#cyclone error AU

[iridescentis]

THE CYCLONE ERROR AU

My multiversal timeloop AU where Penny is stuck, not only in a loop, but between realities too, desperately searching for a back to the home where she no longer exists! I had no idea how to introduce this so I used TS4 and procreate to make this image for the vibes :)

This AU has two parts!! Misdirected Request is a liminal sort of glitchy vibe where Penny tries to communicate with Ezra and Tammy through things she finds in the warehouse, while trying to discover the root of the loop, and the second part which I don't really have too many ideas for yet is Unexpected Return, where Penny is back! But the Horrors persist :D

pinterest board and playlist!!

[kevinzhechair]

All the stickers and emojis I have created for my discord server

[an-interview-with-j1janedoe]

*Plays Stan from Eminem and some of that boyband music (the one Johnny Moon was in I forgot the name of the band) and JK-47 music, puts a thermos with the replica of the beverage they brought to JK-47 and puts in front of Jane Doe a Walmart replica in a WAY smaller scale than it really is, puts a McDonald's bag in front of J-1 and begins playing the bad movie replica of Penny Lamb and Ezra Lamb's life*

Do you feel homicidal toward the singer Johnny Moon or JK-47 when offered all of these things? The singer named Johnny Moon or JK-47 is the rapper you've heard just now for context. Do you feel homicidal toward him?

[⚙️]—

An error message flickers in her eyes again, causing her to shove all the items off of the table and shove you out of the room as the metal cuffs bolted down to the table click open once more. She hands you the items before slamming the door shut, going back to the table and sitting down with an empty expression.

Frankly.. uncomfortable? With how adamant people seem today.. she doesn't understand. Well, you got her to feel something. And not in a good way.

[icepoptroll]

@june-doe-2024 day 29: Free Day

Oooooof. Man

This took a lot of time and effort but I wanted my free day piece to be something special. I’ve been so dedicated to this idea and this is pretty much exactly what I wanted it to be. AU in which Jane Doe is a TV head and Karnak tells everyone’s stories through her.

[Video description: "Dream of Life" from Ride the Cyclone is the audio. A still image of Jane Doe with a TV for a head stands in front of purple curtains pulled back to reveal a starry night sky. She is wearing a gray and black plaid jumper and a floral lace top similar to the one she wears in the 2016 version of RTC. The power cord to the TV is wrapped loosely around her neck. The screen starts off black, then it shows static snow, followed by images of the rest of the choir, including: Ocean hugging the Up With People album; a young Noel smirking as he pulls the nativity pageant stunt, wearing the headdress and holding the bare little tree with the star on top; Mischa descending the stairs of a dark basement; a young Ricky standing with bright green crutches against a yellow wall with multiple framed photos of cats on it; Constance laying on her stomach on her bed cutting pieces out of her yearbook. Before each new image, the one preceding it is distorted by glitch. Following these are TV color blocks, which then display the words "ERROR: NO IDENTITY" and then "????" At which point the color blocks are distorted by snow and glitch until the TV screen tunes off. End video description]

Some stills under the cut (I didn't write alt text for each still because I'm on a bit of a time crunch and they're all described in the above video description, these are just the stills from that).

[lavender-z-love]

Is this Love?

Douma X Black.Fem Reader

Genre: Demon x Demon Slayer, Demon Boyfriend AU, Human X Demon, Angst, Fluff Ig? Yandere x Tsundere? Action?

Warnings: Blood, Mentions of stabby stab (tryna keep it PG.) Yandere themes. SPELLING/ GRAMMAR ERRORS

A/n: I know Douma has a few screws loose, but lets ignore that for now. (This was a request) I've only seen 5 minutes of Demon Slayer but I did some research on homeboy and he is an interesting Antagonist. Also, Ik the powers kinda wack, just work with me here—I'll be doing some revisions too so if something looks different dont be alarmed

Wordcount: 1k-ish? Ill count later.

Part 1: Here ♡

Part 2: (More Yandere stuff. Nun too crazy)

The Heavenly Hashira. That was you title. You were known for your Aerokinesis, tessen abilities. You weren't the strongest nor the weakest, but you could hold yourself astoundingly well compared to the others. There was no denying that the Heavenly Hashira had quite a few deaths of demons on her hands.

The walk through the dark night was silent. A cool and Icy breeze began to pick up, you shivered.. It felt familiar but you just couldn't put your finger on it.

That was until you heard..That voice. "Don't you know its dangerous for a gorgeous woman to be walking around at night...Alone?" You stop in your tracks, eyes scanning the area in attempt to find where he was hiding. Nowhere in your eyesight, meaning he had to be somewhere behind you.

You take a deep, concentrated breath.. Springing into the air, looking below you. Rest assured there he was. Large muscular build, platinum blonde hair—Leaning up against a tree, waving at you, those cold rainbow eyes smile at you.

With your Tessen in hand, You whisper a quick chant before whisking your arm around. Shooting a atmospheric gas in the form of a small cyclone.

The last thing you wanted to do was create a large one and lose control of it. Once the cyclone reaches the demon it combusts.

You gently land, one foot touching the ground before the other. Your eyes glued on the now clouded area due to the combustible cyclone you sent towards him.

To no avail, no damage was done. Of course what would one expect from one of the most dangerous demons. He walked out of the cloud unscathed, still with that apathetic smile on his face.

"Well..Good evening to you too. Y/n", He spoke."

The air getting colder by the minute, amost like tiny miniscule icicles formed in the air. Breathing in was starting to hurt, causing you to breathe more conservatively. "I'm not here to hurt you, Y/n, Let's just chat for a moment", he cooed.

"Talk? I have no desire to speak with you." He lowers his voice, somewhat husky now. Those symbols within his eyes studying you.

"Playing 'hard to get' I see. You're So cold-hearted Y/n.." He smiled, eyebrows following helping him display a flirty expression as he continued pacing forward.

Of course, you walk backwards not wanting to come into contact with him. The ground started to crawl, a force growing quickly at Douma's feet and working their way towards you. Vines created by Ice, growing.

"Just let me say a few things and I'll consider letting you go for a bit.."

"Huh? Letting me—"

The vines shaped into large lotuses, the icy vines capturing you by your wrists. The vines, growing spikes rushing towards you. In a panic, you wave your fans around. Doused in pink aura, your wind slices the Ice lotus. Your wrists now free you turn and leap, hoping to get out the range of the Ice limbs Douma was creating.

Taking your tessen you use them to your advantage, utilizing its ability to give you a jump boost. Not long after the cold air picks up once more. Seeing Douma chase after you swiftly. Chanting then waving your Tessen as you hopped tree branch from tree branch.

"I advise you to Stop Y/n, I promise I won't hurt you", He says evily chuckling. Creating cyclones, tornadoes of all sorts- taking advantage of the freezing clouds Douma was producing. Sending hurricanes of sharpened Icicles right back at him. The frozen mist slowly engulfing you from behind, as you raced back to the others hoping you could lure him back to the others.

Dodging large wintery icicle shards that plummet from above. 'There! The Estate!' It was just at your fingertips, and then...Dragged down from the sky by Lotus vines. "Y/n, I love a good chase...but I really must confess something."

The vines tossing you around, one minute you hang upside down, the next you're thrown and caught upright. The vines wrapped around your waist vigorously. Holding you still for the deadly demon before you.

Pushing away at the vines, only for them to nearly squeeze you to death as a punishment.

"Release me!", you shout. You wriggle your wrist, striving to create some sort of wave strong enough to break the vines.

Douma, appearing so suddenly right in front of you. Face to Face, His hands latching onto your wrists, keeping them at a halt. His long blue nails, grazing your skin— He snatches the Tessen away from you.

"Fun game Y/n.. I thank you, I needed that run."

You stayed quiet, thinking of the things you'd never done yet..preparing yourself to be consumed.

"I wanted to tell you before— seems like..I've come to fancy you."

"...What?" You're neck nearly snapping as you turn to look at the demon. You studied his face, waiting for him to say he was joking of some sort. "You?...You heartless, unemotional psycho- Are you really capable of such emotions? Don't make me laugh", you scoffed. Douma's usual casual smile drops..

"Heartless..Unemotional?..How saddening you've been convinced I have no feelings..However–" ,With your Metal Fans Douma had taken from you, he closes them before bringing them up to your chin. Gently, lifting up your chin to look at him. "Explain to me what these feelings are..I don't think a emotionless being would feel what I am feeling right now."

"That doesn't change the fact the you're psycho-"

Douma gazes at you, his rainbow eyes undressing you in the process. His smile ever so alluring, baring his sharp fangs. "Psycho, I guess so. I'm a psycho for you."

Noticing that you were slowly moving backwards, now with your back to a tree, icy vines that held you captive loosen, not quite unwinding from you. In an instant, pale fingers intertwine with yours. Caging you to the tree. "Join me Y/n, I'll make you happy."

You shocked by his sudden proposal, pulling at your restraints and his hands. "NO!" Wriggling one hand free, you reach behind you grabbing a spare hidden weapon you carried just incase of an emergency. A blade, now shoved through Douma's skull from his chin and up. Warm crimson staining your hand as it drizzles down. Catching him completely by surprise, his eyes widened with shock.

His hand, swiftly yanking out the weapon out of his face. Blood following the weapon once disguarded. Slightly regretting your actions as you watched him turn his attention back to you. Expecting for your life to be cut short then and there, the opposite happened.

His pale hands, blue claws pinning your free hand to the tree. His eyes sparkled in amazement, desplaying admiration for you. "Oh my, such a beautiful and clean piercing."

He leans in, leaning in close to your face. "You really are something. An slayer capturing my heart..how interesting."

"You're not fooling me, let me go or kill me!"

"The last thing I'd want to do Is fool you, let alone kill you", he cooes. The Demon gazing at your lips every now and then, allowing you to catch onto what he wanted. You turned your head away from him. Leaving Douma chuckling, his fangs once again flashing. "Well..That will come in due time." His multicolored eyes scan you,"Hmm..how about you come with me?"

"What?", you question.

"You heard me, I'm. Taking. You. With. Me!" He sings happily.

