#listen i got addicted to this fucking show and this has to exist

[conan-christopher]

please, please, please let me get what I want

see the luck I’ve had, can make a good man bad

homelander x oc

multiple chapters

rating: explicit - sex and violence

ao3 / wtt / Q

[0alix0]

Overusage of Lore

a lot of people tend to say that bioware put little to no lore into Veilguard, and i might be on a minority on this to me it's way too much and way too shallow

The entire game feels like writers just scream at you "Look at all the magical thing we have!! So we have Titans! And Evanuris! And Illuminati Those Across the See! And-- are you listening? You better listen cuz there are more! We have Shadow Dragons! We have Griffons! We--"

OMG calm down it's not a fucking Warcraft

the best thing in DA was the way it beautifully showed real life issues through the lens of medieval fantasy world.

The dalish weren't so fascinating because they had an entire language made for them and pretty tattoos. They were fascinating because they were enslaved, fought for freedom, then got their land taken away YET STILL continued to fight for survival, for their cultural identity, their children and their children's children, for freedom. Literally combination of native american's and jewish history. Because despite having one goal they all had different approach and opinion about other of their kin: city elves (those disconnected from their culture) and half-elves ("can they be considered elves?" "should they be allowed to be a part of dalish?").

The city elf origin wasn't so memorable because every npc had a backstory with a length of bible. It was memorable because it was the most obvious analogy on racial oppression, segregation, colonialism and fetishism in the entire franchise. Because it had the guts to actually show in details the horrors of these things.

Broodmothers weren't so horrifying because it's a female mixture of jubba hutt and a fucking pudge from dota with a detailed explanation their anatomy. They were horrifying because they were paralleling a very real misogyny, mistreatment, the way how women in some countries are seen as nothing but a walking uteruses, where the only thing they're good for is to give birth

AND bioware doubled it while doing the same thing with Orzammar, cast system & Rica!

The Circles weren't so interesting because we've got dozens of pages in WoT explaining their hierarchy/fraternities. No, they were interesting because it was literally a bunch of medieval GULAGs with a function of a mental hospital, it showed what mistreatments happen there, the abuse, child abduction and enforcement of religion.... And from the side of templars it was a discussion about professional deformation, addictions and the way high ranking people abuse those to control their underlings.

..... And you know, if we were back in origins, griffons, for example, would've probably been used as a parallel on irl eco terrorism. it might've been about how Wardens despite their good nature unintentionally bonded the general association of the entire animal species to their order and abused this connection to the point when the species was beyond preservation!

and btw, then that decision in davrin's quest would actually had any meaning, instead of throwing wardens into mud (again) and turning isseya into a villain for no fkn reason.

lore is only good as long as it's used for purpose, when it has things to discuss, not just exist

i don't fucking care about titans/evanuris/and other shit because they're just a 30 pages long article in codex and WoT trying to explain magic and write DA timeline almost to a fucking mesozoic era. it's BORING. Get me emotionally invested, then i'll care

[jenflirts]

mending my broken heart

pairing: tara carpenter x fem!reader

theme: angst :)

summary: maybe you're the one...

warning: profanities, grammar, no ghostface and cheating

a/n: based on my feelings :) | enjoy.

Falling for someone isn’t for weak people,

Nor being attached,

Nor loving someone.

These are the feelings that will make you mentally and physically weak, just because you would do everything just to have them, just to give them all your attention, love, and hell, even your soul, but why isn’t it for the weak? Well, only emotionally controlled people can survive these challenges. These are the obstacles that we face when we’re in love and this makes us vulnerable.

We’ve always thought that if a partner loves or falls for you it means they’ve accepted your flaws, insecurities, clinginess, stupidity, good days and bad ones, but sometimes don’t you think that they accepted that because they needed too? Out of pity? Or sometimes just to play you cause they’re just bored. I’ve always thought about falling in love and being vulnerable to a person, but then my overthinking mind stops me from doing so.

Yeah, taking from my perspective—a person that’s been played and got attached too many times just because they showed affection—I’ve been hurt so much that I don’t even count how many times that they scarred my heart and still gave them another chance. I did everything I could just not to fall for someone, but I just can’t stop myself ‘cause it feels like an addiction I cannot control. I keep thinking about the past relationships I had and even thought about the times that I let my heart heal and mend it by myself and yet, I keep longing for the wrong people and their fucked up affections.

And then there’s Tara, the girl that makes me feel special, the person that let me believe that love is worth waiting for, and love really does exist. Tara is the type of person that would really make you fall in love with her and not in the bad way, but because she’s the type of girl that you’ll feel comfortable to be around with, rides with your antics, will help you in any possible way, and makes you love your true self.

Tara and I have been dating for almost 2 years and the truth is I’ve fallen deeply in love with her, she already accepted my vulnerability and I accepted hers so there’s really no turning back. I’ve thought about these feelings thoroughly ‘cause I don’t want to hurt her nor she wants to hurt me, I’ve always wanted to feel vulnerable around someone I trust and love the most ‘cause I don’t want to let people see my true facade. Tara saw something in me that people don’t and she’s been helping me to cope up with that.

Everything has been great ever since I dated Tara.

December 09

It's our finals and both of us are stressed out since both of us picked a hard course and I actually want to do something special for her since it’s our anniversary so I’ve prepared dinner, movies and gifts just to surprise her. I went home earlier than she did so I could prepare the things I wanted to give and the words that I wanted to say; Thankfully, Sam and Mindy helped me to do everything.

“Minds? Do you think Tara would like it if I gave her a promise ring on our anniversary?” I asked the girl as we strolled through the jewelry shop. She stopped her tracks and looked at me surprised “A promise ring? Really? Doesn’t that curse relationships?” She asked as she glimpsed the rings.

A promise ring breaks relationships? Now what kind of fuck-mind would believe that. “And where did you get that information? Is it one of those crazies at the uni?” I joked.

“I’m just telling you that rings don't mean forever,” she said. That’s actually true, but I’m not gonna listen to her and Tara deserves a promise that I will love her forever so I picked out the ring and necklace for our anniversary tomorrow.

I helped Tara go inside our apartment and took the blindfold off. She engulfed me into a hug and kisses all over my face. "Tara, we need to eat" I said as I put her down on the floor.

Everything went smoothly and both ended with a promise to love and hold forever.

December 14

The day that feels eerie and gut wrenching, it feels so slow and bothering. "Minds, Tara hasn't texted me for the last few weeks and it's concerning me" I said as I tossed her my phone to check Tara and I's conversation.

"She also hasn't been going home" I added and groaned loudly.

"Yeah, I noticed that. You didn't confront her about this? But I always see her at the uni tho" She said.

Is Tara avoiding me? Did I do something wrong last week? Did she do something wrong? Did something happen that I didn't know? A lot of things suddenly hits me, I thought about everything that I've done last week ago, but nothing really came into my mind.

It's already past midnight and I'm still going on about Tara. I heard the door open and keys tossed on the counter. I went outside and checked if Tara's here or just Mindy wanted to crash by.

"Tara? Baby? Where were you?" I asked as I sat beside her on the living room coach.

"Sam's and did some thinking, so can we talk?" she said.

Why does it feel so suffocating? The way she looks at me feels so different; it feels empty and drained. I nodded and sat in front of her.

"For the last few weeks I've been isolating myself to you and it felt different after what I did. It's been perfect for the last 2 years and I loved every single moment that we've done, but I think we must part our ways and fix ourselves" She cried.

What? Just like that? After 2 fucking years? She's just going to throw it all away? I was too stunned to speak, my brain was spewing out words, but my mouth can't function properly. I felt my eyes stung and tears rolled down on my cheeks.

"So? That's it? Gonna throw away our 2 year relationship out the fucking window like its nothing? Damn Tara, I don't know what to say nor to react" I said as I wiped the tears that keep continuing running down on my cheeks.

She doesn't say anything, but her eyes tells me differently like she's guilty for not telling me the reason why.

"Tara, what's the sudden break-up? what's the reason? 'cause I know for a goddamn fact that it's not about self improvement shits. Tell me so that we could fix it" I assured her

She shook her head no and keeps sobbing uncontrollably. I went to her and wiped her tears; I held her hands, "Love? what happened? tell me so we could fix it" I said as I gently squeeze her hand.

She slowly stopped crying and let me wiped her mascara tear-stains. "It was at Wes's parties and you were studying for your final lesson at that time. Amber snuck me out and helped me unwind by bring me to Wes's parties then I got drunk and I couldn't control myself and so did Chad" she explained.

I couldn't believe it.

The love of my life, cheated.

The girl that I trusted the most, cheated.

I felt my whole world fell apart. It feels like my heart just shuttered into pieces, it feels like there's a new cut to it. I feel betrayed, angry and disappointed all at the same time.

I stood up and went back to my seat and comprehend what just Tara said. I can't do this right now, my mind is all over the place.

"babe? hey? I thought we were gonna fix these" she said

does she really think there's something to be fix? I gave her my everything and this is how she repays me. cheating on me with my other best friend? damn, that's another form of betrayal.

"tara, get out. I can't right now. I just want to be alone for a moment"

She doesn't understand what pain I'm going through right now.

After Tara closed the apartment door, I tried smashing everything so that I could somewhat calm down.

I sat on the living room floor and thought about the things that I have done on why Tara have to do this. Wasn't I enough? Am I that easy to replace? Is our relationship just out of pity? There's so much unanswered questions that I have on my mind, but right now I just want to be alone and mend my broken heart.

I thought she was the one that’s going to help me mend up the open cuts that people leave on my heart, but I would never predict that she was going to leave a big one.

(part 2 of my lovely, jenna is on-going)

[impala-dreamer]

Pondering Fate While Ignoring The Obvious

A Ten Inch Hero Story

~Priestly has got it so bad for Tish that he can barely see past the end of her... well, her back end, anyway. He's love sick and forever rejected, constantly stuck inside his own head. When a new girl in town starts messing with him, he quickly loses his cool...~

Boaz Priestly x F!Reader

2,511 Words

Warnings: Nuttin' but fluff and banter. ;)

A/N: This is another square for my @jacklesversebingo card. The prompt is "Backhanded Compliment/Convenience Store/Sugar Addict"

Now listen- I've never written for this movie before, but I had so much fun doing it. If you've seen the movie, I think you'll love this. If you haven't seen it, you may not totally get it, but you'll still love it because it's cute and fluffy and I said so. Give it a chance ;)

Another day, another spicy Italian with no oil and no vinegar. How you could eat a hero dry was a question he could never quite grasp the answer to, but in the end, did another weird order really matter? He’d put a condom on the bun if they asked for it. Maybe not a used one, but then again, Tish was looking extra spicy herself today.

Tish. Goddamnit. There she goes flirting with every male in existence except him. There she is leaning over the counter in that not-so-sneaky way that pushes her tits up and out, giving everyone and their mother a look into the valley of the Promised Land. 

For fuck’s sake, if she’d only do that for him. 

Then again, nothin’ he hadn’t seen before. 

Fingers snapped in front of his face and Priestly blinked himself back into reality. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, still half dazed and half hard after staring so intently at his coworker. 

Piper sighed. “Yeah. You gotta make a run down the street.” 

He sighed harder. “You know, you ladies are capable of patronizing the convenience store now and then. It’s not really hard. You just pick out what you need and exchange it for cash.” 

The tiny blonde pouted and batted her lashes. “Please? My feet hurt from standing all day.” 

He scoffed. “And mine don't?” 

“I’m not used to it. I’m delicate.” 

Priestly scratched at the bright green spikes that sat atop his head for the day, masquerading as a hairstyle. He frowned but relented. “Fine. Gimme the list.” 

He saw her from the street. He wasn’t purposely peeping through the window like a stalker, but he felt like it all the same. It wasn’t his fault, not really. Things mostly stayed the same around town, so when something was different, when someone new showed up, it tended to stick out a bit. 

