#figureskating!au

[heartofjasmina]

figure!skater reader and coach!Bkg, feeling his massive hands on your hips as he helps you practice your lifts. feeling so very warm despite the ice because you can feel his red eyes on you. skating as hard as you can because you know he'll be waiting for you, waiting to tell you, "thats my girl."

[wowbright]

Chapter 13: Feeling

Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU for december klaine fanworks challenge. Also on AO3.

They didn’t end up at Garden of the Gods after their high tea. They toured the rest of Miramont Castle, Kurt expressing simultaneous delight and horror the building’s eclectic mishmash of Queen Anne, Romanesque, English Tudor, Venetian Gothic, Byzantine, and half a dozen other architectural styles. “I can't figure out any rhyme or reason to it. He just threw in whatever he liked with no regard for aesthetic unity. It's hideous. I love it! I mean, I could never live here. It's an architectural identity crisis. Two completely different styles of window in a single stairwell? It would kill me. But the audacity! The chutzpah! I hate his vision, but at least he had one.”

Just listening to Kurt made joy bubble up inside Blaine. Kurt was a delight. A force of nature. Blaine imagined how much more entertaining his visits to Turino and Vancouver, Tokyo and Sapporo and Nagano, Paris and Goyang and Gothenburg would have been with Kurt in tow, providing color commentary on all the sights and sounds and smells of each city, relishing even in the things that repelled him because their newness was enough to cause delight. He wished Kurt was going with him to Sochi. It was beautiful and strange and tacky and sad and utterly fascinating. Kurt would be so alive in it.

Almost a week later, they finally made it to Garden of the Gods. It had been a long week, the excitement of the looming games overshadowed too often by dull meetings, bickering between Sue and Sebastian, and that annoying young punk Sam Evans, who refused to let Blaine forget he had been named to the first spot, while Blaine only made it on the roster this Olympics because the third choice’s hip injury flared up after the nationals championships. Blaine tried to act like the adult he was and overlook the “gramps” and the “old man” and “Jar Jar” (because the first thing he’d said to Blaine upon arriving in Colorado Springs was “You’re kind of like Jar Jar Binks, though, aren’t you? Because nobody actually wanted you in the sequel.”) He kept telling himself that Sam was a kid who was clearly overcompensating for his insecurities about launching his senior career with the eyes of the entire world on him. Blaine had been sixteen once, and just as insecure.

On the other hand, Blaine hadn’t been an asshole. And he had never, ever thought it would be a good idea to waggle his hips on the ice like a second-rate nightclub stripper to a weird, saxophone-heavy instrumental mashup of Justin Bieber's greatest hits. When Blaine had politely suggested Sam tone down on the thrusting, the kid had come back with, “You’re not my coach, gramps. Sex sells. You’re just jealous because you’re an old geezer whose lost all his testosterone and his sex appeal.”

The kid was horned up and classless and, worst of all, rude. How was he competing for a spot in the team event with this brat?

But no. Blaine was not going to think about that. It was a perfect, sunny day, the light of the winter sun sloping through the red rock formations at low angles that painted crisp shadows against the snow.

Even better, he was here with Kurt Hummel: beautiful, delightful, amazing Kurt. They hadn't gotten nearly enough time together since the high tea—which means they saw each other every day but not all day, Blaine visiting the costume studio even when it wasn't strictly necessary, and Kurt hanging out at practices even when he might have been exploring the tourist spots, and eating meals together when they could (but very often not alone, thanks Sue and Sebastian and the entire U.S. figure skating team), and Blaine even inviting Kurt back to his apartment only to find that Mike and Kitty had formed an encampment in front of the television for a marathon session of watching the routines of every single competing pair they would face in Sochi. So he and Kurt had joined them instead of enjoying a quiet dinner like Blaine had planned and maybe, if Blaine was allowed to dream, enjoying each other in a different way that Blaine had to stop himself from imagining every time Kurt helped him remove the latest iteration of his costume.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” Kurt said as they made their way down the trail between two towering pillars of vividly striped rock. “I never would have thought to come on my own.”

“No?”

Kurt shrugged. “City boy. I forget it can be nice to be out in nature. I mean, I could do without feeling like my nose is about to fall off my face, but it really is pretty. And quiet. And …” he sighed contentedly.

“Here. I wouldn't want your nose to disappear.” Blaine tugged his scarf from his neck and draped it around Kurt’s, folding it gently to form a pocket of warm air over Kurt’s lower face. It felt both bold and easy—easy because they had stood this close many times as Kurt measured Blaine’s body or draped fabric over it or adjusted this and that bit of his costume, so that sharing such a close space had become second nature; bold because it was now Blaine doing the reaching out and touching.

“Usually, I would complain about this not coordinating with my carefully curated ensemble. But it's Burberry. And cashmere. So I’ll make an exception.” Kurt's eyes danced above the fabric, a dazzling contrast of blue and green above the pale yellows and grays of the checked scarf. “But what about your nose?”

In answer, Blaine reached into his collar and pulled the fabric of this turtleneck up over his chin. It was long enough that he could cover his whole face with it if he wanted to. He had, in fact, chosen it in the very hope that he might lose his scarf to Kurt. “I came prepared for every possibility.”

Kurt smiled. Blaine couldn't see his mouth of course, but he could see his eyes and the way they narrowed as Kurt’s cheekbones lifted, the skin on the outer edges crinkling into deep, happy furrows.

“You’re …” Blaine started to say, but the words caught in his throat. That’s how beautiful Kurt was. It made Blaine forget how to speak.

“I’m …?” Kurt said—curiously, not flirtatiously. He clearly had no idea what was going on inside Blaine at this moment.

Blaine shook his head to loosen his tongue. It only half worked. He couldn't get the words I out that he’d meant to. But the ones he spoke were perhaps even more inspired. “I want you in Sochi with me.”

Kurt stopped in his tracks.

“I mean, if you're free. If you want to. If you—” Was this another case of Blaine diving into concrete? It had really looked like water to him. “I fully trust you can get everything done before we go, but I think … I think I would feel better having you there. You're the only one who—”

“—knows the costumes well enough to fix them if you need any last-minute repairs?”

That was not what Blaine had been trying to say, but it was true. “Yes. And you understand my vision. Besides … seeing you at Miramont Castle, I couldn't help but think how much you would enjoy yourself there.”

Kurt’s eyes went wide. “You’ve been there before? And it’s transcendently tacky?”

“Only parts of it,” Blaine chuckled. “It’s mostly because you appreciate things that are … different, or— I don’t know. You just appreciate things in a way I’ve never seen anyone do before. And I … I just thought, we really should have you there anyway, because what if something changes? What if I hear something or feel something new and I have a sudden fit of artistic inspiration and you’re not there to help me bring it to life? And then I go do my programs and yes, of course the costumes are beautiful, because you made them, and they say most of the things I wanted to say, but there’s something else and … ” Blaine looked down at the dirt peeking through the tracks in the snow. He was so frustrated with himself. He wasn’t making himself clear at all. He probably sounded crazy. A needy prima donna demanding too much. “We’ll pay you, of course. And flights and lodgings and meals. An interpreter if you want. I know it must be an incredible inconvenience. But you’re so inspiring and …”

Blaine looked up. And Kurt was there, looking back at him. Blaine saw the answer in his eyes. Kurt was right there with him. He didn't think Blaine was crazy at all. “I'd love to go,” Kurt said quietly, his voice gentle and reassuring like the waves lapping up on Cabrillo Beach at low tide. He tugged Blaine’s arm, and pulled him forward, and Blaine’s heart started to pound out of his chest because he wanted to kiss Kurt so badly but also maybe he should have had a Tic Tac first and also would Kurt think that his bubble gum-flavored chapstick was gross and also there was a group of gruff evangelical conservatives just 50 yards ahead, and the one who looked like he was in the military was loudly explaining how the sedimentary lines were all formed in the great flood of Genesis 6 through 9 and—

It turned out Kurt’s face was not the destination he had intended for Blaine. Because Kurt stepped forward too, or backward—well, in the same direction Blaine was moving, so that they stayed the same distance apart—and Blaine realized that they were not kissing in the brilliant winter sun of the Garden of the Gods. They were walking again.

“So,” Kurt said. “How many times have you been to Sochi?”

It took a moment for Blaine to regain his bearings. He had to replay the question twice in his brain in order to understand it. “I've been to the Russia lots. But Sochi only once. The Grand Prix was held there last season.”

“Ah,” Kurt said with a tone of—disappointment? Not in Blaine, but like he had made some sort of faux pas. “I should probably know that.”

Oh. Blaine didn’t like the expression on Kurt’s face. It was almost sad. He never wanted Kurt to be sad. He stepped a little closer to Kurt, let their shoulders brush. “I kind of like that you don’t.”

Kurt still looked kind of sad. But also curious. “Is it hard?”

“What?”

“People knowing so much about you before you’ve even met them.”

It was and it wasn't. Blaine had spent so much of his life in the limelight that he had become used to it. And it wasn't like he was Brad Pitt or Obama or the Pope. He didn't get recognized by every single person every single place he went. The times when it was hard was when people thought they already knew him—when they filtered everything he said and did through the picture of him they had already built in their minds based on public appearances and TV broadcasts and news clippings—when nothing he said or did could surprise them, because they had already decided not to be surprised.

“Nobody knows who I am before I've met them,” Blaine said. “Sometimes they don't even know after they've met me.”

Kurt was silent. Blaine listened to the sound of their shoes crunching against the snow.

“I hope I don't make you feel like that,” Kurt said.

Blaine’s campaign to cheer Kurt up was totally failing. He could do better. “You don't make me feel like that at all, Kurt. You make me feel like … Talking to you, it feels like … like I’m new. To you. And to me, too. And you’re new, and fascinating, and … it’s like I'm discovering a part of the world that was always there but I never knew existed. Even myself, when we talk, when you ask me questions and you listen—you really listen, Kurt, you make me feel like the things I say are actually interesting and surprising and even delightful—it’s like I'm remembering things I forgot about myself or never even knew.”

Blaine looked at Kurt, and for the first time since he had draped Kurt in his scarf, he wished he could see more of Kurt’s face. There was something in Kurt’s eyes that Blaine felt like he would be just on the edge of understanding, if only he could see more.

“You are interesting and surprising and delightful,” Kurt said solemnly. “And you make me feel that way too.” He glanced over his shoulder before giving Blaine’s hand a quick squeeze, then let go. In a low whisper, he added, “I want it to be out in the open, though. I might not have been a super fan who tracked your every media mention in elaborately decorated scrapbooks and curated Delicio.us lists. But I did have some preconceived notions about you.”

A tiny flutter like panic quickened in Blaine’s chest. What if they were bad? No, he was being stupid. He knew it was stupid. Kurt's tone was soft, silky, alluring. That wasn't the voice of someone who was about to say something mean to you. And even if Kurt used to think bad things about him, it shouldn't matter, because Kurt certainly seemed to like him okay now. But still— Blaine made a quick verbal counter turn. “Well, I had some ideas about you, too.”

