#my skating bbys

[tutuandscoot]

Nobody at all:

Me: Sui’s Throw triple flip landing

[tutuandscoot]

Proof that the best teams are ones with small guys and are small overall.

short skating partner solidarity 

for @macaroni-rascal ♡

[psychic-waffles]

KAORI 😭😭😭😭😭 SHE DID IT!!!! SHE. DID. IT. 😭😭😭😭😭SOMEONE PLEASE GIVE HER A HUG 😭😭😭😭😭

[thewomaninlilywhite]

Jun withdrawal from free?! stopping placing him in Finlandia it's a CURSE for him !!!

[cardboardfeet]

she's rollin! a rollin girl!!

[reddragon-cowboy]

[ I got 2 threads with Niah rollerskating with a muse but I want another one u_u ]

[jolalibrary]

take my picture

francisco "frankie" morales x ofc!reader | collection masterlist

summary: you find a polaroid camera, and offer to let frankie take photos.

chapter kink: photo exhibitionism. warnings: smut. frankie takes polaroids of you (consenting). oral (m!receiving). bit of cock praise. fingering. lots of sexy photos. underwear to the side. fuck bud things aka two fools who won't talk. frankie is a sleepy boy (not a warning, just stating facts now). blue has a name and job/likes/dislikes. no physical descriptions. wordcount: 3.9k. an: thanks to @pedgito for beta'ing. dedicated to @luxurychristmaspudding because i haunted her with this, she told me to write it, and i told her only if i could gift it to her. i love you bby. one day we hug, yes?

You’ve only been awake for an hour when he lets you know he’s here.

The clock on your kitchen wall tells you it’s midday, though the light outside seems to have forgotten. Everything is muted, as if the sun has forgotten to rise fully, the sky from your kitchen a blanket of dull grey, casting shadows over everything. You can sense the hum of activity—the muffled clatter of life moving above you, or people in the hallway.

Then, in a hundred and forty-six seconds—that’s all it takes—his knuckles tap softly on your door before he’s twisting the handle.

The coffee you’d only half-finished is swirling down the sink, and you’d just manage to fluff the cushions on your two-piece sofa when your eyes meet his. You worry, briefly, that the signs of your night shifts are as obvious on your face, as they are in your home. Little traces of exhaustion are scattered around—the shoes kicked off near the basket of unworn pairs, your jacket draped over the armchair, and your bag lying on its side, carelessly dropped and forgotten.

When he steps through, it appears as though he’s blind to it all. The usual duffel swings down from his shoulder, but this time he’s an accompanying pair of bags under his eyes—a tiredness that doesn’t filter away even when he smiles. There’s a tightness in his face, a 4 o’clock shadow you trace with your eyes that’s beginning to darken his jawline.

The greeting is gentler this time. Softer kisses, his fingers skating along your jaw, thumb resting on your chin, as his mouth slants over yours. Your lashes flutter closed as you tug him closer, pulling him in, melting into him before his face finds the curve of your neck. The duffel drops with a thump as both his arms cage you.

He breathes in, right against your neck, before he grazes unspoken words against your skin as your fingers massage the top of his neck, feeling the tightness, hearing how he lowly groans into your skin.

“You slept, captain?”

“Hmm,” he hums as his mouth presses slow, open-mouthed kisses to your neck.

Ones you almost bow towards, lean into, let happen.

“Frankie.” Fingers sliding around his cheeks, lifting him, forcing his eyes to wander over yours. “Have you slept since you’ve been back? Preferably in the last day or two?”

Scratching the back of his head, temporarily averting his eyes as his nostrils flare, he eventually spits out, “Here and there.”

Tilting your head, sighing. Something there, unspoken. An explanation, one that would weave a thread between the two of you, a deepness you’re not sure either of you is willing to surrender to.