The new girl at the register was cute, not particularly daring in her style or makeup palette, but she was attractive. Probably the thing Priestly noticed first was the lollipop stick hanging from her painted lips. 

His entrance was announced by the jangling of bells and she looked up as he came in. She smiled around the pop and twirled the white paper stick between her fingers. 

“Welcome.” 

He looked back at her over his shoulder and nodded. “Hey.” 

Slowly, she pulled the treat from her mouth and licked the very tip. Her tongue was as red as the pop and Priestley was sure that his cheeks were turning the same shade. He cleared his throat quickly and turned back, going about his business. 

The store was otherwise empty except for Mr. Jacobson, the old man who never seemed to go anywhere but was always wherever you went. He was currently lingering at the end of the aisle, amazed at the sheer amount of chip flavors the new millennium had to offer. 

“Back in my day we had regular and salt & vinegar, and we were grateful!”

Priestly laughed under his breath and looked over the rack at the register. She was laughing softly as well, and when their eyes met, she didn’t shy away. 

He did; quickly tearing his gaze from the cherry pop and focusing on the aluminum foil instead. There was no use flirting with her anyway- she’d never go for him. She looked too normal, too pretty to fall for his shenanigans. Best not to even think about it. 

Arms fully stocked, he headed her way, keeping his eyes on the black and gray tiled floor and praying she wouldn’t make his heart race any faster. 

She sucked hard on the Blow Pop and then took a bite, making him jump. Sugar crackled between her teeth and she winked.

“I hope you overcharge them,” she said dryly, staring him down. 

Confusion took the place of shyness and Priestly’s face scrunched up. “What?” he snapped, jerking away from the counter. 

The girl rolled her eyes and went about ringing up his order without another word. 

Cash exchanged, Priestly thanked her and walked out, still wondering what the hell she was talking about. 

Monday. 

Priestly stared out the front window, wondering if the day was going to go his way or not. He knew he shouldn’t bother pondering the Fates, because they always seemed against him, but he liked to think he had some hope tucked away somewhere beneath the Manic Panic hair dye and all the metal sticking out of his head. If there was, he couldn’t find any today. 

Tish was late, as usual, probably rolling out of some strange guy’s arms and fishing for her bra underneath the bed. 

Someday… someday, that’d be his bed she was searching under. Someday, those would be his arms she rolled out of. He just had to keep hoping.

Or not. He really didn’t care. 

The sun was too bright, the grill was too hot. He hated everything. 

Except the sound of bubblegum popping behind him. He didn’t seem to hate that. 

With spatula in hand, he turned and startled just enough to make the bubblegum appear between coyly smiling pink lips. 

“Hey.” 

Priestley squinted. “You’re that chick from the store.” 

Annoyance crept onto her face. “And you’re that dude with too much eyeliner.” 

He laughed before realizing she was insulting him and ended up jolting up on his toes awkwardly, half a smile curled on his lip. 

He cleared his throat. “Priestly.”

She squinted. “Like Elvis?” 

He shrugged. “And you are?” 

“Hungry.” 

Slapping a five on the counter, she picked up her hero and spun away, heading toward the door. She turned to push it open with her backside and popped her gum again. 

Her eyes were glued to him and Priestly felt his stomach flip. He met her gaze and she smiled. 

“I always do.” 

He wanted to say something, to ask her what the hell she was talking about, but she was gone before the words reached his tongue. 

“Always do what?” 

Jen turned her head his way, but her eyes were still locked on the computer screen. “What’s up?” 

He sighed. “Nothing. Just a weird girl from…nothing.”

It was nothing. She was just the weird girl from down the street. And anyway, he was supposed to be hating everything today, not shifting his ponderance to the mystery of the gum chewing, pop crunching girl from the convenience store. 

“Nothing.”  

Blue hair; don’t care. 

Priestly cracked an egg on the grill and watched the edges sizzle. He wasn’t great at a lot of things, but cooking eggs was something he did exceptionally well. The butter bubbled around the perimeter, curling the whites just slightly, and he pushed the tip of his spatula against it. 

Not ready yet. 

The girls were, yet again, chatting about men, and he kept one ear on the sizzle and the other in their conversation. 

“I just don’t understand how hard it is to find. It’s right there.” Tish laughed and pushed a delicate hand back through her hair. “It’s a clit, not the Holy Grail.” 

Priestly raised a brow. “Some would call it that though,” he interjected. 

She rolled her eyes. “You would.”

Offended, he sucked in a quick breath. “Ya know something-” 

She turned, one hand on her hip, waiting. “Yeah?”  

His lips pursed and dejected, he turned back to the grill. “Forget it.” 

“Thought so,” she laughed. 

God, she was such a bitch sometimes. OK, most times, but still.

Tish went back to leaning on the counter and he took the opportunity to peek at her ass. 

Behind him, a throat was cleared. 

Priestly sighed, knowing what was waiting for him when he turned. Or, rather, who. 

“You again.” He batted his lashes. 

She smacked her lips. “Me again.” From her pocket, she withdrew a pink Starburst and fiddled with the wrapper. 

He eyed the candy and followed it to her mouth. Her lips were darker today and it reminded him of the cherry pop. “You eat too much sugar, you know that?”

She smiled gently. “And you dye your hair too much. That isn’t good for you. All those chemicals are gonna fry your brain.” 

“Joke’s on you, it’s already fried- shit!” Fried egg. Burnt to a crisp. “Damnit.” 

Sugar Girl swallowed a laugh and the Starburst. 

He turned around, annoyed at himself and her laughter. “Are you- do you want something?” 

“Yup.” She nodded and took her order from Piper, who was holding a small, paper-wrapped hero. “Thanks.” 

Green eyes narrowed on her smile. She was weird. Way too weird. And kinda rude. 

“You ever gonna tell me your name?” he asked, calling out as she pushed open the door. 

“Sure,” she replied, “Soon as I get my free sample.” 

“Huh?” 

Confusion always seemed to linger when she left, that and the smell of strawberries. Or cherries, or whatever she’d been sucking on. 

Sucking on…

His eyes flickered over to Tish and he wondered if she was as good at sucking things as she claimed.

It was raining and he was cranky. 

He’d missed his alarm, the car wouldn’t start, and a passing bus nearly drenched him head to toe. 

It wasn’t supposed to rain at the beach. It was practically against the law. Nature’s law, anyway. 

And to top it all off, Tish was bragging about the amazing night she’d had with a handsome stranger visiting from New York. 

“He’s just in town for a few days, so it’s nothing serious,” she explained to a wide-eyed Piper who was drinking down every word. “But man, I wouldn’t be mad if it was. He’s… tall and handsome and-” 

Priestly cleared his throat. “Ya know I’m pretty tall.” 

She clicked her tongue. “And?” 

His heart ached at her callousness. “And… just thought I’d remind you.”

Maybe she didn’t know what she was doing to him, but he thought his advances were fairly obvious. Maybe she was just a bitch.

Jen derailed his thought train with a shopping list she’d printed out. 

He shook his head. “No.” 

“Please?”

The shop on the corner was the last place he wanted to go. Nameless Sugar Girl was the last person he wanted to see. “Why do I always have to go?” He pouted and gestured to the window. “It’s pouring rain out there.” 

Jen looked up with puppy-dog eyes. “Which is why I’m asking you to please go.” 

A heavy sigh was his only reply. Priestly grabbed the paper from her hand, crumpling it beyond repair, and set out into the downpour. 

He was dripping by the time he made it down the street. He sneered at the water on his face, rolled his eyes at the welcome mat, swatted viciously at the bells as they rang above his head. 

“Rough morning?” she asked, watching his huffy entrance. 

He scowled. “You could say that.” 

A peppermint rolled on her tongue and the red and white stripes caught his eye. “Well, lemme know if you need any assistance.” 

Priestly ran a hand through his teal-tinted hair and shook out a puddle’s worth of rain. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

It took him a while to collect the goods, having trouble finding the right paper towels that would fit into the holder in the bathrooms. He’d never had any issues in the store before; seemed like someone had rearranged. 

Someone. 

He looked across the rows of sundries and wondered what her deal was. Hell, he still didn’t even know her name. Not that he wanted to, of course. 

Of course. 

Finally, and with much annoyance, he arrived at the register. 

She laughed softly as he unloaded his arms. 

He shook his head. “What?” 

“I… I shouldn’t even touch this one.” 

He had no clue what she was talking about, he never did, and he was at the end of his rope. 

His patience snapped. “What?”

She sat back, clearly hurt by his tone. “Your shirt.” 

She pointed at his chest and he looked down, reading the big black letters upside down. 

‘Save a tree, eat a beaver’

His shoulders fell. “Oh. Yeah. Whatever.” 

“Yeah,” she echoed, the sting heavy in her voice. “Whatever.” 

He couldn’t take it anymore. Dropping a can of coffee onto the counter, he slapped his palms down on either side of it and leaned in. 

“Ya know, everytime I see you, you’ve got something snarky to say.”

Her eyes went wide. “Snarky?” She frowned. “I thought I was flirting.” 

The fight drained out of him along with the blood in his cheeks. Confused once more. “Uh… what?” 

Pushing herself up off the stool, she mirrored his pose, hands falling dangerously close to his. “Flirting,” she said again. “It’s an ancient ritual in which a sexually interested party attempts to lure their prey into bed with witty and charming wordplay.”

He balked. “I know what flirting is!” 

She glared. “Then why haven’t you picked up on the fact that I’ve been trying to pick you up for weeks now?”

“I uh…” His elbows buckled and he stood up fully. “You have?” No way. She wasn’t…

Memories of the past month flooded his mind. Each time he’d seen her she was smiling at him, not being snarky. She was teasing him, answering the ridiculous sayings on his shirt. 

‘I sell crack for the CIA.’ … “I hope you overcharge them”

‘Surf naked.’ … “I always do.” 

‘Orgasm Donor - Ask for your free sample’ … “As soon as I get my free sample.”

It had been smacking him in the damned face and he hadn’t seen it. She had been playing with him the whole time, not trying to annoy him. She wanted him to notice her, but he was too busy dreaming of Tish, wondering when she’d notice him. 

He sucked in a stunned breath. “You have. Wow.”

A tiny smile returned to her cherry lips. “Come on, I know you’re not as dumb as your fashion sense implies.”

Priestly felt a dip in his gut, something fluttering around inside. He grinned. “Oh, I’m way dumber.” 

Reaching across the counter, she grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him close. “Good.”

Her lips were soft, the kiss as sweet as the candy she was always eating. He breathed her in as her tongue swept over his.  He was stunned, confused but in a good way. Maybe he needed to push Tish aside and pay more attention to the world around him. Maybe this was a good thing. A really good thing. His eyebrows raised in surprise, his blood pressure raised even higher.

She pulled away slowly, her lips lingering on his. 

“You get it now?” 

She waited, blinking at him with the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. He should have looked sooner, closer; should have given her a chance.  

“Yeah,” he whispered in a laugh. “I think I do.” 

Another kiss, a press of her hand at the nape of his neck. 

“You ever gonna tell me your name?” 

She smiled. “Y/N.”

He reached for her cheek; fingers landing lightly on her soft skin. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” 

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

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[doodler16]

To HB credit, Brandon did the bulk of the writing for s1 and established that these characters are friends or at least chummy with each other. Than s2 happened and it’s been the stolas cry baby show ft fizz.

