeletons to hide, literal or otherwise."

He rings the bell and waits.

No one answers.

He rings it again, then knocks on the door and calls Mrs. Peters' name.

We wait again and he swears as he checks his watch.

"Fuck. Where is Latoya?"

"What about, like 'probable cause' or whatever? Don't you cops use that to bust into people's homes all the time?"

"Not 'all the time' but yeah. Sometimes."

He leans and attempts to peer in through the window beside the door.

I do the same but can't see anything past the lacy curtains.

"Fuck it. Let's do it."

He tries the handle and finds it locked but one ram of his shoulder splinters the frame.

He pushes it open, one hand on his holstered weapon.

"Mrs. Peters? Lucille? This is Detective Turner, SLPD. We're coming in."

The interior of the house is quiet, cold and dark.

It feels like the heat hasn't been on in a few days.

"I don't think she's here," I whisper.

Room by room, calling out repeatedly to announce and identify himself as he goes, John makes his way through the lower floor of the house.

I trail after him, eyes and ears alert but detect nothing.

John climbs the stairs.

I follow, my heart beating a quick tempo in my chest and hang back a little as he checks Kyle's room.

"Nothing. What else is up here?"

"A spare bedroom and a bath," I say, pointing down the hall.

John checks the first room, flicking on the light.

It's full of boxes but otherwise empty.

Then he tries the bathroom.

"It's stuck," he says.

"Some kinda seal on the door. Hang on."

Using his shoulder again, he forces it open.

I hear something like tape ripping free from the inside of the frame and then the smell hits me.

Reeling back a pace, I gag.

John covers his mouth and nose with his sleeve and bravely pushes the door wide.

Even from a few steps back, I have a pretty good view and no desire for a closer look.

Lucille lies in the bathtub, bathing in a congealed soup of her own blood.

Symbols drawn in blood mark the walls and from the cuts marking her body, I know we just found the victim of the second Feast.

"She's deceased," John says, having confirmed this and re-shutting the bathroom door to help contain the smell.

"Looks like she died a few days ago."

"No shit, Sherlock," I whisper.

"It also looks like she did it to herself."

"What?"

"The tape sealing the door. It had to have been done from the inside."

"What about the window?"

"Too small."

"Fuck. What the fuck is going on, John?"

"Fucked if I know," he says, unclipping his radio to call in the second gruesome find of the day.

"But there goes our case."

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achronicleofblasphemy · 9 months ago

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🎶More! More! More! How do you like it? How do you like it?🎶

Here is the last one for now. I'll be putting another up over the next couple weeks.

Chapter 2: Evie finds herself incapable of connecting with anyone at her new school. After willfully getting expelled from three elite private schools over the past two years, she finds her hope of finding some like-minded people dashed. It appears that all people want is just to be a part of the world she is trying to escape. That is, until a saddening circumstance offers her the opportunity to step out of herself and help someone else.

A Chronicle

Of Blasphemy -

Chapter 2.

Evie’s Memory - Age 12.

“Before we begin, who can tell me the major differences between a talisman and an enchantment?” Mr. Parvin asked the class.

Evie waited for any one to raise their hand. She was astounded that they were even discussing this in sixth grade. The private schools she had previously attended managed to integrate the basic principles of channeling and activating into their learning plans since her first year of school. Mr. Parvin knew what her father did for a living and left his sweeping gaze on her slightly longer than the rest.

Evie didn’t want the class to know anything about how wealthy her family was, or that her father curated rare talisman to sell to an elite list of private clientele. They would eventually. After enough classmates showed off their new enchanted gadgetry and asked why she had none of it. One of them would put the pieces together. They’d find out she was rich. They’d notice she used a talisman. They’d view her as something special. Ideal. She knew better though.

A small mousy looking girl with thick bushy hair raised her hand.

“Bailey to the rescue once again! For the edification of all of us Bailey, please tell us the major differences between a Talisman and an enchantment.” Mr. Parvin requested.

“A Talisman is traditionally an artifact that has been affected by, or involved in, an event or act of great magical power or historical importance. The part about historical importance is weird. Like, all great magical events needed to have some great push of arcane force to even be considered “great”, you know? But the weird thing is some artifacts have started oscillating centuries after showing no signs of being able to channel anything. It’s super rare, and no one’s really sure why? Some scientists say it’s like a matter of a society, or religion, or culture, or just like a large group of people or something, changing how they view their history. It's super dumb. Like you can’t say something like “faith gave this magic.”.”

“Faith is an interesting way of putting it.” Mr. Parvin commented. He leaned up against his desk facing the class.

“Ya, but I can’t like, believe my pencil can channel a shielding spell and it’ll do it.” Bailey retorted sarcastically. The class laughed, including Evie.

“No! If you alone could believe hard enough to do something like that, we’d be living in a very different world wouldn’t we? The truly insane would be ushering their madness into our reality. It’s not just belief or an act of will. Which leads us to the third and least common of all types of Talisman. Or did you forget Bailey?” Mr. Parvin teased.

“No! I just hadn’t gotten to it yet!” Bailey exclaimed urgently. “The third, and yes it has been documented periodically throughout history, but the third and rarest and weakest form of a Talisman is one of significant personal importance to an individual. It can only be used by them and is totally worthless to anyone else.”

“I wouldn’t say worthless. Baroness Madeleine Du Kompf’s bejeweled and golden scepter is far from worthless. But I understand what you’re saying. Excellent Bailey, as usual.” Mr. Parvin said. He once again scanned the class and this time rested his eyes on Evie. “Evaunsheil, you’ve been quiet your first week, can you tell us anything about enchantments? Evaunsheil? Did I say that right?”

Evie felt a phantom of unease cover her entire body. She looked down at her desk blankly.

“Its fine, it’s a made-up name anyway. I prefer Evie.” She muttered.

“All names have to start somewhere.” Mr. Parvin shrugged. “Evie it is.” He waited for her to give any indication of a willingness to participate. There was a brief pause and Evie let out a long sigh before beginning.

“Enchantments are objects imbued with magical capabilities. These are almost wholly utilized for utilitarian purposes and can only be used in accordance with the enchantment or enchantments imbued. While a Talisman allows for an individual to channel arcane energies, an enchantment is activated via simple incantation or a minor channeling of arcane force on the user's end to power the object. The most common forms of enchantment include markets such as communication, transportation, data entry and analyzation, various household items such as sanitation, cooking. . .”

“Alright!” Mr. Parvin interrupted gleefully. “Very well said. Maybe a little too academic for some of the class but I’m impressed. Well done.”

Bailey shot her arm up.

“Yes Bailey.” Mr. Parvin acknowledged.

“Constructs are also enchantments. Portals, energy grids. . .” She began

“Thank you, Bailey, and yes to a certain extent, but that is heading closer into things like rune smithing, points of power and the need for powerful magical shielding against dangerous amounts of arcane force. Today we are discussing simple items that we use in our daily lives to enhance our quality of life. Excellent, both of you." Mr. Parvin said.

Evie had felt a rush of engagement when Bailey mentioned Constructs. Mr. Parvin was right to correct her, but she hated having to sit there and listen to the silence of an uninterested class while the teacher talked about things she already knew.

Mr. Parvin walked over to the white board and waved his finger in front of it to write out “Talisman” and “Enchantment” with a black line separating the two.

“Ok. Who here uses an enchantment?” He asked the class. Everyone shot their hands up, including Evie. Mr. Parvin turned back to the white board and wrote “everyone”, and then turned back to the class.

“Who here uses a Talisman?” he asked. No one raised their hand.

“I probably couldn’t even use a Talisman. My mom has a lot of elvish on her side so I’m like super sensitive to that stuff.” A girl prattled on to her friend. Evie ate alone as she had the past three days since starting at Ward 3 – Kearns Secondary. The girl and boy next to her were in her class and never once had they uttered a word in there. Out here they wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

“Oh my god I know. Could you imagine having to carry like a big wooden staff or something? I could never.” The boy mindlessly contributed.

“Mine would be a crown.” The girl stated miming out the placement of her contradiction upon the top of her head.

“Ya, totally.” The boy agreed unsarcastically.

It had been a glorious victory for Evie to be enrolled in public school. She had worked tirelessly to be expelled from every private school her father threw at her:

Andover School of Math and Science: Mild arson in the Gym. Fucking fascists.

Rosemary Mann Academy of Arts and Letters: Slashed all the teacher’s tires in the parking lot. Damn hippies.

Fishburne Service Academy: Blackmailed the teacher to flunk her out of school. Those fuckers didn’t give up easy.

She was deeply proud of her accomplishments, but now being here she was gravely disappointed. She had hoped she might find some comradery in her fascination with Places of Power, Constructs, and the building blocks of engineering. She only found the same ignorant conversations about “magical sensitivity” and elvish heritage. These two kids didn’t even know the extent of it. The students at Andover, even Rosemary Mann, would eat them alive. The lie they so willingly believed was just another part of her family’s, and other families like hers, generational predation. It wasn’t even a good one. It was easily contested, proven to be inaccurate, and just required a modicum of dignity to overcome. It appeared to her, now most of all, that people just wanted any excuse to feel superior.

“I’m actually related to Baroness Du Kompf.” Said the girl.

“No way! That’s crazy.” The boy responded.

Evie actually knew the Du Kompfs. Or rather, had met several members of the extensive family at the stuck-up galas her parents forced her to go to.

“Excuse me, sorry, but did you say you’re related to the Du Kompfs?” Evie asked, feigning excitement to grab their attention. The girl suddenly looked uncomfortable when she realized someone besides the two of them were listening to the conversation.

“I mean, ya, but like distantly you know? She’s like my great, great, great, great aunt. Or something.” She replied with a sharp antagonized tone. The boy next to her nodded in agreement. Evie didn’t believe her, but the girl obviously wanted to be a part of the world she came from, and she was more than happy to oblige her in this life lesson.

“I went to Andover with Ari Du Kompf!” Evie exclaimed excitedly. This was true, and she liked Ari. They were friends in kindergarten and first grade. Until her father embezzled a large sum of money and they had to relocate back home to the Caspian Republic.

“You went to Andover? Why are you here?” the boy asked skeptically. Evie didn’t appreciate the newfound discernment. He’d been so willing to accept the nonsense spouted by his harebrained friend, why was her own life so unbelievable?

“I didn’t enjoy the education they offered. I wanted somewhere that focused on things like Engineering, Constructs, Points of Power and all that.” Evie replied truthfully.

The two of them looked at her as if she’d just told them she ate from the trash.

“Isn’t Andover a math and science school?” the boy asked her incredulously.

“Right, but it's more in line with corporate markets, political sciences, asset management, and stuff like that. The only time they ever really get close to something like engineering is when discussing demographic economics, and its glanced over as something other people do.” She explained. It was lost on them.

“Wait, so are your parents like rich?” The girl asked her. She recognized the hungry look of envious admiration. She despised it.

“Oh yaaaa. But wait, so, do you know Ari?” Evie replied, trying her best to match their asinine cadence. The girl nodded her head enthusiastically. Her eyes offered no spark of recognition but swallowed her whole with a covetous yearning.

“I was so sorry to hear about the accident.” Evie lied.

“Uh, oh with Ari?! I know, it’s awful.” The girl replied instantly, leaning in past her friend to get closer to Evie.

“And that poor horse, and Romero!”

“Oh my god, I know.”

“That fire went on way too long, didn’t it?”

“Riiight?”

“Dongwagler’s up in smoke, and just like, poof! No more pistachio ice cream.”

“So fucked.”

“Westminster will never be the same. I don’t even think it's worth going this season.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh my god how could you even?” the boy agreed. Evie couldn’t believe it. Nothing would stop them from trying to envelop themselves in the same bullshit that her world had convinced everyone else was true.

“Dongwagler’s? Really?” She sneered. The two of them took a moment. Upon realizing they’d been duped they sneered back at her and called her weird. They blocked her off but made sure to speak loud enough so they could hear them laughing at her.

She wasn’t hungry anymore and everyone else was boring. She gathered her unfinished lunch and went for a walk.

She had spent a fair amount of time wandering the halls alone since arriving at Ward 3 - Kearns Secondary. The VCT flooring was polished daily but covered in scratches that created random pockets of curved light that hurt her eyes. Some of the Azure colored lockers were new, but Evie suspected the school had been forced to replace them. Even the school colors, Azure and Maize, were uncreative and the use of blue and gold, in some variation of the shade, was used by at least three other schools in the area. The surrounding grounds were almost exclusively for sports and there was no area to wander and clear your head. It was a far step from the meticulously maintained and manicured schools she had attended before. She missed the way Andover smelled. The design of it allowed for fresh air to flow through, carrying the smell of lilacs and freesias from the grounds. Everything here either smelled aged, used, or somehow a too sterile version of nothing.

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Shut up!”

Evie heard yelling and then a series of “Ows!” and “Stops!” from down the hall. She hurried down to the bathroom she could hear them from. When she entered she saw two kids hanging back in the center of the room, one with a backpack and the other nursing a bloody nose. A third kid standing by the far wall and wearing a fitted ball cap, twisted the arm of someone she recognized from class.

The bullied kid’s clothes were oversized, and a sharp scent of stale sweat emanated from them. Their long hair was greasy, and they needed to be wearing deodorant but weren’t. Their shoes looked a little too large as well. Evie could see the sole and heel were separating as their bent knees clenched with the rest of their body with the pain being inflicted on them.

“Where is it bitch?!” the kid wearing the fitted ball cap demanded, as they twisted the other kid’s arm. The kid squealed in pain and the bully slapped the back of their head saying, “Stop whining!”

“Haha! Bro! He needs to hold up his pants cause their so fucking big! Buy some pants that fit dumbass!” The kid with the backpack ridiculed.

Evie had seen enough. She channeled a high-powered soldering spell into her right pointer finger using the bracelet talisman her father had given her. She didn’t know any form of self defense, but she’d secretly learned some DIY mechanic and construction spells in a book she’d secretly ordered. She stepped up behind the kid with the backpack and swiped her finger against their right backpack strap. The kid jumped away feeling the heat of it.

“What the fuck!?” they cried out.

Evie held out the white-hot point of heat in front of her. She’d never held the spell for this long. She was trying to focus on shielding her flesh from the heat and looking as intimidating as possible. The kid with the fitted cap let go of the poor kid’s arm and they scurried off into the corner on the far right of the room near the stalls.

“My dads are cops!” the kid with the fitted cap threatened. Their wide eyes remained fixated on the ball of white heat at the tip of Evie’s finger.

Evie gave the threat no mind. She could feel her finger getting warmer and needed to focus. She stepped closer to the kid with the backpack, and they moved closer to the far wall. They bumped into the kid with the fitted cap, and she waved her finger at them. They continued their retreat and the kid with the bloody nose ran out of the bathroom. Evie could hear their hurried footsteps echoing down the hall. The kid with the fitted cap looked as though they were going to make a run for it too, but they were the one Evie wanted. She rushed at them and corralled them in the far-left corner near the sinks. The poor kid remained at the opposite end nursing their arm and looking on with paralyzed anxiety.

��Stop! Stop!” The fitted cap kid yelled.