You’d sensed something was simmering beneath the surface when he told you he was back. The timing of his return and your string of night shifts had become an enemy to you both, keeping you apart, forcing him to go home and make excuses instead of—what you suspected was his usual—lying and saying he was back later than he was. The benefit of this was that the two of you rarely had the chance to converse as much as you have in the past few days—conversations broken up by your erratic sleep schedule and shifting time zones. Still, it had felt strange to find him keeping you company as you tried to eat leftover lasagne at three in the morning.

Thinking you like texting me too much.

What makes you say that?

You’ve responded within seconds, Morales.

You don’t admit you like texting him. That it’s nice, almost normal in the grand schemes of whatever this thing is. This thing where you text him and wait for a response, giddy when you see his name flash up; this thing where you count down, in your head only, to the day you think he’ll be home.

For sex, you remind yourself. Just sex—and food.

“Here or there less than three hours a day or…”

He glares, but smothers it quickly, jaw tightening as he keeps his hands in place.

“Bed, now.” His brow arches at your words, lips rolling as he stares. “Alone.”

“Blue… c’mon.”

“The plans we have require you to be awake for the duration, not somewhere between snoozing and existing. Just go, I don’t know, sleep for an hour or two in my bed.”

His brow raises again, remaining there, hovering over his brown eye. “In your bed.”

“Yeah, my bed.” Folding your arms, letting your lips slide into your cheek. “Don’t be difficult and argue with me. I’ve done four back-to-back night shifts.”

He snorts, eyes slightly wider than usual—as though acknowledging it, how you’ve overshared, how there’s a bit of you amongst the other parts.

“Look, I can study—I’ve got another nursing exam thing coming up and you can sleep, and then when you wake up, we can…”

Dragging his eyes up and down you, you try to remain tall, strong. Not giving in as you feel your skin warm under his gaze; not crack under the way he lingers on your legs, on your arms crossed just under your chest.

“Nurse, huh.”

“Go.”

“Fuck, alright.”

Smiling, watching him move to grab his bag, you begin biting the inside of your cheek, gnawing at it. “Hey,” you say, watching his eyes flick up, staring through his brows as he remains hinged, “Am I eating for one tomorrow night or?”

Softly, he begins to smile. Likely remembering the texts—the odd few the two of you have managed to send between whatever he does and your work.

It rises, the smirk kissing his eyes at the same time as the dimple appears on his cheek when he straightens up, sweats in hand as he takes a step closer. “Was thinking about you not eating alone for another night after that, if you still wanted?”

Swaying on the spot, you mirror his smirk. “You’re buying.”

Then he’s kissing you, fingers sliding around the back of your head, cupping it, as he smothers a reply to your mouth, a murmur of being back soon as he swats at your ass.

You don’t stop smiling for several minutes after your bedroom door closes.

Frankie wakes around the time you’ve grown sick of diagrams, words and note-making.

When your pastel highlighters are suddenly not as cute and the clear post-its are not as innovative as you first thought. When you’re distracting yourself with making a coffee, struggling to adjust to the fact it’s almost evening when in fact for you it’s more midday.

You’re barely three sips into your drink when he takes it, dwarfing your cup with his paw as his sip is larger than yours.

“Oh, help yourself, Morales.”

Smirking, he takes another small sip before handing it back. “Fuck, somehow forgot how pretty you are.”

You hum, placing the cup down, it clinking against the counter before he slides his arms around you. Instinctive, that’s how you’d describe it, your nails scraping against the base of his neck, the edge of your counter digging in as he presses his body flush against yours.

“Been thinking about you.”

“Memories of me serving you well, Morales.”

He groans as you kiss him, as you pull his mouth to yours—feeling how warm his mouth is, how there’s the slightest taste of mint.

“Poor Frankie, having to use his mind to jerk off in the desert or forest or… wherever you get sent to.”

Snorting, he grabs a handful of your ass, making your mouth open in a gasp before he smothers it with his lips. Kneading it, making your hips meet his. Your hand reaches for the side, knocking into it—the unboxed surprise that just catches his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“Well,” you say, picking it up, and turning it over in your hand. “It's a Polaroid camera.”