In HH none of the characters moments are earned. They all just sit (I swear to god there’s more time of them sitting and doing nothing than there is of them actually doing something) react to shit happening around them or wait for the story to happen. I don’t get friendship strangers who are forced to live with a coddled sheltered rich woman and her codependent gf. Angel and Cherri are established as “friends” but all Cherri did was call Angel a nerd for not taking drugs and caring too much for nifty. Didn’t do shit when valentino was hitting Angel. Husk is just there to guilt trip Angel for taking drug and being promiscuous, sir p gets shitted on by all these assholes I legit got mad when they cried and acted like they cared. (Fuck all of you, you didn’t treat sir p with respect) nifty is also just there to be funny, I guess. She didn’t make me laugh she got annoying real quick. Alastor is the worst fucking character, I don’t wanna get into a rant about him but he sucks so fuckimg hard. Angel is ok, would’ve been nicer if we saw him actually progress and if his “friends” cared he was getting SA’d on a daily basis but they don’t care, if they did we would get more poison mv. Vaggie exist to serve Charlie, which sucks because she had so much potential but she’s a nothing burger and Charlie is just a selfish brat who cries till people give her what she wants and tells her she’s great when she isn’t

Yeah, during season 1 Brandon carried in more ways than one especially guiding Vivziepop. Vivziepop admittedly has her moments in season 1 where she can read the room. Honestly, in retrospect for Helluva Boss season 1 and 2 regarding the IMP gang I see them being more chummy/tolerating each other than being friends.

They had their moments I will admit but most of the questionable stuff they do each other feels more out weighed than the good. Luciferanalyzestar and Tooningin say it best:

If Stolas and by extension Stoliz drama wasn’t hogging all the screen time, IMP could’ve been something more. As for Hazbin Hotel they can pretend all they want how close and how they care for each other but their actions and dialogue say otherwise. In the pilot and addict while Cherri was a bad influence in a different way, she had a heart of gold, and cared for Angel. Now in the show, she is shallow.

I guess Cherri Bomb is a nerd by her logic for caring about Angel Dust and trying to take care of him in Addict. Yeah, Angel Dust’s arc is super rushed and don’t get me started on the timeline of it, it’s extremely janky the more you think about it. The aftermath scene of Valentino and Angel Dust in episode 6 was crazy. Cherri and Husk didn’t even help, they just stood there then once Angel Dust walks away from Valentino, now these chumps want to do something and do the bare minimum by congratulating him.

If Angel Dust’s arc is rushed, then Sir Pentious is a background character. Not only was his character development nonexistent but no one attempted to helped him or even try to wonder where he was. They just forgot about him. The most tonal whiplash, Vivziepop love her cake and want to eat it too. Haha, Anons never change it’s so funny when y’all drag Charlie.

With Vaggie there is so much you can do with her character and story wise, it’s not even funny. She’s not even my favorite yet I can think of so much. If Vivziepop and writers are going to go with the direction like purposefully have be Charlie’s bootlicker only for her to realize she’s been following orders her own life then slowly does things outside of Charlie. Then Yeah, I would love that. I really hope isn’t completely static.

Series Alastor will always be a loser bum, but the fans will eat it up. I wouldn’t mind listening to some Alastor slander. 😗

[tklpilled]

to the moon and to saturn

craig wouldn’t say he loves a lot of things. it sounds pessimistic, but love is a strong word! sure, there are things he likes—he likes his friends, for example. he’s just…not one to use that word so freely.

he loves stripe. he’s been a constant in craig’s life for years, somewhat. it’s not always the same stripe, but craig will pretend it is anyway, because he hates letting go of things. he loves stripe, even when he wakes up at too-fucking-early-o’clock to a variety of sounds coming from the cage, and even though sometimes stripe bites him when he tries to pet him. he’s always heard love is unconditional, after all. for a long, long time, he thinks stripe will be the only thing he ever loves—and he’s okay with that. it takes him a while to realise that something has changed.

it’s hard to pinpoint his feelings, because it’s a different kind of love than what he feels towards stripe. plus, every description he’s ever heard is absolute bullshit. there are no fireworks going off in his head, no butterflies in his stomach, no heated cheeks or longing stares or stumbling over his words. the feeling just barges its way into his heart and makes itself at home, as if it’s always been there. hesitantly, craig begins to welcome it.

he loves tweek. he loves everything he does, his shaking hands and his wobbly smile. he loves the feeling of tweek’s skin against his own when their fingers intertwine, how he always smells like coffee and lumber. he loves hearing tweek’s voice even when he’s rambling about nothing in particular. he loves taking note of everything tweek does, all his barely noticeable mannerisms. he’s almost certain he knows tweek better than tweek knows himself.

there’s a third thing, too—tweek’s laugh. which, yes, sure, could be considered part of loving tweek as a whole, but there’s something so addicting about the sound that craig considers it an understatement at best to group it with the rest.

tweek doesn’t laugh very often; craig can’t say much, because it’s not like he’s any better. it happens so rarely that sometimes craig finds himself wondering how there’s an entire category in his mind dedicated solely to it—and then he hears it again.

he can remember the first time it happened.

“you’ve been avoiding me all day! just—gah—tell me what the problem is!” tweek has a tight grip on his arm, enough to keep him in place but not enough to hurt. it’s almost annoying how much he worries.

craig stares at the ground, hiding from tweek as much as he can. “…nothing.”

tweek’s grip loosens, but craig makes no move to leave. “please?”

finally, craig looks up at his boyfriend. after a deep breath, he tentatively starts talking.

“promise you won’t make fun of me.”

tweek stares.

and he stares.

and then he laughs.

“is that it? y-you got braces? you dumbass, i thought i did something wrong!”

craig is hardly listening. his eyes are wide, and if he hadn’t spent the whole day forcing his mouth shut as much as possible, he’s sure that would be ajar too.

tweek’s laugh…

it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard in his life. a choir of angels would pale in comparison.

in that moment, craig understands why love is so often depicted as an arrow being shot through the heart.

he’s always trying to think of new things that tweek would find funny, or that would catch him off-guard just enough. the thing is, though, craig’s never done something like this before, because he’s never in his life been so enamoured with a laugh of all things, and evidently tweek isn’t easy to amuse. he can’t just ask, either—craig has always been the type to speak his mind, but the idea of telling tweek just how excruciatingly in love he is feels…terrifying, to say the least. besides, what if tweek thinks it’s weird and never laughs ever again? craig would rather walk through hell than experience that. 

and then, whatever god may exist finally decides to show him mercy; either that, or his luck is just that good.

craig is incredibly clingy around tweek. he loves touching him, even if it’s just the slightest contact. whenever he gets the chance he’s almost always wrapped around the blond, holding on to him like he’ll die if he doesn’t. tweek doesn’t initiate contact much, but he doesn’t mind when craig does it—it even seems to calm his twitching down a bit. 

he’s hugging him from behind while they sit on craig’s bed, legs wrapped around his waist for extra security. he makes a move to adjust his arms, tightening his grip and pressing his fingers into tweek’s sides—

“ack! st-stop it! that tickles!” tweek jolts away like he’s been shocked, though it doesn’t do much considering how tight a hold craig has on him.

craig looks down at his hands. “oh. sorry.”

…wait.

it’s a dangerous idea, considering tweek could very easily give him a black eye right now, but the opportunity is right there. slowly, he moves his hands back to where they were as tweek’s attention is focused on the television.

tweek yelps as craig repeats the action, not pulling away this time. “gah—wait! stop! leave me alohohone!” he leans back into his boyfriend, then seems to realise there’s nowhere to go. “cuhuhut it ohout!”

craig wouldn’t be mad if this was the only sound he could hear for the rest of his life. he wishes, so, so badly, for tweek to never stop laughing.

“ngh, what was that for?” tweek whines, pulling craig out of his trance. he realises that his hands have stopped moving. 

craig rests his chin on tweek’s shoulder. “i like when you laugh,” he mumbles, embarrassed, and slips his fingers into the gap in tweek’s poorly buttoned shirt before he can respond.

“craig!” tweek kicks his feet against the mattress, twisting side to side. “lehehet me gohoho! this is s-sohoho unfahair!” he manages to squirm out of craig’s grasp, and he thinks that’s going to be it, but tweek just turns and hides his face in craig’s shoulder, throwing his arms around his neck as he giggles into his shirt. so, slowly, he returns his hands to tweek’s sides and squeezes, and tweek squeals and tightens his hold but otherwise doesn’t do much. craig takes it as an invitation to keep going.

“t-tickles!” he squeaks out, gripping onto the back of craig’s shirt. “it tihihickles!”

craig slides under tweek’s shirt just a little, enough to scratch lightly at the skin on his sides. “good. that’s what i’m going for.”

tweek whines, broken apart by laughter. “fuhuhuck off!”

craig hums. “let go of me, then.”

“…nohoho.”

[mystargirl-interlude]

𝐀&𝐖

Track Two. American Whore. Pairing: Billy Hargrove X OC

word count: 806

part two:

Being put in the spotlight from an extremely young age ruins your life in the long run.

I was born and raised in Ryazan Russia and When I was four I saw those gorgeous girls on tv gliding across the ice doing jumps and twirls with an Olympic symbol in the back and that's when my love for ice skating started.

My first televised competition was when I was 13.

That adrenaline rush of winning a competition became addicting and I never gave up until I won. Winning is first place, everything else is losing.

watching teenage diary of a girl, wondering what went wrong

By the time I was 15 I had made a name for myself and broke numerous world records and was better than olympic gold medalists. But it all comes to an end when you have to move across the globe to live with your aunt because I needed an education but that isn't even the worst part, the worst part is that it wasn't New York or California it was a small town inside of Indiana where you wouldn't even know existed if it weren't for the street signs. I dont even think this would be any better for my education.

Thankfully I was already very fluent in English and French so I won't have any trouble there but apparently I wasn't the only new person here

As I arrive at the small house I take a look at my surroundings becoming aware of everything around me. Seeing little kids stare at me like they have never seen life outside of Hawkins. 

     Location: Hawkins high school. 

Driving up to the school was the most humiliating thing a human can experience, being one of the two new people in a small town where no doubtingly nothing happens so its no secret everyone is going to be in your business. The other new person is much more interesting than be so the attention wasn't on me for long. I look up hearing a loud engine getting closer and closer and seeing a gorgeous blue Camaro come into view. Now that is the most interesting that has happened in this town.

time skip

Finally I get to the office and am getting my name down when a man with dirty blonde hair and denim on denim walks in. Im not going to deny the fact that he was attractive but it was the fact that he knew he was and he was way too  confident. Thats why I kept my distance. I acknowledged his presence and went back to doing what I was doing.

Billy Hargrove:

Now I was new to this town. I didn't know anyone and I didn't need to. i'm from fucking California for fucks sake. Im not going to say moving to this small town didn't mean shit because it did but I was clearly the most modern person there, I mean ( chuckles). I had everyone here wrapped around my finger and I needed to do was to show up.

As  I walk into the office I see another girl in here clearly very different from everyone else around here. She didn't have goofy fried hair like everyone else; she had long and I mean long hair, it was red and not the ginger red, it was a true red color but obviously dyed. she had a slightly round face, she was thin but had a lot of muscle but not to the point where she looked bulky. But the thing that really got me was she barley even spared a second glance at me when I walked in.

And I'm standing over here wondering where this girl comes from because it clearly isn't from around here (Indiana). I Watched her as the front desk lady, I think her name was Betty or some stupid shit like that, it doesn't matter, checked her in. when she asked for her name thats when I really started listening, but was quickly caught off guard when I heard her heavy accent as she spoke, now very clearly not around here speaking about this country. Her name was Alexandra Trusova, it sounded familiar but I quickly brushed it off. As soon as she was finished and started getting her stuff together I started to fix my hair and adjust my jacket, getting ready to pull my usual lines on her. she started walking towards me and I knew I had this in the bag but as she got closer I could barley get out two words before she brushed past me giving me a dirty look like I just interrupted her day, And I'm standing here thinking to myself who the fuck does this girl think she is?