Evie tried to ignore the burning ache she was feeling on the tip of her finger. The muscles in her forearm were tensing up. Her body wasn’t used to channeling magic for this long. She stepped closer to them ignoring the growing discomfort.

“What do you want?!” The kid with the backpack cried out. Evie stopped and an evil grin cracked across her face.

“Oh, I’m getting what I want.” She replied maliciously.

“Help! Help!” the boy with the fitted cap cried out.

The sound of running footsteps came rushing down the hall. Evie dispelled the soldering spell and rushed back to where the injured kid was standing. They stepped away from Evie, cautious of her. A rather large teacher with a corny floral dress came barging into the bathroom. Evie recognized her as Ms. Farwell, an art teacher. The kid with the bloody nose trailed behind her. She scanned the room from the two kids at one end near the sinks, to Evie and the poor kid at the otherside near the stalls. She stared at the poor kid a moment and her face took on a doleful saddened expression. She sighed a resigned sigh and eyed the two kids near the sink with unhidden disdain.

“Are you alright Cyrano?” She asked the kid holding their wounded arm.

Evie was used to being in the principal’s office. If anything, being sent there had been the primary drive of her educational experience over the past two years. Ms. Farwell had contacted the school security with the sending amulet that also acted as her teacher’s lanyard. Security had teleported there in an instant and took the two injured students to the nurse’s office. Evie hadn’t mentioned her burned finger.

Her and the two uninjured kids were questioned individually. Evie didn’t like lying but was far too familiar with how school “incidents” worked to want to tell the truth. The whole truth anyway. She told them what she saw when she walked in. That part was true. She then weaved a story about her pleading with the bullies and them laughing and tormenting poor helpless Cyrano even more. “Out of spite!” She told them. She said she had been the one who cried for help not Liam, and once they heard Ms. Farwell’s footsteps the bullies retreated to the other side of the room. She wasn’t sure if they’d bought it, she’d been a little too flamboyant in her description of things.

This principal’s office was shabby. The lighting here was awful. It was dark, drab, and the only personal touches consisted of a few much younger pictures of them after their top surgery had healed. She sat in a chair, next to Cyrano, that needed new padding. She was nervous. She was always nervous in the principal’s office, but it was more due to the looming feeling of knowing her father was coming.

Before this school, she had never been afraid of the impotent power of the administration. The worst they could do was exactly what she wanted. This time was different. A deal was a deal, she’d attend this school and cause no trouble whatsoever, or her father would call in all his favors and she’d go back to Andover. “And finish school. Period.” She couldn’t get expelled from here. She’d worked so hard to distance herself from the predatory, self-absorbed, and completely fake world her parents wanted for her. Even though the school wasn’t in any way what she had hoped for, she wouldn’t give her father the satisfaction of winning.

A moaning gurgle of hunger came from Cyrano’s belly. It was somewhat concerning in its volume.

“Are you alright?” Evie asked him.

“I’m fine.” Cyrano meekly replied. He kept his eyes to the ground and the arm the nurse had healed rested limply over his belly. His eyes were listless and gray bags hung beneath them. He didn’t seem to be focusing on anything. Then it struck her, had he had anything to eat at lunch? She grabbed her 3 tier tiffin lunch box with an elegant floral design hand painted on it. Today Chef had made her daal and jasmine rice with naan.

“Are you hungry? I barely touched it. It's good though.” She opened the daal tin and the creamy spiced smell of the lentil dish wafted through the office. Cyrano’s eyes widened and their stomach growled lustfully. Without waiting for a response Evie placed all three tins next to each other on the principal’s desk. She handed Cyrano her dirty spoon and Cyrano began devouring the food with a distressing urgency.

Before Cyrano finished Principal Hezkeia came in. He carried two large files and sniffed the air as he walked to his desk. Upon hearing him enter the room Cyrano stopped eating and leaned back into his chair fondling the spoon. Principal Hezkeia sat behind his desk and saw the beautifully designed tiffin tins lining the edge. He stared at them, and then eyed Cyrano who stared at his lap, rolling the handle of the spoon in their hand.

“Uhh. . .” Principal Hezkeia muttered.

“Sorry.” Cyrano apologized before Principal Hezkeia could gather his thoughts. Principal Hezkeia gave a small sigh and stared at Cyrano with the same sad look Ms. Farwell had given him.

“No, please eat Cyrano.” He said and placed the two large folders on his desk. Cyrano leaned over and grabbed the larger tin with the daal and sat back in his chair slowly eating small spoonfuls with an embarrassed look aimed at the ground.

Principal Hezkeia rapped his fingers on his desk and let out another sigh, this time of deep seeded frustration. He brought his gaze to Evie, who was very familiar with the energy of an adult about to give her what for. Principal Hezkeia looked back at the tins and nodded to whatever conclusion he had come to in his head.

“Thank you for sharing your lunch, Evaunsheil.” He said and then opened a file. It was half an inch thick and as he flipped through it, Evie noticed the watermark of Fishburne Service Academy on one of the pages. Her nerves were on edge. She was going to be expelled. After all the destruction she had caused no school was going to put up with her. The only place that would even pretend to want her as a student was the one her father would build a whole new wing for. Bribery was the only way.

“Forgive me Principal Hezkeia, but before we begin, I’ve noticed some of the lockers have been replaced and others haven’t?” Evie asked rhetorically.

Principal Hezkeia looked up from his folder and looked at Evie not knowing where this was going.

“I’d be more than happy to speak with my father to see if he might be willing to help quicken the pace of replacing the older ones.” She offered with the most amicable tone she could muster.

Principal Hezkeia cracked a knowing half grin.

“If I feel the need to ask him when he gets here I will. Thank you for the offer though Evaunsheil.” He coolly replied.

Fuuuuuccccckkkkkkk!!! Evie screamed in her brain.

“Thank you.” Cyrano shyly thanked Evie. He gently rested the empty tin back on the desk. Evie resigned back into her chair and gave a good long look at the kid sitting next to her.

“You can finish the rest if you want. The rice is cooked with coconut milk.” She offered. Cyrano looked up at Principal Hezkeia.

“Go ahead bud. My office can take it. Haha.” Principal Hezkeia laughed.

Evie watched a light of pleasure glimmer in his eyes. He embarrassedly took the tin, took a bite, and smiled. Watching the transformation take place gave Evie a shelter to escape her fraying nerves.

“So, do you know why I asked both of you here together?” Principal Hezkeia asked. Cyrano paused his joyful eating and both kids shook their heads.

“Evaunsheil . . .” Principal Hezkeia began.

“Evie, please Principal Hezkeia, call me Evie.” Evie corrected politely.

Principal Hezkeia nodded in agreement.

“Evie, you have a past of. . . disorderly conduct, and have gone through three schools in the past two years. Highly regarded institutions that may not need to put up with. . . more temperamental students.” He paused to ensure Evie was giving him her undivided attention.

She nodded In acknowledgement.

“We are not as unfamiliar with that kind of behavior. However, considering you are a new student I am willing to give you the benefit of a doubt. This time.” Principal Hezkeia let the warning sink in.

Evie looked down and acknowledged the warning with a more robust series of nods.

“Thank you Principal Hezkeia.” Evie replied earnestly.

He turned his gaze to Cyrano and took a deep breath in.

“The reason I asked Evie to join us, Cyrano, is because Durrin is claiming you used a force spell to break his nose. Now. . .” He paused, finding the words, “You know how familiar I am with your history with Liam, Durrin, and Miguel. But we can't have students breaking other students' noses.” He paused again to let the words sink in.

Cyrano nodded.

“Now, while Mr. Valin was healing your arm you told him it was an accident, and we are aware of that, but you also said you used a talisman?” Principal Hezkeia asked not hiding his puzzlement.

Evie's head shot back in surprise and she turned to Cyrano. Cyrano put the rice back on the desk. He fiddled with his stained oversized shirt. She hadn’t noticed before but he had a tattered white one over another shirt. Its collar was frayed, and parts of it were a shade of yellow from sweat stains. There was a burn mark down near the bottom and a couple black grease stains in the center. Cyrano nodded in agreement to Principal Hezkeia’s question. Both he and Evie looked at each other uncertain of the validity of what Cyrano claimed.

“Evie’s father is an expert in Talisman. Isn’t that right?” Principal Hezkeia asked Evie. She nodded back in agreement.

“This one’s mine.” She said to Cyrano, showing him her thin silver bracelet with elvish runes exquisitely carved in. Cyrano didn’t pay the bracelet much mind. Instead he looked at her with a sense of awe.

“So Evie here can help us. . . better understand what your talisman is.” Principal Hezkeia suggested.

“Sure, I don’t mind.” Evie agreed. She cocked her head towards Cyrano who was now looking gloomily into his lap while he played with his shirt.

“So Cyrano, would you be willing to show us the talisman you found?” Principal Hezkeia asked. Cyrano furrowed his brow and brought his chin to his chest. His long unwashed hair covered his face but Evie could see glistening tears falling onto his shirt.

“Hey bud, it's ok. No one here is mad at you.” Principal Hezkeia consoled. Cyrano clenched his fists and shook his head. Evie thought he looked like a toddler trying to keep it together. She found it entirely off putting, but she needed this. If she could prove to principal Hezkeia that she was an asset it would be a way into his good graces.

“How bout this, my mom taught me an old elvish spell that allows us to link and see what the other is feeling. It only works with talismans because they’re attuned to us. I just need to touch your hand and we can see if that works?” Evie suggested. Principal Hezkeia silently agreed. Cyrano shook his head.

“No! You can’t read my mind!” Cyrano cried.

“No, no, no! I’m not gonna read your mind. Just surface level feelings. I won’t know why you’re feeling them, just what they are.” Evie clarified. Cyrano thought about it.

“Ok.” He acquiesced. Evie reached out her hand, palm up, for Cyrano to touch. He hesitated for a moment, catching his breath and wiping away his tears. He dried his hand and rested it on top of Evie’s. Evie recited the chant in her mind. Once. Twice. Three times. Suddenly a suffocating wave of heartbreak crashed in her mind. She immediately pulled her hand back. The feeling lingered in her like a cat kneading its claws before laying its burdening weight atop her mind. She was tearing up. She sniffled and wiped away the tears hanging in her eyes.

“It's real.” She confirmed through stuttering breath.

Principal Hezkeia stared at both of them speechless.

“Sorry.” Cyrano apologized to Evie.

“No! No! You’re fine. Well, obviously you’re not fine! I mean, shit. Sorry!” She floundered, trying to apologize to both Cyrano for her rude comment and Principal Hezkeia for swearing. Principal Hezkeia didn’t give any indication of caring about the swearing as he sat there in deep contemplation. He cleared his throat.

“Bud, I need to know what it is and where you got it.” He insisted.

“No. I can’t. I promised.” Cyrano pleaded.

“I promise I won’t get mad, but please I need to know how you got a hold of a talisman.” Principal Hezkeia pressed.

“He told me not to tell.” Cyrano’s eyes bulged and panic stopped his breath. Evie could tell he wanted to take back what it was he shouldn’t have said. She looked to principal Hezkeai for context but he had the same panicked expression.

“Him? Cyrano, did you see your dad?” He asked almost whispering as if saying it too loudly would make it real.

“No! No! I didn’t say that! I didn’t say that!” Cyrano yelled. His face was turning red with anger and he threw himself into the back of his seat with his arms folded tightly around him. He was simultaneously fuming and weeping. He pulled his legs up into his shirt and against his chest then covered the rest of himself with it like a tent. Evie could hear him trying not to cry inside.

“Evie, could you wait outside for a moment please?” Principal Hezkeai requested. Evie looked at the dirty ball of tremoring sorrow sitting next to her.

“I don’t think he should be alone.” She found herself saying.

“He won’t be alone, I’ll be here. Please go wait outside.” Principal Hezkeai sternly repeated.

“No, ya, of course, but. . . I’d like to help, if I can.” Evie offered. Principal Hezkeai let out a deep frustrated sigh. Evie met his gaze to show she was not going to budge willingly. In the friendliest way possible of course.

“I appreciate you trying to help, I do. But this is a conversation I need to have with Cyrano in private. You cannot be here, and I need to do my job. You need to leave.” Principal Hezkeai firmly but gently told Evie.

It felt as if he had gently rested his powerful hand on her shoulder, to show the authoritative weight he commanded. It was clear she had no choice. She got up, and for a moment, she wanted to rest her hand on Cyranos curved back. But she didn’t know him and he was trying to fight against some great weight she was foreign to.

“I’ll be right outside.” She told him and headed towards the door.

She heard the rustling of hair and fabric. As she looked back and closed the door she saw Cyrano watching back at her.

Evie came out into the office lobby and saw a pretty blond woman talking with the secretary Mx. Whitfield. They talked in urgent hushed tones and stopped the moment they heard her come out. She looked at them suspiciously and took a seat on one of the blue plastic chairs that lined the walls across from Mx. Whitfield’s desk. They watched her sit down and the pretty blond woman came and sat next to her.

“Are you ok sweety?” She asked Evie. Evie didn’t understand why she was asking her that.

“Ya, kind of.” Evie replied.

“Kind of? Ya, I’m sure. We some yelling in there.” The blond woman said. She seemed sincere, but Evie didn’t like eavesdroppers.

“Who are you?” She asked warily.

“Sorry! I’m Ms. Madison. I help Cyrano when he’s having a rough day.” She reached her hand out to shake Evie’s. Evie took it and eased up on her suspicions.

“Evie. You help Cyrano?”

“When he needs it. We usually just go for a walk around campus until he can calm down or to just get away. How are you? It sounded like a lot was going on in there.”

Evie thought about it for a moment.

“Who’s Cyrano’s dad?”

Ms. Madison leaned back from her engaged position. She was much better at hiding her distress than the other adults, but Evie could still pick up on the alarms firing off in her brain.

“He saw his dad?” Ms. Madison asked.

Evie nodded in response. Ms. Madison turned her head to Mx. Whitfield and they exchanged an unspoken line of seething anger underneath their calm and professional demeanors. Ms. Madison turned back to Evie with a fake smile barely covering her distress. Before she could open her mouth the sound of heavy boots announced the arrival of a police officer walking into the room.

“Excuse me, but we asked you and Liam to wait in 5b.” Mx. Whitfield told the officer. The officer looked around the room and didn’t immediately respond to Mx. Whitfield’s comment.

“Mr. Falstead.” Mx Whitfield called with a raised voice.

“Liam said he saw Cyrano talking with his father out by the football bleachers. I need to question him about the interaction.” Mr. Falstead stated while staring at Principal Hezkeai’s door. Ms. Madison leapt from her seat and stood between him and the path to the principal’s office.

“Hi, I’m Ms. Madison, I’m Cyrano’s caregiver here at school. Is Cyrano under arrest?” She asked Officer Falstead. Evie leapt from her seat.

“What?! That’s not right! Liam hurt him! He didn’t do anything!” She yelled at Officer Falstead. Mx. Whitfield and Ms. Madison were taken aback by her willingness to confront him. Both couldn’t help a small smile of admiration. Officer Falstead looked down at her and didn’t pay her much mind.

“He’s not under arrest but I do need to question him about the potential whereabouts of his father.” Officer Falstead replied to Ms. Madison.