“I can see that.”

“Thought you might have grown tired of your imagination. Thought maybe I could give you a gift—especially when you left me with one of your shirts.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Smirking, you press the button—a flash illuminating, making him hiss a swear under his breath as the machine conjures and spits out the image.

“We can call it even then—what I’ve thought up.”

Fingers rubbing his eyes, one trying to crack open. “What’s that then?”

“You can say no.”

“Something I’ve yet to do with you but go on.”

Smiling, a flutter of nerves rumbling through you as you swallow. “Thought you could… take some souvenirs with you. For you. Your eyes only kinda thing.”

His brows furrow, flicking his gaze to the camera and back again before he’s biting his cheek. It dawns slowly, slipping over his face as his eyes darken, as he catches on to the nature of your suggestion.

Continuing, you meet his gaze. “You can pick how you want me, can shoot as many as you like—but you only get to take three with you.”

“Just three?”

Nodding, biting your lip. “I almost said one, but thought you’d like a mix—especially since you were gone longer this time.”

“You want me to have dirty photos of you, Blue.”

Smiling, nose brushing against the tip of his, “I’m just doing my bit, captain.”

The last word is punctuated by the way you hook a finger in your shorts and let them slide down to your ankles. Empowered, confident, even as a chill rushes over you and your skin goosebumps.

The way he stares, makes you wonder how you’ve ever settled for anything less than the lust in his eyes. An easy explanation for why you wait, because there can’t be anything better, right? The way he tilts his head slightly and runs his hand against his jaw as your clothes fall in soft thuds to your floor until you’re stood in nothing but a pair of panties.

Ones chosen, all intentionally picked. Selected.

All set to remove them when his hands stop you. When his rough hands slide over them and press your palms to the counter, mouth slanting over yours, softly but hungrily. The kind of kiss that would make your knees go if not for his frame pressing on you, his grip on your hands tightening as you bite at his lower lip.

“How do you want me?”

The tip of his nose brushes yours, eyes closed, before he breathlessly whispers, “On your knees.”

You smile, ghosting it over his. “Help me down then, baby.”

It slips out, slithers. The name he calls you, that you now call him.

His fingers slot between yours, gripping them tight as he helps you lower yourself to the ground—to the cold tiles of your kitchen as you stare up at him. Left only in a pair of lace panties you’re grateful you’d thrown on before.

“Can I taste you, captain?”

“Fuck—yeah. Sure.”

He’s already hard when you’re pulling him free—thick, twitching. The tip already glistening as you glide the fabric down, teasingly, watching the head of his cock meet the base of his stomach.

“Your cock is so perfect.”

Your hand wraps around it, smearing the bead of precum, smirking at the hiss you make him emit, lifting onto your knees as you begin to work him, his soft stomach shifting as he breathes deeply.

“Can’t wait to taste you, Frankie—”

“—Li—”

You make him choke on your name when your mouth wraps around him. The tip at first, tongue swirling around, savouring the tangy taste of him—until you take more of him. And more. Doing so until your eyes prick with tears and you feel annoyed that you’re not at the base.

But, it’s fleeting, passing. His moan makes it worth it.

From the weight of him on your tongue to the taste of him, it’s all worth it. You lick around the head and flick your eyes up to see his stare already trained on you, the muscles in his legs twitching under your palms, gliding your tongue—all flat—on the underside of him, smearing the tip along your lips as though its gloss.

If you didn’t know what he did for a job, you’d tell him with that glare he’d be good at it.

Especially when you take him deeper, hearing the reward of a hiss, of your name—all elongated and breathy. Tears prick and spill over as your nose meets the thick curls at the base of him, feeling him twitch, pulse—all thick and fucking divine in your throat before you’re forced to slide back up. Your cheeks hollowed, eyes flicking up to see his mouth parted in surprise, chest heaving.

You smirk, with difficulty. The thickness of him makes it challenging as you swirl your tongue around the tip and feel his fingers sliding under your chin.