[harufallinwonderland]

I’m feeling bored A bit silly so here is my opinion on what your fav precure Main character says about you (disclaimer I am not saying this is 100% true this is stupid fun I got from fun YouTube videos don’t take this to heart and none of them are meant to be insulting)

Nagisa/Cure black: your deffo A tomboy STAN u either are very athletic like her or absolutely HATE sports but u find her interesting and fun and u are A sucker for A good “extrovert that’s A bit shy sometimes” u think precure reached peak Main character back in 2004 and u either think everything else is trash or u still enjoy it as it’s the legacy that Nagisa (and Honoka) created u just still very much prefer the original mains (also high likely hood that Honoka is RIGHT next to Nagisa in your rankings)

Saki/Cure Bloom: your probably A Nagisa lover who turned into A saki lover when u watched Splash star while u prob still love Nagisa u feel like they perfected the sporty girl with Saki which honestly fair you also prob LOVE older shows I don’t have A reason just kinda give off the vibe (also like the Nagisa and Honoka one u prob have Mai right next to Saki in your rankings)

Nozomi/Cure dream: U probably relate to her problems ALOT don’t ya? Horrible at school work?,no idea what you truly want to do with your life? Trying to take other people’s goals as your own to help you feel like you’re doing something with your life? Don’t worry your A mood like her and I wish you luck you got this also your might be the 2% of people (in America let’s ingore the Jp fandom) who genuinely like Nozococo (shame on you) or your like a lot of other people and despise it with your very being.

Love/Cure peach: (tbh I was struggling on this one so it’s kinda me reaching with this) you are the biggest lover of characters who has so much faith in one character and is willing to go through absolute hell for them and Love and Setsuna is your fav duo in precure you think Setsuna’s redemption arc is peak fiction you will vouch for this girl to the end of the world and you will make sure everyone hears

Tsubomi/Cure blossom: you have A anxiety disorder don’t you? You love yourself A good “shy girl become cool as fuck” character arc but you also love how she still keeps her compassion for others but knows when to step her foot to the ground everytime she gets someone to listen to her instead of treating her like A doormat you will go rabid and while the classic energetic spunky girl may be cool you appreciate Precure making A shy girl A main character (u prob feel seen don’t ya?) also you are in the Tsubomi and Miyuki split and I will explain in Miyuki’s portion

Hibiki/Cure Melody: if you hear someone say Splash star is the most forgotten season of precure your prob gonna snap I’m guessing u just want to yap about it but so much of the time someone getting into Precure forget it exists you want them to see how fun the show it but they always find something else to watch and it makes you wanna scream (totally not based on one of my moots who is A suite lover)

Miyuki/Cure Happy: here we encounter the Tsubomi and Miyuki path split where you either are A shy girl who constantly gets spoken over and not acknowledged by people outside of your close friends (Tsubomi path) or u pretend to be confident to mask how your truely feel (aka Miyuki) if you are shy person who loves shy characters u are either one of these two

(Adding another paragraph for Miyuki cause I hardly talked about Miyuki herself) to you she such A silly little gal you are one of the many people who would fist fight for this girl she brings your ultra happy in A way no other character could and you prob rewatch smile like A addict when your even slightly sad

Mana/Cure heart: You will defend her from the Mary sue allegations WITH YOUR LIFE you love yourself A magical girl MC that’s is able to handle herself she is isn’t clumsy if she wants or needs something she gonna get it and you know she will she may be brash but she can back it up with sheer competence and even when she struggles you respect her for being able to pull herself together and say “welp it was nice cry anyway let’s kick his ass!”

Megumi/Cure Lovely; in the trenches defending happiness charge most overhated season by far to you able to see the the gem in this show and Megumi despite being A lead that tends to be on the lower end of people fav mcs you will love till the end of time and you were prob screaming at the top of your lungs with her final transformation in the last episode (another hard one since I don’t have much thoughts on her but genuine respect to people who love her)

Haruka/Cure Flora: First off you had A princess phase where it was wanting to be one who just liking them u had A princess phase anyway you love A girl who runs headfirst into her goals u either relate to her and take her motivation to move forward to your real world studies/work or u wish u could be like her also u just think she is really cool u watched go princess precure and u were changed as A person

Mirai/Cure miracle: obvious guess is obvious your either A witch, gay, or both you just love her and Liko’s adventures of being moms to Moforun and Ha-Chan and you deffo cried on the second to last episode you love A girl who is willing to go through it for her family and also love her curious nature which started the whole plot also u prob wish you could have what she and Liko have (also like the first two precure leads u prob have Liko right with Mirai in your favs list)

Ichika/Cure whip: you have the desire to block people who think Ichika isn’t much of A character and u refuse to touch Precure Reddit cause of how much shit they talk about Kira Kira (honestly u should avoid the precure Reddit for many other reasons too or Reddit in general) she is YOUR silly little guy who you just want to squish cause she is JUST SO CUTE and you either are Great at baking or A sweets lover but suck at baking no in between

Hana/Cure yell (imma admit A BIT of projection from me as she is my fav ngl): the final episode made you cry and you truly love the journey she went through and she has affected you in some way,shape or form you relate to her backstory A concerning amount but seeing her be able to come out of that situation A better person than she was much before always brings A smile to your face (also if she ever cheered for you imma guess u would prob start crying)

Hikaru/Cure Star: Sometimes when A character is so silly they just capture you with A hand gripped around your heart you love seeing her making friends with anything she sees and her imagination captures your love more. you also prob adore her mom and love seeing how every bit of her life truly led to her becoming every bit of accepting,loving, and imaginative person she is also your mentally unwell about Lala as well

Nodoka/Cure Grace: you only want the worse for Daruizan you don’t care if he is not badly written you want him dead, your fav type of healin good fanart is ones where Nodoka kicks the ever living shit out of Daruizan, you have gotten the urge to make some people in your life watch healin good because of the lesson of “don’t help the people who hurt you again and again”, you have blocked someone cause they said Nodoka should have helped Daruizan and said she was in the wrong (mood)

Manatsu/Cure summer: you love how she really seems like she do be on crack and you just love how silly she is pure vibes with her as you just love watching her kinda like Miyuki she just makes you super happy and you truly want to see Manatsu drink coffee just to see what type of shit she would get herself into she could prob best goku

Yui/Cure Precious: A defender till the day you die she just A girl who loves eating food and you will fight to her defense your cuteness aggression makes you want to eat her like A riceball

Sora/Cure sky: your fav color is probably blue, you love yourself A hero who can do cool shit even before becoming A cure, you adore Mashiro A totally not normal amount as well, unhinged for those two if you talk about Sora at some point u will gush bout Mashiro for A bit, she just really good such A true hero

Komugi/Cure Wonderful: dog owner and lover (you probably have attachment and abandonment issues like her don’t you?)

[jumper-insectia]

CW this post will discuss self harm and contain spoilers for the movie Grimcutty

Wanted to scroll a movie tag so I could vibe with what I presumed would be a really enthusiastic tumblr community but all I got was a bunch of ppl being stupid and dumb and most of all utterly devoid of whimsy smh

Anywaaay for all its flaws Grimcutty is a fuckin awesome movie if you ask me

Is it stupid? Oh fuck yeah

Is it entertaining? Absolutely

Does it have good representation? Shockingly enough yeah actually which was really refreshing to see in such a genre especially considering no one died except for the [extremely White tm] mommy blogger

The movie centers around the premise of an internet scary image challenge [reminiscent of the Momo Challenge and Creepypasta stories such as Smile.jpg from when I was in school] that causes “screen addicted” children to act out violently through manners of self harm, suicide, and even murder. What makes this movie interesting is that in some sense the fear parents feel is very real, as it is the mass paranoia and hysteria surrounding this meme known as the Grimcutty Challenge that causes it to appear.

Even ignoring everything else the concept of monsters that feed on fear is not new, but that doesn’t make it less interesting. Grimcutty however flips the traditional sense of the trope on its head: it’s not your own fear that gets you hurt, it’s the obsessive worry of others. The more you worry about someone committing to the challenge the more the entity will target them. Which all on its own is fascinating.

Most complaints I’ve seen are quick to write the movie off for its narrative decision to use these internet challenges and memes as the catalyst of the story; the people complaining are not considering the point of horror media, in my opinion, when they do this. For as long as it has existed the purpose of fearful stories and horrific tales is to exaggerate real problems. While the issues presented in the movie may not be as prevalent as they were when I was younger they were still very much real.

I remember being in school and hearing kids complain about limited access to devices at home due to their parents catching wind of things like the Momo Challenge. More than that however I remember the wave of paranoia that followed the very real Slenderman Stabbings that occurred in 2014. Even my own parents, who generally tend to stay level headed and rational, had a few worried conversations about what had happened at the time, knowing my sibling and I were fans of the stories that made up Creepypasta at the time. It was such a powerful event that it legitimately changed the entirety of my school’s social landscape, no one was permitted to use the computer labs for about two weeks, an assembly about it was hosted, and a lot of kids had their schools changed. The event had happened over 2,000 miles [about 3,218 kilometers] from my home and yet the fear that parents felt was so real that even my classmates were afraid of anyone who was known to enjoy those stories.

Grimcutty takes that sort of hysteria around things like that and turns it up to eleven, and it does everything right by doing so. While the teens in the movie are clearly written by people who aren’t 100% in on current youth culture it makes them no less relatable overall. The main character, Asha, is reasonably desperate to find a way to bring her situation to a halt, and her peers are frustrated, outraged at times even, at the older generation’s fixation on fear. Parents will worry, and kids will find it annoying, but this movie does a good job of showing how bad things can get when both sides refuse to listen to the feelings of the other. Overprotective parents with a platform from which to speak are often the sort of force that sparks such hysterics and panics in communities, a single seed of doubt is all that ever really needs to be planted.

The movie itself is well made overall, it was by no means perfect but it did its job and told its story quite nicely. It helps to have people to watch it with, though as a fan of live commentating my thoughts while watching things I am a bit biased. While the emotions and situations are exaggerated for the sake of theatrics it does well not to lead into the drop off point of unbelievable, especially to someone like me who was a kid when these fears were big amongst parents. It held its tension well and was genuinely terrifying at times, a good balance of pacing and energy. Much like It Follows and Smile it handles the moments of calm between attacks well without letting the fear and suspense completely dissipate, more often than not even making it worse by leaving characters blindly too calm and unaware of their surroundings.

Overall I’m thoroughly disappointed in the platform that truly helped nourish and create the Creepypasta community back in the day for dismissing a movie that captures the very real backlash received for such things at the time. With that said I highly encourage checking it out for the love of all things horror, so be advised however about the subject matter, I would recommend reading its warnings on Does the Dog Die for preparation.