..'This guy is really insane you through to yourself.' Douma chuckles, holding the fan before you. He opens it, puckering his lips and blowing icy dust into your face.

"As if id go with you willingly–"

Your sentence discontinued by the substance introduced to your lungs. You wheeze with disgust, in attempt to cough up what you ingested. The swiftness of your limbs going numb, followed by sleepiness now taking control.

Douma smiles joyfully as you slouch against the tree now keeping you up. His vines now releasing you as you fall before him. "I do have to admit, while I absolutely adore you fired up..This, Sleepiness suits you well too Love."

Douma kneels down to your level, reaching out to you. He loops one arm around your back and the other below your knees— carrying you Bridal style.

"Stop..l-let me go", your voice sleepily slurred.

"Mm-mm, the both of us have things to discuss. Take a nap in the meantime, okay?" His smile, the last thing your eyes saw before quickly succumbing to the slumber spell placed upon you.

Practically skipping with you in arms Douma heads back to his Resort. The satisfying sound crunching of dead leaves under his feet follow him.

"Don't worry Y/n..You'll come to terms with my feelings— No matter how long it takes. I will make you mine."

Written May 31st, 2023

[randomfoggytiger]

X-Files Collector's Fic: Cleaning Out the Vineyard House (Poll Results 2nd)

This list was inspired by this poll-- 1st part here~.

(**Note**: I'll edit out errors later when no one's looking.)

Loose chronological order below~ 

raspberrycoffeecake's Vineyard-Haven

""But he turns back toward the sea, retracts his arms, and wraps them around his knees, closing in on himself.

“I came out here once the year after Samantha disappeared,” he says in an even tone. He’s still looking out at the waves, and she wonders if he’s talking to her or to himself. “It was just a normal summer morning. My father was upstairs in his office, writing letters, making phone calls, ignoring us like he always did. My mother made me a sandwich to take with me to the baseball field, as if there had always been just one child to make sandwiches for. As if Sam was just a dream I had, as if she had never existed. And I finally decided that I couldn’t stand the denial. I couldn’t keep pretending anymore.""

Post Paper Hearts Mulder whisks Scully to Martha's Vineyard. She supports him as he processes his memories; and insists they start a relationship when it won't be based in trauma.

@syntax6's (Gossamer, FFN, Omni) Mulder 1998

""He opened his eyes and looked at her over the flames. "They say the ocean has no memory."

She licked her thumb and scanned the paltry breaking surf. "I guess I can see that. The tide comes in, sweeps everything away and washes out again, only to reappear a few hours later. It makes the ocean seem immutable, as though no outside force can change it."

"And change equals memory?"

"Sure. Every memory changes you.""

Pre-Triangle Mulder sells his father's Vineyard house because of the expenses wracked up during FTF. He and Scully share their beach disappointments; and they compare his height to the former scratches on his childhood wall.

Chimerical1975's Regular People

""Grocery shopping with Mulder was something of an experience. It turned out that he was a creature of immense habit with definite likes and dislikes. Since she'd barged in on him, she offered to cook whatever he liked and he put up surprisingly little resistance to the offer. In fact, he revealed that macaroni and cheese was his favorite thing in the world. But only homemade--he had to be close to starving to eat the stuff that came in the blue box. She was amused that such simple comfort food was something he craved, not to mention greatly relieved because it was something that she actually knew how to make. If he'd wanted ratatouille, she would have been in big trouble.""

AU-- TGTSC Scully's California flight was canceled; so she surprises Mulder at the Vineyard where he is cleaning out his father's house. They whack down yard weeds, move each other with respect and admissions on both their parts-- romantically and not living a normal life together-- and conclude their unresolved romantic tensions.

Folieadeux's Cyclone

""Closing the door behind him, he slid off his jacket and laid it on the hall bench.He'd promised himself that he would not take too much time doing this,that he would be quick and efficient, without unnecessary emotions. Just like she'd do it, like she had done it when it had been her turn.

// He sat in the hallway, his back propped against the wall, watching her. It was late spring and the yearly housecleaning was in full force. The scene was misleading in its normalcy. A woman in an apron and a freshly washed house dress ripping sheets from a little girl's twin bed, shaking puffs of dust in the air that floated in the sunshine before disappearing to wherever those particles went. Her jaw was set tight and her face was determined. Only twin paths of tears betrayed her calm exterior.

He kept silent, a skill he was beginning to hone as the weeks wore on and his sister didn't return. Every day the house grew more and more silent while they all pretended. What they were pretending was something he had yet to figure out. //""

Post Closure Mulder somberly packs up the Vineyard, apologizing to the house while battling morbid memories. He always felt he had to protect his mother: the woman who kept travel books but never traveled.

LuvTheBeez’s (mulderscreek) Packing

""Every object, every possession left in the house had been carefully wrapped and packed away only to spend the rest of its days in a dank storage room somewhere. These boxes contained once precious objects that no longer mattered to anyone, all of them things he'd looked at a million times but had never really seen. Things that had been carefully maintained, fastidiously dusted and polished, each holding a memory that was solely hers, that he could not share.""

Post Closure Mulder packs up Tena's house, frustrated that there were no more answers to be found. Scully drops in with comfort food; and both are glad she hadn't listened to his earlier denials and mild mandates.

OKayVal's 155 Words - Santa Claus, North Pole

""Dear Santa, I have been good. Please bring me a talking Crissy doll. And please bring my brother Fox a model rocket so he will be too busy to tease me. Thank you. Love Samantha Mulder.""

Post Closure Mulder soldiers on, cleaning out Tena's house. Samantha's "Dear Santa" letter guts him with guilt.

xraelynn’s (Gossamer) Illumination

""It’s good to see you, Mulder,” she said softly, taking a sip of her coffee. The smile in his eyes dimmed as he looked away.

“I, uh...I didn’t mean to run out of town on you,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed down on his coffee. “I just thought I...needed some time.”

Mulder’s face was smooth and calm now, but for days she hadn’t stopped seeing his expression of devastation and betrayal whenever she looked at him.

It turned out that she had needed some time too.""

Post Closure Mulder invites Scully out to the Vineyard, needing her company while he processes his losses and revelations.

@bohoartist's (Ao3) Unnamed Prompt

""Let me see!” she pleads, reaching for it, but he extends his arm just out of her reach.

“Oh not at all, Scully, this is way too incriminating.”

She sits back and pouts, sticking out her plump bottom lip and looking up at him through her lashes before quickly changing tactics and lunging at him.""  

Post Closure Scully rescues a picture of little toddler Mulder before her partner can destroy all of his family mementos.

Pattie's Sailor Spooky

""Besides, I wouldn't want to spoil your free time away from me."

His heart sank. He sat on the couch. After a long pause he told her the truth. "I just don't want to be alone, okay?"

Scully stopped filling the coffee maker and approached her partner.""

Post Closure Mulder doesn't want to be alone. Scully assures him he doesn't have to prove anything-- including making himself seasick by trying to bond with her.

@o6666666's (Ao3)

Untitled

""Martha’s Vineyard, he’d said, this weekend, and she’s already teased him that he ever thought it might be a hard sell. His Scully is made for the beach. Not least because her body is pink and freckled and cut from stone, but mostly because the ocean recognizes her at once—a Scully, one of its own—and she opens her heart to it like she does to her mother and small children, allowing her wild laugh and squeaky voice and a sort of space-taking that seems fundamentally opposite to the space-taking she does at work, with clipped tones, and where the littler she speaks, the more powerful she seems.

(By contrast: When he woke up this morning she had all the covers, and her arms were spread out like wings across the whole bed. “You cozy?” he’d whispered, sidling closer. She’d tucked him right in with her with a kiss to his nose. And doing the breakfast dishes together, he’d heard it—this dry little fart. She’d turned to him with wide, guilty eyes and he’d rat-tailed her, lightly, with the dish towel and whistled: “Scul-ly!”)""

Post Closure? Mulder takes Scully on a boating trip to the Vineyard-- and she boats, happily, like a crazy person.

Untitled

""Mulder, I can’t sail.”

He grinned. “Sure you can.” He was sure Scully knew the methodology of sailing. Perhaps Scully could sail like she could drive. When she was a little girl she could sail, and when she was six she accidentally hit Captain Scully in the head with the boom.

AU-- S9 Mulder bought Scully a boat for her 40th. The two go sailing while Maggie watches their son.

@scapegrace74-blog/scapegrace74's Pandora's Box

""He’s been at loose ends since his mother passed away, and she draws an invisible line around him, daring anyone else to cross it and touch his tender heart.  There are a million daily reminders of loss: calls from the family attorney, paperwork to sign, a father’s voice rising from a tour group outside the Hoover Building, “don’t wander too far away, Sam!”

So when he asks her to run this simple errand, she leaps at the chance to help."" 

Post Closure Scully finds an engagement ring in Mulder's things; and the two realize their weaknesses-- fear to take it to the next step for fear of guilt-tripping the other-- pale in comparison to their strengths.

@alienbaby-babymama/ABBM515‘s Potential

""Even though it had only been a few weeks since their partnership became an “official” partnership, Dana Scully would never have to be asked twice to spend a weekend by the water.

Mulder had mentioned in passing that he wanted to get his mother’s house prepared for sale. The place was big, required maintenance, and the memories engrained in the walls and floorboards of the house was not something he wanted to deal with. The property deserved love again. He just wasn’t sure he was the one to give it.""

Mulder and Scully-- still not dating post Closure-- sort out how to use Martha's Vineyard: a rental property so they can subsidize their IVF treatments.

@gabby-msr/ScullytoyourMulder/scullytoyourmulder993's

A Love Captured

""That night was special. In high school, I was the kid whose sister had gone missing. I guess it was some kind of curse. I was a bit of a pariah. Even on the baseball team,” he said, and he saw her frown in disapprobation.  

“But that night, it didn’t matter. We stayed on the diamond celebrating well into the night, the team and other people, too. Some people drank. I didn’t, I still had to drive myself home. People congratulated me.”

"I’m glad,” she told him, squeezing his hand. “I’m glad baseball brought you some happiness.”