And you want to touch yourself.

Smudge the mess between your thighs around your aching clit, dip two fingers into your heat—

“Too good to me, Blue.”

His praise and the sight of him in the low light, the evening bathing your room, making the perspiration on his chest glitter. It’s then you notice the camera in hand—dwarfed almost, by the size of his palm.

He’s holding it like a gesture, like a silent ask of permission. One you give. A nod, a slow blink, and you spot the surprise sewn into his brows. A look vanished a moment later as you take him to the base, nails digging into the back of his thighs as you plead for yourself not to choke again.

You don’t.

Not even when he gently rolls his hips to your movements,

“Need to take a picture, Blue. Need it.”

You hum, nose against the curls at the base of him, almost feverish with how much you want him. Desperate, agitated with it.

So you flick your eyes up, swallowing—a flurry of curses leaving his lips.

Click, flash—

—Click, flash.

It illuminates you. The bright light makes your eyes widen, forcing them to, filling them with surprise. It’s barely a second, but he steals what the glare provides in the thickening darkness as the clock ticks on.

He doesn’t need the photo to develop, he’s sure the image will be burned into his brain for a lifetime. You with your mouth full of him, cheeks hollowed around his spit-soaked cock as it dribbles down your chin and wets his palm.

There are stains on your cheeks—tears. One's from taking him so deep earlier, when he’d felt the need to remind you to be slow. He caught a glimpse of your glare then, but there’s no sign of it now. Your eyes are all glassy, completely fucked out. Knelt before him in nothing but the thinnest pair of panties, likely soaked, ruined. All for him.

All. For. Him.

Then the room dims again, the photo ejecting out of the camera as it begins to bloom and paint the scene, forever immortalised, and he has to stop himself from clicking the button again just to see you in that light.

You hum as though thinking it. So he snaps another, and another. Each flash creates a different scene, one with your eyes closed—your wet lashes against your cheek. The next you smirking, fingers around the base and your tongue licking at his slit—eyes burning into the camera lens.

You loosen up the more he takes, performing, kneeling up as your hand moves to cup his balls, to gently, ever so carefully roll them as you lick another stripe up the underside of his cock.

He hisses in curses, ones barely bitten back.

It takes all of his restraint not to come down your pretty little throat the next time you take him down it. Because you’re beautiful, but this is something else. An enigma, a gift, a heavenly being that is here for him, taking as much of him as you can.

Bobbing and sucking, little moans and mews around him as you do so. It’s all too much, his eyes clenching shut, feeling, just feeling, and feeling—

It feels like something should have ripped, as though the universe has pulled apart, but he knows it’s in his head. It rushes through him so quickly, splintering and knocking him off base as his elbow awkwardly collides with the dresser before he’s gripping it with all he has, panting through his nose, hips meeting your movements.

And then his hips buck, cock twitching on your tongue.

Then, he’s coming hard down your throat. From the top of his head to his toes, his muscles clench, tighten. Body roaring, licked with flames, his cock twitching as you lick up every drop, as he begins to tingle all over from it.

Whether it’s an intention, just for the camera in his hand or him alone, when your mouth slides from him, it hinges open. Waiting, hands falling to your lap. And he knows before he brightens you with the flash what he’s going to see. But, nothing compares when he glimpses it. Your pretty, perfect fucking mouth full of him.

It stirs in him. Hunger, agonising covetous to have you—to taste himself on your lips, tongue.

“Swallow, baby.”

And he hears it, in the thick silence that you do.

The photo hangs from the device as he plants it down, as he rests it and descends to his knees to meet you. Hand cupping the back of your head as he brings your mouth to his, as he licks into your mouth, as he groans at the way you open up to him and the suppleness of your skin.

Perfect, perfect, so fuckin’ perfect.

He whispers it to your lips, groans it against your jaw as he slides a hand between your legs, underwear moved to the side as the two of you moan in unison at first contact. You shifting, adjusting, knees spread as your ass meets your floor, palms pressed to the ground behind you, head tipping back, letting it escape—

“Please. Please, baby.”