“You didn't know who I was.”

“Not for as long as you knew about me, but I saw your portfolio, and it spoke to me. And Sebastian told me some things.”

“Oh, Christ on a cracker. That couldn't have been good.”

“Quite the opposite. He told me you were dedicated and hardworking and witty, and that you always stuck to your principles, and that I should trust you, because he trusted you, and he does not trust very many people.”

“Really? Sebastian said all that?”

“Really. It was so glowing that—” Despite the cold, Blaine felt heat rising to his cheeks. “I asked him if he had feelings for you.”

The scarf loosened around Kurt’s face as he wrinkled up his nose. “Oh. God, no. It's never been like that with us.”

“That's what he told me. I believe the exact words were something like ‘Don't get me wrong, I would totally bang him if he would just uncross his legs for two seconds and let me, but the difference between you and me, Blaine, is that I know the difference between romance and sex.’”

“Sounds like Sebastian,” Kurt said. Well, at least the Sebastian he had known all his life until the previous Sunday morning. Apparently for the new Sebastian, romance and sex were starting to overlap, at least a tiny bit. “And I'm sorry he told you so many lies about me.”

“You know they aren’t, Kurt. You're all that, and then some.”

“Well, then.” Kurt looked away, his eyes batting like Bambi’s. He was so adorable when he was flummoxed. “You subject me to all that overwhelming flattery, but you won’t let me tell you my preformed impressions of you?”

Ah. So Kurt had noticed the counter turn. Apparently he was getting to know Blaine even better than Blaine had thought. Blaine momentarily closed his eyes against the bright sun and took a deep breath. “Okay, fine. Hit me with your worst.”

“Well, you're a wonderful skater, obviously. I mean, I know that can’t mean anything to you coming from me, I don't have the expertise to judge but ... I always feel something when I watch you skate. Figure skating doesn't always feel like art to me—maybe that's why I've focused more on costuming for ice dance until now—but it does, when I watch you. You have all this ... generosity and passion inside of you, and it spills out onto the ice. It's mesmerizing. And not just because you're incredibly good-looking.”

Blaine made a sharp inhale. “You think I'm good-looking?” He was not being coy. He was, on some level, honestly surprised. Even though they’d been flirting, even though he knew Kurt felt something about him on some level because he’d pretty much said so not three minutes ago, it felt revelatory. To have the words spoken—that made it real. Kurt Hummel, the most beautiful man the world had ever seen, thought Blaine Anderson was visually appealing.

Kurt laughed. “Well, yes. That's one of the other prejudices I might have brought into our first meeting.”

“I think I'm okay with that,” Blaine said, delight coiling his muscles. “Though you’ve seen me without make-up on now. And exhausted. And impatient with Sue. So I suppose I’ve managed to dissuade you a bit from your previous position.”

“Oh, no,” Kurt said—only it didn't really sound like words, but more like breath, or the sound of the air breezing through a crack in the rocks. “I find you quite attractive. Much more than I ever could have imagined anyone to be.”

[belugamenace]

i made sanji's back injury integral to the modern figureskating au bc i too have chronic back pain and can relate.

i, however, forgot, when i started this, that traveling and the holidays take it out of me and I become fatigued and the back pain creeps up on me and I am down for the count.

anyways second chapter for These Bones Are Far From Perfect out tomorrow yippeee

[writer-reader-skater]

Skates that I think the modern AU characters would used based on vibes alone

and a little bit of canon

Tech: Riedell Aria 3030

Grew up using Edeas but once Lux convinced him to try Riedells he never went back. Very picky, keeps his boots polished and gets very upset when he accidentally gashes the leather. Replaced them every season, on the dot. His blades have his nickname etched in them because it’s never used on competition. Refuses to let anyone but Crosshair sharpen the blades and has the slightest of pronation on his dominant left foot. Started with Pattern 99s but they were too wide for him and he looked like a newborn foal trying to skate.

Crosshair: Edea Pianos and MK Pro revolutions

Baby boy needs that narrow foot and extra ankle support. Tells people to deal with him mixing brands. Doesn’t jump, like ever, but if he needed to he is a toothpick and would not manage to get off the ground if he tried anything with non revolution blades. Still almost floats away though. Hardest thing he does is keep up with Tech. Ironically, doesn’t sharpen his blades like ever despite being the resident sharpener (then complains when he can’t do anything).

Fives- Jackson premier fusion 

Thinks it’s absolutely hilarious that his boots have a stiffness rating of 69. Hasn’t replaced his boots no matter how much Lux and Tech tell him to. These bad boys are held together by duct tape and a prayer. It’s no wonder he hasn’t landed a double axel yet. Stubborn as hell. Secretly wishes they had pretty gemstones like Edea. Has no idea what blades he has and that may be part of the problem, but at least they’re blue. 

Lux- Aria 3030s and Pattern 99s

Same model as Tech. Refuses to be in the same vicinity as Edea, calls them overpriced pieces of leather but admits the gemstones are kind of cool. Swiss to the core (Riedells are a Swiss brand). Has his old pair mounted like a trophy because it’s the pair he landed his first quad jump in. Has to replace boots every 9 months because he can’t stand the slightest crease in the tongue and says it affects how he lands (Fives says ‘skill issue’). It’s a good thing he’s sponsored.  Also has his name engraved on them because most international competitors do.

Tup- Jackson Debuts and Riedell Eclipse blades

Absolutely DESPISES high cut boots. Technically these are dance boots but he couldn't care less. Has special skate covers to prevent smudges because he’s a diva. Begged for the Riedell selene blades because of how pretty they are, and stubbornly insists he will still be able to do everything. All about the aesthetic

Omega- Edea ice flys, legacy 8 blades

Saw the amount of gemstones and decided there wasn’t enough. Now there are RAINBOW gemstones. Keeps all her old skates because they are masterpieces. Outgrows them like no one’s business and is praying for the day she can upgrade to pianos, then she will have MORE room for gemstones. Legacy 8 blades because she is babey and needs more muscle before she can get anything heavier. Once she’s at an 8 foot rocker she will be unstoppable.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Perfect Score | Series Masterlist | FigureSkating!AU | modern!Aemond x reader

COMPLETED

Summary: Striving for a place in the Olympics, Aemond desperately needs to find another partner to step in when his becomes injured. With little experience in couples figure skating as well as Aemond’s closed-off and antisocial nature, it will be a challenge to work with him.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, some angst, competitiveness, toxic parenting, smut, NSFW 18+

Chapter 1: Ice Cold 

Chapter 2: Sub-Zero

Chapter 3: Goosebumps

Chapter 4: Thin Ice 

Chapter 5: Ice Princess

Chapter 6: Winter is Coming

Chapter 7: Avalanche

Chapter 8: The Fallout

Chapter 9: Thawed Out

Chapter 10: A Song of Ice and Fire

Epilogue

Lovely fanart <3

[marauders-olympics]

Olympics AU I guess

Does regulus (I) have a problem

Yes

Apologies

ANYGAYS

It’s sports

Tadaaaaaa

I accuse @jamessluttythighs for this

It is their fault

COUGH COUGH

Marauders Roleplay

The Black siblings are attending yet another Olympics.

That is all

We do not follow the rules of sports in season

Nah

Characters that are taken and what sport

Sirius - Snowboarding -

Regulus - Figureskating - @i-came-and-conquered

Lily - Horseback - @cher-oh-and-lily-too

Barty - Biathlon Skiing - @snowy-barty

Evan - Skateboarding - @skateboarding-rose

[capcavan]

Lets start an AFTG au together

one is not like the others

[virtchandmoir]

iceacademyofmontreal: A double victory signed by I. AM in Oberstdorf! 🥇🥈👏

Congratulations to all our couples in action for their brilliant performances last weekend at the Nebelhorn Trophy in Germany. ✨🏆

//

Un doublé signé I. AM à Oberstdorf ! 🥇🥈👏

Félicitations à tous nos couples en action pour leurs brillantes performances lors du dernier week-end au Trophée Nebelhorn, en Allemagne. ✨🏆

🥇 Lilah FEAR / Lewis GIBSON 🇬🇧 | @thelilahjoshow@lewisgibson4 🥈 Christina CARREIRA / Anthony PONOMARENKO 🇺🇸 | @christinacarreira@anthony.ponomarenko 6️⃣ Olivia SMART / Tim DIECK 🇪🇸 | @oliviasmartx@tim.dieck 1️⃣0️⃣ Leia Dozzi / Pietro PAPETTI 🇮🇹 | @leiadozzi@pietropapetti_ 1️⃣6️⃣ Samantha RITTER / Daniel BRYKALOV 🇦🇿 | @samm_ritter@danielbrykalov 1️⃣7️⃣ Athena ROBERTS / Eric ALIS 🇪🇸 | @athena_faithh@e.alis.12

I.AM #forwardlooking#strongertogether#strongerthanever#iceacademyofmontreal#figureskating#iceskating#icedancing#icedance#isufigure#iceskate#iceskater#challengerseries

[stephiethewephie]

Blades Can do Much More than Hurt

This is for @boopshoops for her amazing artwork of mine and so many others' twst OCs! I TOLD YOU I WOULD WRITE SOMETHING!

I had the idea from your ask where you showed Jocia's love of figureskating to make the fic about Piper taking Jocia out to skate on a lake together!

I hope you like it you lovely human!

(Quick notes: This is going off of TCOAV AU, so Piper is 19 years old in this fic. She is now a Junior at NRC and has developed a lot during her two years there: growing thicker skin, more self-confidence, focusing on herself more, etc. Another note, feel free to take this as either romantic or platonic, I tried to make it so you can see it as either. Also, if I mischaracterize Jocia in some way or get TCOAV lore wrong, I apologize!)

Enjoy!

Two woman in a similar situation somehow found each other. Strange how fate can lead you to the person who understands you the most.

Just as Piper was leading Jocia, hand in hand, to a location undisclosed to her. Normally, Jocia would never willingly blindfold herself and be lead to a mysterious location. But, after knowing her for as long as she did, Piper was one of the only people she trusted to do it.

It was a cold, winter's day. It was winter break, so everyone else had gone home. With nowhere else to go, these two usually spent their days hanging out with each other. This day was no different.

Both ladies were bundled up in heavy jackets, hats, scarves, boots, gloves, and for Piper, earmuffs. Piper braided her hair into a low hanging upside down beehive shaped braid so that the wind would not blow it everywhere. In her other arm was her Pooh bear which she adorned with a knitted hat with two holes to stick out his ears. Jocia was carrying her bat in her other hand. Piper insisted she did not need it, but Jocia always wanted to be on the side of caution.

"When are we gonna get there?" Jocia asked. While she could go on for hours even in the snow, it was getting kind of boring just walking in snow for the past 10 minutes.

"We're almost there," Piper reassured. "We just need to get past this hill."

Once they made it past, Jocia heard the sloshing sound of Piper's footsteps in the snow halt, so she stopped in her tracks as well. Piper let go of Jocia's hand.