“It did,” he said, but there was something sad about the way he said it.

“What is it?”

“My parents - they’ve never seen me play,” he admitted."" 

S8 Monica is trying to understand the late Agent Mulder. While snooping through his office, she finds memorabilia from his and Scully's vacation to the Vineyard post-Je Souhaite. Their trip was about him rediscovering and reinvigorating his past-- all of it: Samantha, his parents, Diana, and everything else-- with a newer, fresher start.

FatCat's Scully Pride

""Where's the car your mom rented? What did she get us, a convertible?" I grinned.

"Uh, no, it's not a convertible. It's over there." Scully pointed up the street toward a Toyota Corolla.

"Scully? A Corolla? I can't fit into a car that small comfortably."

"Uh, no, Mulder. Not the Corolla, the... erm... one in front of it."

I looked again and whistled. "A Cadillac Escalade? Your mom rented a Escalade for us?"

"She said something about it being handy to have with so many guests around." She couldn't meet my eyes. I knew she was embarrassed.

"Scully," I leaned down to force her to look at me. "Your mom told me about your Aunt Maeve. It's okay. I had some relatives just like her so I do understand.""

AU-- Mulder offers the Vineyard to Maggie's snobby relatives, good-naturedly hosting their get-together. The love bomb and a proposal is dropped; and Charlie fights Scully over her initial refusal.

WordsSpillFromMyOpenVeins_89's Weekend At Martha's Vineyard

""Less then ten minutes later, William was fast asleep on the floor and snoring with Ishy next to him.

Mulder pat the back of William's head, ran his hand down is back, feeling the rise and fall of his tiny chest.

"Oof. Don't know how much longer I'll be able to do this, bud. You're growing up", Mulder whispered against his floppy auburn hair.

Mulder reached out his right arm, to brace against the wall before taking the last two steps up to the second level of the Hamptons Style Bungalow.

Mulder carried William up to his bedroom, unlaced his converse sneakers and placed them on the floor, at the foot of the bed. Carefully covering William with the Van Gogh Starry Starry Night bedspread and tucking the edges under him, to keep him warm.""

AU-- S9 Mulder, Scully, Will, and their dog all vacation at Martha's Vineyard. While there, Mulder proposes; and all is chummy and famfic-y.

Enjoy!

[utau-fanchildren-combos]

Error x Ink Fanchildren [C-D]

C

Cadenza by @alryriarose

Calamus, by @areallylittleshrimp

Calluna, by @the-creator-undertale-au

Caper Pen, by @lostorigin

Castell.EXE, by RebornHydra, adopted by ElatedFeline

Captcha, by @bobateaboo

Catalog by @slugott

Canvas, by @myta

Cartridge, by @officialwretcheddarkness

Checkmate, by @radio-y3n / @0zmodeus

Chroma, by @autoartist

Cinnamon, by @thesmallsoul

Clause by @nota-01

Clay by @karineverse

Clay, by lilly

Clay by @yuzuki-wolf

Clear, by @iv-horsemen

Clipboard by @slugott

Clover by @yotyanvino

Clutter by ARandomGirlOnD

Code by @nantu22

Code, by ReaperSans/Has Wings

Code, by@Trash01

Color Code, by @0tterLucy

Colorcode, or Color & Code, by @melocakes574

Colour, by ?

Colour, by @soft-peterparker (formerly @swootygold07)

Connie Code, by @Happythrusday24

Contrast, by @kurolini909

Contrast, by @xxeonv (?)

Copt, by Fantastic-Host1035

Copic Marker, by @maple-and-pie

Copic, by @bobateaboo

Craft by @lazydrawershy

Creative Order by Arro29823772

Creative Mode by Lilithblueflame

Critical by @snowy-bones

Crochet by @whatsasilverartistdoinghere

Crystal, by @artybone (not a fanchildren anymore)

Crystal, by errsnskini

Custom (?), by @big-senpai / LexysDesu adopted by AutumnSheep (DeviantArt)

Cyan, by R. I. P. Reaper In Party

Cyclone, by @nova-blues

Cyral, by @nova-blues

Cytrait, by @nova-blues

D

Damask by @boobluebutterly

Daphne, by @ItzL_X3L

Data by @starreaperlutia (No longer in UTAU : new ref)

Dawning, by @star-gamerxox

Debug by @slugott

Defectum, by @defectiveask

Delete File, by @glitchy-post

Delette, by @gvaries

Den, by @hakki-no

Design, by @pepper-mint

Designer by @northyred

Despair, by ?

Dexterity, by @ginganinja

Digit, by @llwandehll

Doodle, by @offical-dystopiantale

Drop, by @mini-shrimp14

Drop, by @uyuni-poyo

[0-#] [A-B] [C-D] [E-F] [G-H] [I-J] [K-L] [M-N] [O-P] [Q-R] [S-T] [U-V] [W-X] [Y-Z]

[x2joincircus]

KINLIST (LAST UPDATED MAY 9TH)

*mc fnafverse is a fnaf (minecraft😨) roleplay i'm not from original fnaf lmao (special interest go br) 💖 - please doubles ✅ - doubles fine ❔ - doubles unsure (aka willing to try meeting some) 📍 - Doubles iffy ❌ - no doubles ❣️- oc

IDs: Peridot (steven universe) - ❌ Bendy (bendy) - ❔ Ace (oc) - ❣️ Leslie (oc) - ❣️ Jake (mc fnafverse/handful jake popgoes) - ❌ Magic (Peppers playhouse (roblox)) - ❔

High kins: Shadow bonnie (mc fnafverse/thefamousfilms fnaf) - 📍 Blue/Swap!sans (undertale au / Ask error!sans) - ✅ Ben drowned (creepypasta) - ❔ Pico (friday night funkin+picos school) - 📍 Felix (andys apple farm) - ❔ Shrignold (dont hug me im scared) - 📍 Virtual freddy (mc fnafverse/thefamousfilms fnaf) - 📍 Ben (mc fnafverse oc) - ❣️ Fandroid (fandroid lore) - ❌ Yellow guy (Dont hug me im scared) - ✅ Sundrop (fnaf au) - ✅ Lancer (deltarune) -❔ Sorbet shark cookie (cookie run) - ✅ Jevil (deltarune) - 💖 Venti (genshin impact) - ✅ Fizzaroli (helluva boss) - ✅ Twisted/Glamrock bonnie (mc fnafverse/thefamousfilms fnaf) - 📍 Spamton (deltarune)

Mid kins: Moon Man (weirdcore oc) - ❣️ Huggy wuggy (poppy playtime) - ❔ Sonic (sonic movies) - ❔ Skid (spooky month/friday night funkin) - ❔ Popee paraphone (popee the performer) - ❔ Agoti (friday night funkin mod) - ❔ Spinel (steven universe) - ✅ Senpai (Friday night funkin) (please call me sen or thorns) - 📍 Kapi (friday night funkin mod) - 💖 Wooly (amanda the adventurer) - ❔ Bluey/partypooper (backrooms oc) - ❣️ Broogli (broogli sona/backrooms) - 💖 Eyeless jack (creepypasta) - ❔ Hanzou (picos school) - 📍 Alucard (picos school) - ❔ Argos (the world of mr plant) - 💖 (double warning-highlight to read)Sammy lawerce (bendy) - ✅ Ink!sans (undertale au) - ✅ Mochi (Carousel garden/Mc fnafverse) - ✅ Rasazy (friday night funkin mod)- ✅ Chance theater!Jane doe (chance theater ride the cyclone) - 💖 Glamrock helpy (mc fnafverse/thefamousfilms fnaf) - ❔ Napstablook (undertale) - ✅ Ralsei deltarune - 💖 BLU (baldi’s basics oc) - ❣️ Moxxie (helluva boss) - ✅

Low kins: Mcq!error!sans (undertale au) - 📍 Cassette girl (friday night funkin/newgrouds mascot) - ✅ Camilo (encanto) - ✅ Mcq!fresh!sans (undertale au) - ✅ Fresh!sans (undertale au) - ✅ Flowey (undertale) - ✅ Nina the killer (creepypasta) - ✅ Ribbon Dancer (welcome to dream world) - ✅ Scribble (mc fnafverse/pretty depressed productions fnac) - ✅ Chessire cat/Chessie (mc fanfverse/pluless Nights in wonderland) - ❔ Fylan (mc fnafverse/pretty depressed productions fnac) - 💖 Circus baby (fnaf sl) - ✅ Benjamin (little misfortune) - ❔ Nobe (mc fnafverse/invisible davis) - ✅ Virgil (sanders sides) - ✅ Colin (dhmis) - ✅ C!grian (hermitcraft) - ❔ Cartoon!bendy (bendy shorts) -✅ Starlight (welcome to dreamworld) - ❔ Tails doll (creepypasta) - ✅ The projectionist (bendy) -✅ Vincent lin (adamandi) - 📍 sl!Funtime freddy (mc fnafverse/pretty depressed productions sister location + fnac) - ✅ Tord (eddsworld) - 📍 Rockstar bonnie (mc fnafverse/thefamousfilms fnaf) - ❔ Mettaton (undertale) - ✅ Cindy (mc fnafverse/ pretty depressed productions fnac) - 💖 Noibat (pokemon) Kay (fnaf kids)

Other: Faekin Robotkin Angelkin demonkin Rabbitkin

[jvngkook97]

Cowboy Take Me Away

pairing; cowboy!jungkook x city girl!reader ft. cowboy!taehyung

genre; angst, fluff, smut, humor, cowboy au

warnings; jungkook looking like he does in the gif (yes that’s a warning cause 🥵), tae being the best wingman on both ends, lots of humor and hints of fluff, cursing, angst in the form of a deceased family member, mentions of alcohol, consumption of alcohol, grinding, marking, slightly dom!reader and sub!koo, consensual sex, semi public sex in a single person bathroom located in a bar (but it’s locked so), handjob, clit play, even though no condom is used in this fic always be sure to wrap it before you tap it please and thank you (unless you’re actively trying to get pregnant than good luck!)

rating; 21+ MINORS DNI

w/c; 4,540

a/n; was listening to what I knew back in the 90s as ‘Dixie Chicks’ that are now known as just ‘The Chicks’, and then Permission to Dance came on like a moment of the universe aligning and thus this scenario was formed and the rest is history. this is unedited so sorry in advance for any errors. like + reblog if you enjoyed. feedback is always appreciated and helps keep this writer motivated. <3

networks; @ficscafe, @thebtswritersclub, @kflixnet

“Well, well, well–,”

The wind blows your hair in front of your face as you spin around to locate the male behind the voice, desperately trying to tame the mane in a battle you’re only losing.