It’s delicately said, all smooth, but encased and embroiled in damned desperation. Baby—he likes it when you say it, a thing he so rarely hears.

He rewards you for it by pressing two fingers inside you, finding you soak him to the knuckles. You tighten around him, the lewd sound of your pussy filling the air, and he swallows, transfixed—a slither of light is all he has. His attention fixed, thumb pressing to your clit as you arch into his hand, bearing down against it.

“Take it,” you moan, hips beginning to rock against him. “Take a picture, Frankie.”

He smirks, almost grins. Almost full of delirium that you exist, that you’ve chosen him, let him in, let him—

You whine his name, already so close. His free hand reaching, patting for it, knocking things over to the point you laugh—

“Break it all, Frankie. I don’t care, just need—”

“Shh,” he soothes, rubbing circles with his thumb, the other hand grasping the camera, pulling it with him as he adjusts his knees on the floor. “Got you, Blue. Always got you.”

I know, I know, I know.

A chant, a soundtrack to the way he curls his fingers until you’re pleading, sobbing.

Click, flash—

Fuck, you’re a mess. Wrecked, ruined. Underwear pulled to the side, black, maybe even ripped a little, with your back bowed and your face contorted—twisted in pleasure. He sees tear tracks on your cheeks from earlier, slick spread in the crease of your spread thighs. Your hips meet his movements, pressing his fingers down on the spongy spot that has you babbling—whining; thumb pressing against your swollen, puffy clit.

Let go, he thinks. Readying to say it, to plead. But then your hips jolt, your chin raising as your head falls back.

The sound of you when you come is one he’ll never grow tired of.

Least of all the taste of you when he slowly removes his fingers and licks them clean, his other thumb massaging your knee when you wince at the loss of him.

“Go get on your bed, Blue.”

You breathe, pant. “You bringing the camera?”

“If you want?”

He hears you exhale and almost feels your smirk even in the darkness.

By the time the two of you are done, there’s a sea of them—the Polaroids.

The sheets under the two of you are a mess, with little photographic evidence of the two of you scattered all around. A play-by-play of the last forty-five minutes.

His breath is caught, as is yours. The soft hue of your bedroom illuminated by the late afternoon filters in, shades of purple and deep oranges.

You’re resting against him, fitting under his arm—heart still beating, even through him as you try to catch your breath. It’s not like the last time, when you’d looked half-awake and rode him until he had to roll you over, it’s not like the time before when he’d watched soap suds slide down your spine, pussy swallowing his cock over and over as your cries echoed around the tiles. It’s soft, sweet, the moment the two of you are sharing. Fingers, splayed out, soft with nails trimmed, skate up and down his side, and it shouldn’t be a thing he thinks, never mind confessed.

But fuck is this perfect, you’re perfect.

Frankie fumbles for the camera, for the device forgotten amongst the sheets, leaving it there, resting. Waiting.

“So how many bedpans do you have—”

You swat at him first, the lightest laugh following, spreading out. So, he continues. Asking more oddities with a shake of your head, not breaking you, not earning more than a light giggle, until:

“You got a pair of scrubs around? I do like a woman in uniform.”

It bursts out of you then, a laugh—a real one—and he lifts the camera as your head rests on him. The click comes, the flash brighter than he remembers.

It’s snapped, taken—a laugh, yours, all but frozen in time.

Later, when the photo is developed and mixed in with a stack of others waiting to be chosen, he sees his own smile. It’s light, almost unfamiliar, given how long it’s been since he’s seen it.

That photo might be his favourite, but it isn’t one he keeps. He thinks it’s too soon for things like that.