"We're here!" Piper said in her cheery voice.

When Jocia removed the blindfold, her eyes immediately grew wide and her mouth agape. What stood in front of her was a small lake covered completely in ice. It was something she hadn't seen in such a long time. It almost brought her to tears.

Jocia then noticed that Piper had gone off somewhere. She looked to see her on the side of the lake picking up some objects in the snow. Jocia's eyes widened again when she saw two pairs of ice skates in her hand. With her usual joyous demeanor, Piper ran back holding up the skates to Jocia.

"I recall that you have mentioned liking to ice skate," Piper said cheerfully. "Me and Jade encountered this lake on our walks a while back. I thought that you might like it since it's mostly secluded." She handed Jocia a pair of skates, she was still in too much of shock to say anything. "I tested the ice beforehand and it's thick enough to skate!" Piper proclaimed before going to put on her own skates.

Jocia looked down at the skates in her hand. Her eyes focused on the blades. Blades which she has not seen in years. The blades she usually saw were the blades used to hurt others. These blades, however, were made for something entirely different.

"Jocia?" Piper's voice called to her. She already put on her skates and was curious why Jocia had not put hers on yet. "Are you ok?"

Jocia was at a loss of words. Piper had done something so thoughtful for her, but she could never come up with the words to express how much this meant to her.

"Yeah," she said in her usual nonchalant tone. "Thanks." It sounded like a thanks for checking in on her, but it was also a thanks for doing this all for her. Thankfully, Piper smiled back at her, so hopefully the message went through.

After the two placed their skates on, they stood and gained their balance on the edge of the lake. Piper laid Pooh in the snow so he could watch. They looked at the lake for a bit, mesmerized by the glisten of the ice below them, the sparkling snow around them, and the trees that covered the area, making it truly theirs and no one else's at the moment.

Jocia was the first one on the ice, as she took a deep breath before taking her first few glides. She feared that she had forgotten how to skate after these years away. But, as one is with a bike, it stayed with her. She moved flawlessly across the ice. With a surprising amount of grace matched with her usual fierceness.

For a moment, the world stilled except for her, and an all too familiar feeling washed over her; freedom, security, peace, home. At this moment, she didn't give a damn about school, what might be going on at home, anything. It was just her and the ice, where she always belonged.

Piper watched Jocia in awe, mesmerized by each turn and spin the bigger woman performed. She herself had not yet taken the ice yet, as she was too focused on Jocia's movements. Ever since they met, Piper could tell that there was more to Jocia than just the brute that everyone said she was. And this, along with the years they've know each other, proved it. And for Jocia, Piper was one of the only people she allowed to see this side of her.

Jocia stopped in her formation and struck a pose. Piper responded by clapping her hands and screaming cheers at her, which caused Jocia to leave her skate-filled trance. She smiled at the brunette before realizing she had not yet gotten on the ice.

"So, you gonna get on, or am I gonna have to drag you on the ice myself?" Jocia asked with a smirk.

Piper became a bit flustered in embarrassment as if she just remembered she had skates on as well. She looked down at her feet before slowly moving one foot forward... which slowly inched forward little by little until she was almost in a splits. She stopped herself with her hands and attempted to lift herself back up, only for her feet to switch and her to start shuffling to try to balance herself. The next thing she knew, she fell butt first on the ice.

"Oh bother," Piper said embarrassed. Jocia was trying her hardest not to laugh, but her smiled remained as she kneeled down to look at her.

"Are you alright?" Jocia said trying to sound as genuine as she possibly could.

"Oh! I'm chipper!" Piper said with a smile that Jocia could tell was semi fake. "No need to worry!" She tried to get back up, but kept landing on her butt at every attempt.

"Do you not know how to skate?" Jocia asked in a manner that sounded like she was making fun of Piper, but was actually genuinely curious.

"I-I can skate! Just... with the help of a handle bar..." she looked away from her in defeat before giving the semifake smile again. "But don't worry about me!"

Jocia frowned as she knew what was happening. Piper is one to sacrifice so much in favor of making others feel happy. Even if that means removing her own joy and involvement from the picture. Jocia could relate to that fondly, but she knew it wasn't the best. While she has seen Piper grow to be more self-focused over the years, old habits die hard she supposed. And she could tell that Piper wanted to join in.

While she was never able to provide the right words in situations like this, Jocia knew that sometimes, actions speak louder. She stood up and placed her hand out with her palm sticking up to Piper.

"Come on, I'll teach you how to skate!" Jocia said, trying to be as welcoming as she could be.

"W-what?" Piper got flustered at the surprise offer. "Y-you don't need to do that! You can just-"

"Either that or I'm going home." Jocia did not mean that to sound like a threat, and she did not want to force Piper to do something she was uncomfortable with. "I-if you want to," she added. But, it seemed to work as Piper took a hold of Jocia's hand, accepting the invitation.

Jocia, quite effortlessly, lifted Piper back on her feet. Piper started to slip again, but Jocia kept her hold on her so she didn't fall again.

"Try and bring your feet together," Jocia instructed. She could tell that Piper was getting a little anxious. So, she reassured her, "I'm not gonna let you fall." This gave Piper enough calm and confidence to finally gain her balance in the ice. Both her and Jocia smiled brightly at the small victory.

Jocia moved her body so that she was standing side by side to Piper. "Follow my lead," she said as she slowly slid her left skate in front of her. Piper did the same. She felt a little wobbly, but Jocia reassured her that she would not let her fall and that she was doing great. One slow glide after the other, the two were moving forward. Piper eyes sparkled and smile widened in delight at the fact that she was skating. Seeing Piper's joy made the other one warm and joyful as well. It reminded her of when she tried to teach her siblings how to skate. One of the more pleasant memories that they have. She hoped that they were doing well.

After a few more moves and teaching Piper how to turn, Jocia let go of Piper's hand to see how she could do on her own. Piper did not disappoint. She was moving straight and making turns all on her own. Jocia cheered for her and Piper jumped in the air in victory before falling on the ground again. This time, they both laughed as Jocia helped her back up again.

"Start moving again. I wanna try something," Jocia said when an idea hit her. "If that's ok with you."

Piper nodded her head. "I'd be delighted to try!"

"Let me know if I do anything to make you uncomfortable," Jocia said in consideration. Piper smiled and nodded before Jocia took hold of her hand and motioned her to move again. Before they could move more than a few feet, Jocia moved in front of Piper and started skating backwards with Piper's hand still in hers. Piper jolted in surprise as she felt Jocia's other hand move to her hip.

"Is this ok?" Jocia asked to make sure, and Piper quickly nodded her head. Jocia smiled as she began to lead Piper across the ice like they were dancing at a ball. Piper held onto Jocia's hip in turn as she tried to follow Jocia while keeping her balance. When she was able to gain her footing, Piper looked up at Jocia and gave her an enthusiastic grin. Jocia gave a warm one in return before spinning them 180 degrees.

Piper giggled as Jocia proceeded to show of her own skills as she skated around her. Backwards, forwards, sideways, Jocia gave Piper an up close and personal performance before going back to her hips.

"Would you mind if I lifted you up and spun you around?" Jocia asked.

Piper could not tell if it was her face trying to warm up from the cold, or Jocia making this sudden request, but her face was even redder than Riddle's angry face at the moment. But, she enthusiastically nodded her head, which gave Jocia all of the affirmation she needed to lift Piper up by her hips and spin her around. The giggles and happy stimming Piper did when Jocia put her back down made Jocia's stone heart melt. She held on to Piper's hand and spun her around in circles a few times by skating around her before letting go, spinning herself, and bowing. Piper was surprisingly able to keep her balance as she cheered for her.

Once Jocia opened her eyes, they widened in horror when they saw that the ice around Piper's feet was cracked and about to break. She hurriedly skated to her and exclaimed "LOOK OUT!" before jumping at her and tackling her to the snow on the edge of the lake. She made it just in time before the ice fully gave in.

Jocia got up to make sure the Piper was ok. Nerve struck as she saw Piper's eyes widen and her breath start to get heavy, like she was suffocating. While in kind of a panic herself, Jocia knew what to do when Piper was about to have a meltdown. She quickly grabbed Piper's Pooh bear and gave it to her, kept a good enough distance so she doesn't feel too close, but is also there if she needs her, and practiced deep breathing to have Piper follow along. Once Piper was able to ground herself with her breathing and the softness of the bear, she looked to see that Jocia had just saved her from the cracked ice.

"I'm sorry that I had to do that." Jocia said once she saw that Piper had come back to reality.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Piper said giving a soft smile to Jocia. "You saved my life, I should be thanking you!" Jocia smiled back before offering her hand once again to Piper, who immediately accepted. Piper opened her arms wide out to Jocia, who was hesitant at first, but accepted in great.

"Thank you for this," Jocia said as she held onto Piper.

"It was my pleasure," Piper said cheerfully back. They let go when they realized how cold they were. "How about we head back to ramshackle and I whip together some tea with honey!"

"Sounds good to me," Jocia said before joining Piper on their was back.

Two woman, both lost, scared, and trying to find a way back, somehow found each other. Though misunderstanding and unintended boundary crossing and rage threatened to split them, forgiveness, communication, and empathy kept them together. Though soon enough they will have to return to their worlds, they will treasure and savor the moments they have together. So is the tale of the woman who finally sharpened her blade, and the one who found a better use for hers.

BONUS:

Piper had just finished her second period class with Mr. Goldspire and was about to head to the courtyard to rest for a bit before she overheard a few students talking.

"Did you hear about the new student?" Student A asked Student B.

"Yeah, I heard he just came out of nowhere!" Student B replied. Piper sensed a bit of Deja Vu as she decided to ease drop on the conversation.

"I swear, if this is anything like that other magicless, otherworldly student fiasco, this school is going to the underworld for sure." Student A said.

"Here he comes!" Student B said. "Act like you didn't say anything."

Piper looked over to see who the student was. She was greeted with a tall man with braided black hair and golden eyes. He kind of looked like...

Wait... WHAT?!

"...Jocia?!"

(Final Note: That became so much longer than I thought it would be! I just got way too into it lol. Consider it an early birthday present as well since I saw it is your birthmonth (or I'll just write you something else for your birthday, I DO WHAT I WANT HAHAHAHAHA). Anyways, thank you so much again Shoopy and I hope you liked it!)

<3

[gaffrosha]

wow it's so nice to squeeze out a random sketch once in three months🥴

anyway! it's our irene adler interpretation with @warumdarum

she's a part of our figureskating dgs au. i hope we'll have a chance to share some info about it with you in the future!