“Look what the city stray cat dragged in.”

He lets out a deep, baritone, chuckle. One that triggers a memory from deep within your mind, back when you used to come up and visit your grandpa on his farm in this small southern town located in seemingly the middle of nowhere.

In your memory he’s teaching you how to properly lasso a fake bullhead decoy while on horseback, which resulted in an epic fail on your part and a whole days worth of stacking twice as much hay in the barn due to losing a bet with said male and taking responsibility for his load.

As soon as the mini dust devil cleared it’s ugly cyclone from disrupting your view, were you able to finally meet the mischievous eyes of the body behind the voice.

Kim Taehyung.

After exchanging mock pleasantries, true to the nature of your friendship, Taehyung’s once playful nature suddenly turns serious.

“I’m sorry for your loss, y/n. Your grandpa was a good man.”

He gave your shoulder a light squeeze and you mustered up a half assed smile in return.

“Thanks, Tae.”

“So, it must be true then? You’re taking over your grandpa’s farm?”

All you do is nod.

He lets out a low whistle, then throws an arm around your shoulders to lead you to your favorite place in this small town — the bar.

“Let’s get you a drink.”

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Instead of business, are you looking for some pleasure?”

You nearly choke on the drink that only ends up dribbling down your chin as you haphazardly swallow the rest of your beer with a loud gulp.

He lets out a boyish laugh, accompanied by an equally as childish grin.

“Your mind has never left that gutter, has it?” You asked with a deadpanned expression, though not all that surprised.

He shrugs, then gains the attention of the bartender to get you two more drinks. They come within seconds and you cheers to nothing before slamming them down in an impromptu chugging contest.

He lets out a loud burp, before giving an equally as loud ‘whoop’ in victory. You roll your eyes at his antics, not liking it in the slightest that you’ve lost to him, yet again.

“I was only asking–,” he went to resume his previous statement that had you raising your brows in feigned interest.“–because, my good buddy is in town and seems to be looking for some fun of his own.”

“Sure.”

“Now, before you say no–,”

His eyes widen, before his mouth drops open in disbelief.

“Wait. Seriously? I was only half joking, but–,”

“Yeah. I’ll meet him. Got any pictures?”

He scoots his stool closer to yours so you can get a better view of his phone screen as he swipes through multiple pictures saved on his phone from their previous escapades, even some short videos where you’re able to hear his voice and you know, you just know.

He’s going to be trouble—

“Does he know anything about me?”

“Not really. Just that you’re originally from the city.”

“Good. Don’t let him know I’m not exactly new to town, I wanna see how he acts.”

He gives a snicker of amusement, but the look in his eyes lets you know he’s just as on board to your little ploy as you are.

“Also, have him meet me at the other bar.”

At this, he gives you a wary expression of hesitation, not as on board with this part of your plan.

“The Rusty Nail? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

—and you’re ready for it.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

You get to the other country themed bar in town with little to no problems, other than the occasional wolf whistle that would be blown in your direction as you walked by the sleazy bar goers that liked to linger outside the entrance. You paid them no mind.

It’s a dive bar, alright. And it was just as bad as you remembered it. Dark, noisy, with mysteriously colored stains everywhere you look. You decide to sit at the bar, wondering if you should flag the bartender or wait for this friend of Taehyung’s — Jungkook.

“Hey, Leona. Two whiskey’s for me and my friend here.”

Suddenly leaning against the bar next to you is Jungkook, somehow more gorgeous in person than in his pics. Ah, so he knows the barkeep by name, hm?

He stares down at you, raking his eyes over you with obvious interest. Normally, this kind of attention in a bar would put you off, but you’ve been looking forward to this. His attention sends a thrill down your spine, one you haven’t had the pleasure of feeling in a long time.

“Your friend, hm?” One brow of yours raises.

“Oh, well, I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

You think about all the explicit flirting you and he exchanged yesterday when Taehyung gave him your number so you could establish a basis of connection other than said male.

“Right.” You give him a sly grin. “Wouldn’t want that.”

“So, what do you think? Not your usual city pub, huh?”

“I love dive bars.”

“I knew you would. Plus, none of the deadbeats here will care if the bathroom sees a little closed door action.” He winks at you and you can feel the tips of your ears as they warm from his very direct personality.

“What happened to not being presumptuous?”

“I ain’t presuming nothing!” His cheeky grin says otherwise. “Simply telling you how it is here.” He lifts his glass with a glimmer in his eyes.

“Cheers.”

You raise yours in kind.

“To a satisfying night.”

He smiles and you clink your glasses. He drinks deep, downing the whole swig in one go. The whiskey goes down rough, but you finish it off quickly and slam your glass down along with Jungkook’s.

He makes a sour face, before it’s replaced by his usual nonchalant demeanor.

“Wow. That stuff is always worse than I expect it to be. I love Leona to death, but this whiskey is what happens when soy sauce and rubbing alcohol get to know each other a little too well.”

He catches the current topic of interest’s attention and asks for another drink, a beer this time, then turns to ask if you want something else as well.

Rather than having him tell her what you want, you politely face towards said bartender and ask sweetly for another round of whiskey, she gives you a wink of recognition and Jungkook is none the wiser to your small interaction, to consumed with running a finger along the brim of his black cowboy hat that he set down on the bar countertop upon sidling up next to you. It’s not until you give your answer of another whiskey, that you gain back his full attention.

“Damn. Either you’ve got a palate of steel, or you’re trying to impress me.”

You lean closer to his figure, fingertips barely touching atop the counter as you reply.

“Is it working?”

“Can’t tell.” His eyes narrow in on your face as his eyes do their best to not glance down at the cleavage you not so subtly are brandishing for him. “I’m torn between being impressed and feeling bad for you.”

You lean away from him to resume your previous stance of holding a healthy distance between you both, something he doesn’t fail to notice as his body reacts opposite in the way of leaning towards you instead.

“What’s the point in going out if you don’t get the hard stuff?”

Jungkook laughs, his nose crinkling, and his eyes cut to you in a way that warms you right up. Or – maybe that’s the whiskey.

“Can’t argue with that.”

With a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, you each grab your drinks once the bartender returns and Jungkook leads you deeper into the bar and to a back room outfitted with a pool table, dartboards, and a few patrons lounging on stools and a ratty couch.

Jungkook clearly knows a few of the folks back here, judging by the friendly smiles and beer bottles raised in greeting. It’s when they notice you and the fact that Jungkook has company, do they smirk and leave you two alone. You both take seats at an unoccupied table.

“There’s an understanding here. Most everyone is a misfit or rebel of some sort, so no one butts in where they ain’t welcome.”

“I’ll fit right in then.” You take the chance and steal his cowboy hat right off his head as you say this, and place it firmly on top of yours with an innocent smile, though he knows better.

“I thought you might. So, what’s your story darlin’? For real this time?”

“You really want to know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” He starts, then gives a doe eyed pout that he knows you wouldn’t be able to resist. “Come on, you ain’t gonna tell me?”

When you give him an air of indifference and slight hesitation of opening up to him, does he feel the need to break the ice first.

“Here. I’ll spill first.” He makes a show of clearing his throat while feigning a serious air. “My name is Jungkook, and I work on a farm nearby for the season. I like horses, singing, dancing, and–,” he steps a foot closer to you, voice dropping down an octave before continuing. “–I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you all night.”

He gestures towards you with his hands in a silent way of telling you it’s now your turn. Not willing to give up information just yet, you decide to string him along with a follow up question of your own.

“If you like dancing, then why aren’t we dancing right now?”

“Because right now we’re talking.” He shoots finger guns at you with a shit eating grin. “Nice try, but I won’t be easily distracted. I want to know about you.”

“Well, I’m y/n. I’m new in town, and I actually work on a farm too. Or, I will soon.”

“Do you miss the city?”

You shrug your shoulders, face blank. You didn’t have anything going on to keep you within the city – you had friends, sure, but only the work kind. Didn’t have any family over there, and definitely didn’t have any relationship to keep you locked in. At least here, you had your grandpa’s farm and the memories with it. Also, you had Taehyung. His personality may be out there, but he kept things interesting and you knew he would be there for you in a heartbeat if you needed him.

“Not really. I’m excited to start my country life chapter.” You say with a genuine smile, one that he reciprocates with a solidarity nod of his head at your answer.

“Good for you. I think you’ll find it has its charms. Present company included.”

He leans back and gestures to himself, smirking. You want to be put off by the arrogance, and you normally would be, but he cuts such a nice figure that you can’t help but follow his hands with your gaze. When you finally drag your eyes back to his, he’s looking at you intently and with not a small amount of amusement. God. He’s so pleased with himself.

At that moment, Jungkook glances over your shoulder and sees the folks in the corner with the pool table and dartboards are packing up their things. Jungkook looks at you hopefully.

“What do you think? Want to play?”

You survey the area with a look of interest.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

He grins at you.

“Which one? Ladies choice.”

You bite your lip in contemplation before deciding.

“I like pool.”

Jungkook stands and offers you a hand up. He grabs his drink and hands you yours. Each tiny moment of contact between the two of you sends a thrill through you.

“Awesome. If you’re new, I can teach you a thing or two.” He winks at you and your stomach lurches. There’s that unending confidence again. You’re not new to playing pool at all, but you’ll humor him.

Jungkook is quite good at pool, much to your non-surprise. The picture of the man you’re with keeps getting clearer, and it’s this: super competent, and super aware of it.

Damn him, but you’re into it.