[fawnnpaws]

reader walking in on one of art’s jerking off frenzies 😖😖

patrick refuses to help him so he’s jerking himself off while watching poor bby art hump anything he can

you walk over to patrick, standing behind him while the two of u watching art whine and beg as he humps his pillow

arts begging you guys “need mommy n daddy to help me, please. m’ so hard” he’d cry

oh :((( poor baby just gets so desperate, he’s fucking insatiable, especially when he’s left alone to his own devices. and patrick is so mean about it :((( he says “if you want to be a slut while we’re gone, you can get yourself off without us. go on, finish what you started, artie.”

art looks to you for help, but you’re just standing behind patrick with your arms wrapped around his waist and your head hooked over his shoulder so you can watch. patrick had already hooked his waistband under his balls and started jerking himself off by the time you walked in, so you just skate your hands down his stomach and nudge his hand out of the way. he groans as you wrap your hand around him and start pumping up and down.

“you know the rules, baby, you shouldn’t have tried playing with yourself without us.” you say, sickly sweet and condescending.

“please - m’sorry, m’so so-sorry - touch me touch me touch me,” art whines, but his hips don’t stop moving. his eyes are fixed on your hand jerking patrick’s dick right in front of him. he wants to touch, to taste, anything you’d give him. “mommy… daddy… please! help me”

“oh he begs so nicely, should we help him, daddy?” your hand speeds up, you can feel patrick is getting close.

“shit - don’t know if he’s earned it.” and that just spurs art on more, his hips rut faster, he’s whimpering and whining, begging and pleading. he can barely form words anymore.

you go up on your tippy toes and whisper in patrick’s ear, “look how pretty he is, why don’t you teach him a lesson, hm? paint his pretty face?” you twist your wrist at patrick’s base and drag your tight fist all the way to his tip in a way you know drives him crazy. his hips stutter against your hand and suddenly he’s moaning and covering art’s face in pearly white. art opens his mouth eagerly and tries to catch what he can, rutting his hips so fast and so keyed into patrick cumming that he doesn’t even realize he’s cumming himself.

“aww,” you say, extracting yourself from behind patrick and stand between them. you shove two fingers of your right hand into art’s open mouth, so far back he gags for a moment before you hook your fingers behind his teeth and pull him forward. at the same time, you force two fingers of your left hand into patrick’s mouth and hook them on his jaw to pull him down to his knees. you guide the two of them together and remove your fingers before they get caught in the crossfire of art and patrick practically mauling each other with heated kisses. you smile, “my good boys.”

[gaybae1021]

Well since my bachelorette designs were received so well, I decided to complete the marriage set! Here’s my bachelors!

Individual pics and thought processes under the cut:

I’m drawing these from the perspective of how they’d look on day 1, but I’d definitely like to do a post-Joja higher heart design for Shane at some point. Overall for this one I just tried to make him look unkempt and dull, I desaturated his skin tone to make him look sickly and he’s the only one without eye shines, signifying how he’s lost the spark for life.

Also sorry about the socks and Birkenstocks.

Decided to make Alex mixed, since there’s absolutely no diversity in the bachelors. Had a lot of fun translating his canon hairstyle into those short locs. Other than that the biggest change was turning his jacket into a proper varsity jacket. Short Alex gang unite!

Okay sorry Haley, Elliot takes the win for the most changed design. Like it’s so obvious he’s meant to have a Victorian jacket and fancy trousers and all that, but after I drew him all tall and slender and I gave him little braids and beach waves he just started taking on a Boho vibe? When I drew the jacket it just looked tight and restrictive. So I decided to let the beach influence carry and we ended up with this fancy yet comfy loungewear with sandals. And I love him?

Also this was heavily inspired by ginjaninjaowo’s male espeon design

Sebastian was honestly a pain, like I know his design plays off the emo teen archetype, but compared to the others npcs he’s actually got a lot of variety. Like he’s obviously got some emo influence, but there’s also some nerd thanks to his interest in coding and ttrpgs, and he’s also a bit of a tough guy with the bike and the smoking. So there were a lot of directions to lean. Still, his sprite is clearly going for a dark hoodie and dark jeans, so I didn’t think I could change it up without making it not feel like Sebby. Does he have a muscle tee underneath for working on the bike? I’ll never say.