[baconkath]

daemyra prompt: figureskating!au

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CwZQX2iK_RQ/?igshid=MmU2YjMzNjRlOQ==

Rhaenyra's been ice-skating since she has memory, always looking up at her uncle Daemon, who has taught her everything she knows. When her biggest competition comes, her current partner (Leanor/Criston???) drops out so she must find a new one. The solution: her uncle, retired Olympic figure skating champion aka The Rogue Prince

[heartofjasmina]

the first time coach!Bkg kisses you, its on the ice. you were practicing your jumps and he had caught you in a flurry of movement and careful reflexes, landing in a pile with you sprawled over his chest. you'd never been this close- not without him critiquing your movements or telling you to lift your leg higher and higher still until it was perfect. and for once, he's quiet, his massive hands (so good for guiding your body into position) on your cheeks before it happens. its like the world goes silent, and nothing matters other than his lips on yours. its not till the sound of his childrens class screaming and yelling breaks the spell that you pull away. it might be a first kiss to shake you to your core, but the look in his eyes says it won't be the last.

[wowbright]

Chapter 14: Shatter

Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU for december klaine fanworks challenge. Also on AO3.

Kurt missed Blaine. He missed his smile and his voice and the way he bashfully batted his eyelashes and his smell—oh, he smelled wonderful, like fresh air and ice and perfectly ripe raspberries with a dash of cloves and sandalwood, everything melding together into a distinctive blend that Kurt just wanted to bask in. Kurt could just be going along innocently minding his own business, and suddenly he would get a sweet whiff of something that reminded him of Blaine, blindsiding him, and he was left there, pining and desperate to touch Blaine, or at least to feel his presence.

Like just now, as Kurt guided a seam through the sewing machine, and a bit of Blaine’s scent wafted up from the fabric he had donned and doffed a dozen times now, each time imbuing the fibers with a little bit more of his heat and himself. It struck Kurt right in the center of the brain where the on-off switch for longing was located.

Kurt's mind flooded with images: Outside at the Garden of the Gods, Blaine’s body outlined against the pink rock, his eyes dancing, those nonsensical and beautiful words bubbling out of his mouth (You make me feel like I'm new) and everything inside Kurt that had ever yearned to be close to another person, and even parts of him that had never yearned for it, seemed to well up within him like a wave tumbling toward the shore. In the tea room, everything disappearing but Blaine’s face and his smile and his warmth—a warmth so strong it radiated out across the table and the silverware and the bergamot-scented air and nestled right around Kurt’s heart. And those eyes, once again, earlier this morning in the studio, watching with rapt attention as Kurt worked, as if there was something beautiful and exquisite in the way that Kurt thought and the way his hands moved.

This morning. It hadn't even been a full four hours since Kurt had seen Blaine, and he ached for him. They hadn't been able to have lunch together, that was all. Everyone was getting ready to leave for Sochi, and on top of that there were interviews and prerecorded television spots and photo shoots to contend with. If Kurt thought this was bad, it was going to be much worse in Sochi. But at least in Sochi he would have a dizzying array of landmarks and languages and street signs he was completely incapable of deciphering to busy his mind.

The door swung open. Kurt did not have to look up to know it was not Blaine. Blaine approached doors more cautiously, and he did not stomp his feet when entering a room. “Another package for you,” said the familiar voice,  world-weary and cantankerous. “What's with all these packages? You didn’t have enough fabric in that trousseau of yours? I needed two strong men to carry that in when you first got here. Gay Blaine is strong, but he can’t skate in all that.”

“Hello Becky.” Kurt looked up at Sue’s assistant. “You seemed to enjoy watching those two strong men carry in my ‘trousseau’ very much. So I don't see what you’re complaining about.”

“They were okay. My boyfriend’s hotter.” Becky threw a large envelope onto the table next to his sewing machine.

“Hey, careful! You never know what's in those envelopes. What if it was a package of custom-made glass sequins?”

“They would shatter,” Becky said drolly. “Duh.”

“Exactly. And it's not like I would have time to order new ones at this point.”

Becky huffed. “But it’s not sequins. It's fabric. See?” She grabbed the package, wriggling and scrunching it to demonstrate its malleability. “Also, one side of the envelope is clear. I can see what's in it.”

Kurt snatched the package away from her. He hadn't noticed that. “Well, it's the principle.” He opened the envelope and out slid three sheer yards of perfection. He didn’t realize he was audibly cooing until Becky asked him if he had eaten a pigeon for breakfast.

~~~

The rink was chaos. Cameras and reporters and complicated sound and lighting rigs were joined by sundry aides and assistants and managers and publicists zipping about, chattering, and making lots of racket. Stepping in from the outer corridor, Kurt felt like a mole who had been forced out of his underground burrow. The lights, the clashing colors, the noise—everything was so loud and blindingly busy.

He scanned the arena, hoping to find Blaine’s reassuring presence in all this mess. That's why he was here, after all. Becky’s package was potentially the final puzzle piece in Blaine’s free skate costume, and Kurt wanted to get Blaine’s thoughts on it before he started ripping apart the most recent iteration of the ever-evolving ensemble in order to incorporate the new fabric this into the back and arms. Well, technically, he was supposed to get Sebastian’s thoughts, too, and Sue always had an opinion, and if Mike and Kitty or the McCarthy twins were nearby, they would certainly wander over with their thoughts—

Kurt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If he couldn't shut out the noise, at least he could make the room go dark and give himself a few seconds to adapt and gain his bearings.

“See, here's what's gonna go down, Mr. Ben Israel. Two choices: you stay here and I crack one of your nuts, right or left—that's your choice—or you walk away and live to be a douchebag another day.”

Kurt blinked his eyes open and turned toward the voice. Not even ten yards to his left, the McCarthy twins were sitting across from a bushy-haired reporter. He, in turn, was staring fearfully at a skinny, stiletto-heeled woman in a white Hugo Boss business suit who loomed over all of them.

“It’s a fair question!” the reporter squealed. “I was just giving them the opportunity to respond to the very real cultural phenomenon of McCarthy twincest fanfic and its implications for—”

“Out.” Santana Lopez said it calmly, quietly, pointing toward the door that Kurt had just walked in. It was the most terrifying he had ever seen her.

Kurt did a quick two-step to the side as the panicked reporter bolted past him. “Well hello, Satan!” he exclaimed cheerfully as he regained his footing. He would have said ‘hail Satan’ if he hadn’t been in such shock.

Santana's jaw dropped. “Lady Hummel! What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you.” Though as he said it, he recalled her drunkenly going on about ‘putting clients on ice’ more than once. He’d always assumed it was her way of wishing she could dispose of them like a mafia boss disposes anyone who inconveniences him, or at least shoving them in cryostorage with a note not to revive them until long after she was gone.

“You know Berry’s not my only star, right? If I had to spend 24-7 at her beck and call, one of us would end up dead, and it wouldn’t be me.” Santana eyed him suspiciously. “She didn't send you here after me, did she? Because she can’t stand me being away from her side for more than two minutes?”

“I’m not her errand boy,” Kurt said. “Besides, I haven’t talked to her in weeks.”

“How will you keep your spot as Rachel Berry's gay bestie with that attitude?”

“Oh, I resigned from that position long ago after all my workers comp claims for trauma on the job went unfulfilled. I'm here on my own. Working. Like you.”

Santana's eyes lit up. He could never trust that expression. It meant mischief more often than joy. “Come to think of it,” she said, her eyes wandering around the rink, “I do remember something about you being Blaine Anderson's sloppy seconds.”

“Oh no, Kurt’s not sloppy at all!” Mason popped up from his seat, bouncing on his toes and clasping his hands together in the tell-tale pose of someone wanting to dish. “Blaine adores him, and with good reason. Kurt is an amazing designer. I know you’ve been in talks with Johnny Weir to design our costumes next season, but we’ve been having second thoughts about that.”

“We have!” Madison jumped up beside her brother, her feet actually leaving the floor. “Kurt’s way more original.”

“What the hell, Hummel? Have you been blowing pixie dust up my clients’ asses when I wasn't around?”

“I know nothing about this pixie dust of which you speak,” Kurt answered smugly. “They simply recognize talent when they see it.

Santana huffed. “Next thing I know, they're going to tell me they want to defect to Sebastian Smythe like Chang and Wilde did.”

The twins wrinkled their noses in unison. “No, we need you,” said Madison, turning to her brother to continue the sentiment.

“The way you deal with all those creepy reporters, Santana. You’re perfect,” said Mason. “I mean, I'm sure Sebastian would do his best to defend us, but let’s face it—he’s aggressive, but you’re terrifying.”

 “And we’re neither, which is why you complement us so well,” added Madison.

Her brother looked at her. “You’re a little terrifying, Madison.”

“Only to you.”

~~~

When Kurt finally found Blaine, he was sitting next to Sebastian and talking to a reporter in a Sochi 2014 baseball cap. Blaine had his public face on—cheerful, but not in the unreserved way Kurt had become familiar with since his arrival in Colorado Springs. Sebastian, on the other hand, was scowling.

Kurt understood why as he got closer and caught the gist of what the reporter was asking. “As the first and only male figure skater to come out as gay during his career, how do you feel about the current Russian government’s new restrictions on public discussion of homosexuality and the environment that might create for you at the Sochi Olympics?”

“I—” was all Blaine got out before Sebastian reached across and pushed the microphone out of his face.

“You know you can’t ask him that, Cooper.”

Holy shit. Were they talking to Anderson Cooper? Kurt stepped a little closer to peer at the reporter's face. No. The reporter was a devastatingly handsome middle-aged man, but he was not Anderson Cooper.

“Rule 50 says ‘no kind of demonstration or political, religious or racial propaganda is permitted in any Olympic sites or venues,” Not-Anderson-Cooper said. “He’s not in Sochi yet.”

“We’re at the Olympic Training Center, you dumbass.”

“‘Olympic sites or venues’ means those operated by the International Olympic Committee. This is run by the US organization.”

“Which also discourages athletes from engaging in political speech while acting as Olympians. Seriously, Cooper, how many concussions have you had?”

Blaine's eyes moved back and forth between his manager and Not-Anderson-Cooper like he was watching a ping-pong match. The annoyance on his face melted away and was replaced by a no-holds-barred smile when he saw Kurt. He looked like someone who had just walked into Museum of Modern Art and seen Van Gogh’s Starry Night for the first time. Kurt’s heart flipped over in his chest.

Blaine jumped up from his chair and waved Kurt over. “Guys, the interview is done. Cooper, I want to introduce you to Kurt, the designer I've been telling you about. Kurt, this is my brother, Cooper Anderson.”

“Oh! I’ve heard so much about you!” Cooper reached out and shook Kurt's hand vigorously. “But not as much as you’ve certainly heard about me. Would you like an autograph? Or maybe a selfie with me?”

“I, um …” Kurt looked to Blaine in hopes of receiving a clue to what was going on, but Blaine was too busy shaking his head at his … brother … to notice Kurt’s need of rescue. “I'm sorry. Are you a … um, were you a competitive figure skater, too?”

“You're joking, right?” Cooper said, but his grin was fading. “Blaine said you were funny. That’s not funny.”

“Actually, it kind of is,” Blaine said with a quiet chuckle. He stepped closer to Kurt and put his hand on his shoulder, leaning close to whisper, “He was a seven-time MVP in the National Hockey League, and now he’s a sports commentator”—and it took all of Kurt’s concentration to focus on the meaning of the words and not the warm breath that puffed tantalizingly against his ear.