You chug the last of your drink, then set it on the table closest to you that is also sporting Jungkook’s own half finished drink as you watch him. He cracks the ball and breaks like an expert. Then he turns to you and lets you take the first shot. Great. You line up what could conceivably be a good shot and do that thing you’ve seen other pool players do, where they lean forward and wiggle the cue back and forth. You shoot, and you do successfully hit the white ball, but it just grazes the next ball and gets nowhere near the pocket.

“I thought you said you were good at pool?” He jests at you playfully, lopsided grin on full display. You give him the stink eye before replying smartly.

“I said I liked it. I never said anything about being good.”

Jungkook chuckles and comes around the pool table to stand by you. He places one hand on your shoulder and his other on your arm with the pool cue.

“You want me to show you how it’s done?” His voice is low, but clearly audible in the dusty silence of the bar. You drag your eyes up to meet his that are dark in the dim light and you challenge him.

“Oh? So you can put your hands all over me?”

His eyes glint, and yep, of course that’s his angle. In the back of your mind you wonder if he’s used the same tactic on other bar goers, but you don’t let it linger there for long cause you realize you could care less in the moment.

“Maybe. But only if you want me to.”

“I might appreciate some pointers, but only if you behave—,” you raise your brows at him. “Got it?”

Jungkook just grins and steps closer to you, eliminating the space between you so that he’s curved around you, his arms on your arms and hands on your hands. You feel your breathing hitch and try to focus on the pool cue in your hands. He speaks close to your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck.

“It starts with your stance. Find your center of gravity and let yourself stand loose, but controlled.”

“Loose, but controlled. Got it.”

You try your best to not have your voice sound effected by his close proximity, yet it still comes out breathy. If he notices, then for once, he doesn’t say anything. He talks you through a few more tips, then the two of you move as one as he guides you to take your shot. The cue lands square in the ball, it sails forward and sends the closest stripe into the pocket.

A success.

Your held breath escapes you in an airy laugh and you twirl, still gently encased in Jungkook’s arms, grinning at him. He grins back, but then you both realize just how close you are, and both your smiles melt into something more…hungry.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling like I could use a break.”

The insinuation doesn’t go over your head, and being the stubborn woman you are, you persist.

“What kind of break?”

His eyes flick to your lips and you lick them without meaning to. That kind of break, got it.

Jungkook smiles ever so slightly.

“Remember what I said about the bathrooms? They’re cleaner than you’d think and no one will notice.”

You blink your eyes once again at his direct nature. Holy shit. You know this is literally what you set out to do by agreeing to this date, but are you really about to hook up with basically a stranger, in a dive bar, in a bathroom?

Jungkook takes a step backwards, his fingers lingering on your wrist in an open question. He watches you with dark eyes, pupils blown wide, and yes — yes, that’s exactly what you’re about to do.

You slide your hand through his loose grip on your wrist to entangle your fingers through his.

“Lead the way.”

He grins and it looks simultaneously boyish and devious. He leads you towards the bathroom, steps inside, and pulls you in after him.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

You’re barely inside before Jungkook presses you against the closed and locked door (which, in a place like this, you didn’t expect the lock to work but you know, cool). His arms come up to frame your head and he leans close so that your breath mingles together.

In a moment of clarity, you ask yourself how far you want to take this. He may be Taehyung’s friend, but to you, he is still a stranger after all. A super hot stranger that you have undeniable chemistry with, but still. When his lips ghost over yours at the slightest movement, you feel that crackle of electricity shoot through your entire being and you know – you’re fucked.

Metaphorically, and soon, quite literally.

You sensed trouble before, but if it’s so bad, why does it feel so good.

You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?

You start thinking of a way to tell Jungkook your intent without breaking the mood or coming off as super corny, but Jungkook talks first, voice low and raspy.

“I want to fuck you so badly right now.”

Your eyes widen in the slightest, breath hitching at the vulgar use of words that make you rub your thighs together in anticipation.

That works.

Still trying to keep an air of confidence, you seal the deal, lips touching his as you speak.

“Then do it.”

Restraining himself, he can’t help but ask.

“How’d I get so lucky to meet someone like you?”

You do your best to refrain from the exaggerated eye roll that wanted to occur from his seemingly empty words, to you.

“I bet you say that to all your bathroom hookups.”

He shakes his head indignantly.

“Ain’t no one like you, darlin’. No one.”

Jungkook grins, then surges forward until his mouth is on yours. Kissing him is electric, just like before, and somehow everything you’d been imagining all night. You didn’t even realize you were imagining it until this very moment, and he’s blowing all your predictions out of the water.

His body presses yours against the door and his lips are all over yours, leaving only to kiss your neck. You groan at slick kisses on your neck, and he presses his lips harder onto your skin, harshly sucking and biting until you’re sure he’ll leave a mark if he keeps it up. The thought of coming out of this with your neck littered in bruises made by him has you wrapping your arms around his head to bring him impossibly closer, head tilting to allow more access.

You tangle yourself fingers in his hair and try to remember how to breathe while he still kisses furiously against your neck, sending shivers and an intoxicatingly tiny shot of pain down your back. Satisfied, he finally comes back up for air and admires his handiwork.

“I think that’s going to leave a mark.”

God. He doesn’t even sound guilty. Just pleased. All the same though, it did feel pretty good.

“I hope it does.”

For a moment, you stare at each other. Then he leans back in, kissing you softly this time, and it makes you dizzy. You stay like this for who knows how long. Hands in hair, gasping into the other’s mouth and groaning at every little contact.

Jungkook’s lips are kissed swollen, and you’re positive that yours are no different, but neither of you care. When your hands trail down to his neck you can feel a light sheen of sweat taking form, and only then do you realize how hot you both have made the enclosed space just with your bodies alone.

Before long, you feel like you’re bursting, and your hands knot in the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt. In response, he grinds against you, sliding a knee between your legs so you’re partial resting on his leg, and you both groan.

Breathless, you try to unbuckle his belt but it’s a gaudy thing, and you spare exactly one moment to inwardly roll your eyes at that classic cowboy touch before he brings his hands down to help out. In an instant, his jeans and underwear are shoved down and stretched around his thighs.

Equally as breathless, he starts fiddling with your own clothes, hiking your shirt up and reaching down to free your hips from your waistband. You grab at his bare ass to pull him towards you, and he obliges, crashing back over you and kissing you harder.

In the midst of your sloppy kissing, you grab his hand and slip it between your thighs. You thrill at the groan he releases when he feels just how wet you are already. His hand against you sends a shudder through your body, and Jungkook chuckles against your mouth.

Without anymore ceremony, Jungkook starts working his hand against your core to the same rhythm as your gyrating hips so much so that it has you clutching onto him with all your might. Not wanting to be the only sole one receiving pleasure, you reach down to slide your own hand down to his impressive, girthy, length. Your thumb teases the tip of his cock head, spreading the pre-cum as means of a natural lubricant so you’re able to stroke him with shorter, but quicker strokes, causing him to gasp and pull away from your heated kiss at the sensation.

“Y/N.”

His voice is low and urgent. You instantly know exactly what he’s thinking because you’re thinking it as well. You both pull back, hands releasing the other as you take a moment to openly admire what you can see of each other in the dim bathroom. Each sliver of bare skin is tantalizing, calling you to kiss, caress, or bite him until he cries your name.

“So. You work out?”

The random question is both humorous and needed to cut into the heaviness that still is settled between your half nude bodies. Jungkook laughs and closes the distance between you, kissing you hard and pressing the entirety of his body against you that you can feel the tip of his cock as he aligns it with your center. You widen your stance the best you can to accommodate, and he slides in easily due to how slick your folds are. He lets out a groan at the warmth and tightness, and you let out a low hiss at the delicious stretch he makes you feel.

You grind against each other like this as long as you can take it, which isn’t long. The feeling of his calloused hands raking up and down your body, his skin sliding against yours, and his breath in your ear has your body buzzing. You change pace, wanting to savor the moment, and move your hips slow and steady. Jungkook moves in time, reacting to your every movement.

You? Drawing this out because it feels amazing and you don’t want it to end? Maybe. But who cares. Jungkook is into it too.

“Y/N. Christ.”

Your name rolling off his tongue brings out your dominant side in a flash.

“Say my name louder.”

“You want the bar to hear us?” He chuckles mirthlessly.

“Maybe.”

Your answer is resolute, it has him cursing when a moan slips out, but yet he still does what you ask. He says your name louder and more fervently with each thrust of your hips.

Finally, when you think you can’t take anymore of it, you both gasp against each other’s mouths and cry out in the darkly lit bathroom. Jungkook breathes hard against your neck, and you pant into his shoulder, teeth lightly nipping at the sweaty skin that makes him nip at your neck in kind.

Well, that was something.

He pulls back and you’re pleased to see his lips are kiss swollen and his skin is flush with both color and sweat. He grins at you and you smile back.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

You spend a few moments cleaning yourselves up and readjusting your clothes back into their proper places, sharing a couple laughs at how eager you both were.

Finally, Jungkook offers you his hand and you take it, letting him lead you out into the bar. Just like he promised, not a single person gives you a second look as you exit, even though you’re sure that the blush you’re adorning makes it obvious. You feel a little sheepish, but Jungkook is so confident and sure of himself that you find yourself following suit.

He leads you out of the back room, and towards Leona who gives you a wave as Jungkook slaps some money on the counter to both pay for the drinks and give a generous tip. After your tabs are paid, do you make your way out of the dive bar and into the refreshingly cool night air where you keep a healthy and friendly distance between you.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

You tilt his cowboy hat that was still resting on your head, as you bow your head with a sly smirk on your face. Then, you take it off to set back in its rightful place on top of Jungkook’s head. Jungkook barks out a laugh and you grin. He reaches his hand out for you to shake, and you find yourself actually taking it.

“A pleasure is right.”

You both look at each other, both figuring out how to say goodbye. At the beginning of the night, you were strangers. In the middle of the night, there was a split second where you were potential lovers. And now, at the end, it was up in the air on exactly what it was you two are.

You’d like to think you could be friends, but only time will tell. Not wanting to leave without one last kiss, you make the first move. You step forward and lean in to give him one chaste kiss on the lips. It feels…somehow more intimate than the electricity between you in the bathroom. So, you cut it short before it goes on too long, but you’re both smiling when you pull apart.