“Ok, well he’s a minor, and you can’t question him until one of his foster parents gets here.” Ms. Madison reminded him. Officer Falstead finally gave her his attention. He was a very large man, at least six feet. He had a barrel chest and his rolled-up sleeves showed his powerful muscular forearms. The sound of his thick leather boot tapping against the VCP flooring was the only sound anyone made for several seconds.

“It’s been several hours since the incident. They have shown zero willingness to come forward with the truth. If they don’t willingly cooperate with me as law enforcement, I’ll be forced to detain them.” Officer Falstead claimed while staring Ms. Madison dead in the eyes with a flat emotionless face. Ms. Madison and Mx. Whitfield looked like they were going to slap him.

Before anyone could react, Evie saw her dad step between her and Officer Falstead. The simmering hatred growing inside of her for the policeman had distracted her from anything else. Upon seeing him she instinctively sat in her seat with her hands folded in her lap.

“My daughter will not be answering any questions without our lawyer present.” Evie’s father stated a mere eight inches from Officer Falstead’s face. Officer Falstead took several steps back and stared at Evie’s father deeply confused. Then he realized who she was and who he was speaking with and his face contorted to unmasked rage.

“That’s your daughter?” Officer Falstead asked with simmering anger.

“She is.” Evie’s father replied coolly.

“Your daughter attacked my son!” Officer Falstead exclaimed.

“Allegedly. The belief of a beat officer and the word of his boy isn't evidence of anything.” Evie's father retorted calmly. Officer Falstead scoffed at his arrogance.

“Ya? And who are you?” Officer Falstead demanded to know.

“Sir Lysanthir Silduin, and I bought your costume so you may play “protect and serve” for a living.” Sr. Silduin said authoritatively.

Officer Falstead obviously recognized the name and Evie’s eyes burned into him with venomous joy. She usually hated the way her father inflated his own importance. He was college friends with the governor, was a regular fixture at the mayor’s campaign fundraisers, and knew the sheriff personally, but he’d only donated twelve thousand at a charity gala for the police force last year. Far from purchasing every cop in the city's uniform. This time however, watching him in his lithe stately posture with his thin flat white hair, staring down an armed and imposing man, gave her the tingling of a daughter’s love. Ms. Madison and Mx. Withfield could see the fearless, if not entitled, resemblance.

“My apologies Mr. Silduin. . .” Officer Falstead began.

“Sir.” Sir Silduin corrected him. He raised his eyebrows as if to say “Try again.”

“Apologies, Sir Silduin. . .” Officer Falstead began again before Sir Siduin interrupted him again.

“And what is your rank, Mx. . .?” Sir Silduin asked.

“Mr., please, uh, officer, sir.” Officer Falstead answered.

“Officer Sir? Hmm, a bit redundant, isn’t it?” Sir Silduin jested to Evie.

“No Sir, Officer Falstead, and my apologies for the mistake. Your daughter is not the one I need to question, but her friend. His father has multiple warrants out for his arrest and has come into contact with his son today. I have been receiving some resistance from the school administration about questioning him about the possible whereabouts of his father.” Officer Falstead clarified in one swift breath.

“Take a breath Falstead.” Sir Silduin muttered. He turned to his daughter with the same cold disappointment he gave her every time he had to come down to the principal’s office.

The principal's door opened, and Cyrano walked out to see a room full of people staring at him. Including Liam's father. The obvious panic washed over him, and, in a heartbeat, Ms. Madison was by his side. Sir Silduin looked at Cyrano, coldly assessing his raggedy presentation. Evie knew what he thought of him, nothing. He turned back to Officer Falstead.

“I'll leave you to your work Officer. Come Evaunsheil.” He commanded.

“Oh, she isn't being sent home.” Mx. Whitfield spoke up.

Sir Silduin turned on a point to them. He stared at Mx. Whitfield awaiting a greater explanation.

“Um, principal Hezkeia, would you like to clarify?” Mx. Whitfield asked, obviously intimated.

Principal Hezkeia walked right up to Sir Silduin and put out his hand. Sir Silduin took and nodded politely.

“Principal Hezkeia. Pleasure to meet you Sir Silduin. Your daughter is in no trouble. In fact, she's been quite helpful. We called you because firstly, because it's normal procedure to call the parents after an incident such as this, and secondly young Cyrano here has somehow gotten a hold of a Talisman. We're not sure how, but Evie here has confirmed for us the authenticity of it.”

“Evie has, really?” Sir Silduin replied, saying “Evie” as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. He looked down to his daughter skeptically and then returned his gaze to principal Hezkeia, allowing him to continue.

“Yes. As I've said, she's been very helpful. And, I know you're a very busy man, and I'm not wanting to impose upon you. . .”

“Forgive me Principal Hezkeia, but I believe you are about to ask me to provide my expertise to your current predicament free of charge because my daughter attends your school?” Sir Silduin inquired with a threatening air.

Principal Hezkeia swallowed his words.

“No sir. Not at all.” He backtracked.

“Now if this student is in possession of stolen property that his father asked him to hide for him, I will need you to confirm the validity of it Sir Siduin.” Officer Falstead said, seemingly finding his footing again.

Evie’s father turned to him with unfazed arrogance.

“My dad didn’t steal anything!” Cyrano yelled.

“Covering for him will only serve to put you in a detention center young man.” Officer Falstead threatened sharply.

“That’s enough Drue!” Principal Hezkeia scolded.

Ms. Madison began ushering Cyrano back into the principal’s office and Officer Falstead got on his shoulder radio to call in “potential accessory in harboring a fugitive and theft”. Principal Hezkeia marched up to him and the two of them began talking over each other right next to Sir Silduin. He turned to Evie with unmasked disgust at what he was witnessing.

“Is this what you want?” He asked her.

Evie watched Ms. Madison close the door to the principal’s office. This wasn’t what Evie wanted. This place was far from her hope of being closer to a world she deemed real. It lagged behind the trail of lies the wealthy discarded behind them like breadcrumbs to a cage. When it wasn’t repeating the same ignorance she was trying to escape, chaos triumphed over all good intentions. Especially today. What could have been solved with patience and care was threatened by blind power stalking the hopeless. Everything was boiling over and no one could stop it. Just like all the other places she’d been, she’d be better off without it. It would be easy to discard. She didn’t need to hold on to it. It was just more willingness to cling on to the lies that kept everyone in line. But Cyrano’s pain was real. She’d felt it.

“Yes.” She answered. She looked up to her father with unwavering determination.

“I’ll see you at home Evaunsheil.” Her father replied and left.

She waited for him to turn the corner and then went to Principal Hezkeia’s door. Officer Falstead was talking to dispatch over his radio as Principal Hezkeia yelled at him about conflict of interest. She drowned them out and knocked on the door. Ms. Madison opened it cautiously and let her in. She walked up to the same chair she’d been in before and sat next to Cyrano, and smiled at him.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” She said truthfully.

Cyrano smiled back.

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diinferi · 1 year ago

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ORIGINS

[DROP-IN] You have been dropped off at your chosen destination with nothing but the clothes on your back, your pre-existing knowledge of this world, and whatever equipment you have purchased. You have a few days worth of food and water, but you also have no connections to this world. On the plus side, this means you have no extraneous memories bogging you down - you are truly yourself.

LOCATION

[LOGUETOWN] A city in the East Blue, covering nearly the entire island it is on. A popular hub for those seeking to challenge the Grand Line due to its proximity to Reverse Mountain, you can likely find anything you would need for your adventure here if you look hard enough. Birthplace and execution spot of Gold Roger.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

[NAKAMA] Fate has conspired to have someone you meet early in your adventure (or someone who is already a part of your past) turn into a great friend. There is an immediate connection, and your friendship immediately runs deep. This friend will be with you through thick and thin, will never even consider betrayal, and will likely be willing to take a cannonball to the face if it means saving you. Fate gives you one friend now, but fate in this world works in mysterious ways - they may be your first true friend here, but they likely won’t be your last or only.

[SWIMMING] You are quite adept when it comes to moving in the water. You can keep your head above the water easily and can keep your cool whenever you’re in the drink. Getting thrown overboard is not a big issue for you, provided the fall doesn’t knock you out on impact. Of course, this is all moot point if you ate a Devil Fruit..

[COMBAT TRAINING] You know how to hold your own in the fight, on land or at sea, with gun or sword. Includes proper combat knowledge on how to handle a cutlass, flintlock pistol, and musket, as well as general brawling experience.

[SURVIVALIST] You know where to fish, where to find fresh water, what animals are safe to eat (and which ones will try to eat YOU), and what plants will and won’t kill you if you try to eat them. Basically, you can survive on almost any island.

[PRECISION] Your kinesthetic sense and body coordination is quite the spectacle. You can see and react to attacks coming at you much faster than most, whether in melee or at range, and can hit targets much more accurately away than the norm.

[HAKI] You have awakened the latent power of your mind, body, and spirit! This power is, to put it simply, weaponized willpower, giving any who possess it the ability to even the odds against Devil Fruit eaters by being able to deal damage to them despite whatever defenses their power may offer them (with enough training of course). Your power is still weak and will require training to perfect, but you have already show a solid grasp on the basics of Evasion and Armament Haki to the point where you could go up against a group of mooks or an evenly matched Devil Fruit eater with good odds of coming out the victor. There is said to be a secret third type of Haki that few are said to possess, but you aren’t one of these people…

ITEMS

[SWIMMING GEAR] A pair of fins, a mask, and a tank of oxygen that will last for 1 hour. Tank automatically refills while above water. Not too useful for deep-sea dives, but could be useful for shallow water exploration or fixing a ship under the water line.

[REINFORCED CLOTHING] A set of clothing appropriate to your affiliation that has been woven in such a way that it is resistant to sword cuts, thrusts, and can probably even stop the odd bullet.

[500,000 BELI] A pretty sum of money that can buy a great deal of gear to start you out on your journey.

[UNIQUE WEAPON] Melee or ranged, if you’re looking for weaponry you won’t find anywhere else, this is the place! Sea prism stone nunchucks? High-pressure water cannon? Extreme-long-range musket that can hit target on another island? If it’s within reason, you can get it here!

[DEVIL FRUIT ENCYCLOPEDIA] Heavily worn and somewhat illegible, this book holds a good deal of information on all known Devil Fruits recorded by man. The pictures are slightly faded and the writing can sometimes be hard to make out, but it gives you a good idea of which fruit does what.

[DIAL BOX] A box full of about a dozen unmarked and fragile dials. Each one likely does something different, but what they can each do is a mystery. Can perform feats like recording music, generating gases, or generating strong wind currents. Get to testing!

[MEDICAL KIT] A small medical kit with bandages, herbs, and various medical drugs. Will patch up most wounds that aren’t serious and stabilize those that are.

DRAWBACKS

[HUNGRY] After a long period of exertion or a good fight, you almost immediately hear your belly growl. While this doesn’t affect your performance, you’ll become irritable and drop nearly anything that isn’t immediately critical if it means running to the kitchen for a quick chunk of meat

[WANTED] If you are a Drop-in or Pirate-Affiliated, the World Government has placed a 100-million beli bounty on your head. If you are Marine-Affiliated, a very prominent pirate group has placed a similar bounty on you. This bounty will likely grow if you do virtually ANYTHING to make anyone mad, so be prepared for bounty hunters and do-gooder civilians to repeatedly attempt to cash in your head.

[PLOT BOUND] No matter what you try or how far you try to run, fate is determined to make you one of the main characters, minus the plot armor that typically accompanies the position. If you are a pirate, except to find yourself aiding or conflicting with the Straw Hats at every plot point from Luffy’s execution at Loguetown to the ends of the New World. As a marine, you will find yourself tasked with pursuing the Straw Hats with much the same frequency. If you are a Drop-in….god help you. Yes, you WILL be present for events such as Impel Down and the Marineford War, your presence WILL be noticed, and you will likely have to pick a side soon or risk making everyone your enemy. Completely derailing the plot will not save you, for a new one will take its place, but this time you will not have the luxury of knowing the path it takes. Avoiding minor plot points may be doable, but fate WILL find ways of forcing your presence when it demands, whether that’s Grand Line weather phenomena catapulting you across the world or a mysterious Devil Fruit eater teleporting you to where you need to be. Your safety is not guaranteed if you try to avoid the fate you have chosen...

FUTURE

[...HERE WE GO!] Another world, another adventure. When will the adventure end? Who knows! All you know is that it won’t end here. Time to pack up and see what the next world holds! You keep all your skills and gear and continue along your never-ending journey.

#one piece #jumpchain #cyoa #one piece oc #file: information #file: jumpchain #file: build #file: text #file: la exploradora

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mysticalmusicwhispers · 4 years ago

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The way I see it, they were at Yao's house in the 600s A.D. and spent a short while together. They would do some of the same assignments, but the difference is that Yao made him copy and memorize certain proverbs about "having good virtue, being patient" and whatnot over and over again when Korea got different ones or was allowed to play instead; smthn like that. It's targeting his personality based on some habits and underlying trend Yao saw, though Kiku only realized this some time later.

oh ok got you! So in that case I def agree about the teaching thing. Also ouch @ being forced to copy proverbs about patience... I feel like that’s basically writing lines, but it’s not even as a punishment for misbehaving, just Yao’s way of curbing Kiku’s ambition lol. Yao would use that though. Hhhhh I kinda like the idea of the rivalry between Kiku and Yong Soo (who I’m just gonna say is Silla) though, especially since Silla was the one to seek China out to help them conquer the Korean peninsula, and in the process killing Baekje which Japan was friends with/supported. Just adds to their animosity later on, and this favoritism thing doesn’t help that.

Also your ask reminds me of a fic I read today; the summary is that Kiku is taking the merit exams for officials in the Tang Dynasty. It doesn’t really have anything to do with Kiku being belittled? or indirectly warned by Yao via writing lines, but I think the element of Yao being patronizing and Kiku never really being enough to satisfy him is sort of related? Anyways it’s here (科挙 by jacob (stet) on AO3) if you want to take a look! It’s pretty short but I liked it

#china + japan r/ship discussion #copying 冰冻三尺非一日之寒滴水穿石铁杵磨针 doesnt sound funnnnnn #first proverb means 3 feet of ice wasnt frozen in one day #second is dripping water can drill through stone #and the third is basically if you try hard enough you can get a thick metal bat into a needle #but those are the only ones i can think of rn #aph china #hws china #aph japan #hws japan #ask musings #answered #anon ask #musings

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duskholland · 4 years ago

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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 :’)

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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.”

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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!

#tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland fluff #hockey!tomfic #tblr....please let me in the tags...? please?

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owlswritingcafe · 3 years ago

Text

Mango Yogurt Bingsu (Summertime Saddness Collab)

Warnings: MINORS AND AGELESS DNI. TIMESKIP KENMA IS USED IN THE FIC, HE IS 25 AND NOT IN HIGH SCHOOL.