“Oh. That Cooper Anderson,” Kurt said, not because any of it rang a bell for him, but because it seemed wise not to get off on the wrong foot with the first member of Blaine’s family he'd had the chance to meet. “Sorry. I didn't recognize you. Maybe it was the hat?”

~~~

“You really didn't know about my brother, did you?” Blaine said later when they were standing alone—well, as alone as they could be in that chaos—at the edge of the rink, checking out how the fabric looked under its lights while cocky young Sam Evans showed off his tricks for the cameras as Santana watched on, frowning. (She was apparently his manager, too.)

“Well, I remember you mentioning that you started to learn skating because your family was really into hockey, and I think there was a mention of a brother in there somewhere? But I didn't make the connection because … well, I didn’t know there were any famous Andersons who played in the NHL. The whole ‘let's injure each other for an hour and call it a game’ genre of athletics has never really been my thing.”

“So, what is your thing?” Blaine said, scooching a bit closer so that their shoulders touched.

You, Kurt wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Athletics wise? I was a kicker on my high school football team.”

Blaine's eyebrows shot up. “Isn't that one of those ‘injure each other for an hour’ sports?”

“I guess, but I was literally just the kicker, and I didn't even watch the games. They recruited me out of drama club after the quarterback saw my audition for the fall musical. Apparently my high kicks were more impressive than anything any of the actual football players could do. So I’d sit on the sidelines doing my homework, and if they needed me, I’d come out there with earphones on under my helmet and “Rose’s Turn” on my Walkman, and when Barbra Streisand sang, ‘Everything’s coming up Rose!’, I’d wind up and kick the ball right over the post.”

Blaine’s face squinched up from smiling so hard. “That is the most adorable thing I have ever heard. You never cease to amaze me, Kurt.”

“I was a cheerleader, too,” Kurt said with more pride than was probably warranted, considering he was talking to a world-class athlete with the skills to make a much better cheerleader than he ever had. But Blaine was looking at him like he was the most amazing human who had ever walked the earth. He couldn't help preening a little.

Blaine brushed the back of his fingers against Kurt’s bicep. “With those arms, you could probably toss girls in the air like they were confetti.”

Kurt’s heart sped up. Blaine was touching his arm. In admiration. As if it were … sexy, or something. And sure, Kurt had shown up to the studio twice this week in extremely fitted, extremely short sleeves that showed his arms at their best in hopes of Blaine appreciating them. But somehow, he hadn't anticipated it might actually work.

Bang! They both jumped back as something slammed into the side of the rink just beneath them.

“Sam? Sam!” Blaine bolted over the wall onto the ice.

“I’m okay. I’m okay!” Kurt heard Sam protesting as Santana forcibly pushed camera operators away and threatened their tender body parts with violence if any of this aired.

“If Yuzuru Hanyu hears a word of this, I will Yakuza your asses!”

Blaine began to go through a list of questions he had clearly asked and been asked before about whether this spot hurt or this spot or this spot, and did Sam know where he was and the date and the time and the President and the canonical order of the Star Wars movies (okay, that last one did not sound standard, but Sam answered it without hesitation), meanwhile pressing the pads of his fingers to Sam’s knees and ankles to test for tenderness.

“Ugh, you’re not my mom,” Sam whined.

“Yeah, but I’m your grandpa. Close enough. And if you think this is too much attention, I’ve got worse news for you. The paramedics have arrived.”

Sam turned out to be okay in the end, with only his pride wounded—especially when he found out Blaine hadn't even seen the back flip that preceded the crash. “There's a reason they don't score those in competition, Sam,” Blaine said gently. “It's to prevent people from killing themselves.”

“I can't believe you didn't see it! You were supposed to watch and learn!”

Kurt thought Blaine showed remarkable restraint in not asking, Learn what? How to crash into the wall? Perhaps it didn't even occur to him, Blaine was that good of a person. Instead, he patted Sam's back and said, “I'm sure it was impressive. But maybe save those for the off-season. You can't afford an injury right now. We’re all depending on you to be in top form for the team event.”

Sam looked doubtfully at Blaine. “Figured you’d want me out of the team event.”

“No. We need the best. And you’re the best.”

“Better than you, gramps?”

Blaine smiled. “Guess we’ll find out in Sochi.”

“Oh, God, what is this?” Santana's voice interrupted the comfortable silence. “Why don't you two just go sit around a fire and sing kumbaya? Wait, no. There's no time! We've got too much shit to do before we leave for Sochi! Also, Sam, if you ever try a stunt like that again before a competition, you can find a new manager.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned toward Kurt and thrust a business card at him. “For you, Lady Hummel. Have your people call my people when this whole Sochi mess is done. Maybe we can work something out.”

“Or we could just talk it over at our gal’s next drunken brunch.”

“No, she’ll think I’m stealing her best gay—yeah, I know you reject the title—and I’ll never hear the end of it. Later, okay? Trouty Mouth and I gotta go.”

Sam stood up to leave with her. “Wait, Sam,” Blaine put a hand on Sam’s sleeve. “Did she just call you—”

“Yes,” Sam huffed.

“You don't sound okay with that.”

Sam shrugged.

Blaine stood up. “Santana, he’s a teenager. And he’s paying you. It’s not okay to talk to him like that.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “I have nicknames for everyone. And he's got to toughen up if he's going to survive a career as a senior.”

“Sam’s plenty tough. He’s made it this far, hasn’t he? I’m sure you have the capacity to come up with a nickname that doesn't sound like an insult and the ability to ask Sam first if he’s okay with it.”

Sam looked at Blaine with wide eyes. Clearly he hadn't expected this kind of defense or these kinds of accolades from the guy he spent his free time finding ways to annoy. But it didn’t surprise Kurt. It was completely consistent with Blaine’s character: generous, kind, noble, sympathetic. Blaine was such a good person, through and through. The affection Kurt felt crowded around his heart and made it deliciously hard to breathe.

Santana rolled her eyes. “Fine. Your choices are Blue Eyes, Kentucky Derby, White Chocolate, and Blonde Chameleon.”

“Blonde Chameleon, definitely!” Sam grinned.

“Okay, done with that. Let’s move. Good day, Lady Hummel. And Mr. Lady Hummel.” She nodded at Blaine as she turned away. A hint of pink flushed across Blaine’s cheekbones. He looked inordinately pleased.

~~~

“So,” Blaine said a few minutes later when they were back in the costume studio—just the two of them and Roxy Music playing in the background, Blaine swaying his hips to the beat as he ran his fingers over a piece of velveteen. There wasn’t even a pretense of them working on the costume together. They were past that stage in the design. Kurt’s work was solitary now, except for the fittings and the occasional consulting on a swatch. “I take it you and Santana Lopez go back a bit?”

“Sure. She manages one of my friends from high school. A singer named Rachel Berry.”

Blaine practically guffawed. “Wait. You’re friends with Rachel Berry?” And then his eyes went wider. “She’s the one who’s declared you her best gay?”

“Well, I did let her be the hag to my fag when we were younger. But I got tired of being called her ‘gay friend’ and her ‘best gay friend’ and basically a supporting character in the production of her life and … Well, I set some boundaries. We’re still friends, but more … with some healthy distance. Anyway—you’ve heard of her?”

“Oh, have I ever.”

Kurt tilted his head. There was some undercurrent in Blaine’s voice he couldn’t quite decode. “You’ve seen her in Funny Girl maybe?”

“Not Funny Girl. Though it was nice to see she got the Tony for it.” This seemed an honest statement, even if Blaine pressed his lips together in a way that almost looked like a grimace.

“The Hello Dolly revival then? Or maybe Spring Awakening?”

Blaine leaned forward against the table and shook his head, chortling. “Spring-Fucking-Awakening. You could call it that.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“Sorry. It’s her boyfriend. Partner. You know her partner, right? Jesse St. James?”

“Of course I know Jesse.”

“Well, so do I.”

A lightbulb went off in Kurt’s head. Jesse used to live in L.A. Blaine lived in L.A.—well, at least when he wasn’t zipping around the globe for competitions. And Kurt had always known that Jesse was bisexual, or heteroflexible, or … something. But what were the chances of this? L.A. was enormous. “Wait. Are you one of the guys that Jesse …?”

“Dated? Yeah. Before he figured out he was straight. Or … I’m actually kind of the precipitating factor in him realizing he was straight.”

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

Blaine winced. “Crap! Did I just out him to you?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean … I didn't know he was straight per se, but I guess I figured he might be—what’re the kids calling it these days?—heteroromantic? But you know him. He’s an open book. We’ve just never discussed it. I’m not sure I’ve ever told him I’m gay. But I was more concerned about you. Because I brought up Rachel and then I dredged up all this stuff from your past and … Oh my God, that must have been so traumatic.”

“Honestly, I think it was more traumatic for him than it was for me.”

“How is that possible?”

“Well, I wasn’t in love with him, so that helped. Infatuated, a little, yes, but I wasn’t in love with him.”

“No. I mean, how can he date you and not fall in love with you? It doesn’t compute.”

Blaine looked down at his hands, the blush from earlier returning to cheekbones, and shrugged. “It's fine. He wasn't the right guy for me. And I always knew there was something kind of off. We just never really had a spark. And I thought maybe that was kind of normal because honestly, I’m not sure I’ve had a spark with any of the guys I've been with—I mean, where you have sex and it’s like ‘oh my god I’m so in love with this person,’ and it’s overwhelming and wonderful and all the things you imagined it would be when you were younger and—Well. I'd started to wonder if I was just bad at romance. But with Jesse, at least I knew the problem wasn’t me. He was just constitutionally incapable of feeling that way about me. It was kind of a relief. And also … maybe this is weird, but it also kind of felt like an honor, in a way—to have someone be so open and vulnerable with you about who they are, and for them to let you accompany them as they come into their own. Maybe it's not normal to see things like that. I mean, Sebastian definitely thought I should be more bitter and angry about the whole thing. But for me, it was like a gift. I think it might be the best break up I’ve ever had. We couldn’t be lovers in a true sense. But being able to just be there as he embraced who he was—that’s another kind of love.  I don't think I'll ever forget how precious that felt to me.”

Blaine was sitting down now, his chair turned toward Kurt’s, their knees touching. His expression was open and unreserved and brimming with generosity, and he was so, so beautiful.

“Blaine,” Kurt said, swallowing hard to keep his heart from rising up into his throat. He put his hand on the back of Blaine’s and, just like that, Blaine’s palm turned to meet his. Their fingers intertwined.  “You’re not bad at romance.”

“I'm not so sure. I'm sitting across from this gorgeous, intelligent, artistic, kind, breathtaking guy who makes me feel more alive than I’ve felt in … maybe ever … and instead of telling him all the ways he’s already become so special to me even though it really shouldn't be possible because we’ve technically known each other for less than two weeks but also somehow it feels like I've known him for lifetimes—or that I want to know him for the rest of this lifetime, at least … Instead of telling him all that, I'm sitting here and telling him about my breakup with a straight guy.”