“Goodnight, darlin’. Until next time.”

He tips his hat at you one last time, before pivoting in his boots and walking off into the night. A satisfying crunch of the dirt beneath his feet is all that is heard, along with the distant howl of a coyote as the stars twinkled above.

With a mock salute at his back, you give your own reply underneath your breath.

“See you, Space Cowboy.”

[duskholland]

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. What happened?”

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

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

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

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

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom gulps nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

Tom follows you…?

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute.

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

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

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

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

Y/N: hey x

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

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, is it a home game?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me a spin, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

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

“Dutchy?” you question.

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

You coo. “That’s cute.”

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

And Tom… Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

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

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

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

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, darling.”

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

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

“What, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What— Tom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Penalty.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

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

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

“Funnier than me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

A smile breaks out across your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Overnight?”

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

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

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

“You can open them now.”

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

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

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

[develation]

I dont know if it has been asked before but how do Kaiju!AU characters return back to their original form ? Do they pass out after a certain amount of destroying things and then passing out and waking up in some place of total destruction ?

Nope! You are my second ask ever so congrats :D!

That will be answered in the second part of POTM so I don't want to say a lot. But to sum it up, you're pretty spot on! It just depends on how long the pre-dormancy stage lasts to determine the factors of how long their titan forms will last and how awful there gonna feel when they wake up.

A couple of days (these are by how long pre-dormancy last)? They won't be like THAT for a long time since there wasn't a crazy amount of magic storage before. Mostly only a couple of cities worth of damage.

Weeks? Awful, but not the worst thing. State's worth of damage, maybe even countries.

Months? At least the whole side of the planet in the universe therein will be flattened. Lighting storms and tornados from Celestial. Earthquakes, dust storms, and landslides from Eradicator. Cyclones, floods, hurricanes, tidal changes, and tsunamis from Calamity. Volcano eruptions and acid rain from Daemon. Wildfires, solar flares, and heat waves from Cataclysm. Yeah, that universe is fucked. We're talking end of the world, apocalypse capabilities. And you bet all of them are gonna feel like it is the end of the world when they wake up xD.

And how they change back? Well, like Error said in POTM- surrounded by their own former flesh. I'm sure y'all can put two and two together :3

[idiomaticpunk]

about me

I'm french, my pronouns are she/her, and i'm sorry if i make mistakes. I'm not really active because of school and it's been a while since i wrote something so i'm sorry if it's bad <3

i don’t tolerate homophobia, racism, or any kind of discrimination, if i know you are homophobic, racist, or even pro life i will block you ???

requests

what i write is mine and i do not give you the right to copy it or republish it or translate it

some of them are really old and probably full of errors errors :(

they are open : no smuts, only subjective, angst and fluff or even headcanons

I DON'T WRITE FOR KPOP IDOL ANYMORE

i can write for :

911 (basic one and lone star)

NCIS

umbrella academy

top gun

DC (batman, titans, superman and lois)

motherland fort salem

criminal minds

hawaii 5-0

altered carbon

daredevil even if i ain’t sure i got the hang of the characters

masterlists :

last updated 21 august 2022

KIM JUNGWOO

post fight : your little crush patches you up after a fight (which you won)

JUNG JAEHYUN

cookies : your boyfriend makes you tasty cookies until they aren't

LEE DONGHYUCK

fratboy!au : jealousy, party, you are a sexy someone, he's cocky

ZHONG CHENLE

nerdy : popular!reader x nerdy!boyfriend!chenle super duper cute

JUNG WOOYOUNG

rumors : the rumor you're f-wording jung wooyoung is going around...

PARK SEONGHWA

camp counselor : enemies to lovers, camp counselor!au ,

NISHINOYA YUU

bf!au : you're taller than your boyfriend, and he's a little insecure :(

JAKE SERESIN - HANGMAN

"did she say no" ? : Jake returns the wedding ring he brought for you to the jewelry shop : fluff!!

PETE MITCHELL - MAVERICK

early meeting : headcanon sort of- meeting mav at the hard deck and f-wording him until boom he's your superior

call sign: rocky : you're retired but one of the fastest pilot alive - and cyclone needs you to save maverick's ass

NATASHA TRACE - PHOENIX

guard dog :  based on this tiktok/post : natasha has a hot girlfriend and is ready to fight as long as she keeps wearing low rise jeans.

[nico-drives-badly]

Hey guys, wanna read about my Mermaid and Pirate AU that I randomly came up with last night that’s also very loosely based on DMC4?

(Note: this is a really lengthy outline that’s been copied and pasted directly from my notes app. Y’all know how my writing works at this point lol.)

The story begins with Kyrie and Credo’s parents fighting off enemy pirates, eventually leading to Kyrie and Credo’s father killing their captain to get a hold of their treasure. But when his wife opens the treasure chest, she is shocked to find a little baby boy inside; the captain must have hidden her baby to keep him safe during the raid. Overwhelmed with guilt for killing the baby’s own mother, the parents decide to raise the child as their own, and they name him Nero.

19 years later, Nero is now a fully-fledged pirate sailing alongside his adopted siblings. Kyrie and Credo’s parents died of illness a few years prior, so Credo has taken on the position of captain. Everything is perfectly normal for the pirate siblings, until their ship suddenly gets ambushed by enemy pirates one night, and they throw Kyrie overboard. Nero, despite not knowing how to swim, dives in after Kyrie and miraculously rescues her. Nero is too full of adrenaline to realize it, but his legs had momentarily transformed while they were submerged in the water...

After that, all sorts of strange phenomenon start to happen to Nero. Over time, Nero slowly realizes that he can control and manipulate water with his hands akin to a waterbender, but he doesn’t understand why. It isn’t until one day, when Credo finds a mermaid with white hair and a red tail tangled in the net of their daily catch, that Nero suddenly remembers the night he rescued Kyrie and quickly puts two and two together.

Credo is about to kill the creature when Nero suddenly stops him in his tracks. Nero bargains with Credo that they could question the mermaid for information and potentially use him to find treasure. Credo is hesitant, at first, but he eventually agrees to keep the mermaid as their hostage, and he orders Nero to take their prisoner below deck for questioning. Nero proceeds to drag the net downstairs and tie up their hostage, little knowing that the mermaid is quickly starting to dry...

Finally, right as Nero finishes tying the last knot, the last drop of water evaporates from the mermaid’s skin, and his tail suddenly morphs into a pair of human legs! Stunned by the sudden transformation, Nero proceeds to stammer out all sorts of questions, and the hybrid creature quickly realizes that this kid wasn’t holding him hostage, at all; all he wanted was to find someone who could understand him. With this in mind, the hybrid formally introduces himself as Dante and patiently answers all of Nero’s questions he has about himself, and as Dante and Nero continue to exchange information about each other, they are surprised to discover that they are actually uncle and nephew.

Dante reveals that he and his twin brother, Vergil, were half-mermaid and half-human, and they would transform anytime they touched water; Nero, on the other hand, was only 1/4 mermaid and only transformed when his legs were completely submerged in water. Because of this, Nero was able to live a relatively normal life, but Dante and Vergil would never be able to live on the surface world without being ostracized.

For this reason, Dante and Vergil both agreed early on that it was better for them to live in the ocean. They parted ways when they were 18, but they promised to always meet each other at a special rock on the shores of their hometown every full moon. No matter where they were in the seven seas, Dante explained, they would always be able to find their way back home; all they had to do was wear their half of the Perfect Amulet — an enchanted undersea necklace that their father had made so that he could always visit their human mother — and let the ocean guide them.

Everything was going swimmingly for the next 1 1/2 years, until one night when Vergil failed to show up at their meeting spot. At first, Dante assumed it was just a fluke, but when another 3 full moons passed with still no sign of his brother, Dante quickly assumed the worst. Ever since then, he has been searching all across the seven seas for his brother’s half of the amulet; it was all he had left of him.

Nevertheless, Nero is still hopelessly confused about his origins; he knew that he was adopted, but his parents never told him the truth about his birth mother’s death. He eventually agrees to release Dante from his imprisonment in exchange for helping him find answers. Later that night, while Credo and Kyrie are asleep, Nero and Dante sneak into the Captain’s Quarters — which the siblings have left untouched for years out of respect for their deceased parents — and search through their personal belongings.

Eventually, Nero finds a diary that used to belong to his adopted mother: the earliest entry talked about how she discovered Nero’s powers while she was bathing him one night, and how she learned to bathe him standing up to keep his legs out of the water; another entry talked about how she refused to let her husband teach Nero how to swim, no matter how ridiculous the request seemed; yet another talked about how guilty she felt about keeping this secret from her husband, but she knew that it was the only way to guarantee Nero’s safety.

The last entry talked about a nightmare she had during her illness, in which she recalled the day they fought off the enemy pirates and unknowingly killed Nero’s mother. She remembered how they were blasted with torrents of water and pelted with sheets of ice by a mysterious man clad in blue, until her husband struck him square in the chest with his cutlass and murdered him on the spot. She recalled how furious Nero’s mother was by the sudden death of her husband, threatening to set their ship ablaze with Kyrie and Credo inside if they didn’t leave at once, all the while fiercely protecting an old treasure chest behind her. Last but not least, she remembered opening the old treasure chest when it was all said and done, and finding an infant baby Nero inside...as well as a beautiful ruby necklace encased in silver.

Stunned, Nero turns to tell Dante about this revelation, but the words evaporate from his mouth when he sees his uncle staring wide-eyed at his brother’s amulet, which was proudly mounted on the wall as a token of their bounty.

Kyrie and Credo’s parents...the adopted parents of Dante’s own nephew...they’re the ones who killed Vergil.

Overcome with rage, Dante storms out of the Captain’s Quarters suddenly and barricades the door with ice, trapping Nero inside. Moments later, Nero feels the boat start to rock violently, and all at once his eyes widen. Thankfully, Nero manages to melt away the ice with little difficulty, and he quickly warns Kyrie and Credo to grab their cutlasses and follow him. Eventually, the three siblings arrive on deck, and what they see makes all of their jaws drop. Standing before them is none other than Dante, his eyes glowing a dangerous red and a violent cyclone of water circling rapidly around his body. A massive storm cloud is brewing above the cyclone, rocking the ship furiously along the choppy waves.