Anyway if you actually bothered to read this far you deserve a treat so here is a picture of my cat

[corellonsblessing]

A BLACK OUT/SLAM POEM based on the teletubbies (tv) tag on ao3

TRIGGER WARNING_MILK.

stray dogs literature clubs, the school for good and evil. ink sans angel—stranger things

horror sans guy—don’t hug me i’m scared. don’t hug me i’m scared, (don’t hug me i’m scared.)

free form plot twists. tragedy/comedy. alternate universe—high school. alternate universe—music.

the chaos unfolds each day, pristine, centuries ago, fight the many.

post divorce, living together, implied drug use, alcoholism. snippets from the end of the show, renunion, although it takes place a couple years before. we were the stars (but space was a void) by ponfarrpussyqueen.

corporate clash, bug, duck, the guardian pest, the prince, macarena, kissing, crack, as a joke, boys kissing, regret everything

underage julius caesar, emo napoleon, mating bond, tentacle dick, magic healing cock, holy water, holy roman empire, kissing in the rain, the battle of waterloo, a true story.

crossover, insanehappymealgiver, original character, original, simulator, mentioned, i’m at my limit, intentionally bad, wearing the other character’s skin, start praying because this sure ain’t holy, my dad went to get the milk because of this, sent to the void, put me in a coffin, rancid hope’s peak

we greet you with good luck and prosperity.

we love gay anal and lesbian smut and we hope you do too.

diminishing flame, not for kids, you’ll cry so hard you won’t have eyes, not sorry, commit a clarity, vaporized, freeform, sewer rat

2020 presidential election, spit as lube.

chaos bear, crack, crack, crack, has religious trauma, gay, gay, lesbian, lesbian sex, orgy, moist naked bodies rainbow is jesus, sex during tornado, this is NOT. finished.

there she was, in a new world. guess she’ll play the cards she’s dealt.

jesus confessed, sin shock, tears streaming down her face. “i fucked your sister.” crack. treated seriously, why did i write this. gay best friend—i can see that (i’m safe here.)

why did i write this!

crack. treated seriously.

slowly losing our sanity, we die.

crack, treated seriously. the moon of hope and the sun of despair LET IT GOOOOO LET IT GOOO.

crack, treated seriously, blue balls, orphan account

his little purse. what was once an inside joke is now taken seriously. crack. crack. fluff and crack. angst and crack. i am a man of my word, and i speak for the people.

a million other projects to complete

crack, crack, i dont know what’s going on, we’re idiots so we made this

it starts out all nice then it all goes downhill

satan, crack, this is a joke, please help me, please don’t hate me, i’m so sorry, i cannot think of anything else, please don’t read this. but. do, the author regrets nothing, the author regrets everything, why do i still exist? (discontinued, at least until further notice.) by even moderner prometheus

forbidden love, dead dove:do not eat.

so small in the midst of it all. rolling with the weird and unusual, traumatized teens to comfort, and an important decision to make

i came up with this, i will go down with this

i can’t believe i write this, why did i write this, i wrote this while listening to mother mother, sleep deprived, wrote this instead of sleeping, the guardian witnessed sex and is now scarred, touching, addiction, slut shaming

insufferable with apologies to all my followers, hell (literal), sewage

i got problems, so fucking random, pulled out of my ass, hard to explain, hard to word, each chapter will be posted, find me on wattpad,

near death experiences, major illness, declarations of love, love confessions, eating, marking, delay/denial, knotting, marking, mating bites, overstimulation, based on taylor swift songs, missing spleen

help me pleease, im scared, why did i write this?, just this really chill person who wants to take over the world, humanized teletubbies, my friend and i wrote this over the summer

you better not forgive me for this, im serious, vaginal fingering, a hushed voice, the contact making her shiver.

may your heart stay strong. torture, vomiting, blood and gore, self-indulgent, touch starved guardian, all characters are adults, electricity, suicidal thoughts, medical inaccuracies,

and yet… you lie again. i like noo-noo i hope he explodes, don’t show up

crack. i am so sorry. not in detail but it could’ve been so count your blessings

gods this can’t end well, good parent, to two children, bad parent, to the other one

IM SO SRRY BUT THIS WAS FOR THE GREATER GOOD, HAHA SUFFER,

attempt at humor, death, gore, i don’t even know, i’m so sorry, you have been warned, i posted this for my brother’s birthday

plague, companionship, through the fields we ran

it quickly turns into anti-demon propaganda

a play in one act, post-war, no sex, no killing

the prize of reading this is to meet god

help my poor soul this is a disgrace but it was my first fic so i refuse to orphan it, and the teletubbies followed

help, i was forced to write this and i’m sorry, i don’t even know what to call this monster, the southern pansy, aziphrale, the prince of hell, and the archangel gabriel

angst, satire, this is not serious, it’s meant to be funny

DO NOT TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY, IT WAS WRITTEN BY THREE HIGH THIRTEEN YEAR OLDS.

this is what you’ve been waiting for and hoping would never come

hearing voices, broken bones, emotional manipulation,

live, work, play, a simple life, protected, until a stranger comes.

i can’t give you a summary of the plot. that would ruin the story.

the eternal rioting continues as it always will (part one)

the eternal rioting continues as it always will (part seventeen.)

let me know if i forgot to tag anything!!

blame the painkillers. i blame the painkillers.

[ancient-reverie]

people don't seem to grasp how much stress I'm under so here's a list so I can show it to them:

Cat that has asthma needs a pill every other day. occasionally needs an inhaler at night.

Cat that has kidney disease and had a seizure Friday night.

rabbit with permanent head tilt and balance issues with an eye issue prone to uti's that takes daily medication

rabbit that suddenly started having stomach problems tonight out of the blue. rare but happens and then i have to syringe feed her every four hours until she's eating on her own again

I'm the only one on top of flea meds and vet check ups for the entire house ( 6 cats, 2 dogs, 2 rabbits)

I need to double check my dentist appointment is on the 10th and if not schedule one (I am bad at this, talking to people is hard and I have anxiety attacks on the phone. the only way to really know is via phone call)

made an appointment for an hrt related checkup which is easy but I now have to decide if I want to tell them if I wanna continue hrt or go off it (the reasons are unrelated to my gender identity)

waiting for said Dr from said gender clinic to approve refill on said hrt because I'm out. because they charged me full price but only gave me half of my refill last time.

need to move furniture in my room and clean before it makes me and the kids sick. there's rabbit pee soaked into the floor under a cat tree and under a cabinet and I just haven't been able to clean it.

also need to rearrange to give my rabbits areas more conducive to their and my existence

and to make space so my cats feel more included

feeling guilt that my oldest cat with kidney disease is dying and I haven't spent time with her like I want to because of my two other cats and her not getting along. but she's dying so what do I do

she dying what do I do? I don't want her to die in a vet office. I want her to be able to be asleep on a bed in the house and I don't know how to do that vets don't make house calls anymore

nicotine addiction

gotta give all my kids the love and affection they deserve bc any of them could get into something or have a sudden health problem and die at any moment

no one to talk to about it

have to clean my room. have to take dishes down before they grow mold. some of them I'm sure already are. this is a common occurrence.

need to do laundry. have no more clean sheets.

think the cat peed on the foot of the bed. haven't been able to really check. just keep ignoring it. it's not by my face and the cat still lays in that corner. (cat box in room makes me nose blind to cat pee a lot of the time and)

cats pee in random places of room and on their scratchers. regularly smelling cat pee in specific spots around room. sometimes it is just a hallucination.

no one can stand to listen to me list everything I have going on.

closet needs to be cleaned and sorted. things to give away and go into storage need to be hauled downstairs. (i am weak and physically not good but no one is able to help)

fish tank got a water change recently but I fear it won't last longer than a week and I'll need to take everything out and deep clean which takes me 4 ish hours bc I'm slow and it hurts

trying to find meaning and purpose in life. is art the career path I want or just a hobby? should I be writing? should I be making friends?

can't leave the house without having anxiety attacks.

not seen as myself by those around me (family) just as a conglomerate of actions. not seen for my actions and struggles by the people around me (family)

intrusive thoughts intrusive thoughts intrusive thoughts intrusive thoughts intrusive thoughts intrusive thoughts intru-

oh I was loading a bowl- *distracted for 15 mins* oh right I was loading a bowl- *distracted for 15 mins* fuck I'm loading a bowl *loads bowl* *distracted for 15 mins* *takes hit* *distracted for 15* *takes a hit* *distracted for 15* ADHD having ass

dissociation derealization depersonalization dissociate derealize depersonalize dddddddddddddd error

someone inside my head actually screaming and tearing at their skin with their claws

someone inside my head deciding to verbally and emotionally and physically abuse someone else in the system

someone doing drugs in the mindspace and all the issues that come with it

someone having flashbacks after being triggered

friends aren't going to text me. I keep my phone on silent. it's been silent since the beginning of the year. it's currently april. I'm used to it being silent now. it hasn't caused me to miss anything.

I have no one to talk to and therapy isn't what I crave. therapy is a fake version of what I need. I need someone to want to listen to me without being paid to do so

who has time to eat in this action economy

want to finish my games. want to finish bg3 before everyone else. before it gets spoiled. want to finish stray. want to finish doom. want to start doom eternal

want to be into vrchat more and work on my anxiety

want to finish at least the two books on my desk

who has the energy to shower and brush their teeth everyday? not this bag of bastards.

want to trim my hair. want my friends to see my long hair though

need to finish two paintings for two besties. one I don't know if I wanna continue it or start over (again for the fifth time). and one I haven't even decided on the pose for but tried to start.

one of the alters needs glasses but as you can see we are better off being in denial until we really genuinely need glasses because there's more pressing issues

relationships with family members is all we have but it is bad and idk if the family members have any idea. I think they think it's fine and have no idea that I really don't get along with them and living with them is killing me but I can't move out

gotta hide the self harm ! which is second nature to me but still a stressor

I'm not gonna buy cigarettes I have a tank mod and a small vape with replaceable pods. I'm not gonna buy cigarettes I have a tank mod and a small vape with replaceable pods. I'm not gonna buy cigarettes I have a tank mod and a small vape with replaceable pods. I'm not gonna buy cigarettes I have a tank mod and a small vape with replaceable pods.

I need a new ps4 controller so I can use my expensive console taking up room on my desk and all the games I paid for and spent hours downloading

I just wanna buy new sex toys but I don't need them and we just laid off all the credit cards and I don't have money to blow on needed things. I donated to a lot of people this year instead

it's getting hotter and I'm going to have to run my AC constantly soon but it has black mold growing in it. and you don't have to be allergic for that to be an issue but I do happen to be allergic and one of my cats has asthma. and idk how to clean take it apart, let alone do it by myself but it looks like that's gonna be what happens.

trash and recycling needs to be taken out before I go back to throwing everything on the floor like I was doing for a little bit bc it's all too much

need to pick up the mess siruss made from tearing up semi important lists we need in a fit of stress and being overwhelmed

remember to put the night guard in before laying down so you don't crush your teeth in your sleep and have to get a 3rd (4th?) crown where your molars are supposed to be

can't even be addicted to weed in so goddamn stresses but watch out! forgetting to smoke is forgetting meds and the IBS, acid reflux, ADHD, chronic full body pain, chronic specific body pain, depression, anxiety, existentialism and fatigue will getcha!

just picked up meds from vet. god it's expensive. but that's off the list now........ until it's back on the list again.

don't ask for help. they are busy, you're literally watching them be busy or have downtime to relax after being busy. oh you got the courage to ask anyway? ah they're not interested. ah yes it's too dirty/hard/inconvenient/simple and maybe you should just do it.

and now feel the many emotions associated with asking for help and being told no again. become unable to do thing you needed help with at all. or can't do it without help at all to begin with so fuck me I guess.

do whatever it is they ask you to do. even if you just asked for help and they said no, if they need you to do something you go do it and if you don't you are a bad person and will be made out as selfish and lazy and forced to feel guilt.

that dragon adoptable game luckily only needs to be kept up with every three days. unless there's an event and then at least casual grinding and dailies must be kept up with.

pokemon sleep is an addiction and I want to quit it but I'm struggling and don't know what to do bc if I have raikou I want the other two but I could literally quit right now and it wouldn't matter and I'd be a little more free please help

my oldest cat needs to be brushed more bc she can't groom herself as well nowadays and my brother can't stand having hair on him. he'll pet her and wipe is hand off and not really scratch her and I hate it so much. she has small mats here and there and I feel like a shitty parent

my rabbits need to be brushed constantly until all their mats are out from winter coat that just hasn't come out completely yet. the head tilt rabbit can't even reach most of his body to clean it.