“Oh, Blaine. You really are the opposite of bad at romance.”

Kurt held both of Blaine’s hands, and he watched Blaine’s face, and Blaine’s eyes flickering to his lips, and he felt himself falling, falling, falling in the most delicious way possible.

Kurt had never been so scared to kiss anyone. He had never felt so sure of it, either. He leaned toward Blaine, heard Blaine’s breath hitch, saw his eyelids flutter slowly.

Blaine leaned toward him.

The door swung open. “There you are, my handsome young half-Filipino mustacheless Tom Selleck. Have you forgotten we have a meeting to go over the logistics for the teams event?”

Blaine blinked. “Um, yeah. Actually, I did. Sorry, Sue.” He touched Kurt’s knee as he stood up. “I'm sorry, Kurt. I'll connect with you later, okay?”

The door closed behind then. Kurt didn't know whether to scream in frustration or giggle like a schoolboy. He picked up the piece of velveteen that Blaine had been petting earlier and buried his face in its soft nap. “Oh, Blaine Anderson. You are so very much not bad at romance.”

[belugamenace]

These Bones Are Far From Perfect

very happy to have uploaded chapter three! sanji is confused as hell. i’m not though. i know exactly what is going on.

read here

rating: (eventual) explicit

update: chapter 3/?

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preview:

He observed Zoro, watching him explore the cabinets, the drawers, and the silverware. He rested his head on his arm. He was tired already. “Zeff… has better things to worry about. He shouldn’t be sending you to check on me. Did he offer you something? Payment, or…?” 

Zoro looked up from the plate of food he was making and considered Sanji for a good long moment. His dark, almost gray eyes bore into Sanji’s. “Just… a friendly neighbor favor. I’m paying him back for making dinner the other night.” Sanji tore his eyes away, chewing his lip. 

Friendly neighbor favor? That was totally unfair.

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tags:

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Past Child Abuse, Injury, Chronic Pain, Violence, Miscommunication, Pining, from something awkward to lovers, Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Internalized Homophobia, Ableist Language, Vinsmoke Sanji Has Self-Worth Issues, Homophobic Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexist Language, Firefighter Roronoa Zoro, Ex Figure Skater Vinsmoke Sanji, Roronoa Zoro and Vinsmoke Sanji Bickering

[ao3feed-newsies]

Triple ice

by, Mavkediemackmack by Mavkediemackmack Iceskater au Albert DaSilva centric, that kind of went out of control and got a lot darker than intended. Words: 1452, Chapters: 1/25, Language: English Series: Part 1 of https://www.tumblr.com/we-are-inevitable/738106560714309632/high-school-au-albert-dasilva-has-a-perpetually Fandoms: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken, Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies: The Broadway Musical! (2017) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other Characters: all the newsies, newsies characters, Albert DaSilva (Newsies), Jack Kelly (Newsies), David Jacobs, Les Jacobs, Sarah Jacobs (Newsies), Racetrack Higgins, Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Crutchie (Newsies), Specs (Newsies), Mush Meyers, Hot Shot (Newsies), Kid Blink Relationships: Spot Conlon/Albert DaSilva/Racetrack Higgins, Spot Conlon/Albert DaSilva/Elmer/Racetrack Higgins, Buttons/Elmer (Newsies), David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Kid Blink/Mush Meyers Additional Tags: I dont like modern stetting who?, 🤣, i never said that!, idk - Freeform, the title is once again, fucking random and bullshit, Newsies - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Ice Skating, figureskating - Freeform, ice hockey, Spralbert, maybe spralmer, Alternate Universe - Celebrity read : https://ift.tt/JV8ERNO - January 08, 2024 at 05:57PM

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Perfect Score - Epilogue | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: months have passed since the finals with no sign of Aemond, making you wonder if anything has changed | Word Count: 6k~ | Warnings below the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: p in v sex, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), degradation, praise, *a finger in the bum*, butt play, ass eating, orgasm denial, creampie, ass slapping, pussy slapping, face slapping

A/N: *don't get emosh, don't get emosh, don't get emosh* I can't believe it's really REALLY the end! I've had this idea for the Epilogue for AGES and can't wait for you all to read the last instalment of our figure skating couple <3 would die for them and hope you enjoy!

"Good, but bend your knees!" You shout to El who's still got her hands outstretched haphazardly, wobbling on the ice as others whizz past her, knocking her off balance.

She throws a middle finger.

Charming.

You laugh as she pushes off to do another lap, reaching down between your legs for the bag and pulling your phone out for any new texts.

Nothing, you sigh.

El makes you jump, bumping into the ledge, "Will you stop being a simp and checking your phone every two seconds? He's going to text you!"

You click your phone off, "I know. I'm just so impatientttt…" you whine, exaggerating your frustration.

El rolls her eyes, "He'll get in, bud"

"Ew, don't call me that"

"Besides, if he gets rejected, he could always be your new manager, pal" she grins.

"You're so fucking gross, you know that?"

She shrugs, a grin that spells victory, "that'd be kinda hot to be fair. Going everywhere with you to competitions, organising your hotel rooms, fucking you over his des-"

"El! For fucks sake" you whisper-shout, heat rising to your cheeks.

A few other skaters on the ice turn their heads in judgment, making your face burn with embarrassment.

"Gods, so uptight" El jokes, a mischievous grin on her face.

To tell the truth. You missed Aemond. In all aspects.

You hadn't had sex since being in Dorne. And you hadn't seen him since the hospital.

Even though you texted most days, after months of seeing him everyday, it was quite the shock to the system.

It felt like there was a hole, conveniently Aemond-shaped, that was deepening the longer you two were separated.

"Oof!"

You both look up, to see Floris on the ice, wobbling her way back onto her feet, grimacing, "I'm ok!" She reassures, pushing off to skate slowly.

You nod in Floris' direction, "Is she okay skating?"

"Yeah, the physiotherapist said it'd be good to get her doing things like this again" El replies, looking over her shoulder at her sister.

She turns back to you, "Your manager doesn't hang around here anymore. Not since Floris has started coming back".

You resist the urge to frown.

Coward.

“Got you”, El smirks mischievously, "will you tell me what happened one day?"

It was something you’d thought about for some time. To tell her, or not? Floris certainly didn’t know the deeper details, but you knew she would have had suspicions.

Aemond was obviously unbothered if such information circulated, having put a very large proverbial wall between him and Otto the moment he was discharged from hospital. And yet, it still wouldn’t feel right, airing out all the Targaryen dirty laundry like that.

Even if he said it was okay.

But maybe, on a deeper level, Floris and El at least, deserved the truth.

"One day" you promise.

The cold winter chill nips at your bones, even through the layers of thermal clothing you've got piled on, the thick socks, boots and an overcoat, it still feels positively freezing.

“Who are you texting, missy?” you tease, bumping El on the shoulder, shoving your hands into your thick coat pockets.

She flushes, from the weather or the embarrassment you are unsure, but she puts her phone away quickly, “Nobody, you nosy cow”

King's Landing Winter Wonderland, Christmas Market and trinket shops, though it's far too early for any of that, it gets the people into the spirit. Stalls line the market square with several of them selling holiday related items as well as food, with an ice rink circling the entirety of the perimeter.

The air smells of mulled wine, cooked meats and the laughter of families and couples alike. With their warm breath creating clouds of white with each exhale.

El has you excitedly tucked into her arm, telling you all about her newest boyfriend, who for all intents and purposes is both hot and a keeper.

Ah, so that’s who she was talking to.

"He's already talking about us moving in together! Before the end of the year" She says excitedly, but her face falls, "but…I don't want to leave you in the lurch paying the rent by yourself".

You scoff, "I won't take you away from good dick because of fucking rent" you smirk, "if you want to, go for it".

She arches her eyebrows in uncertainty, "You sure?"

You pat her gloved hand with yours, "very", you smile, "as long as he doesn't steal you away from me, I want the lowdown".

"Oh you'll get that alright", she laughs.

Having poked your heads into a few stalls, and several sips of mulled wine later, you smirk as El is glued to her phone. Again.

"That your man?" You ask.

She quickly puts it away, biting her lip, "Yup" she replies, "wanna go skating?"

You roll your eyes, "It's not like it's my fucking job, El. Sick of it".

"Oh come on! I won't have to use the kids stabilisers anymore!"

She gives you her wide, puppy-like eyes.

Ones you know you can't refuse.

"Fine" you sigh.

She is far too excited to say that literally a few hours before she was struggling to use her two flippers to stay upright on the rink. Nevermind going backwards.

It’s quite entertaining to see her drag you by the hand excitedly to the ticket gate.

“One ticket for skating, please! Size 5!” she beams at the receptionist, who looks like he’d rather be dead right now.

You furrow your brows, “One? Did you want to go on by yourself and I watch or-”

“Nope! Just you” she grins.

“Me? El, what in seven hells are you on abou-”

She shoves the skates into your hands and practically pushes you past the gate, waving you off, “no questions!”

You don’t even really have time to cuss her out/question the situation, it feels like your brain is in overdrive.

There, either hand leaning against the entrance to the ice rink, where the public are zipping around slowly, laughing, pink in the face, hand in hand, is Aemond. The familiar ribbons of platinum hair that have fallen from the hair tie, now slightly waved from the moisture in the air, sways with the breeze at his shoulders.

He has that slack smirk on his face, his tall broad form leaning on one side, ankles crossed with the low quality skates on, tapping the tip onto the ice.

Even in a heavy looking coat, his hair messily done up and pink cheeks from where the cold had been hitting them, he still looks every bit as handsome as you remembered him.

It makes your heart sigh to see him smile at you with that glimmer in his eye. Blinking slowly and admiringly at you.

"Hey, Princess", he greets warmly.

You almost drop the skates in your hands, the cold wisps of wind making you realise now that your eyes are all wet.

You're sure his name slips out before you crash into his arms, flinging yours around his neck.

He smells just like he used to.

And all those good memories just flood back at once, making that wetness behind your eyes form actual teardrops that line your cheeks.

You feel him laugh a little, one of his big hands on your back, "missed me then?", he prods in a smooth tone.

Fuck. His voice.

You didn't realise you'd missed hearing it so much.

When you pull away, to properly look at his face, he's still smiling, in that classic 'Aemond' way.

You're so engrossed with just looking at him, you nearly flinch when you feel his thumb wipe your under eye softly, wiping the moisture away.

His gaze softens, "don't cry. I don't look that bad, do I?"

Giving a watery laugh, you shake your head, "Just missed you".

His hand is still around your waist, inadvertently pulling you close to him so your hands hover over his chest, "Now, now, don't get all soft on me".

Your cheeks hurt from smiling.

"How?.."

Aemond gestures with his head, "El organised it".

"But…she's-"

"With her new boyfriend, don't worry. It's just us, princess" Aemond smiles, picking up the skates you'd dropped.

"For old time's sake?" He smiles.