Reader: Gender Neutral + AFAB Switch Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Genre: Smut, Oneshot

Content Warning + Trigger Warnings: Slight neglect (at the start), Daddy kink, exactly one (1) spank, unprotected sex, Oral sex (male receiving) while playing video games, public sex (but empty beach), cowgirl position, reader is called baby, Character might be too ooc

Summary: His face was practically a centimeter away from the screen, you were more surprised the man didn’t need any glasses because of the way he plays. Or maybe he does and has been in denial for a couple years. Either way, his eyes should be on you right now, not that damn game. Currently, you two were under the beach umbrella. The familiar voice of a certain Italian plumber accompanied by the Delfino Plaza music snuck into your ears.

Are you serious right now?

This is my Kenma contribute to the “Summertime Saddness” Collab hosted by @mitsuyaa ! The Souya/Angry fic will be posted soon after! I am honored to be a part of this collab!

After copious amounts of begging, you managed to convince your lazy boyfriend to come with you to the beach. The only condition being you driving there instead of him and honestly you would have done anything to go to the beach at the time.

You got the idea when you dropped off his usual snacks during his stream and saw his character on the beach. Even though it was all polygons and code on screen, it really did make you wish you were there too. After your boyfriend’s stream, you asked him if he wanted to go to the beach and not just virtually.

He said ‘no’.

But, that didn’t stop you from begging and bothering him for the next couple days until he finally caved in. He can only resist your big doe eyes for so long. Soon after, you bought yourself the cutest swimsuit you could find. You couldn’t wait to show Kenma and surprise him once you’re there, and while you were at it, you could collect some seashells and rocks. You could barely sleep a wink last night, you were too excited!

After all, it’s been quite a while since the two of you have been on a date. Alone at least. Yeah, you two going to conventions together would technically count as a date. But you’ve been wanting to go somewhere where it’s really just the two of you. Plus, you hated when the larger groups of people asked for a picture with your boyfriend. Yeah, it’s expected but it doesn’t make you any less annoyed when it happens.

Driving by the (surprisingly empty) beach side, the sight of it all only made you more ecstatic. You two could gather shells together, get something sweet to share, or maybe you two can go for a little swim (it is a beach after all).

But the biggest thing that’s stopping you right now…

Is your boyfriend with his nose deep in his switch.

His face was practically a centimeter away from the screen, you were more surprised the man didn’t need any glasses because of the way he plays. Or maybe he does and has been in denial for a couple years. Either way, his eyes should be on you right now, not that damn game. Currently, you two were under the beach umbrella.

The familiar voice of a certain italian plumber accompanied by the Delfino Plaza music snuck into your ears.

…

Is he being serious right now?

He is literally playing a summer beachy game while at the beach. Not only that, but he hasn’t spared you even a single glance since you two got out of the car. You had to hold his arm and guide him so he didn’t get hit by a car or something on the way from the parking lot.

“So, uh, did you wanna take a dip in the water or somethin’, kit kat?” Kenma only gave you a dismissive noise, way too focused on his game to properly answer you.

God, this was irritating you too much.

Since you’re here, you can at least get one thing off this trip’s to-do list and collect some seashells.

Coming back, you’ve managed to find quite the haul of pretty things (while also making sure none of them was something’s home). Plus, it’s been an hour, Kenma might be done playing his switch and is ready to join you!

Maybe.

…

Okay, very unlikely. But, you’d never know! There could even be the smallest chance your boyfriend finally isn’t looking at his game and-

He is still playing the game.

The same game at that. Is he mocking you at this point?

Judging by the music coming from the handheld game, he’s on one of the jet pack-less stages and the increasingly irritated expression on his face means he’s been on that stage for a while. You put the pile of shells and rocks to the side, next to the large beach towel so it won’t be in the way

“Hey, kit-kat, do you wanna go in the water now? Or maybe we can grab something sweet?” Like before, you only got a dismissive grunt in response. Albeit, a bit more grumpy sounding. You pouted, this trip was supposed to be just the two of you and now you’re a third wheel to that damn game. You can’t fully blame him when it’s at a party or something (you’ve done that before after all) but it’s just the two of you, he could at least take a break for a few hours just to spend with you!

Suddenly, the most perfect idea popped into your head. Luckily for the two of you, the beach was almost empty and you two were basically secluded from everyone. The last thing you want is for the police to arrest you two on your date for indecency…

Kenma let out a little squeak as he felt you pull down his swim trunks. For the first time since the car ride, he looked away from the game to look at what you were doing.

“Hey, wait a sec-” You cut your boyfriend off by placing a finger in his lips to shut him up and give him the most irritating smile he’s ever seen on you.

“Ken-ken, let’s play a game. If you win this stage and hold back then you can keep playing that game, but if you cum or get a game over, you need to put that away for the rest of the day ‘till we’re back home, kay?” Kenma gave you a puffed up pout in response to your sweet tone.

“Dummy, I can’t concentrate on anything, let alone the game!”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a command.

Your fake smile quickly disappeared. Only a blank expression was left on your face that practically tore into his soul. Honestly, that expression was worse than if you were just yelling at him. It’s been quite a while since you’ve gotten this irritated with him that he’s forgotten who was actually in charge in the relationship.

Kenma gulped as he restarted the stage. This was his last life. He managed to get enough just before it, but this damn stage ate through them all like it was a snack! The man shivered as he felt the air touch his dick. When was the last time he actually jacked off? He’s been with you so long that he doesn’t really do that anymore. Plus, he isn’t some hormonal teen anymore, so getting horny wasn’t something he felt often.

Well, not as often as before.

You didn’t really prepare much for this aspect of the trip, but it should be fine. You spat a hefty amount of spit onto your hand and started to gently but firmly grasp Kenma’s cock. Right now, you’re gunna focus on getting your boyfriend hard.

Unfortunately for him, that’s not going to be difficult for you. The stage just started and he’s already at full attention with just a few pumps. He doesn’t have the longest dick compared to the other boys but the girth sure as hell makes up for it. Kenma was doing his best to not just close his eyes and relish the feeling of your hand on his dick. God, has it been that long since the last time you two have done it? Looks like he’s as sensitive as his younger self, it’s like the first time you two have done the deed again.

A gasp fell from his lips as he felt the warmth of your mouth surrounding his cock. It was so wet and warm around him, he almost fell off a platform in the game. That was a close one… A second later and he would have gotten a game over. The lewd sounds you made along with the wet noises that accompanied you almost made him cum on the spot though…

Kenma can just barely make out the way you were slowly bobbing your head up and down his cock, the switch was covering most of the view for him. He would love to put it down, but knowing you, you would add another rule that he can’t watch you and force him to look at only the game.

Kenma continued through the game slowly, trying to be as cautious as possible through the stage. Honestly, he looked even more focused than any of his streams, you were worried he was going to pop a blood vessel. Or even bite his lips too hard since he’s been biting it after trying to hide that first gasp. You bobbed your head a bit faster, you could already tell he was getting closer. Kenma started to breathe faster as your pace quickened. At this rate he was going to cum soon!

In the midst of the chaos, a familiar white and green mushroom caught his eye.

Yeah! You never said how many chances he had, only if he got a game over or cums then he loses. Unfortunately for him, it requires a bit of maneuvering. If he jumps just right, he might be able to get through this.

Sike.

Kenma forgot how good you were on your end of the deal. The moment you made a little hum in your throat while sucking him off, he almost fell off the damn stage trying to get the 1-up. He’s better off not taking any detours if he wanted to actually win this game. He can practically feel the sadistic smirk you gave, you could tell by watching him that he couldn’t get something he needed.

But, he just needs to push through a bit longer. Just a few more platforms then he’ll finally beat this damn stage!

He was so close to beating it.

He was almost to the final platform to get that sunsprite, just then you started to suck his sensitive tip as your wet hand moved up and down the rest of his shaft. Your boyfriend’s last straw finally broke. His thick cum practically overflowed from your mouth and the accompanied game over music didn’t help him feel any better.

Ugh, he lost to both conditions.

Taking your mouth off with a ‘pop!’ you giggled at your boyfriend’s defeated look. Kenma only looked up at you with a glare (Catching you swallow his cum, it was hot but he was too irritated to admit that right now).

“Aw, soo scawy.” The baby talking you’d do whenever he lost to your game was major fucking salt to his wounds. You sat up, finally giving him a proper view of the swimwear you chose for him, making him flush more.

He should have looked up at you the first time you asked. You looked drop dead gorgeous. Granted, you do all the time but the swimwear only accentuates your features more.

He gulped.

“So, that means you lost, kit-kat.” Oh right, the game.

“We’re not done yet.” You tilted your head in confusion at his statement.

“You don’t have anymore lives left in the game, and it would take you a little while to get it back u-” You yelped as Kenma quickly shut you up by pulling you on his lap, his switch now forgotten and thrown to the side (a non sandy side, those things are way too expensive to get sand in). You felt Kenma’s calloused fingers play with your clit through your swimsuit, making you let out a little gasp. You place your hands on your boyfriend’s shoulders for stability, he placed his free hand on your ass. Also for stability.

…

Maybe.

Kenma’s fingers continued its ministrations on your clit through the thin fabric. You were getting more and more wet as he expertly played with your sensitive bud, the hand that started to shamelessly grope and knead at your ass certainly wasn’t helping either.

“Was my baby lonely?” His question caught you off guard. You could barely answer him from the stimulation he was giving you, you only nodded your head as you bit your lip.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Daddy’s sorry he hasn’t been able to give you the attention you need.” You flushed at his words. It’s been a hot minute since he’s called himself that. You shivered as your boyfriend moved the bottoms of the swimwear to the side and moved his middle and ring finger up and down the lips of your pussy.

“Look, you're even crying down here…” He raised his hand to show you how drenched his fingers already were. You felt embarrassment and shame getting wet so easily. That’s probably how Ken-ken felt earlier when you got him hard. You felt his wet fingers touch your lips, you looked at him in confusion.

“Open your mouth baby. Has it been so long that you’ve already forgotten?” Before you could open your mouth yourself, he gave your ass a harsh slap, causing you to gasp letting him shove his pussy drenched fingers in that warm mouth of yours. Your plush, soft lips closed around them and started to suck. He hasn’t even done much yet you already feel so light headed.

“Good, at least you remember that part.” Kenma continued to knead your ass reassuringly as you sucked off all the juices off his fingers. He started to pump his fingers in and out of your mouth, relishing the wet warmth and the feeling of your soft lips.

Kenma took out his fingers from your mouth with only a string of spit connecting you two.

“That’s a good baby.” Kenma held his dick with his wet hand, moving so the tip teases your clit. You shivered each time the tip of his cock flicked your little clit before he finally pushed the tip inside you. Your boyfriend moved his hands so that both hands properly gripped your waist and pushed you down the rest of his shaft.

You almost screamed that time. Only sobs left your throat from the pleasure you felt of finally being full after so long. You placed your head in the crook of his neck as he held you.

“There there baby, daddy’s finally giving you the attention you wanted.” You felt the man’s hands snake back down your ass. Slowly rocking you on his thick cock. Your sobs continued as your nails started to scrape against his back, the harsh feeling of your nails in his back contrasting with your tight, wet pussy was driving him insane.

A sudden harsh thrust from his hip caused you to let out a yelp. His pace only got faster, fueled by the cute little noises you made and the expressions you made, looking like a dick drunk mess as he started to hit the sweet bundle of nerves you couldn’t quite hit the same by yourself.

“K-Kenma! I’m so closeee, pleasee! Harder!” You were bouncing on his cock like you were his fuck toy. Honestly, with how he uses you, you might as well be.

“I know baby, I’m almost there too.” Your boyfriend’s fingers snaked their way back to your little clit, teasing the little bud as he bounced you up and down his cock.

As you finally creamed around his cock, the way your pussy tightened around him was his last straw, he painted your insides white with his cum. But he continued to thrust even while cumming, fucking his cum inside you until he was milked dry.

You two laid in silence, basking in the afterglow of it all.

With how rough you two went, you were more surprised there wasn’t more sand on the beach towel you two were on.

Your boyfriend slowly moved you off his cock, moving your bottom swimwear back to normal so not a drop of his cum escaped before he ticked himself back in his swim trunks.

The two of you decided to get some mango shaved ice to cool off.

But the silence between you two was a bit agonizing. The sound of the jumping plumber no longer occupying the empty space.

Kenma was the first to break the silence between you two.

“Since the trip isn’t over yet… We can take a quick dip in the water,” he lazily ate the shaved ice before looking back at you with a familiar look in his eyes, continuing the sentence. “We can continue where we left off in the car, before we leave.” You flushed at the thought.

Kenma finally has a taste of you after so long and he was addicted once more. Your body was far more fun than any game he can get his hands on, and he was ready to re-explore all of your body like it was his first time again.

#Hardies #My writing #kenma x reader #kenma x y/n #kenma smut #haikyu x reader #hq smut #kozume kenma #hq kozume #haikyuu oneshot #collab #haikyuu time skip #kenma x you

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calaofnoldor · 4 years ago

Text

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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mixelation · 3 years ago

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if you've been here a while you may remember my Tobirama/OC thing (bulletpoint outline, excerpt). you may also remember me whining about how it's hard to develop an OC who's just as interesting as the other main characters (who in this fic would be Tobirama, Tsunade, maybe Jiraiya) but also seems like an organic product of the setting. anyway under the cut is some discussion of the OC and possible story so I don't fucking forget.

Okay, so to review: I originally thought of this as wanting to write an SI soulmate fic. The OC, Ren, is an SI in the sense that it's a character designed with some aspects of myself in mind, but I don't think this fits with the way the Naruto fandom current uses "SI." She's not a real world person reborn or anything like that; she's a tokubetsu jounin who works in R&D in Ame. Soulmates in this AU have the "first thing your soulmate says to you" written on you. Ren has been assigned to a project that involves trying to move people around in a hiraishin-style jutsu, and through that she accidentally summons Tobirama (her soulmate) from the middle of his fight with the Kinkaku Squad or whatever they're called.

I wanted to justify why she has this deep knowledge of hiraishin-adjacent jutsu and ended up with a fairly complicated background. I think I'll have to be pretty careful about how I present it in writing to not turn readers off? So it will go a little like this:

The first thing Tobirama asks her, after he's demanded to know where he is and stitches himself up, is how the fuck did you do that. She shows him the jutsu formula and he's like: oh so she's a little bit of a maniac.

Tobirama cannot go outside so he's stuck in her lab. He often gets left alone while she goes around and pretends she didn't break time with her research and they both try to figure out how to smuggle him out of the village once he's healed enough to travel safely. As far as Tobirama can tell, Ren's research is mostly agricultural? Like she has bays of plants under different treatments growing. He recognizes her surname (Kaentake) as an old ninja clan whose Thing was mushroom cultivation, so it makes sense to him that she went plant-fungi symbiosis (which is a lot of the research) -> general agriculture (GM crops, etc). However he doesn't get why she also knows time-space jutsu?!

When he asks her about it, Ren is like: WELL, this isn't really a secret, I guess. So she tells him that when she was a kid and the Third Shinobi War broke out, her genin team was captured by Iwa. Iwa cut off some of their fingers so they couldn't perform handsigns for ninjutsu but could still do manual labor. Then, once Iwa realized the Yellow Flash was going to be a Problem, they started using their prisoners (who were expendable) to try and counter act him. They tried stealing hiraishin seals, and then they started trying to send prisoners in as a vanguard to physically fuck up hiraishin seals. None of this worked particularly well, but Ren was stuck in the thick of this for years and has an intimate knowledge of how the hiraishin works.