I also have to clean their butts for the same reason

one of my cats keeps leaving small poops OUTSIDE of the litter box

my oldest with the kidney issues and my middle child cat both throw up a once or twice a week and I don't know why. the oldest has always been that way. my middle child has nothing else up with him thank fuck but this and eye gunk

I have to remember to drink water or tea or liquids more than just a few sips a day. I HAVE. TO. or I'll get a UTI. and bc I dissociate from my body sensations I won't notice the UTI until it starts hurting my kidneys and then it's crunch time to get antibiotics before I end up in the hospital which is a valid fear bc it has happened before and it almost happened a second time

can't physically do what I need without feeling sick. probably bc I can't take care of myself. which is probably bc I can't do anything without feeling ill. which is probably bc I don't take care of myself. which is probably bc i-

I'm so overwhelmed that I don't do anything I need to and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds and builds

and I'm so overwhelmed that I start new projects and come up with new and more things to do and look for the old things I never did and never finished as well

and I'm so overwhelmed that I want to write again because nothing is in my control because there's no such thing as control because nothing matters and it's chaos and that's beautiful and I love life but I don't know what to do when I just want to pause everything but I can't pause everything and taking a break doesn't make me feel better it just lets everything build and makes me feel more on edge

dissociating isn't taking a break

and I wonder if being on Lexapro again would help but I know it wouldnt last

and I wonder if I should trip on shrooms bc it's been nearly an entire year. but I have such a limited amount and I need them for when I need them (I don't know when that is but I'll know when it happens) and the friend I got them from hasn't spoken to me in months

my go-to anxious intrusive thought is that he's dead. unfortunately that thought... well it's not as delusional as I'd like it to be. we dated for a little over a year, and then some more on and off and we even had sex this year. he is the only friend I have that lives close to me. (close is an hour and a half away)

my bestie who lives in the same state is 3 hours away. she's in school. she also has mental health struggles. she's not good at texting and she says this herself often.

I have other friends that live in the state but... I haven't spoken to them in years and I didnt ever let them in fully, and I'm afraid (I don't know what I'm afraid of)

my other besties live out of state. one is in Cali. the other is in North Carolina. I am in Texas.

the one in Cali I met online and have only met in person once. she's engaged. idk when the wedding is but im going, I'm invited of course. she's busy with work and mental health also. she used to have alters that we talked to. Sy was married to one of them

siruss dealing with pain of past relationships and trauma and everything

the NC bestie also used to have alters. siruss used to date bestie though. she's busy with work and mental health. and though we've never talked about it I feel like there's something off between us that neither of us want to touch. or maybe it's just me.

or maybe it's siruss wanting to let go and not being able to

and maybe we need to meet new friends who will see us and give us something new to think about and someone we can share stories with who won't agonize over hearing old names.

idk how to make friends anymore Im so tired and I distrust people

I'm so tired we fall asleep with the vibrator and don't even get to jerk off which trust me is not great. the nighttime endorphins dose is quite necessary to function the next day. TMI we're not a morning masturbator bc the pussy ends up wet all day and it's not sexy when there's no one to appreciate it and you're horrified about getting a UTI

I miss my chickens...

I want new tattoos before I die of stress and my body is thrown in the ground more bare than it should be.

I want to gain weight so I feel and look healthier and maybe it'll help me not feel sick and weak and in as much pain

but the kids are dying as the seconds pass and the dust is building on the shelves and the dishes are piling up and the trash is starting to smell sour and the recycling is overflowing and my desk is too cluttered to set anything down and I need to love them more and be around them more and I need to stop watching YouTube and I need to start drawing and I need to travel and I need to live life but everything costs money and nothing lasts and I'm too much for everyone that I've met but I will still love them with all my heart and I don't think it's their fault they are only humans and I'm an unspeakable amount of divine/demonic/cosmic/paranormal entities with their own traumas and lives and backgrounds and intricate details eating up my insides- do you know how long it takes to get to know one person? the answer is you never know one person- imagine that but for 6 people all vying and deserving of being known and seen

and there's genocides and wars all over the planet. and there's deforestation and poachers. and there's puppy mills and inbreeding. and there's capitalism and heteronormativity. and I can't stop thinking about Nex Benedict and Aaron Bushnell. I can't stop thinking about the BLM protests. and I can't stop thinking about the Hong Kong protests. and I can't stop thinking about China. and human trafficking. and polution. and how the news and media that most people see don't say anything important and fear monger and emotionally manipulate for views and clicks. and nothing is real and no one tells the truth and even if it is the truth no one knows for certain. you never know what really happened unless you see it with your own eyes.

and it's all a stupid game we could all decide to stop playing and simply give people food and shelter and wifi and safety and medical attention. money doesn't have to exist we can just do things for each other but everyone forgot what reality was. which is about being outside and talking with people you love.

and I'm not suicidal anymore, although I do wish to lay at the foot of a tree until it grows around and envelops me. turning my being into immortality itself and sending my consciousness into the fabric of roots pulsing across terra until im one with the gods

[computerpeople]

it makes me mad. because i scream my head off at him. im so fucking sick of his shit. but he isn't exactly the "cause" of these issues. my moms the one who did it. she's the one who made the choice to unschool me, and to raise me under the grid, and get rid of my documents, and isolate me from society. but the person who made those choices doesn't really exist anymore, she was a heroin addict in a multiple year long psychotic episode, she was also being abused by her parents, and eventually her new boyfriend after the divorce. that person isn't here with us anymore. i don't think she'd make that choice again, especeially not now that shes seen what its done to me.

but my dad has made everything worse. he let evil incarnate into our house in the form of my step mom and let her and HELPED her abuse me in any fucking conceivable way for 5 years. he *** *** **** **** ** ***** he stole my money he turned me into a house wife and a political opponent and a best friend. he neglected me for years, i wore the same underwear i did when he got divorced when i was 18. he wouldn't buy me shampoo or conditioner. he'd often not buy food and only bguy alcohol, not because we couldn't buy food but because he was tired after work.

but he isn't the source of anything. hes chickenshit scared of everything. hes big and tubby and doesn't have a back bone and dates women who make every choice for him, and when he doesn't date, he turns to me to do that for him. hes got big puppy dog eyes and a suuuuper sad voice to show off how sad and guilty he feels, and he openly listens to loud sad music while he does the dishes so you know he really really is sorry. so everyone in my family goes "its hard to be a single father... he needs all the help he can get. you dont understand" when ive done everything hes supposed to be doing. I raised his kids and i cleaned his house and i took care of our pets and i did the laundry. the only thing he did was cooking and thats because im fucking stupid and still have a huge fear of the oven and couldn't make food without freaking out and screaming and crying.

its the matter of context too. my mom doesn't have any legal custody. my dad has entire legal custody. he didn't make stupid legal choices, but he didn't love any of us or give a single shit about anything other than using us to get pity dates. at least my mom loves us

[spidernerdsblog]

euphoria

A/N : I really couldn't come up with a good summary for this fic. Tried something new with this one also my first eddie munson fic. Let me know what you think.

Summary :  beside being your drug dealer Eddie has been a good friend of yours. This one time you get high and hookup you experience pleasure so intense with feelings leaving you both confused.

Pairing : Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings : 18+, SMUT, minors DNI, drug use, high sex, genital piercings, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

“Hey Eddie!” The loud knock on his door jolted him out of his sleep. It was a struggle to open his eyes and his head throbbed as Eddie sat up. After a few seconds his vision cleared, his brain finally catching up as he took in the shabby interior of his trailer.

“I know you’re in there Munson! Open the fucking door!” more pounding on the door. Eddie huffed and almost tumbled out of his bed in his half awake state reaching the door and wrenching it open.

“Jesus christ woman! People are trying to sleep in here” He squinted at the bright daylight outside.

“It's four in the afternoon.” you said, shoving past him and walked inside his trailer.

“Well I had band practice and then stayed up playing dnd last night. It was a long game.” he grumbled behind you, closing the door.

“Right, your little babysitter club.” you never understood his obsession for this game that he played with a bunch of highschool kids. He once tried to explain the game to you but it went right above your head. Also you didn’t care as long as he gave you your happy pills.

To be clear you weren’t a drug addict but when your mother leaves you with a very absent rich asshole father who barely acknowledges your existence unless he has to maintain his image and show the world how loving and caring father he is, parading you at those business parties and charities. So yeah you had abandonment issues, the feeling that nobody loved you, ate you up and you wouldn't mind a reprieve from those feelings even if it’s for a short moment of time, kind of recreational you know.

Eddie decided to ignore your jab as he asked, “What are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to be with your boyfriend, Connor?” 

“Ex-boyfriend.” You informed. It was Connor who had introduced you to Eddie at one of the parties he threw last summer before you all went off to college. ‘He is a freak but he got the good stuff’ he had told you. But the funny thing is Eddie was the most compassionate and friendly person you’ve come across in your life. Whenever you visited him for a new batch half of the time he would talk you out of doing hard drugs— how did that help in his income from this side business you had no clue if he went on advising potential customers not to buy drugs. But soon you realized you just needed someone to talk to, someone who would listen to you without any judgments and Eddie was the one in his weird, easy going, funny way.

“Oh Y/N… ” his face filled with concern.

“Yeah caught the bastard fucking Clarise in the bathroom at the party last night.”

“That's terrible. Are you ok?” 

“I will be if you just stop asking me questions and give me the pills.” you gritted through your teeth.

“I can't.” much to your surprise he sounded serious.

“What? Why?” 

“No Y/N, go home and let me sleep.” he strolled back to his bedroom.

“C’mon I have got the money.” you followed him while pulling out a couple of dollars from the pocket of your jean shorts.

He took a look at you and sighed. “Y/N you're upset right now I think you should talk this out I'm here for you know.” 

“Oh cut the emo crap.” you bristled.

“It's not good for you to rely on them.” 

“You started a side hustle or something? Dr. Munson free therapy Mon to Fri.” you knew it was a cheap shot but still you laughed.

Eddie just shook his head disappointedly. “It’s still a no.” 

It angered you even more who was he to make you feel guilty, you don’t need saving. “OK fine! I'm gonna take it myself then!” 

Eddie watched you search his room frantically ransacking his drawers only to find them filled with junk. He has been a drug dealer for a while now and seen people waste away just to get numb and honestly he never bothered as long as he got paid. But when it came to you he couldn’t do it. His inner conscience won’t let him. At the beginning he had sold you a few pills but now he always talked you out of it. Eddie saw you as this lively, happy soul who is stuck in a lonely, unforgiving world. Being himself labeled as the freak of the town for having different views about life he understood you. He loved talking, spending time with you and a small part of him was happy to hear that you dumped that asshole Connor’s sorry ass.

“Where is it?!” you demanded.

“I don’t have any at the moment trust me. The guy whom I got the supply from is lying low after a police raid.” he explained calmly. “And even if I had I won’t give you anymore.”

“Why?” you said weakly.

“You're my friend and you can't just escape your feelings when you are hurt.” 

“Well I don't want to feel so just give me the pills!” you yelled.

“OK, ok why don't we sit down a bit and take some calming breaths.” he made you sit down on his bed as he took the spot beside you. “I know you’re angry.”

“God I'm so angry at everybody! My mom, my dad, Connor, you...” a stray tear slid down your cheek as you wiped it off aggressively with your hand.

“I know, I know…” he murmured, brushing a soothing hand down your hair. “For what it's worth, he didn't deserve you. You were too good for him.”

“Why are you so good to me?” you rested your head on his shoulder, picking on a loose thread of your shorts.

“As I said before, you're my friend, Y/N. I care for you.” he said sincerely and your stomach did a flip, unable to stop imagining what it would be to have him as your boyfriend, so caring and supportive.

“So how is your next song coming along?” you asked, your mood quite chipper now.

“It’s still a work in progress. Steve heard the initial notes and said it sounds really good already.”

“Ah Steve…” you sighed. “That's the guy you have a crush on right?”

“No.” Eddie scowled.

“Admit it you want to fuck him.” you chuckled. “Whenever you two are together in a room the tension is so thick.”

“Oh god I'm going to need something strong.” he got up abruptly as you fell on your side on his bed giggling.

“What? If Robin was here she would agree with me.” you propped yourself on your elbow. “I understand he's steve harrington everyone wants to fuck that guy. I would do him anytime given a chance.” 

“Well I don't.” he muttered, opening a cabinet and taking out a small pouch.

“Uh huh.” you nodded mockingly and noticed the bag of pot. “Hey! How come you can smoke weed to avoid conversation but I can't?” 

“It's medicinal.” he shrugged nonchalantly.