Dante, seeking vengeance for his dead brother, starts to ruthlessly attack Kyrie and Credo with water and ice. Nero tries his best to protect them without exposing his true identity, but Dante is far too strong to be defeated with cutlasses alone. Eventually, Dante has Kyrie and Credo cornered, and he begins to summon a onslaught of razor-sharp ice daggers aimed straight for the heart...

Suddenly, Nero throws himself in front of them and desperately holds out his hand, connecting with the fatal attack and melting away the ice in an instant. Nero begs Dante not to hurt Kyrie and Credo; they were his family, too. Dante seems to falter at this, and the red glow in his eyes disappears in an instant. Reluctantly Dante lowers his arms and releases the raging cyclone, returning the ocean to its calm, natural state.

Once Credo finally knows that they are safe, however, he suddenly stands up and points his cutlass right at Dante’s chest, stating that he has been far too lenient on him and that he should be slain at once. Nero tries to reason with Credo, reminding him of their father’s golden rule of pacifism that was established shortly after they adopted Nero: no treasure is worth more than a human life. Credo rejects this notion, however, scathingly reminding his brother that Dante isn’t human. Finally, as a last resort, Nero does the unthinkable: he summons the water from a nearby puddle and hovers it between his hands, and he almost shamefully admits to Credo that he’s not fully human either.

Credo is taken aback at this, and as Nero continues to explain his identity and origins, his shock soon gives way to horror when he realizes what his parents had done. At first, Nero assumes that his brother also saw the error in his parent’s ways, but he quickly learns otherwise when Credo furiously detests his parents for adopting a “monster” as their own son. Credo was barely old enough to remember that fateful day, but he knew all too well what these creatures were capable of. He is outraged at his mother for knowingly raising a child capable of so much destruction, for putting himself and Kyrie in so much danger. Nero tries to reason with Credo that he’s never wanted to hurt anyone, but Credo furiously responds that his birth father nearly drowned their entire crew and his birth mother threatened to burn Kyrie and Credo alive; what did that make him?

Unbeknownst to everyone, Kyrie has mysteriously retreated below deck and is desperately searching for something important...

Finally, after failing to convince his brother otherwise, Credo forces Nero to choose: either he stays on board with them and renounces his mermaid origins, or he walks the plank with Dante and never sets foot on this ship again. Nero, hopelessly caught in the middle, begs his brother to reconsider, but Credo’s mind has already been set. Dante encourages Nero to stay behind with his siblings, insisting that he shouldn’t let some old sea hag come between him and his family, but Nero counters that he was also the only family Dante had left.

Suddenly, Kyrie returns to the main deck with Vergil’s half of the amulet, having laboriously pried it off of its wooden mount with her bare hands. She hands the amulet to Dante and tells him to go in peace, promising that they will allow Nero the freedom to fully embrace his identity in return.

Dante is touched by the offer, but he ultimately declines, choosing to let Nero keep the amulet and depart empty-handed. Nero is hesitant to take something that meant so much to his uncle, but Dante assures him that it’s better than letting it go to waste. Dante turns and starts to walk towards the edge of the wooden plank, but Nero quickly stops him and asks if he will ever see him again. Dante simply chuckles and responds: “Just let the ocean guide you, kid. As long as the moon is full, you’ll know where to find me.”

And with that, Dante jumps overboard and disappears under the water, returning to the tides from which he came.

The story ends with an epilogue that takes place roughly two weeks later. Credo and Kyrie have slowly grown to accept Nero’s true identity, and Nero in turn has begun to embrace his strange new abilities, as well. Needless to say, when Credo tells Nero that he has to swab the deck before he’s allowed to leave at sunset, and Nero quickly finishes the task by moving the soapy water all across the floorboards before happily flinging himself overboard, it quickly becomes obvious that life will never be the same for them.

Meanwhile, Dante is waiting at the special rock on the shores of his hometown, just like he always did every full moon. He proceeds to “talk” to his deceased brother, just as he always does, pretending to fill him in on everything that’s happened to him over the past month. He goes on to ramble about Nero and their experiences together on the ship, and he somberly adds that he wishes Vergil could’ve been there to meet him.

Suddenly, Nero emerges from beneath the waves and sits on the other side of the rock, letting his light blue tail float lazily in the water.

“Hey, Dante,” Nero greets his uncle with a smile. “Long time no see.”

[an-interview-with-j1janedoe]

" AN INTERVIEW WITH URANIUM CITY'S PRIZED 'WRAITH.' "

(Ignore how the image text & the title text thing are slightly different I'm tired)

Yello, I'm back with another askblog! I didn't want to clog up my other Jane Doe/Penny Askblog.. so you get this! — @watermel0ns-dumb-cringe

[ALL ART USED BELONGS TO ME ; DO NOT REPOST. NSFW/PR0SHIP DNI.]

Format looks like this ⬇️

[⚙️]— "J-1 / Jane Doe."

" .. Must I be required for this? "

☆ RULES —

- No NSFW. Suggestive jokes are fine every now and then, but be wary for the person running this blog is a MINOR.

- Have basic human decency, please. This is an AU blog, being (partially) separate from canon. Ships most likely won't be included- aside from subtle hinting & already canon things. <3

- I'm completely fine with spamming asks just don't spam the same thing over & over.

J-1 doesn't have a larger role in the Target Aquired story yet— but you can read it here if ya want.

☆ IMPORTANT NOTE —

[May contain triggering/sensitive topics & imagery. Examples may include violence, blood/gore, & character death. Posts will have a TW/CW when necessary.]

FAQ under the cut

☆ FAQ —

Q: "What is the Target Aquired AU?"

A: Basic storyline for now is that that Penny Lamb was the only one to die in the Cyclone Roller Coaster Disaster, with the rest of the choir recovering in the hospital. She remains unidentified.

Before her funeral can be held, the unidentified body vanishes from its grave, the remaining alive members of the Saint Cassian Chamber Choir being found dead just after being released from the hospital.

Now having a robotic head, J-1 (Jane) essentially becomes something similar to The Terminator. Minus the time travel shenanigans. Not much is known about her other than the fact of Uranium City's residents slowly being picked off once they unknowingly are selected as a 'target' assigned to kill.

But maybe... Jane wasn't supposed to end up this way. Maybe she wasn't meant to be brought back as a killing machine. After all, a lot can happen when an incomplete 'machine' ends up in the wrong hands.

Nobody knows who she is, seemingly. Neither does she— her memories are gone. Programming blocking her feelings as to not get attached to 'targets,' and to not defy said programming pick those she's assigned to off.

However, J-1 seems.. a tad reluctant on the hunt for her most recent target. Is it rememberance? Is it pity? Or is it something else? Who knows. Her 'target?'

A painly familiar teenager. Perhaps someone she once knew before her death.

I'll leave the rest undiscovered for now. :) (fun fact, this doubles as a fic as well! .. even if it's from the pov of someone else.)

Q: "What are 'Targets?'"

A: Self explanatory. People that J-1 are supposed to hunt down & murder. She tends to leave odd symbols & writing at the scenes of the crimes.

Q: "Where can I read this?/Is there some kind of larger story?"

A: you can find it here! As mentioned earlier. :)

Q: "Who runs this blog?"

A: Yours truly! (@watermel0ns-dumb-cringe)

Q: "Who is he?"

A: ERROR. PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER.

[⚙️]—

" That's classified information. "

[powerborntouch]

“The Altered Adventure: Secrets of the Cyclone: Grave Robbers (Chp 10)” Reaction

This will probably be the most different from the Minecraft roleplay. That’s exciting.

If you don’t want spoilers, stop scrolling down and blacklist “altered adventure spoilers” or “secrets of the cyclone”

I’m actually sad that Brayden wasn’t that involved in the book. I was under the impression that he would. Well, if the future books at least clarify his motives, I don’t care if he’s underused. Just fix the plot holes.

I thought campfire was a typo. Omg, I loved that joke. (There are a few typos and formatting errors in this book, btw)

Omg, Letvia and Inferno finally appear. Yuuuussss

Omg, guys, the novel is giving so much Voice/Letvia shipping fuel. I think this book is trying to redeem itself with how the roleplay treated Voice/Letvia

LETVIA, YOU’RE BLUE NOW. THAT’S MY ATTACK. Third time. Her skin is actually blue. I assume she’s a Justment. So Justments give no shit about what color they look like. But I want to know what their bodies look like figure-wise and what sets them apart from NPCs.

Inferno looks exactly the same.

I like the tension between these Guardians and the different opinions.

Without his body, Voice felt anxious and empty. And 136% done with all the puns he had to hear

Graves just pop out like daisies? Ok. I can roll with that. It feels like a video game. First the quest vibe. Now this. These aspects make me excited about Altered.

“rip Samantha Telling. You had a very weird name. Like, what parents in their right mind would name someone Samantha in Altered?” I wonder if Samantha Telling is a shoutout/easter egg that I don’t know.

Poor Betsy and Gizzy :( Why did they have to make this hurt

Elizabeth is more appreciated that Barath. Rip Barath. Rip. Still the least favorite Guardian of them all

Gizzy’s asking Benji for advice. That’s a step :D

A trap to anyone who steals the keys. Courtesy of the Guardians. Now that’s what I call actually protecting the Prophecy.

I’m glad there’s flaws to the morph ability. Coming to think about it, I think the morph ability is more balanced in the novel. It’s harder to kill things in the real world than in Minecraft, so it will be harder to gain new forms. I’m starting to appreciate this power

Daaaang. A skeleton army o_o This really escalated from the wolf pack and Ratchet

Barath was destroyed by his own hammer. How ironic. And finally Gizzy uses that hammer for once

Clayton, goddamnit. Have you been following him all this time?

I feel so worried for Gizzy and Benji. Who’s gonna save them this time? Not Betsy, that’s for sure.

Ouch. Hit in the head. …is it bad that I’m hoping for one of those flashbacks?