(But, also, note: even if you know all the ins and outs of the jutsu, it's stupid hard to actually execute, which is why no one has successfully reverse-engineered it from the seals left behind.)

Tobirama senses there's a lot Ren isn't telling him-- like how she ended up back in Ame, or how she even survived doing that for so many years-- but he doesn't press for more details.

One of the things we see when Ren is away from the lab is her going to meet with Konan about a request she put in to honor a specific person (currently named Ayaka but this could change) by adding her name to some sort of war memorial. Konan is basically like, "No, I understand you were friends but she wasn't an Ame-nin, why did you even request this?" and Ren is like, "Well, I thought it wouldn't hurt to try..." We also see that Ren doesn't have many social connections but is very dedicated to a shrine for Ayaka.

We also see that Ren getting into an argument with the head of R&D because he's like "why are you modifying rice to make more vitamin A if you could be working on making us a new bloodline limit like everyone else?" and she goes back into lab and rants at Tobirama about how vitamin deficiencies are one of the leading causes of childhood mortalities in several prefectures, and we could be solving THAT, but everyone is like "WHAT IF WE POISONED ALL THE RICE INSTEAD?"

Tobirama agrees with her that Vitamin Rice Would Be Good but is also like: no civilian farmer in their right mind would trust the product of some ninja's crazy science experiment to eat? How are you going to scale production up just in your little lab's greenhouse bay? You'd have to work with the Daimyo or local nobility to coordinate directly with farmers, not a ninja village, and Ren is very >8C

Anyway the point is that even though Tobirama is grumpy and critical, he's critical in a way that helps Ren's goals, so when they start to work out how to get him out of Ame, Ren asks what would happen if she went with him to Konoha.

In the morning, she shoos Tobirama away from remaking expired reagents and into her office.

“What…” she says slowly, unsure of how to even suggest her new plan for getting him out. “Hypothetically speaking… what would happen… if I came with you?”

She watches Tobirama’s face closely, expecting to see surprise or excitement or maybe even disgust at the idea of taking her with him back to Konoha. Instead he just looks thoughtful for a few seconds and replies:

“We’d get married.”

“What the fuck!” Ren hears herself cry, throwing her hands in the air.

“What?” Tobirama asks, helpfully scooting himself into a corner of the office so Ren can pace anxiously. “We’re soulmates.”

“It doesn’t follow that we’d get married,” Ren hisses back. This is… this isn’t at all what she was expecting. She doesn’t have a plan going forward for this option.

Tobirama’s eyes narrow-- a move which looks deeply intimidating and like he’s debating how to slice you open, but which Ren is fairly sure just means he’s thinking-- and he tilts his head slightly to the side.

“It would have been expected in my time,” Tobirama says slowly, “for different-sex soulmates to marry and produce children. Is this not still true?”

Ren pauses in her pacing, staring and her old-fashioned soulmate. Oh gods, she thinks, he’s being completely serious about marrying me.

“No,” she snaps immediately. “Well, maybe for big clans, but--”

She cuts herself off. Tobirama just raises an eyebrow at her.

Oh gods, Ren thinks, feeling hysterical, he’s being completely serious about making me wife of the Senju clan head.

Ren’s face must look suitably horrified, because Tobirama says, “Marriage is an option we can explore at a later time. As a former Hokage, I would guarantee your safety in Konoha.”

He also seems deadly serious about this, and yet Ren doesn’t feel calmed at all.

“And what does that mean?” she asks, waving her arms and going back to pacing. “Like, chuck me in a holding cell until I spill all of Ame’s secrets but hey! You’re still alive! safe, or-- I don’t know-- end up permanently possessed by Nakayama, or-- what the fuck could an Uchiha do to me--”

Tobirama looks… vaguely startled, and that makes him hesitate a moment before he spins Ren around and places both hands on her shoulders. They’re big and heavy, and Ren glares at his clavicle.

“Safe,” he says, “as in physically and mentally unharmed, and able to live freely.”

Ren shrugs off his hands and takes a step back so she can glare at his face.

“Live freely as in your custody, live freely as in be watched by ANBU, or actually live freely?”

Tobirama’s face twitches, and it almost looks like he’s fighting back a smile.

“I’m not a demon trying to trick you with misleading promises,” he says.

“Then answer the question,” Ren answers, narrowing her own eyes.

Tobirama’s ultimate promise is: he’s confident in his ability to sway (command) Hiruzen to let Ren live under her soulmate’s custody, and that Tobirama has no intention of controlling what she does as long as she’s not actively sabotaging Konoha. With badgering he also promises the possibility of her leaving Konoha altogether if she wants to.

“And what if,” Ren asks very slowly, when she’s done badgering Tobirama for details, “you can’t sway Sarutobi, because he’s old and you’re supposed to be dead?”

Tobirama leans into her, replacing his hands on her shoulders. “If Hiruzen cannot accept you after you’ve risked your life to help me,” he says, very firmly, “then I have no problem reclaiming my status as Hokage.”

“Oh,” Ren says quietly. “Okay, then.”

The way they get out involves some bullshit with Ren's soulmate summoning seal, which I haven't ironed out the details of yet. The main blocks to getting out is that Pein can sense anyone moving around in the village (so Tobirama needs to be super covert unless he wants to fight a whole village); Ren is not actually allowed out of the village because she spent so long working for an enemy village, even if it was under duress; I am going to let Tobirama figure out Hiraishin but not at this time because it would make fleeing a ninja village to easy. :P

...also, very important, Ren has a cat with anxiety she makes Tobirama help her smuggle out too.

“Miyuki is a cat?” Tobirama asks, confused, while Ren runs to catch her.

“What did you think she was?” Ren asks, bemused, as she dumps Miyuki into Tobirama’s arms. The cat lets out an unhappy yowl, which Tobirama ignores.

“A child,” Tobirama says accusingly, as if Ren has deprived him of a human baby.

Anyway! They have a roadtrip to Konoha and Hiruzen is like What the FUCK but Tobirama checks out as being a bonafide 100% real Tobirama, and they call in Jiraiya to verify Ren's jutsu. (Which, several people note, has to potential to change they very nature of war?! And Ren is like, "uuuh I would rather it.... not?") Also at some point this happens:

“Yeah, well,” Ren says, nodding. Here’s the awkward part. “You know how I said I couldn’t use any ninjutsu?”

Instead of looking annoyed or angry, Tobirama just laughs. It’s a full, loud laugh that takes years off his face and makes Ren jump.

“You lied. Of course you lied,” he says when he’s gotten control of himself. “You’re going to make presenting you as harmless to Hiruzen either very easy or very tricky.”

“Just you wait,” Ren says dryly, collapsing onto her loveseat. “This one I learned in Iwa.”

(Living as a prisoner in Iwa was a dangerous dance between "get good enough to survive" and "not so good Iwa perceives you as a threat," and part of her safety in Ame is that even though she spent a decade working for an enemy, she's one of them and not even that dangerous)

They move into the ancient Senju household Hashirama built. Ren sets up Ayaka's shrine, and Tobirama gets some fo the story of Ayaka out of her: Ayaka was another kidnapped genin, from Kusa, Ren's "best friend" (read: girlfriend) during the war. Toward the end of the war, more effort was put into recapturing prisoners, and a mixed group from some of the smaller villages (Ame, Kusa, Taki. etc) freed their prison group and distributed the prisoners, some of whom didn't remember where they were from, sort of haphazardly between the villages. Ren and Ayaka ended up in a group shuffled back to Ame, where they sat in prison for a while while Ame tried to figure out what to do with them. Ren was eventually shown to be a Ame-born and raised kunoichi and allowed to re-integrate. Ayaka was not, and was eventually executed.

Anyway! One of the first things Tobirama wants to do, finding his clan nearly extinct, is hunt down Tsunade and drag her back home. Idk how the details of this would go yet, but at some point they all get kind of drunk and are comparing battle scars and Ren is like "YEAH THE YELLOW FLASH TOTALLY STABBED ME. missed my vitals tho" and Jiraiya is like "Minato wouldn't miss" and Tsunade is like "no, no, you can clearly see in the scarring pattern it was one of his stupid kunai" and eventually someone goes, "hold on, are you going to be okay with his giant stone face staring down at you for the rest of your life?!" But Ren is very adamant that even though she does low-key have nightmares about Minato (she doesn't say this part outloud to Jiraiya/Tsunade, but she might confess to Tobirama), she's not like. Bitter? And up until now Tobirama has gotten the impression that Ren deeply hated Iwa so he doesn't really question this answer.

I kind of want Tobirama to get pulled into Uchiha Coup shenanigans in a way that prevents the massacre but idk how exactly it'd go. Kind of want him to take Shisui on as an apprentice as a show of good faith? And probably he tried to bully either Tsunade or Jiraiya into being Hokage (I'm leaning towards Hokage!Jiraiya so Tsunade has free time to do other things)

Anyway, since Jiraiya is in-village now, he's going through old shit and discovers Minato had drafted a pardon for a random Kusa-nin for some reason, and he recognizes the attached photo as the same photo as the one in Ren's shrine. So he goes to Tobirama and is like: YO WHAT THE FUCK? Tobirama shows the photo to Ren and she has a pretty emotional reaction but refuses to explain; this ends up their first real argument.

Later, Tobirama decides to fill Ren in on whatever the fuck he's doing with the Uchiha as a show of trust, and eventually she tell him her Full Dramatic Backstory: she'd basically been sabotaging Iwa's moves against the Yellow Flash by memorizing the countermeasures they had in development for the Hiraishin and telling him about it. In exchange, she'd begged him to spare Ayaka's life (and only Ayaka's). Minato had never reported this to anyone to prevent Konoha going over his head to makes moves against his informant, and he had severely but non-fatally injured Ren a few times to prevent suspicion on Iwa's end. Ren was planning to take this secret to her grave.

Ren is actually devastated to find out Ayaka would have been safe if Konoha had picked them up. Ren is the one who'd had them go to Ame, and it'd gotten Ayaka killed, even though the only real difference between them was were they happened to be born.

Thematically, I like the idea that One Small Action from an unimportant person could change the tide of war, and I want to sort of... figure out a way to tie it into how the Uchiha are being treated? Like: You cannot mistreat people in your community and expect it to not destroy you. Idk. It's being workshopped.

What I ultimately want the Senjuu household (Tobirama, Ren, Tsunade, Shizune) working towards is what Ren wanted to aim her research at all along. Like, improved agriculture and public health and medicine to help communities that were devastated after war, even outside of Fire Country. I want it to be rocky and filled with a lot of mistrust of ninja. I want Minato's hiraishin seals left all over the continent (which conveniently map almost perfectly to the most effected places, bc war) to be hijacked as a way to move supplies around.

...and I guess if it's a "soulmate" fic then more soulmate shenanigans should be happening, so we'll make Kakashi and Obito be soulmates as a plot point? Idk.

#the tobirama/oc au #this is very long under the cut and contains some excerpts. im sorry lol #my writing

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personasintro · 4 years ago

Text

sucker (m.) | pjm

❥𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; You wish you'd pay more attention to Jimin. Like, how his eyes kept changing color. How cold his skin was, too unrealistically to be natural. Or one second, he flashed you with his sharp canines and the next one he didn't have any. How much he craved for you, but not the way you thought he was.

❥𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut, angst, vampire au, horror au (?), vampire!jimin x human!reader, supernatural au

❥𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: explicit language, smut; slight biting, oral sex [man receiving], fingering, penetration, unprotected & rough sex, slight dom!jimin, death & mentions of death, blood, mentions of alcohol

❥𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 10.9k+

𝒂/𝒏: I got this story idea after halloween and this is the first time I've written a vampire au, so I really hope you'll like it, this is something new for me but was so much fun to write!! banner by @dee-ehn (thank you luv, you did an amazing job!!)

Frat parties aren’t usually Jimin’s go-to place but considering the sudden circumstances, he had to agree and couldn't say no to his friend who had chosen the most overcrowded party. In other cases, Jimin would’ve chosen somewhere less crowded but enough to blend with his surroundings. Although, Taehyung deserves a few points for thinking this out considering today’s theme is Halloween. There’s no need to hide anything, especially their appearance that still doesn’t seem as weird as people dressed as pumpkin and other weird costumes. Just as a young male passes by, obviously dressed as Dracula while wearing a cheap cape, his friend snorts under his breath but Jimin can hear him perfectly.

“Horrendous,” Taehyung comments, scoffing at the guy that’s too preoccupied with a girl clinging to his side dressed as something both of them can’t recognize. “Let’s go, I’m hungry.” he grins, licking his bottom lip before they make their way into the huge house full of drunk people.

It’ll be hard to find someone sober or not drunk enough, Jimin thinks while his eyes scan the entire room.

“Jimin-ah,” Taehyung slaps his hands over Jimin’s shoulders while he clutches them but his friend barely reacts, already used to Taehyung's rough hands and strength. “Try to have fun.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, still looking around to map out the whole room almost as if he’s waiting for something to happen. He knows nothing will, none of these people are ready for tonight and are completely clueless. Sometimes, he wonders how it’d feel like to just let loose and drink alcohol like every other person here. Loud rap music boosts against the walls, barely good enough music to dance to, but it seems nobody cares about that and dance no matter how ridiculous they look. A group of young girls pass by them, one in particular eyeing Taehyung as she winks at him, giving him a hint that even she doesn’t know about.

“Well, that’s my cue,” Taehyung grins, slapping Jimin’s shoulder with enthusiasm from receiving attention even though he barely came in. “Two hours?” he asks, slowly backing away from Jimin’s figure who responds with a short but firm nod.

Sighing, with Taehyung no longer in sight, he forces his legs to move through the crowd which is just bunch of drunk college students. It’s hard to blend, especially if he’s the only one sober out of everyone. He walks through the house, not particularly knowing where he’s going since he has no idea where he is. This is his first time here — probably last too. They never come back, not even once. They always just move on and plan things together, with Taehyung. Somehow, his legs lead him to a kitchen, less preoccupied room with an exception since there are still some people sucking their mouths off. Jimin’s nose scrunches in a slight disgust at the smell of alcohol, knowing that it’s just the picky side of him.

Taehyung had been in charge of tonight’s plans, it makes sense this plan sucks. Jimin doesn’t like it here but it’ll have to do. His sharp eyes dance across the room, nose softly sniffling as a sweet scent fills it and then he sees something. Something that looks much more interesting than anything he could’ve seen here so far.

You.

In other scenarios, you’d probably spend your Friday night differently than in a frat house full of people you don’t know. That wouldn’t even be such a bad thing, if your friend didn’t bail on you because her ex wanted to talk. You’re not mad, you’re just annoyed that you’ve been standing here for the past fifteen minutes watching couples make out, while third guy tried flirt with you. May you add, completely wasted where you could smell the alcohol on their breath. That’s enough to make you not interested and disgusted at the same time. When another guy dressed like Joker tries to talk to you, you ignore him and tell him to fuck off. You’re not rude, not all the time. But it’s only natural of you to act this way, especially when you let them know you’re not interested and they still keep trying. It’s like it pushes them to be even more eager to try to win you over. Well, you’re not some trophy and drunk enough to do that.