He came and sat down on the bed as you watched him deftly roll a perfect joint filled with some strong smelling dope. Eddie lit the tip and took two very long hits before you snatched it right out of his hand. 

“Give me that!” 

He made a low sound in protest as you put it between your lips breathing in slow and deep, but it was such a hot hit that you stopped inhaling after a couple seconds. Eddie was smiling at the stunned look on your face. 

"It's good, isn't it?" he grinned. You just nodded exhaling. 

You went to hand him the joint but he didn't take it. "Take another hit," he said. "Proper joint smoking etiquette includes taking two hits before you pass it." You rolled your eyes and took another drag, exhaling curls of smoke from your mouth. 

Unfortunately the joint was out. Eddie grabbed his lighter and said, "Put the joint to your lips and I'll light it. Start inhaling when I tell you." he lit the tip, waited about three seconds, then said, "Now!" 

You inhaled deeply forcing a lungful of thick hot smoke down your throat. It burned like hell, but you smiled as you exhaled the thick dark smoke in the air. You were already starting to feel it and took another hit before handing the joint back to Eddie. His hand touched yours briefly as he took the joint. He took two equally impressive hits.

You marveled at how long he could hold the smoke in his lungs. It seemed impossible that someone could hold their breath so long. The joint was almost at the roach, Eddie noticed that too. With his gaze fixed upon you he said, “come closer.” 

You instantly knew what he was suggesting. It wasn’t like you haven’t done shotgunning before, it was the thing that happened after that. You and Eddie had hooked up. Even though it was a one time thing the sex was mindblowing. You were high just like now and the barbell piercing he had on his cock just amplified everything. You never came so hard and wouldn’t mind a repeat performance of that night. So you scooted closer to him.

He got one last good hit and cupped the back of your neck. Leaning forward his lips touched yours gingerly as you parted your own. He released the smoke he was holding in and relaxed against you, his tongue sweeping across your lips, conquering every inch.

It took so little time for you to lick into his mouth, you haven’t any idea how long you were craving for the taste of his mouth until now. And there was the added taste of the smoke, rich and fragrant stroking your taste buds, filling you with delight at the intoxicating aroma and the softness of Eddie's mouth.

Eddie pulled back grinning, “I bet you've never smoked weed that good before.” 

“No,” you rasped, “I haven't.”  you stared at his lips before meeting his brown eyes which grew darker. You lifted your hands to his face and let your fingers trace his jawline and cheeks before you slid them through his long hair and pulled him in for another kiss. 

Eddie groaned and pulled you on his lap. His hand gripped your hip as his tongue invaded your mouth, tasting me. His kiss was dominance and fire, and it set you aflame in unexpected ways. The way your tongues teased each other and your lips perfectly molded together felt as if this was more than a chance meeting. 

Eddie’s hand slid up from your hip, stroking along your ribs, spreading even more fire in its wake. Your nipples puckered against your bra. Eddie’s fingertips stroked the underside of one breast before his thumb brushed over your nipple. Heat and wetness pooled between your legs as you let out a soft whimper.

Eddie’s other hand popped open the button of your jean shorts before it slipped in, stroking over my slit.  His hand slid into your panties, two fingers pressing lightly against your clit. He sucked your lower lip into his mouth when his fingers moved up and down your folds, scissoring you until every nerve ending in your pussy awakened. You rested your head on his shoulder, nose brushing against the skin of his neck. His skin smelt surprisingly good, like soap and something masculine.

Your breath came in short pants, your body growing tense as a knot wound tighter inside your stomach with every stroke from Eddie’s fingers and he was the only one who could release it. He gathered the wetness between your folds and spread it over your clit, circling it. His breathing was coming faster now too. He never took his eyes off you as he drove you higher. The sensations became overwhelming, the knot ready to burst. 

“Yes,” Eddie rumbled, his eyes appearing black in the darkness, like they belonged to the devil you’d made a pact with.

He pushed two fingers into you and twisted them. You sucked in a sharp breath, your body screaming for release. Eddie pumped his fingers faster and you exploded, head tilting back in ecstacy.

You looked down at him with a dazed expression as he watched you coming down from your high leaning against the headboard, lips tugged into a lazy smile.

“Tell me, what do you want, sweetheart?” his voice a soft murmur, his fingers drawing soothing circles on the exposed skin of your hips. Need pulsed through your body as you said breathlessly. “Fuck me…I need you to fuck me.” 

Eddie just smiled and reached out to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear. “Take whatever you need, Y/N. I'm all yours.” 

You crashed your lips as your hands worked on unbuttoning his jeans and then slipped your hand inside his boxers to pull out his hard length. The barbell piercing at the head of his cock gleamed in the dull light in the room. You stroked his length firmly, a bead of precum forming at the tip and you smeared it with your thumb. Your hand touched cool metal at the base of his cock and then you looked carefully to find another barbell piercing.

“You got another one?” you blinked with surprise.

“Surprise?” he said. “The ladies love it when it rubs against their clit, added stimulation.” he added smugly.

You smirked and stood up to slide down your shorts and panties. Tossing them aside you lowered yourself on him. Eddie teased your clit with his piercing until you were panting softly. Then he notched the tip of his cock to your entrance. You slowly sank down on his thick length and sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling of fullness. The cold metal of the piercing pressed against your clit like he’d said. You began to roll your hips in slow figure eights. 

Eddie’s hand wandered up to your breasts tugging the neckline of your tank top along with your bra. 

Your tits bounced free and he rolled your nipples between his fingers. You moaned, digging your nails into his chest and twisted your hip, driving his cock deeper. You leaned forward, kissing him fiercely. His piercing rubbing against your clit deliciously.

“Oh…” you breathed against his mouth. “This feels amazing.” Eddie guided your hips as you bounced up and down his cock. Your mouth fell open, body shaking overwhelmed at your orgasm hit you out of nowhere.

Eddie let out a grunt and gripped your ass cheeks flipping you over and slammed into you. With every thrust he was hitting that delicious spot deep inside you as he chased his own orgasm. Your eyes fluttered, wanting to lower and sink even deeper into the sensation. He held your gaze as he continued to fuck you with deep precise strokes.

Your inner walls clenched around him and he changed his angle slightly so that the piercing at the base of his cock stroked your swollen clit while the piercing at his head grazed against your g-spot. The dual sensation made you feel euphoric that no other drug can give you in this world. You arched into him as pleasure took hold of you. You cried out, your nails clawed at his back as you came. 

Eddie continued rutting into you, his hair falling like a curtain around his face. He captured your lips in a soft delicate kiss and you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. His pace faltered as he spilled his warm release inside you. He pulled away as he looked at you, like really looked at you. His gaze so intense and in that moment you knew something shifted between you two but you weren’t ready to talk about it, not tonight.

“I feel so tired,” you feigned a yawn. “I think I’ll sleep in here tonight.” you turned to your side pulling over the covers and closed your eyes.

“Ok.” Eddie needed to gather his own thoughts as well so he decided to give you space and got off the bed. This conversation can happen some other time. 

..................................................................................

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince (2)

Characters: Sky x male reader, Brandon x male reader, Riven x male reader

Universe: Winx Club/Winx Saga

Warnings: Mentioning smut

Just one day later, everyone from Alfea and the red fountain school meets at the old wizard's academy. A building so old, that most people did not even know it existed. Except for the headmaster’s that is.

Miss Faragonda, who had seemed so strong and proud, now looked nervously at you. Probably knowing, that she had made a big interstellar scandal with her refusal, to let the only bloodline, that brings out only male fairies into her school.

Still, even with that, she did not dare to talk to you probably thinking, she could avoid more problems by just staying silent. Maybe even hoping that in the end, you actually are not a fairy. This would not a stretch, because the fairy magic had jumped over an entire generation, which was abnormal as it was.

All of you settled in nicely. All the fairies were in one part of the large academy ground, while the specialists and you were settled in on the other side. And for you, as you requested, got into a room with the three guys, you wanted to bash the heads in.

They tried to talk to you, wanting to make it feel like nothing irregular had happened. And that everything was cool. Smiling at them, you hadn’t said a single word to them. Trying to signal them to fuck off. But Brandon still did not seem to understand this. He was like a big puppy.

He looked especially good in the uniforms of the school. Broad shoulders, clearly muscular build. And even his pants were buckled out where it mattered.

You really tried to ignore them, but whenever you came close to them, something always got you back to them. „Nothing is okay, you guys humiliated me, in front of my own kind and I want retribution!“

Finally snapping, Sky again, tried to get you into a conversation they had together. „What do you want from us? We only did our job!“, he told you aggravated know as well.

„Maybe you should fall onto your knees and beg for forgiveness, prince Sky!“ He was utterly shell-shocked, as I named his title. Knowing that he tried to keep it a secret and let Brandon play his role for a while. „Brandon is your squire I'm sure he does more than that, with the package he has in his pants.“ A snorting laugh from the other side of the room, showed you Riven listening in, „Riven your parents abandoned you, which let you feel worthless. Addicted to drugs, since you were twelve a soft prostitute until eighteen when you had the chance to get into this school. Your addiction is not fully healed yet.“

His laughing vanished immediately. No one knows about his past, how could you? On the other hand, your smile only grew wider and wider, as you saw them realizing, that you must be someone important if you can get all this information.

„I say we make a bet.“

„What kind of bet?“, Sky quickly wanted to inquire.

„One that you might like. Tomorrow is training fights to sort all specialists into groups. If I win against one of you, this person must do everything I say for the rest of our school time. But if you this person win against me, I do the same and will never tell anyone any secrets of yours.“

You walked up to Sky first, looking him directly into his eyes, despite being a couple centimeters smaller than him, touching him slightly inappropriately, „I don’t plan on being vanilla if I should win against one or all of you.“

Feeling his hot breath on your skin, you knew that he was more than interested, Brandon does everything that his prince does, so he was in too. Only Riven was left. He knew what was on the plate for him. But still wasn’t completely on board.

SO you walked over to him, sitting directly on his lap, he was a bit smaller than you in height, but what you felt, when you sat on him, could make up for it completely.

„And one of you could even take my first time from me. If this isn’t enough, just think what I could buy you as a prince myself,“ you whispered into his ear. Biting his earlobe a bit, letting your tongue play with it.

The moment, you left him he was in too. All three of the guys are obviously turned on by now. Exactly like you wanted them.

But when Sky was the first standing in front of you the next day, you made it look like you feared him. Begged him to not do it and just leave it, but he was determined at this point. As Your trainer let the round begin, he sang his sword one time, you parry it and got him onto the floor with your right foot, slamming down on the back of his knee.

Shortly after your sword hovered over his throat, „Easy fight, Sky. I told you that you should’ve stopped the fight before it began.“ 

With a smirk on your face, you stood up and walked away. 

Riven was the next, with his double blades. Like an assassin you once knew. His attacks were fast and unpredictable for most people. But at some point, you bashed one of the blades out of his hands, while holding onto the other arm, getting his arm behind his back and planting him face first onto the mat. „You feel good Riven, I will have my fun with this tight body of yours,“ you told him before standing up. Swirling your sword around.

The last guy in your training group was Brandon. Who actually was a hard rock to fight against. His broadsword had much more power than your little sword. You even needed to use your shield to not lose against him. A cocky grin over his face, „I will not just you have to serve me but the other two too. Man what a life!“ 

Just as his cockiness overcame him, you finally found a weakness in his fighting style. And shortly after found him under you on the mat. His sword away from him and yours over his throat. „I should just cut your throat and destroy your vocal cords, for talking so much smack. Sadly I want to hear your voice beg me later on.“

As you stood up from him, a visible tent could be seen by everyone. But Brandon did not care, it was the first time that anyone had won against him. The other two as well. A training fight like this was normal, and all of them already had theirs on the first day. But now with me, they needed to do it again. Just like the rest too.

Just after winning against the strongest newcomers, Saladin made his appearance. Not as happy as you might think, a headmaster should be, when seeing an unstoppable force.