Yaaay, flashback

Omg. Please don’t mess up with Ratchet’s character and the timeline continuity. Pleeeeeaaaase. I’m begging you.

Witch left his chill back in the Minecraft roleplay. He’s so dramatic in the novels.

Oooooooooh, Voice. That was SAVAGE

“Egotistical notion” Witch is implying that Voice is saving the world just to improve his image. I can take this in two ways. 1: Voice loves his reputation, will do anything to secure it and thinks saving the world is the best way to do so. He’s not saving the world for the lives, but for himself, and doesn’t care if people get hurt. Or 2: Voice is so concerned about being Altered’s best Guardian. He feels like he has no choice but to prioritize the Prophecy over Aurona because he believes it’s what’s expected of him. He doesn’t want to fail Altered and make the people fall into despair.

“you’re going to pay for those words” BY BECOMING WORDS

Witch is also calling Voice hypocritical.

“This, Voice, is a fitting punishment for such a ridiculous name.” OOOOOOOOOH OOOOOOOOOOOH OOOOOOOOOH BUUUUUUURN. So apparently, in Altered, Shamas, Witch, Letvia, Samantha and Alpha are acceptable names. But being named Voice is a tragedy. Lol.

Looks like Voice’s attacks are weak when he has no body. I like that limitation.

Ok, the book doesn’t acknowledge the timeline continuity nor Ratchet’s motives. It better not had mess it up…

Seriously, Gizzy needs to get his head checked for a concussion. He won’t survive long enough to kill the Demon if he’s suffering internal bleeding.

Witch as ashamed? Gypsy has no chill? OMG, did he just SLAP his son? Omg, they’re both crying?? Omg. No nooooo. Omg. Witch’s mental breakdown reminds me of my Witch Redemption AU. I don’t know if I should be happy for the similarities or be even sadder. Aaaaaaah Omg. We finally get Witch’s backstory…but I don’t know what to make out of it :’D

Aurona overshadowed Witch. But Witch still cares about him.

Ok, Witch’s motives are better explained. I like that.

“You will become king of Altered” *DESK SLAM* STOP LYING. We know this isn’t true! The book describes Gypsy as uncertain when he said that. But why is Gypsy insisting it anyway? I hope this is addressed later.

Witch says that the Guardians made him look bad…but he is bad. He did a lot of bad stuff in the Minecraft roleplay. I wonder how the novel series is gonna present this guy. So far, he’s someone I sympathize for.

I’m finding so much info that aligns with my Witch redemption AU too :D Differences are Witch being more sentimental and being the older brother

I’m kinda confused…the Chosen One and the savior of Altered…are not the same thing. ???

Dang, Ratchet is still villainous. I’m starting to doubt that he will receive a redemption. Like, at this point, Witch has a better chance to be redeemed that Voice and Ratchet

I’m still confused about the Prophecy. It can either make Witch king or take Gizzy home. I hope this is addressed better later. If I didn’t knew about the Minecraft roleplay, I would assume that the Prophecy is something that grants people wishes.

Also, I noticed that Gypsy didn’t say that his time was coming to an end…hmm…

There’s one great thing about making Aurona and Gizzy children in the books: it questions morality. Witch was angry at Voice for separating him from Aurona (a child), but he was ok with Voice’s plan to separate Gizzy (another child) from his family. So, is Witch just as bad as Voice?

I don’t know what to think about Witch. His character is not clearly defined with all these different perspectives. Like, this info contradicts the info from chapters 2 and 3. I want to analyze this later and figure out why the narrator lied about Witch in chapters 2 and 3.

Did Witch agree to Voice’s plan willingly or unwillingly? What did Witch do as a Guardian? So many questions, but they can’t be answered in the book.

[ahrifoxtailgoddess]

Title: Abyss!Jenna the Outcasted Stormbringer

This was a very well detailed drawing for Storm/Abyss!Jenna. And it’s VERY long time drawing, so hope this is cool! And she has a story to herself as well.

Soooo, I did something and for her bio in Abysstale. And guess what, her scarf is off, she's in serious mode time. And, I'm on process of making the three refs of Speedy Storm and Speakers and colors! She is half human, but she's gained some powers from her father who's a monster that can cast any magic, she gained control of snowstorms, cyclones, hurricanes, and she can even create the storms to have the most devastating elements in it like Hail Hurricane, Crystal Tornado, and her final and dangerous storm she has saved for the bigger problems, Amethyst Cyclone Shield. Her storm powers doesn't affect her during use of defensive attacks but it can affect the enemies outside of the cyclone's storm. Her right eye is the activation of her true powers. Moves/Attacks: Abyss Vortex Arm punches, psycic, barrier, her only own Amethyst Blaster, Hail Hurricane, and Crystal Tornado. >Hail Hurricane:The hurricane will create a very strong air pressure to push you left or right. Pushing against it would be self damaging yourself. You have to dodge the hails falling while you're going with the hurricane currents. >Crystal Tornado: Abyss Jenna will raise up both her hands and charge up two or one whole tornado mixed with the shards. She would mostly likely throw a bigger tornado that deals more damage than the others she throws at you. Moving to any sides would avoid the big damage and the explosion. Special attack: Amethyst Cyclone Shield >She shields herself in a cyclone of Amethyst shards that spins in each opposite directions. Avoiding faster would give you a chance to survive her special attack and you will get the last hit on her. With the scarf on, she'll just be like the Jenna Voidson with Amethyst Vortex Arms and her Vortex eye will just remain in her right eye. Her Fluorite Quartz are on her ankle, can form a armor on her leg to start off with kick attacks and slamming the life out of her enemies to the ground. Stone type: Amethyst Blood types: Half human and Abyss Void Monster(Abyss!WD Xortex) -She sometimes sings to herself or to Speedy and Speakers. -Has the ability to control hurricanes, tornadoes, and can combine some elements that can be effective against her enemies like fire, thunder, water, and Amethyst stones. -Her scarf transforms into a giant arm, and crafted her own core wings to fly. -Creates a blizzard storm to cover her tracks or hide in the middle of it. It doesn't affect her. -Trying to look into each AUs to see if they know her and that she lives in that timeline. Status type: Tank HP: 590 ATK: 150 DEF: 300 SPD: 30 MGC: 80 Lacks: Speed.

Bio Origin: She was born by the time when the war in the Abyss Underground began and she couldn't understand what was going on. Poor little Abyss Jenna didn't know what was even happening when her cries ring out from below the Underground for her blood parent to see what she needed. But her father, who is safely taking her to safety somewhere where no one can find her there. Jenna was blind from her right eye because an explosion's blast has caused a stone to fling at her right eye and it damaged her eye after the blast was cleared out. The voice of her father sounded like he was giving her to someone, like her new guardian Phybos, the Forest Deer Centaur. She then began to cry once more for her father to come back to her, but there was nothing but silence as he left back to the Surface to go and protect the others. Later on, her new foster mother, Phybos took her in as her own like her father promised her.  Her mother they healed her eye with a source of an eye healing, but it would change her eye color to a very bright Amethyst color. She could finally see with her right eye while her left eye was Aqua Green. Years passed to her teenage years, she began to go to monster schools, she was told from one of the monster kids that she wasn't a monster like them, but just a human who just doesn't have any potential skills. She tried to ignore it and tries to prove to her teachers that she does have something to show them, but they didn't listen to her. But then in the lunch area, her emotions were stirring around in her head. Anger, sadness, stress, and her hatred grew rapidly and she unleashed a tornado full of hail ice balls that were flying across the room and some of the monsters were almost caught into it. She snapped out of her agered mind and realised what she has done. She has almost kill all the students in the school with the storm magic that no one ever saw before. All the kids ran away from her and some stayed to help their friends from the big pile of snow. One of the kids called her 'Outcast!' The other, 'Stormfreak!' and the last one, 'More like, an Outcaster Stormbringer!' That nickname struck her mind, and had no compliment whatsoever she was called as. She accepted her true name and left her old hometown with the storm gathering around her, covering her to avoid being caught by the Royal Guards. She reached adulthood after hiding away from everyone in her own storm. Alone outside, never came back to her mother for so long, she would even hide away from her calls and cover her ears to not call out to her mother. She then understood what the word 'Outcast' mean. No one would want to talk to her no more. Being left out of the world of hers, and felt like she never existed at all. Jenna had nowhere else to go after her tornado died out and saw a flash from the distance. She didn't know what happened during her knocked out yet again from the flash. She surrendered to her deep slumber of her regrets and decided to accept what she is, and a dark figure stands over her, about to claiim her soul. But, a purple light shined beside her and she saw...herself? She was different. She looked at her once more and saw her calling out to her. Waking her to not give up. This girl, wanted her to get up and move on from the past and continue onto her own future. She wanted her to continue on with her gift, her dreams and hopes. Her soul was near for the dark figure to snatch it from her, but the girl refused to see herself from a different timeline to give into darkness. She felt a sharp pain in her arm and woke up from her concussion and noticed that it wasn't a dream at all. She was actually in a nightmare that was about to steal her life away that she hasn't yet to think of her own future yet. The girl sat besides Abyss Jenna to see if she was doing okay and she saw her in a blank look of what the hell just happened look. The girl she was woken from was named Newtale Jenna. She didn't understand why she looks like her, but Newtale Jenna explained about the timeline and alternate universes of herself. She grew to understand about protecting them with a friend named Pastel. The AU Protector's assisstance. She looked at how determined Newtale Jenna felt and felt a new presence of her aura. She wanted to protect those that she loved and befriended from before as her hope and dreams. Even for her life to give up for her timeline. It sounded like suicide to Abyss Jenna, but she accepted to join Newtale Jenna's party with a friend of hers she teaches how to talk, Underbeats Jenna, her other name Speakers. Newtale Jenna wanted to come up with a name for Abyss Jenna, and none of them approved to her. But she came up with her own nick name: Storm. the two think it would fit for their team and began their journy to find some timelines they never been in and to be sure that this Error Sans doesn't destroy any timielines at all. But Storm had a question on her mind... Which timeline did she came from? Hope you guys like this!