The guy gives you an ugly frown, visibly displeased by your choice of words but luckily he leaves you alone and your heart slowly calms down. You don’t know what drunk men are capable of, but you get the idea. You need to be careful either way. Not drinking any drink from strangers and not provoke anyone who's drunk, even if it’s standing up for yourself. Those are the rules you need to keep reminding yourself, especially in this place where alcohol clouds most people's judgement and mind.

Ah fuck, tonight is supposed to be fun.

“Playing hard to get?”

Your head whips at the soft voice, completely contrasting with the awful music and people’s chattering drunken nonsense. Mouth opening in a mere shock, you’re met with a guy you’ve never seen before which isn’t that weird since you barely know anyone here. But you’d surely remember him, if you ever met him. It’s safe to say, he’s probably the hottest guy you’ve ever seen and looked your way. His blond hair is parted in the middle, swiped back as this particular hairstyle shows his sharp jaw but soft features. One of the most eye catching features are those thick lips, looking juicy and soft, like two pillows and the most delicious desert. And you can’t fucking believe you’re gushing over some stranger but you’re surely not done yet. His eyes are sharp and there’s a weird glint in them, maybe it's because of the orangey–red shade they hold. Black leather jacket hugs his frame along with, what seems like a casual white shirt underneath, and a great fit black jeans. You wonder what kind of mask he’s wearing, but then he grins at you and shows you his white teeth. Two sharp fangs poke his bottom lip, making you almost jump in surprise but you sigh in relief.

He seems to know you were just checking him out, judging by the slight smirk he’s trying to hide while he makes his way over to you.

“Just not interested.” you reply, deciding it’s better to find your own voice rather than to gawk at this sex god.

“I don’t blame you,” he speaks, your eyes flickering to his. There’s something that makes your heart skip a beat, maybe it’s his alluring eyes that seems to know everything. As if he could tell you’re mentally screaming at his hotness. “Young guys can be... very persistent and act upon their hormones.”

You snort, placing a hand over your mouth as you start giggling at his choice of words. “You can say it. They’re just horny and looking for sex.”

He smiles, tracing a tongue over his lower lip as his steps come to a halt just a few inches before you. He looks even more heartbreaking from up close. The lightning is shitty but there’s not an inch of flaw on his soft glass skin, he looks slightly more on the pale side, but that has to be the make up. At least he hadn’t overdid it like you’ve seen some other guys. And those eyes... what kind of lenses are they?

“You’re right, they can be like that.” he agrees, still sporting that secretive smirk adorning both his eyes and lips.

You snicker, causing his brow to raise in a mere confusion. “So, what? You’re not one of them?”

There’s no way such a handsome guy wouldn’t use his charms to get the best out of it. He said it himself, young guys are horny just like most girls. It’s not like you judge him for it, he can do whatever he wants as long as he’s respectful to others and doesn’t cross any boundaries.

“I’m certainly not,” he says, voice lacking of that sweet yet mysterious tone he used before. There’s something that flickers behind his eyes but it’s gone before you can dwell what it really was. “I didn’t come here to have sex.”

You’re surprised by his bluntness, not expecting him being so blunt all of a sudden, especially about that sex part since he basically ran his way around the topic of guys being horny and wanting to have sex. But you like it, even though you can’t bring yourself to grin like you want to, not when he’s staring at you with gaze darkening.

“Why did you come here for then?” you ask quietly, eyes searching for any kind of emotion or something that could give you a better glimpse inside of his mind.

There’s something about him. He’s mysterious, hiding something and you’re sure it’s just a part of his personality. Either way, it makes him even hotter and you’d drop onto your knees for this man. But there’s your dignity in the way and somehow, you’re glad about that. You’re not one to have a meaningless one night stand. Not that he’d probably want or care to have one with you.

It’s getting awkward, the silence between you two as he complements about his answer causing you to play with the hem of your stupid dress that aren’t even yours. But then something clicks inside of him and he smiles.

“To have fun.”

“Good luck with that.” you murmur, sarcasm lacing in your tone because you can’t believe Yeri just went after her ex leaving you ‘socializing’ (as she called it) with total strangers. Drunk strangers.

You don’t expect the hot stranger to hear you, your voice muffled by the loud music mainly, but he does when a deep chuckle erupts past his lips.

“Why’s that?”

“If you didn’t come here to have sex or get drunk, I don’t think you’ll have fun. Look at everyone.” you chuckle, arms motioning around you to prove your point.

He doesn’t, his eyes stay solely on you but you’re too busy being sarcastic and still bitter about this party to properly register that.

Jimin isn’t stupid. He knows how these parties work. Where’s alcohol, there’s a big urge to have sex and it proves to be right when everyone’s kissing or dancing which mainly leads to the sex itself.

“I take it you’re not here willingly.” he speaks up, eyes dropping towards your mouth where a fake blood is smeared in the corner of your lips.

It’s supposed to add a little bit of horror detail to your look, but you’re far from that.

“Debatable. My friend had decided to invite me at the last minute and now she ditched me because of her ex. Honestly, the guy is a total prick, I don’t know why she keeps running after him.” you explain, scoffing as you cross your arms over your chest.

Jimin reacts with a low chuckle, slowly licking his bottom lip before he takes a deep breath. It’s interesting to watch him, there’s something about him that you can’t quite put your finger on.

You wouldn’t tell Yeri’s business to just some stranger, or anyone, but maybe it’s those two shots of soju that let your mouth on the loose. He doesn’t know her anyway and you’re too annoyed to care, even though you do feel a pang of guilt.

“What are you doing here? Besides, to have fun here. Did you come here alone?”

Great, Y/N. Now you sound noisy making it sound like you’re asking if he has a girlfriend. Did you come here alone is a totally straightforward question, a very bad pickup line usually guys use. You’ve no idea why you just asked that. However, Jimin doesn’t seem to mind and even though, his lips quirk in a sly smirk and you act like you haven’t noticed, he shakes his head to give you an answer.

“My friend was particularly interested in this party.”

He doesn’t lie, it’s true. Taehyung did persuade Jimin to come to this one.

“Oh, so you were dragged into this like me,” you chuckle.

He isn’t, but he stays quiet.

“I wish she’d tell me sooner than four hours before the party had started. I wasn’t prepared, I didn’t even get to shop for my Halloween look and ended up with Yeri’s costume from last year. God knows what these dresses have been through.”

The incredibly handsome stranger laughs, like truly laughs and it’s the most beautiful sound ever. It makes you grin without even noticing.

“I do think you make a perfect mixture of spooky and ravishing nurse.”

Yeah, Yeri’s costume last year was a nurse but you put your own thought into it and put some fake blood in the corner of your lips and the top of your cheekbone. There’s some of it on your collarbone and arm just to make it more ‘scary’ but it’s just a huge fail. The dress is short, luckily not dangerously short for you to feel uncomfortable in them. You’re not even sure if this is a Halloween costume. Yeri looks like the type of girl to like foreplay, maybe she used it with her ex. Oh fuck, you can’t think about that.

His compliment completely blows all your thoughts out, your heart picking a pace as for the first time, your facade slowly falls down and you blush. Did he just called you hot?

“Thanks,” you grin, “Although, I think this costume is shitty it’s still better than being dressed as Harley.”

“Harley?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

You stare at him, watching his confused gaze before something flickers in his eyes and he just stares at you.

Well, not everyone had seen Suicide Squad.

“From the movie? Suicide Squad? Harley and Joker? They’re this lunatic couple and everyone’s been wearing their costumes for the past... three years, is it? I don’t even know but it’s so cliché. I think I saw four Jokers on my way to the bathroom. Don’t get me started on Harley.” you roll your eyes, leaning yourself against the kitchen counter that’s behind you.

The two of you just stand in silence for a couple of seconds, and you almost think it’s awkward even though there’s not an awkward atmosphere and you’re just standing in a comfortable silence.

“So, vampire, huh?” you fill the silence after a moment, catching his attention as he watches you with a serious look. “Not to be an asshole, but that’s an overused costume as well.” you add, wondering if you’re getting too comfortable with this stranger.

But he’s probably the most normal and sober guy you stumbled upon, even if he’s the one who approached you. There’s something odd about him, but that’s just because he’s not like one of those drunk assholes trying to get you into one of the rooms upstairs. He’s not rude, disrespectful and drunk and that’s all that matters for you to feel comfortable talking to him.

His features relax and he lets out a breathy chuckle, showing his fangs. “Their costumes don’t do the justice.” he comments, eyes watching one of the guy passing by who’s got vampire costume which makes you snort.

Overused, like you said.

“They do look cheap,” you comment, giggling. “Isn’t it uncomfortable to talk with those?”

He looks at you with confusion, mouth opening in realization when you point at your teeth to explain.

“No.”

It comes out short, surprisingly deep and serious and for a moment, it looks like he wants to say something else but decides not to when he closes his mouth.

“You look believeable, though.”

“I do, don’t I?” he chuckles, and your body relaxes when all the seriousness is gone.

“Your skin is pale, not covered in that awful white color and your eyes... wow, those lenses look beautiful. It must’ve been an expensive costume.” you tell him, head leaning towards him as you study his eyes.

They’re almost deep red. Weren’t they more orange before? The lightening is shitty and honestly, you’re too busy inspecting the beauty and uniqueness of his eyes.

He looks stunned, and it looks like he stopped breathing for a moment when you lean closer to him to study his eyes and face. He closes his mouth, not letting you see the fangs hiding underneath those plump lips and even though they’re slightly poking, you can’t see much. He’s dressed normally, not wearing some awful costume. He’s done the minimum with his costume but he can easily win as the vampire of this party. It’s not too much, decent enough to make people stop and praise his costume if they had the chance to be face to face with him.

“I’m Jimin.” he decides to say instead, not even showing his gratitude from your compliment but you ignore it.

It was more of a loud thought anyway. You’re distracted again, this time by his name.

Jimin.

Fuck, even his name is beautiful.

“Y/N,” you tell him, giving him a smile which you hide by taking a sip of your drink.

He watches you, eyes scanning your lips before they move down to your throat as you gulp. You’re too focused watching people dance to notice the way he licks his lips and gulps.

“So, are you studying here?”

His eyes shoot up, your voice catching his attention once again before he thinks through your question. It’s weird how long he’s taking to actually answer, it’s quite simple question that's got a simple answer.

“No,”

That’s it? Just no?

He must’ve noticed the faint frown that settles on your face before he gives you a little quirk of his lips, those plump lips stretching to a handsome smile that once again gets all your attention.

“Are you?”

“Huh?” you blurt out, embarrassed how quick that flew out of your mouth.

You’re even more embarrassed, your cheeks slowly tinting into a red color when he chuckles lowly under his breath, completely aware of your lack of attention because all of it was focused on his goddamn smirk.

“Are you studying here?” he asks, not hiding that amused smirk that slowly settles into a soft smile that encourages you to answer.

“Yeah,” you smile, “psychology.”

“Are you a future psychologist?” he asks, a glint of teasing in his tone but there’s a curiosity lacing on his soft pale features.

How did he guess that?

“Maybe?” you chuckle, poking your inner cheek with a tongue. “I thought that’s what I want to be in the future, growing up it used to be my dream.” you tell him honestly.

You’ve no idea why you’re so honest and talkative with a complete stranger. Even though you haven’t exposed anything too personal about yourself, it feels very simple to talk to Jimin. He holds this calm aura around him that makes you want to tell him your deepest secrets without you feeling guilty about it the next morning.

“Used to? It’s not anymore?” he asks, cocking his head innocently but you know he’s not stupid and knows what your words meant very well.

For some reason, it seems like he really wants to talk to you and urges you to talk more. He seems interested in you. Not seeing you as a snack and walking vagina, but maybe just someone he wants to talk with because he’s been dragged into this party just like you have. That’s one thing you’ve in common.

“Do you really wanna hear my heartbreaking life story?” you tease him, chuckling when the corner of his lips quirk up once again as he gives you a final nod.

“I’m quite intrigued.” he simply says, your heart skipping a beat for some reason and almost as if he could hear it, he lifts his eyebrow in a provocative and cocky manner.

“Will you tell me yours?” you ask in return, cocking your brow at him which makes him smile.

“Depends on how interesting yours will be.” he says, your lips set into a straight line before you purse them and give him a long sigh.

“It’s nothing drastic. I just feel like it’s not what I wanna do anymore, the worst thing of it all is that I’ve no idea what I wanna do in the first place. But it’d be a good job for me, something I need. It pays well and maybe, it’ll be more fun than I think it is right now. All I can think about is my dad and just the fact that I need to keep going. Life sucks, right?” you chuckle, trying to ease the sudden serious and saddened tone you had.

Jimin is not a person who gets bluffed easily but he acts like he hadn’t noticed anything.

“Your dad?” he asks, slowly watching your reaction as if he’s waiting for you to tell him some drastic news about your father.

“It’s just me and my dad. He’s got a huge loan for the next couple of years and I’m trying to help him, but the part-time jobs just aren’t enough. When I finish college, I’ll be able to find a better job and help him with that. He deserves it and that’s what keeps me going, y’know? I need to pay him back for taking care of me. But it’s okay, I just can’t wait until there’s no loan over our heads. I came to the conclusion that life can be happy and fun, even if there are things that suck.” you explain, noticing how interested he seems to be with your words, sinking all of the information you just gave him.

Despite how sad you seemed to be talking about your family, Jimin notices that you’re staying positive no matter what exactly happened in your life and what you haven’t told him. And that you’ve a goal, purpose you want to fill and probably a bigger heart that you're letting show to others. Maybe he’s wrong, it doesn’t have to be this way. He doesn’t know you. But it’s not right to think that it’s only you. Every person in this house, or even in the entire world, has something they want to accomplish. Dreams, goals and all of that. Maybe some of them don’t know it yet, they’re lost but that’s what life is for. To let them figure it out.

“That’s very nice of you.” he says, surprising you how serious and soft he sounds at the same time.

“But what about you? What is your life story?” you ask, wanting to change the topic because your life being discussed when you’ve had a few shots isn’t a good idea. Few more and you’d be probably bawling your eyes out just because you get emotional easily, especially if alcohol is involved.

“It doesn’t matter,” he chuckles, “It’s not interesting anyway.”

You don’t hide the disappointment that settles on your face, causing your lips to pout which makes him scrunch his nose cutely. What a shame, you really wanted to get to know him more. It’s like he’s putting distance between you two, keeping a safe distance but still wanting to be in your presence. He’s confusing you.

“But I told you mine.” you pout, mumbling under your breath like a child that just lost a game.

It’s comical, how you’re dressed in a sexy nurse costume and pouting just because you’re dissapointed. For the first time since being here, he feels unsure and actually stops for a second as you see his eyes dance between yours.

“My parents are dead. And I wish I could’ve made them proud like you’re making your dad.” he says, completely serious as you gape at him with an open mouth.

Is he serious? You don’t know him, his reactions are mysterious and despite him talking about his dead parents, he looks too serious and doesn’t show any sadness.

“I-I’m s--“

“Don’t,” he stops you, voice rough as he coughs and tries to mask his all of a sudden unfriendly tone.