„Now you fight against me and you should not hold back!“

As you made you ready for this fight, he already attacked you. Just so you were able to block it with a magic shield. Which surprised everyone, especially the three guys who had humiliated you.

„Okay old man, I will not hold back.“ Just then you transformed into your fairy form, a half armor, which only as its name says protects, half of your body, while the other half was open. Your chilled upper body was visible to everyone.

„Serpents kiss!“, you screamed, as an extremely large snake appeared, meandering quickly into your headmaster’s direction. As his shield came up, it encircled him and tried to destroy it by tightening its body. As this did not work, it catapulted him into the air, just so the snake could bite on it. Which in the end was the serpent kiss itself. Finally, as the shield broke and the man fell, the snake snapped him out of the air, put him down onto the floor, and came back to you.

You stroke its head one more time before it finally came completely back into you.

„Never underestimate a male fairy, idiots,“ the last word was muttered, but some people still could hear it.

Immediately after, the Alfea school and its headmistress, wanted you to come to them because you are a fairy. „You mean to the place, that did not want me, because of my gender? Only females can become fairies? What bullshit. No one from my family, will ever get to your school ever again and I will make sure, none of our allies do it either. I believe the red fountain school is a better place to learn. Not everything can be solved with magic!“

After that, you left the older woman standing there, mouth agape, getting to the three guys you just had stomped into the ground, „We see each other later in our room, I hope you are ready for way more humiliation than you ever thought you could get!“

Stroking all three of their bodies, before walking off. Not even a little bit of sweat on your body. If you fight in an endless war, as you did, something like this could not even make you sweat anymore. You knew training wasn’t over, but looking at it your way, you just won against the headmaster, so you did not need that much training. Maybe later on, especially against paladins, but until then, you should concentrate on your magic. Maybe someday, some people might even realize that you can read their minds. Who knows?

[Masterlist]

[duskholland]

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. What happened?”

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

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

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

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

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom gulps nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

Tom follows you…?

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute.

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

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

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

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

Y/N: hey x

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

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, is it a home game?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me a spin, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

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

“Dutchy?” you question.

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

You coo. “That’s cute.”

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

And Tom… Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

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

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

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

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, darling.”

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

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

“What, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What— Tom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Penalty.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

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

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

“Funnier than me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

A smile breaks out across your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Overnight?”

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

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

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

“You can open them now.”

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

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

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

[sugar-petals]

can you give us more thoughts about domestic yoongles? the taemin's one (wich I love) just made me miss the cat boy so much ;o;

i have a phd in househusband yoongi so let me fire out some ideas for ya.

myg at home headcanon

🐱 word count. 1.9k | fluff, slice of life, slight nsfw mentions, x reader, bullet points

The doorbell sound is a recording of Yoongi imitating a doorbell. He’s such a meme. Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

Seemingly, he teaches himself a new recipe every week. To perfection. Yoongi is very particular about sticking to the recipe and wielding his kitchen tools in the right way. He collects knives, olive oil, and still hates cutting onions.

He separates sleep time, work time, and couple time as the holy trinity. For each, he switches his mood.

Blushes easily no matter for how long you’ve been together.

Establishes his own radio show where he DJs at one point.

Yoongi keeps an extreme track on the garbage schedule. He knows exactly what is due when. Separating the trash is a must. That includes sorting out fake friends trying to get between your relationship. Your social circle as a couple is extremely deliberate.

Yoongi deems himself a terrible host for guests. Unless Hoseok is there to drag him out, it's true he rather stays in the kitchen or at the barbecue preparing the menu courses rather than making small talk. He leaves the hospitality bits to you, however you want to go about it.

What he lacks in conversing with guests, he makes up in bed, God is absolutely fair.

He sings and hums pretty often and has his own vernacular of extraterrestrial uwu noises. It's an alphabet that you have to yet decipher but it's incredibly cute.

Self-made paintings everywhere around his house. 

Yoongi hasn't gone clubbing since grammar school. The most he does is going to a restaurant at lunch with very close friends. And always in a work context. His private life is so secluded from everything else and paparazzi just don't spot him anywhere, Dispatch thinks he must live abroad.

Very well, he does consider his big ole house a separate country. It's a living organism with a studio, gym, trophy room, small-size basketball court, and vastly equipped kitchen. A home theater as well, he likes American movies (like Inception) and Korean action genres, and you can stream whatever you fancy in there whenever you like. 

Yes, he has underwear with cute little bears on.

There's even a little pond in the backyard. Yoongi, Pisces he is, likes fishes after all. Sometimes he sits at the edge of the 'Little Ole Min Lake (LOML)' and stares into the water for literal hours with his chin parked on his palm.

His fridge is so high-tech and futuristic, even Yoongi is rendered clueless by its AI sometimes. The washing machine, too.

Yoongi watches RuPaul’s drag race. What did you expect? He finds it so humorous.

Owns lord knows how many comic collections.

Favorite holiday destination: New York.

Christmas is basically 50% you unveiling new music equipment to him in the garage and Yoongi almost fainting at the sexiness of it. The other 50% is spent holding hands and orgasm after orgasm until the new year since you loose track of time.

Goes on long rants why he’d marry you again every weekend.

Making you presents is his specialty. Always accompanied with a hand-written note. He writes a lot of things by hand for you in general. Texting, basically never. Always on paper.

No sex without a blanket and socks on. Yoongi gets cold very very easily and just doesn’t like showing skin. You buy him a heated blanket for his birthday, he even uses it in his studio chair.

Chronically addicted to making out.

Matching black outfits and glasses.

Laughs at even your worst jokes or phrases you didn’t expect you even uttered.

Yoongi owns the phoniest, most secretive-looking black car ever and nobody knows about it. Even he forgets he owns it, in fact he genuinely acts like it just doesn’t exist. Hilarious. And that guy has a level 1 Korean driver's license. Which allows him to drive trailers and busses and fucking trucks, and construction machines, let that sink in.

It's really a genius curse. Yoongi being put to the test will always deliver but he won't choose to execute his full skillset if he doesn't have to. Well, pragmatic. He's not as phony as he thinks he is, which is even more hilarious.

He uses that behemoth of a car so scarcely because he'd rather have things delivered to his doorstep and he's stingy with gas. Also, he doesn't like traffic and driving because of the traumatic shoulder accident and his tendency to space out. Translation: You drive that thing... that monster... it really is an impressive, fast, and scary machine. 

If someone devious ever even remotely manages to invade his privacy and get past the doubly-installed security system, he has enough money to deal with it no matter what.

If it concerns your privacy, he's a red belt. And owns Jin's number if a taekwondo master is required. Jimin's if it needs someone with kendo skills.

If Yoongi needs someone to go on a complete rampage, Jungkook lives just down the block. He can sprint to Yoongi's bunker I mean mansion within 45 seconds. 30 if it's very urgent. 20 if the reward is an instant ramen splurge with Yoongi's black card.

He has a sexy, glamorous sword collection hanging on the living room wall anyways, so. Who the hell is dumb enough to mess with him and his expensive lawyer in the first place.

But just in case, who knows... Yoongi settles matters shruggingly, anonymously, and with cash and he's too exhausted for violence, but don't underestimate his deter-min-ation and network for emergencies. Also, he is Agust D after all.

He will bonk a naughty burglar or kidnapper across the head with a wooden cooking spoon or take him down by throwing a basketball if the situation requires it. Damn, his reflexes are so fast, a feral cat in motion. So, lean back and sip on your drink of choice. Things are cared for.

If Yoongi is the one being kidnapped or a highly skilled stalker invades the property at night when he's fast asleep (nothing can wake this man during certain hours, strong REM right here): Don't forget that honeyboy is a Dodgers fan. There are signed baseball bats everywhere in this damn house.

In that sense, your parents visiting you here for the first time thought you were an undercover thug couple. Not to worry mom and dad, you both just like sports very much okay.

Yoongi walks around in all black clothes and the rooms are all seemingly dark. Even if you live together, you don't know his skin care routine. It's clear to you he's some sort of vampire.

Since Yoongi always forgets to remove his makeup, you made it a habit to wipe it down when he's about to pass out. He won't lie, he enjoys that kind of affection.

Holly is your resident child. You're essentially a family.

He insists to tackle this by himself, Yoongi sees his therapist monthly. Not shifting responsibility is something he's stubborn about and he pours his emotions into writing. You will do conversation about deeper stuff, but he says it's mostly up to him and his own mind. He dislikes burdening you or opening up too much and it's something to respect rather than force him about. If he wants to share a thought, he will. It doesn’t mean he can’t trust you or sucks at communicating (we know that he’s direct). Yoongi simply can’t put that much pain in such few words nor should you alleviate it for him.

Calls from the manager faze Yoongi as much as Jimin is bothered by gravity. If he’s busy kissing your body slow mo, who the hell dares to disturb his worship. 

This man had so many let-downs and interpersonal catastrophes in his life, he's super discerning with people. Because he rolls that way, during their first meeting Yoongi uses his psychology certificate on your friends. You see him squint at them, he listens very closely. After they pass the vibe check aka meow radar, he befriends them, too.

Yoongi doodles Grammy trophies everywhere to manifest them.

Yoongi shaves his legs.

All the sex toys he’s ever bought are black. Gotta vibe in style.

He spends ridiculous amounts of time in the studio but he's yours for the remainder of the night, breakfast, and he makes a lavish lunch and dinner.

Um, consider his head parked between your legs. The Hongkong line was not a joke.

Doesn’t mind you squishing his cheeks whenever and for how long you like. 

Every other weekend he gets flowers, vouchers, and gifts — not because of fans, they don’t know where his house is, but because he donates so much.

Namjoon often drops by and cleanses the area with his crystals.

Yoongi is a photography major so you can ask him to take professional, ceiling-high black and white shots of you.

Feeding each other food lovingly. Man, this guy got lips.

He set up a library just for you, in the exact historical aesthetic you like the most. Send him the link to any book you want, it's basically in the online shopping cart already. As I said, he wants to make you presents like every week.

Sometimes he sits on the other end studying English videos and vocab while you read. And yes, he's already 95% fluent but pretends being merely intermediate. He knows technical terms even native speakers have never heard of.

He collects pajamas and earrings.

Swears on the phone.

Namjoon being the horniest member is a cover-up story. Yoongi masturbates almost unreasonable amounts of times, by himself and in your arms when going to bed. Not gonna lie, it’s a sight to see his hands at work. He’s almost equally obsessed with fingering you once you ask him.

Yoongi was the one asking you to move in and almost had a nervous meltdown before meeting up with you to tell you just that. 

He’s the little spoon and of course a sleeping burrito to hold tight.

Finds you equally attractive in any state or styling. Yoongi practices what he preaches, he always reacts the same and says the same. 

Jams out to outrageous beats Namjoon sends him by dancing in the studio. You walk in on him every time. Was embarrassed at first, now you dance along.

Has bought you a life-sized Yoongi pillow and customized you a giant Shooky to hug when he’s not at home over night.

Owned a wine cellar until he quit drinking. Turned it into a piano room instead.

Only you know Yoongi has a serpent and dagger tattoo.

Scrubs the bathroom religiously.

The house smells like restaurant food and his extravagant perfumes half of the time.

Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s married to you and not his coffee machine. He shall be forgiven. You can’t complain that he doesn’t love you enough, nor is he ever not adorable when drinking his latte.

Never wears short sleeves. It can be scorching and he’ll wear a jacket. 

Tell him and the cap stays on during sex.

He grows his hair out and puts it in a low bun. The bangs remain.

Yoongi has installed the most fire-proof building in the entire city it seems. That he wanted to be a firefighter when he was young definitely shows. Figures the house has to be protected from heat: His blasting studio music and Yoongi himself are just way too sizzling.

Still melts into a puddle when you kiss his nose.

Couple sunrise watching. 

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