And all you can do is blush and smile up at him like a little lovesick teenager.

It feels utterly strange to get back on the ice with Aemond again, even if it is a public one in the middle of a Christmas market. Even more so that he's not flinging you around in all sorts of twists and jumps.

But it feels nice.

Hand in gloved hand, you glide about together, catching up.

Alicent, you learn, has gotten back in touch with her long time friend. Aemond furrows his brows when he recollects that usually she's on facetime with a glass of Dornish Red in one hand and creasing up in front of her iPad at something her friend has said.

Aegon. Well, he's Aegon. Aemond's words, not yours. But he's working on getting a teaching qualification so that he can coach skating instead. It's nice that he was able to find something to use his skills for. Other than womanising.

"Had minor surgery on my nerves…they think it'll do the trick for some years, hopefully forever" he says as you weave on either foot.

"Well that's good" you smile, "does it feel better?"

He nods, "Oh and Hel has a new partner".

You look over quickly, one eyebrow poised, "And? Was I right?"

Smirking, Aemond has to resist the urge to roll his eye, "Yes, you were right".

"Yes! I knew it! I knew she was bi!"

You flush when some families around you look over when you shout it a bit too loud.

Oops.

Aemond tugs you to his side by your waist, humming in a kind of quiet laugh. A comfortable silence descends, just enjoying one another's company.

"I got in", he says suddenly. Stealing your attention again as your feet synchronise in short glides.

"Got in?"

"KLU".

"KLU? Oh my god-" you surge up, his face between your hands, but he doesn't complain, and kiss him fiercely, "Congratulations, Aemond. Oh my gosh, that's-"

You beam with pride.

And you can tell he genuinely loves it, by the way he blushes slightly.

"And" he goes on, his face close to yours, smirking at the confused look on your face.

"And?..."

He licks his lips before he speaks.

"I got a place" he adds, "and was wondering…if you…"

He trails off. And your face settles into realisation. Your heart hammering in your chest, like the engine of an old train.

He shrugs, clearing his throat, “You know, because we basically spent all our time together during the championships…”

You swallow thickly, "Really?..." it comes out weaker than you intended.

He nods, “It’s just out of town, not far from here really” he gestures in the vague direction with his head, the hand that’s resting at your waist dropping somewhat.

Blinking the emotion from your eyes, you swat his chest playfully, “Alright, Mr Moneybags”

He doesn’t laugh, like you expect him to, but he does smile at least. At this point, you seem to have come to a stop, your skates nestled between his to keep you both stable.

His darkened gaze just looks at your face. Studies it.

Like he’s opened a book and is reading through the pages.

When he looks at you like that, you can’t help but feel a flutter deep in your chest. It feels like he is drawing on you softly, like a thousand little butterflies have landed on your face, and are slowly opening and closing their wings.

You shudder when his warm, ungloved thumb brushes against your cheek.

“What?...” you smile at him affectionately.

He hums, a cloud escaping his lips as he speaks, “I’ve missed you”.

All you feel is the ledge of the ice rink press against your lower back and yours and Aemond’s noses brushing against one another as he presses his warm, comforting lips to yours.

He takes his time, moving languidly against your lips with a soft, wet beat, his tongue parting your lips as if he had been waiting all this time to taste you properly.

He tastes just as you remember.

A hint of cigarettes that he’s tried to hide with spearmint.

When you break away, you can’t ignore the warm feeling that blooms in your gut. In all the time you’d spent apart, you forgot how his lips felt on yours, how his hands felt on you, and how his mere presence around you made arousal creep up your thighs.

Gods, it’s been so long.

A blush creeps up your neck to your face, and Aemond smirks.

“Stop that”

Your lower lip catches between your teeth before you reply, “What?”

He leans against the ledge, caging you in with his own body.

“Blushing”

His voice lowers.

“Otherwise I’ll give you something to blush about”

The tension was thick as you and Aemond trudged through the Christmas Market after vacating the ice rink. You tried to lighten it by doing idle things like looking at the homemade ornaments on one stand, to sharing a cup of mulled wine between you, feeling the way the liquid warmed your insides.

That warmth was nothing compared to the way Aemond looked at you.

It reminded you of all those months ago, at the hotel, before the dynamic of your relationship changed. The way he used to stare at you from across the room, in what you wrongly thought at the time was out of disinterest and detest.

How wrong you were.

Shooting off a quick text to El, who you were sure was already back at the flat anyway, enjoying all the ‘assets’ of her new boyfriend, you walk hand in hand with Aemond back to his apartment.

He was very intent on showing you his new place. And your insides fluttered in anticipation, heat crawling up your neck.

His apartment was nice. Not that you expected any less. It was several floors high, showing a good view of King’s Landing and the bright, illuminated Christmas Market in the square below. Even from here, through the tall and wide windows of the living room, you could see the couples zipping around the ice rink, as you both were just a few moments before.

It had that ‘new apartment’ smell, but whenever you brushed past a coat of his or a blanket, it smelled like him. The walls were bare, but you were sure that Aemond would decorate when he was properly settled.

“Is Vhagar going to be coming here?” you ask, cupping the warm mug of tea in your hands as Aemond gives it to you.

“Maybe. She’s quite settled at Mum’s though so…I don’t want to make her anxious”.

You nod, “It’s a nice place”

“Will look even better when you’re here” he smirks, bending down to huff himself onto the sofa, “I’m sure you have better ideas than I do on interior design”.

You simply watch him for a moment, the warmth of his apartment making your previously cold hands feel prickly. Your fingers tap against the ceramic, the sound of Aemond’s playlist rumbling quietly from a speaker in a different room.

Placing the mug on the coffee table, Aemond exhales as your legs rest either side of his torso, moving to sit atop him with your hands stealing beneath his shirt, watching as his pink lips part for breath.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, princess” he murmurs against your lips as he leans up, his large hands squeezing your ass, moulding the flesh to his grip and eliciting a low gasp from your lips.

"Who says it's a game?" You whisper back, teasing him by brushing your lips against his, moving your hips on him and smiling when you feel him harden instantly.

" - fuck - "

You know he hates it, just hates it, when you smirk at how pent up and desperate he gets. But you just can't help it. Not only is it all too easy, it's just too fucking tempting too.

How easily such a large, overbearing and domineering man, can be subdued to a mewling, near-begging mess just by the soft movement of your hips.

"Baby, please -"

Reaching down between your bodies, Aemond outright moans when you palm his erection through his jeans, sitting against his thigh quite obviously. You tease your hand from the base to the tip, squeezing through the denim, seeing the way Aemond almost knits his brows together in barely-contained pleasure.

And any time he tries to reach up, to kiss you properly, you pull back, allowing him to chase you.

"Oh, fuck you-"

You yelp in surprise as Aemond lifts you, keeping your legs around his waist as he pushes his bedroom door open and dropping you onto his mattress. And before you even have a moment to sit up on your elbows, he's on you, kneeing your legs apart and caging you to the bed with his body.

"Can't fucking wait any longer - need you, baby-"

Fuck, even the way he says that has arousal pooling between your legs, the desire to push your thighs together strong, but weakened with Aemond's body keeping them apart.

He's so fast and rough, the way he unbuttons your jeans and pulls the denim down your legs, taking your underwear with it, that you feel for a moment he may have torn something.

He practically fucking growls when he he looks between you, his thumb teasing your clit, finally able to look upon you the way he's wanted to for months.

"Already soaked for me, aren't you?" He coos lowly, teasing your bud in sure, confident circles, before swatting your heat firmly with a wet smack, "such a good fucking slut for me".

You mewl, pressing your lips together, a flush enveloping your face at his words. It's been so long since you were intimate with him, it will take a few moments to get used to it again and fall into that rhythm.

That, and you can't help but flush in embarrassment at the realisation you've not shaved your legs, genuinely not having expected to see him today.

It doesn't seem like Aemond cares.

With a fist over the collar of his shirt, he pulls it over his head, showing his lean and well-muscled torso lit with a warm amber glow from the bedside lamp.

You jolt in surprise as his fingers pull you by your thighs further down the bed, a gasp flying past your lips as his tongue and teeth nip and kiss at the inside of them. The sensation bordering on pain and pleasure at the same time.

"You don't know how long I've waited to taste your sweet pussy, princess"

You have an idea, by the way Aemond mouths at the crease between your thigh and hip. But you don't say it out loud. The anticipation of his mouth so, so close without touching you where you need him most is agonising.

" - fuck - Aemond -"

Your back nearly arches off the bed as he flattens his tongue against your warmth, swirling around your clit first before diving into your folds to feast on you, his fingers digging into your flesh for leverage. The feeling of his grip into your flesh burns pleasantly as he tugs you towards him, your lips parting with hurried pants tumbling out.

Your legs tremble as his low moan vibrates through your core, electricity creeping up your spine as he laps at you with vigour, his sharp nose nudging at your clit as he moves side to side to eventually fuck you with his tongue.

For a split second, you worry if he can actually breathe.

But as your embarrassingly quick orgasm starts barrelling towards you without warning, it somehow gets pushed to the back of your mind, you reach down, threading your fingers through his hair, chanting his name as if it’s all you can say as he groans against your cunt.

His hands hold you down by your thighs, tugging you back to his mouth in soft micro-movements as you shake against him, head thrown back against the pillows with your breath hot in your chest, unable to catch it well enough to form any other sound than moaning unabashedly.

Aemond outright moans as you cum against his tongue, the lewd sound of him licking up everything that comes out makes a heat creep up your neck. But you can’t find it within yourself to be embarrassed. Not when he makes you feel like this.

You can feel the moisture on his face when he takes mercy, drawing his lips away to kiss and nip at the inside of your thighs again, giving one firm bite before he pulls away with a smirk on his face, no doubt happy at the mark he’s left behind.

Your eyes feel heavy as you lift your gaze to him, now perched on his knees as he pops the buttons of his jeans off, the veins on the back of his hand straining, making you feel somewhat lightheaded.

“ - can’t wait to fuck you again - you don’t know how long I’ve wanted be buried inside that pretty little pussy -”

You lick your lips as your mouth goes dry. He always manages to do that. Somehow turn you into a limp, mewling mess in no time at all.

Something you have in common, clearly.

With your heart beating erratically, body throbbing in the afterglow of your orgasm, that feeling is enhanced still when Aemond tugs at his length needily, his shoulders rising and falling with the desire to just stuff himself inside you as deep as he will go.

You can only watch in awe as his fingers wrap around himself, the tip ruddy and desperate, with arousal coating it with every slow and calculated fist. His stomach muscles clench and unclench uncontrollably, his chest muscles moving steadily with each deep breath.

It feels exciting, how utterly small you feel when he leans over you, once again grasping your legs to spread them before him. His long, thick fingers tease your slick folds, before he guides the fat head of his cock to your centre, watching with parted lips at the way your eyebrows furrow in both relief and pleasure as he stretches you around him slowly.