It makes you speechless and actually bad for pressuring him into telling you more. Although, you’re not sure if that can be called pressuring.

“It’s been a long time since they’re not here. I’ve had time to process it.” he explains, hand brushing through his golden locks while you watch them bounce right back into its place.

You don’t ask how long they’re dead, or anything about them because it’s not your place to be curious about that. If you knew sooner about them not being alive, you wouldn’t even show him how disappointed you were of not hearing his shortened version of life story.

All you can give him is a slight nod, awkwardly glancing at your heels that, of course are borrowed from Yeri. Remembering that there's still almost a full bottle of soju that you snatched for yourself behind you, you turn around and pour yourself a shot as you glance at Jimin. He's staring at you, attentively paying attention to your face, as you give him a crooked smile.

“You want some?”

“No.” he answers, causing you to shrug as you drink the shot in one go, weirded out by the expression he gives you. It almost looks like he's glaring at you for drinking and it makes you give him a dumbfounded look.

“Aren't you thirsty?” you ask, his jaw clenching before he allows himself to relax and a low chuckle comes out of his mouth.

“You've no idea,” he grins, taking a step closer to you as he hovers over you, cornering you while your lower back digs into the kitchen counter.

Your eyes are big, staring at him in a complete shock by his sudden move but you can't move away. Your whole body is frozen, staring into his red eyes that stare right back into yours as if he's looking for something in them. His own hands lean against the kitchen counter right beside your waist, almost touching you while your heart trembles with excitement. And then when you think it can't get worse, he actually leans his face closer to yours as he takes a sniff of you. He hums at your scent, your cheeks flaring both in embarrassment and praise, mentally clapping yourself on the shoulder for choosing that expensive Yves Saint Laurent perfume you got from Yeri last Christmas. You've always saved it for special occasions, and even though you don't think of this party as anything special, you're glad you've listened to your own guts and used it. Let's just ignore the fact that you used it because you were counting on sweating, knowing the strong perfume will make you smell amazing either way.

He pulls slightly back, your noses almost touching as you can smell his own cologne, mixed with something that smells like mint. You don't even blink, not allowing yourself to budge as he gives you a tiny smirk.

“I'm particularly thirsty for something else.” he tells you silently, his voice getting a few octaves deeper but yet sounding calm and soft.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, the huge lump there almost uncomfortable, as you stare at him with still the same shock. Gulping, you blink a few times as you wonder what the hell just happened.

You should be mad because after all, he lied to you. He told you he's not here for sex, yet he implied something erotic and suggestive with a simple sentence that rolled off his tongue so easily and elegantly, but that's not the worst part. The worst part – that you're not proud of – is that you like it and you can feel yourself pressing your thighs together. This had never happened before. No guy could made your body hot without even touching you, and you wouldn't be so thirsty too for someone you only know by their first name.

“I thought you didn't come here for sex.” you manage to speak up, successfully without stuttering or sounding too nervous, although confusion and the slightest tremble in your voice is audible even to you.

“I didn't,” he confirms, nodding but not moving an inch from you. Without taking your eyes off him, you slowly blink as you watch him lick his lips. “But you look irresistible to my eyes.” he says simply, slowly reaching for the strand of your hair as he twirls it around his index finger.

He's not touching you fully, and unfortunately you can't quite feel his touch through your hair because even now, he delicately touches your hair like you're a fragile doll that may break.

“Then, why don't you do something?” you surprise yourself, not believing something like that just left your mouth. You would never say something like this to a stranger, no matter how handsome and freaking hot he is. But this is Jimin, it seems like everything is different with him.

And he laughs. He actually laughs like you've just told him a funny joke, and all you can do is stare at him like he just lost his mind. Is he just playing with you? Was he testing you? Before your crazy thoughts and theories could swarm your already confused mind, something else catches your attention that makes a prominent frown adorn your features. This doesn't get unnoticed by Jimin, his laughter dying down as he realizes where your eyes and attention are focused onto.

There are no longer any fangs poking out of his mouth, and you watch something flicker behind those red orbs that seem to glow in the gloomy lightning.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, ignoring your look of confusion and curiosity that still lingers in your eyes that don't look away from his mouth just yet.

“Where are your--”

“Took them off,” he cuts you off, letting go of your hair. “Now, be a good girl and answer my question.” he hums, inching closer to you as you hold your breath.

“What do you want to do?” you ask instead, getting a breathy chuckle from him. You're not sure whether it's because of your question or because you purposely avoided answering his.

“You wouldn't wanna know,” he chuckles, eyes dropping down to your lips that are already nibbling on your bottom lip. “It'll bleed if you keep bitting on it.” he comments, licking his own.

“What, are you scared of blood?” you joke, releasing your mouth that seemed to get his attention, before the mention of blood causes him to snap those red eyes to yours.

“Not in the slightest,” he smirks, for whatever reason but it shoots butterflies straight to your stomach. “Are you?” he cocks his head to the side, reminding you of a snake that eyes its prey. Or some predator that has some fun with its prey before they kill it.

Fuck, you shouldn't have watched that horror movie Yeri suggested yesterday.

“Of what? Blood or you?” you find the courage to ask, raising a brow at him as you eye his from up and down.

He smirks, cocking his brow at you. “You tell me. Are you scared of me?”

Maybe you should be. No one has ever approached you, talked to you or given you this kind of attention before. This is a completely new territory that you're tiptoeing around, and it does give you some kind of thrill. Maybe it's because your life is boring and Jimin summons a new temptation that you've never felt before. There could be hundreds of reasons why you feel this way or what you should feel instead, but you can't bother yourself to think about it any longer. Because instead of feeling any fear towards the new stranger that has angelic features and voice, and with some kind of darkness that he's hiding, you feel yourself getting more interested and temped. In this case, he's like a forbidden fruit for you.

“No,” you reply confidently, head held high as you grin. “Should I be?”

This constant teasing and the lack of touch just sets a flame of temptation inside you that slowly drives you insane.

“Maybe,” he says, tips of his fingers reaching for your dress as he plays with the hem of it, fingers dancing dangerously at the top of your breasts. “You're the one who's gripping the kitchen counter for your dear life.” he teases, your eyes shooting to your hands that in fact, are gripping the corner so tightly that they turn white.

Embarrassingly, you let it go as you cross your hands over the chest to make yourself appear more confident, trying to mask the way your heart thumps loudly against your chest.

“That doesn't mean I'm scared.” you tell him, indirectly suggesting that there may be another reason why you appear to be so tense.

Judging by the tiny and already known smirk that slowly stretches across those beautiful and thick lips, Jimin confirms that he knew way before you even said it out loud. No matter how many times you seem to outrun him, he's always two steps ahead of you, having a prepared answer.

“What it could mean, then?” he asks lowly, feigning an incomprehensibility that this time – you see and are prepared for.

“Many things.” you gulp, breath hitching when the tip of his finger slightly touches your skin. It's short-lived and almost unrecognizable, but it still makes you shiver over the fact he's so close touching the top of your breasts.

In other scenarios, you wouldn't let anyone this near to you, nor someone almost touching your breasts that are covered in a costume dress.

“Care to share, my love?”

The new petname shoots excitement straight to your body, your cheeks flaring pink as you look away from him for a moment. You know he's aware of your reaction and how that little petname affected you, but you remain confident as you stare right back at him.

“I think you get the idea.”

In no way in hell, you'd ever tell him how much you wish to be fucked by him. Those sinful thoughts have to stay in your head, and even if you're not saying them loud like he wants you to, you know he's smart enough to get the idea.

“Tell me.” he presses, fingers playing with the top buttons of your costume that you can't unfortunately feel that much, except the tiny pressure he puts on them by playing with it.

“Jimin...” you whine, causing him to grin cheekily at you. For a moment, it looks like he lost that dark and mysterious aura. “Why won't you kiss me?”

You're done playing this game, your patience is slowly dying as you wish to feel his lips against yours. Even just for a second.

“Because you never asked me to,” he answers simply, surprising you by his diplomatic answer that sounds nothing but truthful.

“If I ask you to,” Oh fuck, this is embarrassing. He's doing this purposely, he wants you to make the first move. You feel like his goal is to make you desperate for him, which he didn't have to do for long. You don't get it.

“Will you kiss me?” you ask quietly, eyes searching his once again.

“Mhm,” he confirms. “If that's what you want.”

First of all, you're surprised that he's more interested in your own interest and consent, instead to taking the first chance of your attention and weakness for himself. And there's a chance that you were wrong. Maybe he hadn't been doing this to push you to make the first move, or to enjoy how you're squirming underneath his hovering figure. All he wanted this whole time has been your consent. Second of all, it makes him fucking attractive for doing so and no matter what the real reason is, you're willing to risk it all for this man.

“Jimin,” you tell him, voice strained and raspy. “Kiss me.”

For all you know, he could be playing with you this whole time and he doesn't have to be interested in you. Again, Jimin proves you that you're wrong and manages to surprise you all over again when in seconds, he pulls you closer to him and presses your lips together. Jimin seeks your lips hungrily, surprising you how rough and fast he is as if he was controlling himself this whole time. His hand is holding your head from the back for support, while the other one grabs your hip and squeezes it. Gasping, you shiver at the feeling of his tongue dancing across your bottom lip before he envelopes your mouth again. Your tongues move together, your own hands gripping his biceps that are hidden beneath his leather jacket. Jimin has a boosted energy, barely allowing you to breathe between the hungered kisses he's showering you with, and when you start desperately trying to catch your breath, you're forced to press against his chest firmly. It's hard, much harder than you've imagined and it takes an extra strength to actually make him budge, which primarily is the soft whimper that you let out against his mouth. He moves away, almost jumping away from you as he stares at you all frozen.

He watches your chest move quickly, trying to catch the oxygen that your lungs are craving for. You put your own hand over your chest, chuckling when you feel your heart beating fast and hard.

A group of drunk people stumble inside the kitchen, catching your attention as they laugh loudly, unable to walk properly as they're reaching for other bottles that are placed on the kitchen island. You weren't here alone this whole time, there are still a couple of people making out or talking, probably searching for somewhere more peaceful than the living room where the most people are. Considering this fact that someone might've seen you sucking off each other's faces, it doesn't bother you and it's probably mainly the fact they probably hadn't even noticed.

The sudden drop of soju bottle that breaks instantly and stains the floor snaps you out of your thoughts, your gaze shifting to the drunk girl who starts giggling over the fact she's too drunk and clumsy to the point she just dropped a bottle. Now, there's soju smell lingering in the air and staining the floor with shards of glass laying there.

Turning to Jimin, you catch the sudden scrunch of his nose at the smell of alcohol which makes you giggle, even though you find it not so pleasing either. Taking a few steps towards him, you grab him by his wrist and drag him deeper into the house. Surprisingly, he allows you to drag him as he stares at the back of your head until you stop and push the door open. You're quick to turn the lock, making sure there's no one disturbing you as he finally notices where you brought him. The bathroom is decorated in deep blue, the same gloomy lightning that comes from the round mirror and creates a much more dark and intimate atmosphere. Standing in the safe distance, he watches you turn around to him and lean against the small counter where the sink is.

His eyes turn dark, the red color almost unrecognizable as he keeps staring at you without making any move. Throwing out your insecurity, because this in fact is your first bold move that you've made on someone, you don't let it disturb you from your plan. Your palms sprawled against the bathroom counter, ass digging into the edge of it, you straighten yourself and cross your exposed legs.

“Are you gonna just stand there and stare at me?” you ask, one hand flicking your hair over your shoulder which catches most of Jimin's attention and his eyes get big. The exposure of your nakedness, the vein that pokes beneath your beautiful and warm skin makes him react instantly.

You yelp when he's suddenly in front of you, using the lack of your attention and the second of you closing your eyes to blink, he's gripping your face before he attacks your lips with his own, kissing you hungrily that he did the first time. Only this time, you're ready for the strength and intensity of his kisses, awaiting for his tongue that darts out into your mouth. You grip his jacket, trying to take it off but it's impossible with him holding you so close. Tugging onto the leather material, he gets your message and strips it off, tossing it carelessly onto the dirty floor. Your palms spread over his chest, feeling his hardened muscles that are surprisingly too hard. In an instant, you're turned around, hands gripping the sink as you feel Jimin's hands on your thighs, slowly disappearing underneath the skirt of your dress. You shiver, his hands cold against your heated skin as you look back at him as much as your current position allows you to.

Unfortunately, you get only a brief glance at Jimin who turns you around rather aggressively. From this position, you can barely see him in the reflection of the mirror but as he looks up, you're met with his red eyes that stare at you back.

“What do you want?” he asks lowly, hands slowly caressing your ass cheeks that aren't covered by your panties, his nails grazing over the soft flesh.

Thank God, you chose to wear sexy underwear – the only sexy underwear you own.

“You,” you breathe out, telling him the obvious answer that he probably just wanted to hear. “You.. Jimin.”

You hear his low hum before your panties are pushed aside and dress hiked up, enough to let his fingers replace the lacy material. As soon as the tip of his cold fingers meet your heat that's coated with your slickness, your breath hitches. He starts rubbing the area, making sure he does the same thing to your clit before he pushes two fingers in. You gasp, not expecting him to enter you all of a sudden, especially with two fingers that stretch you deliciously. It slightly burns, but your arousal that's used as a lube helps a lot and it makes it easier for him to get in.

Jimin's surprised by your tightness, wondering when was the last time someone touched you while his red eyes flicker to your reflection to check your reaction. He's a monster, he shouldn't care if he's being too rough with you but for some reason he's curious to see how you react to his touch. A cocky smirk flickers on his lips when he sees your eyes closed and mouth open in delight.

“You like that?” he whispers, mouth hovering over your ear as he takes another sniff of you. Do you really smell that good?

He presses his thumb against your clit, circling it when he feels you clenching around and that's why he adds another finger. You gasp, mumbling something incorrect to both your and his ears. Again, he just smirks at your lack of response and how fucked out you already seem to be. He barely had to do anything.

Pulling your hips to him, he makes you arch for him with your ass pursed up almost dangerously close to his crotch.

Fucking you with his fingers, he has no mercy on you and your loud pleas of slowing down. He doesn't know you, but it feels like he reads all the signs your body gives him and with you clenching around his three fingers, being a mess that barely stands on her own feet, he knows you're close. The pleasure gets too much, his palms slapping against your clit as he keeps fucking you is nothing you are prepared for. The orgasm and the chase after it gets too intense, no longer in your hands and with you being able to control it, you're cumming around his fingers, sucking them right in. He slows down, but still keeps a sloppy pace that fucks you through it. Your whole body burns with tingles of post-orgasm and if it weren't for your hands desperately clutching onto the sink, and Jimin's body behind you caging you in, you'd probably fall like a potato sack.

He pulls out his fingers, sounds of slurping leaving his mouth as he cleans them. Unfortunately for you, you've missed that devilish sight of him doing it. You pry your eyes open, slowly straightening yourself as you turn around to check the devil himself.

Just as expected, he's smirking at you, proudly staring at your flushed cheeks and the quick rise of your chest. You surprise him, clutching his shirt between your fingers before you pull him closer and connect your lips together. He lets you kiss him, hands wrapping around his neck and finally feeling up his skin more properly. You're surprised how cold he is, yet no hint of goosebumps cover his skin.