“ - ohfuck - ”, he moans lowly, sinking himself slowly into your warmth and basking in the closeness it offers, “ - fuck, baby, so tight for me -”

Being with him like this again is like sinking into a warm bath, with the rolls of steam batting at your face. And his words are so soft, they’re like dozens of little snowflakes settling on your face in a flurry. All cold and numb, and yet warm and fuzzy at the same time.

It’s completely instinctual, the way you turn your head, slightly embarrassed as Aemond holds either of your legs apart, his pelvis smacking against yours as he eases himself into a steady rhythm.

“ -aw, don’t tell me you’ve gone all shy on me -” he mocks, his eye glimmering with mischief as he looks down at you, “-where’s the needy, little slut I used to know, hm? -”

You gasp as Aemond pushes both hands down, pressing both of your legs towards your shoulders, bending at the knee so that he can kneel higher, using the new position with gravity to fuck down into you faster and rougher.

The new position has you pretzeled before him, completely unable to do anything but throw your head back against the pillows and turn bright red at the wanton, breathy moans that slip out.

“ -Aemond -”

“ - what’s wrong, baby? -” he coos, “ -is this too much for you? Hm? I know you’re more flexible than this -”

Fuck.

Each rough push of his length into you from this angle has the curved head of his cock brush against your sweet spot with devastating precision. With every thrust, the air seems to expel forcefully from your lungs, not helped in part by the fact that Aemond has your legs pressed hard against your ribs.

All you’re able to see through bleary eyes is the way he smirks down at you with his hair stuck to his tacky face, his chest heaving with hurried breath, and every now and then, his neck muscles straining as he tips his head back and groans loudly as you inadvertently squeeze his length when he bullies the end of you.

The air is charged, hot and humid. And you barely register the fact that music is still playing in another room, and that the curtains are pulled back. Though there’s no chance of anyone being able to see you both from how high his apartment is, it still makes your insides tighten that it’s happening so unabashedly with the city right below you.

His hand drifts down your thigh, watching as you squirm beneath him as he presses hard on your stomach, your eyes closing tightly at the feeling of him closing you around his length as it pistons roughly into you. He smiles slightly, almost as if he can feel how deep he reaches inside you.

“ -Oh fuck, baby - can fucking feel you gripping me -” he moans helplessly, leaning over, the sweat on his forehead slightly illuminated by the warm lamp’s light, “-does my girl like being a dirty little slut?”

You barely even register he’s speaking, everything sounding utterly muffled and just too much all at once. His low voice only serves to make that coil wind tighter in your gut, reacting to the way he never lets up his pace once.

You jolt slightly when he taps your cheek twice, a little rougher than you’d anticipated.

“ -I’m fucking talking to you -” he growls, moving his hand from your stomach up to bunch the shirt in his fist, exposing your pebbled nipples to the warmth of the room.

You nod helplessly, “Yes - yes -”

It’s all mindless babbling, and Aemond knows it as he grins, his eye flitting down to watch the way your breasts bounce as he fucks you.

“ -please, Aemond -”

“ -please what, hm? You want to cum, is that it? But you’re too fucked stupid to say it?”

As much as you hate to admit it, his words send a bolt of humiliation through you that does nothing but excite you, your core throbbing around his length with every calculated word he says.

"Aw, poor thing -" he jeers, "- I'm going to have fun with you-"

Wait what?

This isn't said 'fun'?

Oh shit.

Before that familiar coil can wind itself any tighter, Aemond pulls back, grunting as he manhandles your hips to turn you over and his palm cracking against your backside, smirking in victory at the mewl it gets out of you.

The skin there blooms with warmth, more so as Aemond’s tantalisingly hot skin presses against it once more, your lips parting in what can only described as a relieved moan as he slides into you again, his cockhead hitting the spongey end, filling you utterly.

"-Aemo-"

Smack.

"Not my fucking name, Princess. C'mon, you can do it" he purred, pressing his hand against your back, pushing against your spine and forcing your face against the sheets.

A choked moan almost slips out, with him tugging your hips up to him in such a curved position, his cockhead bullies your sweet spot, dragging his length along your sensitive walls, propelling you to an overwhelming orgasm.

"Go on - beg me for it or I won't let you cum-"

The idea of him denying you yet again when you were so close last time just seems utterly unbearable. So despite the humiliation rocking through your core with each harsh smack of his hips, despite the overwhelming heat of the room and most of all, despite your pride.

You do.

"Please - daddy - need it-"

If you could see him, you'd hate it.

Because he grins. Ear to fucking ear like he's wanted to hear it for months.

"Aren't you gonna beg me for permission to touch yourself?"

You suck in a breath, squealing muffled against the sheets as he gives another hard thrust. Clearly, despite appearances, on the verge himself.

"-can I - can I touch myself - please, daddy -"

"-fuck- baby, touch that little clit for me, yeah? - want to feel you cum-"

His voice is strained, pushing you with each thrust further and further against the sheets, your arms near giving out with the weight of him on you. With difficulty, your hand snakes between you and the mattress that constantly dips with how rough Aemond is being, and finds your bud, running the slickness that has collected over it, tying up your pleasure into two feelings.

Aemond’s lips part, staggered breaths the only thing coming out, as he feels your walls flutter around him, looking down at the way your bodies meet with a soft smack every time. You feel so warm and tight, gods he’s wanted to cum since since you started touching him through his jeans.

But now, pulling you by your hips to spear you onto his cock, he’s so so close.

Just wants to feel you first.

“-baby, you’re doing so well for me-” he breathes quickly, his gaze flitting briefly from where he’s pistoning in and out of you, to your sweat slick face, pressed against the sheets, biting your lips harshly as you pleasure yourself in tandem with Aemond’s movements.

As his hand slid down past your hips, his thumb tracing the bottom of your spine, you suck in a harsh breath when he softly grazes over your puckered hole, still fucking shallowly as if to tease you and him into teetering on the edge of a climax.

You're barely able to see behind you, pressed so hard into the sheets, but he looks good fucking you. His chest shines with perspiration, the chain dangling around his neck teasingly, and his abdominal muscles clenching and unclenching with restraint.

And then you see him smile.

"-oh? We've never done this before have we, princess?-"

Oh shit.

After all the exertion of your passion so far, your slick has easily made its way onto your thighs, so Aemond doesn't have to move much to drag some of it on his thumb and circle your hole with light, delicate motions, moistening the area.

Humiliation creeps up onto your face, eyes slipping shut. No guy before has ever really tried to do this. So this is uncharted territory. But despite the brief embarrassment, you have to admit that the feeling of Aemond ever so slightly pressing his thumb against you as he continues to thrust brutally into your cunt just feels new in the most amazing way.

His other hand still grabs the flesh of your ass, tugging you back to his cock in a frantic rhythm. The mewls coming out your mouth now sounding so unlike your own.

Aemond knows by the way your hips move up to meet his touch that you like it, but are too embarrassed to say.

"-how about it, hm? - you want me in both your pretty little fuckholes? -"

"-yes - yes, please daddy, I-"

Making sure his thumb is slick enough, your puckered hole also, he slides in slowly, using the palm of his hand to grasp whatever of your ass cheeks as he can.

You almost hear his choked moan.

"-fuck-, you're so tight here, princess - you gonna let me fuck it one day, hm? - you'd be so fucking good here-"

The batting of his cock against your upper walls has you very nearly sobbing outwardly, combined with the feeling of him in such a new place, pressing in, you'd forgotten you'd stopped pleasuring yourself. Completely embroiled in this feeling.

He chuckles darkly, crooking the digit ever so slightly, leaning over to press against your back "-you'd fucking let me as well, wouldn't you? -"

The curling of his other fingers on the flesh of your backside has him smiling at the sounds it emits from you.

“-did I say stop, hm? Keep touching yourself - cum for me-”

You know that as soon as you do it’s all over.

His voice, combined with all three feelings at once, tugging at that pleasurable spot inside you that has white, hot pleasure soaring through your bloodstream, has a long, choked moan filling the space between you. And you’re surprised to hear that the same sound slips past Aemond’s lips as well, the air of his breath batting against your neck as he tries to bury himself as deep inside you as he possibly can.

You’re trying to suck in breath without really realising it, the earth-shattering orgasm making your body go all rigid for a moment before you relax against the sheets, with the pleasant weight of him above you.

Everything feels warm. His bedroom right now feeling like a large blanket has enveloped you both. It seems a weird thing to think in the moment, with Aemond’s half naked body hunched over you, his cock twitching and pulsing, whimpering as he is still emptying himself inside of you and feeling the aftershocks through your fleshy walls.

All his micro-movements seem overly-sensitive. And when Aemond exhales, lifting himself off your back, lifting your lids to open your eyes feels like the most difficult thing you’ve ever done.

“-sorry-” he whispers cautiously as he pulls his softening cock from you, immediately feeling the warm rush of cum coating your inner thighs.

Warmth blossoms once again to your cheeks as he stays still, and you think he must be staring at the way he leaks from you, sighing in a sort of perverted admiration.

You don’t even have time to open your mouth before his thumb slips out your other hole, only to jolt in shock once it’s immediately replaced by his tongue. All those dulled out endorphins that were dissipating into your limbs feel like they all gather back, and you squeeze your thighs together, fisting the bedsheets so tightly they could’ve torn.

Both of his hands seem to find their home on each asscheek, spreading them so he can easily swirl his talented wet, muscle around your hole, fucking moaning as he does it. All your nerves ring semi-uncomfortably, overstimulation nipping at the edges of the pleasure.

“-fuck, Aemond, no no, please-” you plead, emitting a weary, exhausted laugh when he chuckles and pulls away, landing one softened smack against the flesh.

“-Mm- another time-”

Lethargy pulls at your body as you lay on your front, blinking slowly as you feel the mattress rise, pressing your lips together as Aemond disappears into the en-suite, tucking himself back into his jeans.

A moment later, he comes back with a warm washcloth, offering to clean you up. But you simply smile, pushing yourself to sit up, “I’m good”, you smile, with a flushed face, feeling slightly bashful after what you’d just done together.

One long shower together later, you lay in his bed, looking out at the city beneath, the cascade of brightly coloured lights littering the dark space between buildings. Aemond’s shirt easily reaches to your thighs, with nothing beneath, not having anticipated staying over anywhere today.

Aemond sighs calmly, his chin on the top of your head, pressed against your back, with one of his hands running through the tresses of your hair, every now and then stroking at your scalp, which has your eyes slipping shut at the pleasant feeling.

“Well, princess? Do you like it?” he asks, his voice all soft and tired.

You meet his lilac gaze, tilting your head slightly in question.

“The apartment”.

“It’s perfect”, you smile, reaching up his cheek and running the back of your fingers over it, the scar tissue feeling slightly different in texture over your skin, “you sure you want me to move in?”

He blinks slowly, a smile rising to his lips, his hand coming to yours and pressing a soft, tender kiss to your wrist. And though not directly sexual, it makes your belly do little backflips, feeling so intimate and captivating that warmth floods your skin through his lips.

“Of course, princess. I can't do this without you”.

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