“You're so cold,” you comment, rubbing your hands over his forearms trying to warm him up.

Glancing back at him, you're surprised by the dumbfounded look he gives you before his mouth quirks up. “You wanna warm me up?” he asks, cocking his brow at you as your mouth salivates, your hands completely stopping.

“Yeah,” you answer, no idea why the fuck would you even answer that when you should just put yourself to action. The little act makes him chuckle, leaning closer to you as you hear him gulp.

You think he's about to kiss you, his lips close to the crook of your neck and you tilt your head to the side, to give him a better room for that. However, you're surprised when his mouth never makes an actual contact with your neck. You slightly tilt back, staring at his frozen state as you see his throat bob.

“Jimin?” you ask, growing worried when he seems to be acting weird all of a sudden. “Are you okay?”

Your voice is muffled to his ears, he barely hears you as all he can focus is the way your blood pulses in your veins and the soft heartbeat of your heart. But you don't know that, all you can see is Jimin standing there gulping and not moving at all. It's until your hand makes contact with his cheek, your warm palm ready to envelop it but before you can even properly touch his skin, he's gripping your wrist at an extreme speed. You stare at him, almost jumping back from the sudden movement.

“You scared me,” you chuckle, trying to ease the tension as he takes a step back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers nonchalantly, staring at you with those red eyes. “Now be a good girl and suck my cock.”

Your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets, surprised by the sudden change in his behavior and tone. He starts unbuckling his belt, your mouth salivating at the thought you're about to see his cock. It's been awhile since you gave a proper blowjob and although, you're not quite satisfied with your skills of giving one in the first place, you just can't wait to taste him.

If Yeri could see you right now, she'd never believe that it's the same best friend that has always been opposed to one night stands.

Dropping onto your knees, your face is facing his growing bulge as you look up at him for permission. He chuckles, licking his bottom lip as he nods his head at you, silently telling you to get to it already. You put his jeans down, not entirely just enough to expose his casual black boxer briefs, as they stay wrapped around his mid-thighs. His boxer briefs are next, your fingers too eager to see him rather than to tease and play with him. Something tells you that Jimin is not the type to enjoy teasing. His erection spreads free, finally out of the material of his tight jeans, and it slaps against his clothed stomach that's hidden beneath the white shirt.

You wish there was a better lightning and for a second, you contemplate whether to turn the main light on, just to fully appreciate his erected length. No matter what the lightning is, you notice how thick he is and a few veins that poke underneath the thin skin. From the light patch of hair to the red tip that's leaking with a little bit of pre-cum makes your mouth salivate like never before, and you make sure you gulp all of it before you can embarrass yourself. Not wasting any time, your hand curls around the base as you give him a testing squeeze which surprisingly, makes him barely react and when you glance up at him, he stares at you with dark eyes.

Little do you know he needs your touch, he needs to distract himself from the thirst and hunger, and that dark voice inside his head that tells him to do something completely different, rather than have you on your knees and ready to take him.

As if you could hear his thoughts – which you can't and he knows that – he almost sighs in relief when you wrap your pretty red lips around his tip. It doesn't matter that your lipstick is completely smeared from Jimin's lips and his furious kisses. Sucking on it, you let the angry red tip glisten with your saliva before you start pumping him. Through hooded eyes, Jimin watches you licking a strip up his cock as you go back to sucking him off while pumping his hardened length, this time harder and quicker. Jimin's low grunts that occasionally leave his mouth encourages you to take him deeper, the tip of his cock almost hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes burn with tears but you blink them away, curling your tongue around the head of Jimin's cock. His hand grabs the back of your head, clutching your hair in his fist as he starts moving his hips. It hurts a little, he's putting too much pressure and strength into grabbing your hair and the roots that burn your skull. But with your own arousal between your legs, slowly dripping down your thighs and the undying lust that you feel towards Jimin, you've no time to complain. It adds another pinch of pleasure, a pleasure that makes you moan around his length and almost gag when he thrusts into your mouth. Surprisingly, you look up and you find him checking your reaction.

Your warm hand around his cock and even warmer mouth that's wrapped around him feels surprisingly nicer than he thought it'd be. He takes his time to notice your reddened cheeks that he can see even from up, and with the dim lightning his red eyes catch the line of saliva that's drooling out of your mouth. And he growls, he actually growls and pulls you from his cock in seconds, before he's pulling you up and if it weren't for his strong hold, you'd surely stumble how quick he got you up. He backs you into the bathroom counter, to your previous position before he fingered you, but this time you're face to face. Your ass is digging into the edge of the counter, although you don't seem to care. You're too focused staring at Jimin that clenches his jaw, suddenly bumping into you as he starts kissing you. Whimpering into his mouth, you're surprised when he easily lifts you up and gets you seated on the bathroom counter. However your yelp is muffled by his mouth, his hands pulling you close to the edge, dangerously close that you're clutching onto him, scared of a possible fall. But Jimin got you, his body is caging you and creates a barrier between you and the floor.

Jimin's hand wrapped around his erected cock looks sinful, like nothing you've ever seen before, at least no one made it look so effortlessly hot. Your body almost trembles with the anticipation of feeling him inside of you, and you know it's coming because he starts pumping himself. Not even aware that you stretch your legs to give him a better space, plus giving him a view of the mess between your legs. He pulls you closer, nudging your thighs apart even more before his other hand moves your ruined panties more to the side. He gets a better view of your pulsating heat that's waiting just for him.

“What about a condom?”

He stops, eyes flickering to yours as he stares at you with unreadable recognition. It's enough that you're about to have sex with some stranger, even though it's very hot and irresistible stranger, but you don't know him after all. Are you ready to risk it for him? The rational you mentally praises you for remembering such important detail before it could've been too late.

“Don't have one,” he says through teeth, almost seeming to be annoyed that you stopped him.

Maybe you should grow offended or annoyed yourself by his reaction, but for some reason you don't. You just stare and wait for him to say something else.

“You don't trust me?” There it is – the smirk comes back and makes an appearance on his thick lips again.

“I don't know you.” you point out, cocking a brow at him.

“Yet, you're here sprawled for me ready to be fucked,” he chuckles lowly, your expression dropping as your eyes grow big. “I don't know you either, that's why we need to trust each other.” he says, but still doesn't move to do anything else.

Your mind is screaming at you, telling you over and over again how a bad idea this is and that you'll regret it. There's no actual threat of disease of a potential pregnancy (even though, you've been taking birth control since your teenage years) but you don't know that. He can't exactly tell you without having to explain something that he doesn't even want to or has to explain.

“Hm? What's it gonna be?” he purrs, his hand cupping your jaw as he starts caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Are we gonna trust each other?”

In a way, you're aware he's coaxing you into agreeing and using your temptation by using his low and tempting tone, but you don't find yourself calling him out for it. You're speechless, not able to move your mouth and find your own voice, even though you're not sure what your answer is going to be. But then he's pulling away, taking your silence as an answer which kind of surprises you because you thought he really is coaxing you into agreeing. Before he can fully pull away, you wrap your legs around his frame and cage him.

He opens his mouth staring at you as you can feel his hardened length touching the exposed skin of your thigh.

“Fuck me, Jimin.” you tell him, meeting him in the middle as you both crash your lips together.

The kiss is heated, even more than ever before and you shiver when you feel his tip against your heat. He looks at you, checking one more time as you give him a nod before you crash your lips together again.

He needs you as his distraction but he's not an asshole to take you without your consent, or trying to control you.

With that, he pushes past your folds and enters you. You gasp, pressing your face into his shoulder as you bite onto him gently. He doesn't budge, not surprised by the feeling of your teeth dangerously poking him through the fabric of his shirt. He's pushing in, bottoming out before he's already pulling out just to thrust back in. Jimin has no patience, already getting to work as he starts fucking you. With each thrust, it gets easier to move inside of you as your cum and arousal helps him. You're surprised how good you're taking him, even though your walls do burn with the sudden penetration and the new feeling of his thick cock. Even the pace is going too fast, the top of his thighs slapping against the back of yours while his balls make contact with your ass. The bathroom is filled with sinful sounds of skin on skin slapping, and it coaxes you to clench around him repeatedly. You can't keep up with the animalistic and rustless pace he set, whimpering and moaning his name all over again with an occasional curse falling out of your lips. Jimin grunts are no longer silenced ones, although he seems to be controlling his voice much more.

“Fuck,” you moan, head tilting back as your hands are doing a poor job at trying to hold you in place.

Jimin's hands are around your thighs, making sure your legs stay apart as he keeps fucking into you. You can feel sweat slowly dripping down your neck, even your ass getting sweaty from the contact of the bathroom counter.

“I'm--fuck, I'm close.” you gasp, clutching the edge even harder and before you can say something else, you're already cumming around him. “Ohhh, fuck, Jimin.” you moan out through your orgasm, his pace not slowing down even after you're done and gritting your teeth at the overstimulation.

His head falls into the crook of your neck, lips almost making contact with your skin as he starts shaking and grunting. You think he's close, that it's only a natural reaction of approaching orgasm and you're completely thrown back when he suddenly pulls away completely. His cock is out of you in a record time and as you blink, he's in the middle of the bathroom standing with his jeans and boxer briefs wrapped around his mid-thighs, along with still hardened cock that's coated with your cum. If the situation weren't so weird all of a sudden, you'd probably focus on the sight in front of you much more.

You watch Jimin's features twist in an almost painful expression, his nose scrunching as his whole body shakes. It's nothing too drastic but just enough to notice by the way he's shivering and trying to control himself. He gulps a couple of times as well, seeming like he's in a pain. You've no idea what has just happened and you just stand there completely clueless, eyes big and mouth agape.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, wondering what the hell is wrong with him.

You hop off the counter, ignoring how sensitive you're between your legs and how hard it feels like to be standing on your feet all of a sudden.

“Don't,” he warns you, voice raising as he outstretches his arm to keep you from coming closer. “Don't come any closer.” he says lowly, head held high as you can't see his face.

“What, why? What happened?” you ask worriedly, your eyes filled with worry and confusion at the same time.

When you're about to take another step towards him, it's like he can sense it before you can even more your feet, his head snaps to you and he growls at you.

“Fucking stay away.” he warns you again, almost yelling at you as you jump in fear.

The last thing he sees is your scared eyes before he focuses his gaze to the floor again. He can feel the veins starting to cracking up on his skin, showing what he really craves for. He can't let you see. With your heartbeat being the loudest melody in the room and your smell filling it too, he can't promise not to do something he doesn't want to. That was the whole purpose of tonight, the whole purpose of approaching you and talking to you. He has no idea what's happening to him and why can't he listen to what his mind is telling him to do. He's controlling himself and he knows if he stays any longer, you're not going to make it without any harm.

And that's why he focuses his attention on something else, desperately listening to people slurring drunken nonsense and the loud music before something else catches his attention. It's not too much, just the only thing that helps with not focusing on your smell entirely. It's something no one else can hear, the whimpers and slurping sounds that could only mean one thing.

You notice how he zones out, your hands pulling your dress down to have at least some kind of modesty as you eye the stranger in front of you.

“J--”

His eyes snap to yours as he turns around. “You need to leave.”

“I-- what?” you blurt out, seeing him tucking himself back into the jeans. You ignore the feeling of disappointment that clouds your mind for a whole second, before you're back to confusingly staring at him.

“I don't know wha--”

Taking two long steps, he's right in front of you before he grips your face tightly into his hands. You whimper at the strength staring into his dark orbs that shine like never before.

“Get your friend and leave. You've to leave, right now.”

The firmness in his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you, however it gets somewhere in the back of your mind as you stare at Jimin with big eyes. Painfully for you, he lets you go as he starts backing away from you but there's nothing you can do. You can't bring yourself to move, nor rush after him when he flicks the lock open and walks out of the bathroom. You stand there, your mind suddenly snapping into action as the only thing you can think about is getting Yeri.

When Jimin makes it through the crowd, successfully hiding and blending with his surroundings, he stops and makes sure he has a great view of you walking out of the bathroom. He's watching you from the safe distance, seeing you trying to find your friend that seems to be nowhere in sight. When desperation is evident on your face since you've checked every room downstairs and you still can't find her, your legs lead you upstairs. He wishes he'd tell you to go alone, the longer you're staying... no, he doesn't care.

His mind drifts away to the moment in the bathroom, where his long canines started growing and all he could think about was sinking them to your delicious neck.

He can hear your faint heartbeat but he doesn't allow himself to get closer, not even if you're already upstairs opening every door of each room to find your friend. And when he sees Taehyung with a satisfied grin and blood dripping down his chin nearing him, it makes Jimin think only one thing. None of these people are aware of the liquid dripping down his friend's chin, thinking that it's just another fake blood even if Jimin can smell the metal scent from miles away.

You're growing annoyed when the third room you open, there's still no sight of Yeri but some drunk couples having sex or smoking weed. You scrunch your nose in disgust, wondering if these people don't know what locks are. As you're nearing another room, you just hope there are no naked people and any possible butts that you'll be seeing before you take the doorknob into your hands.

But nothing could ever prepare you for the sight behind that door.

The room is dark, the street lights create at least some kind of lightning but you still decide to turn up the lights. It happens in seconds. The first thing you recognize is the costume, the same one she proudly showed you this morning saying she'll be the hottest Black Widow. You stare at the horrific sight of the face of your friend which is almost unrecognizable. Her lifeless body is laying on a bed, blood trickling down her neck and staining beige sheets underneath her. Your piercing scream rings in your ears but you can't stop screaming from the horror sight in front of you.

Jimin hears your screams, his eyes shifting towards the house as he starts the engine.

“You killed her?” he asks, voice low as he starts the engine.

“Y'know how I get,” Taehyung chuckles, wiping the remains of blood from his chin and mouth. “I was hungry.”

Jimin grips the steering wheel tightly, stealing a last glance at the house and the party that slowly turns into chaos. That's why they never come back. They can't and he should've known his longtime friend would get one of his moods. Taehyung is crazy, much more dangerous than Jimin because he gets so into his own needs.

“You didn't have to kill her.” Jimin points out, leaving the driveway while the house keeps getting further and further.

“I didn't have to, you're right. But I did,” he sighs pleasingly, patting his stomach as he makes himself comfortable in the passenger seat. “And she tasted fucking great.”

Jimin's jaw flexes, slowly growing irritated by his friend's decision to end someone's life again. He should've gotten used to it by now, but he can't never really process it. It's even weirder now that he knows that someone wasn't just someone. It was your best friend.

And that night, almost everyone who attended that party had some regrets. And you've got many of them.

You wish you'd pay more attention to Jimin.

Like, how his eyes kept changing color. How cold his skin was, too unrealistically to be natural. Or one second, he flashed you with his sharp canines and the next one he didn't have any. How much he craved for you, but not the way you thought he was.

If you just paid attention, maybe your friend would be still alive. And maybe you'd be in her place and would never make it out alive, if it weren't for the stranger with red dark orbs that hunts you every night.

#networkbangtan #bts smut #bts angst #jimin x reader #jimin smut #vampire au #kpop au #jimin angst #bts au #jimin fanfic #jimin scenario #bts oneshot #personasintro

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