Biggest change is probably the hair, just wanted something less stereotypical, and have some variety in bachelor hair length. Definitely leans into the biker side a bit lol. Otherwise I just tried add detail to his dark outfit and adorn it with his interests. So frog embroidery on his shoes, a patch on his jacket and some motor oil stains on his hoodie. Also as promised he and Maru have matching dimples.

Also happy pride month, enjoy trans Sebastian and also the head canon that he and Sam start dating provided the farmer doesn’t get there first lol.

And with Sam the ASS trio is complete! Now with matching chokers because I said so.

Just like with Sebby I wasn’t sure which direction to go for Sam, whether to lean more into skater boy or rockstar. Ultimately he ended up more rockstar, though he’s still always roughed up from skating (probably because he refuses to take off the platform boots). He thinks the torn clothes make him look more legit though.

I had fun making his shape language compliment Sebby; he’s very top heavy from the giant hoodie so I made Sam bottom heavy with the baggy jeans and jacket. Also I had so many thoughts about him and Kent, given that Sam and Sebby are a thing and Sam isnt exactly gender conforming.

And last but not least, Harvey. He’s sweet, he’s simple, all his heart events are charming. And yet he is always the last one I reach max hearts with because I can’t be bothered to go to the doctors office. Sorry bby, I hope I can make it up to you by designing you as an adorable cherub of a man.

I know I’m being super controversial, giving him a pushbroom mustache when the sprite is obviously a handlebar /s. But like, he’s such a square; it fits him so well. My little lawful good guy.

Ya know, I think I gave him a sweater so Elliot’s jacket would stand out, then proceeded to not give Elliot his jacket. Huh.

Anyway bonus of the boyfriends together to close us out, thanks for reading!

[tutuandscoot]

“Tummy Time”

VM- Nationals 2017

SH- Worlds 2019

[spicerackofblorbos]

Ice Prince - figure skater!Armin Arlert x gen!Reader

☾ summary ➼ when taking your little brother to an ice skating camp for beginners, you're thrown for a loop. Your brother's coach wasn't just talented, he was cute and adorable as hell. ☾ content/warnings ➼ modernAU, fluff, meetcute, no use of y/n or physical descriptors, reader has a little brother, soft bby armin ☾ wc ➼ ~4.05k ☾ a/n ➼ this is for @crazychaoticizzy and @cinnamon-girl-writes 's full throttle event!! thank you guys so much for inviting me as well as being patient with me. this was so fun to write and i hope you enjoy it!! also i'm posting this from my writing blog lol

A single tug on your hand grabs your attention. Looking down, you see your nerve-wracked little brother, wide-eyed with taut lips. You stop in the middle of the parking lot belonging to your local ice rink, the winter sun beaming down on you two from above.

“Are you still nervous?” You whisper down to him, turning to face him as you bend down to his eye level. You give him a soft smile and a reassuring squeeze on the hand that still grips yours.

“I’m going to be laughed at.” Your brother says in a small voice. His eyes avert from yours.

“Little sparrow, they will not laugh at you. You’re a beginner, just like them! Falling is inevitable and normal.” You reach over to fix the thick winter coat that warms his little body. “Besides, if anyone laughs at you, then they have your big sister to answer to first.” You smirk.

He searches your face, as if he might find any doubt that would contradict your words. The little boy finds none. He takes a shuddering breath before inhaling deeply one last time. With a determined nod, he squeezes your hand and leads you to the large entrance to the arena.

Upon entering through glass double doors, the sounds of children laughing and metal against ice fill your ears. There’s a booth ahead with a kind looking lady, who is currently reading through a clipboard as you both step up. The woman is unaware as she mutters to herself, so you clear your throat gently.

“Oh!” She pops up, fixing her glasses that had shifted down her nose. “Welcome! I assume you are here for camp?” Her voice is soft, almost fragile.

“Yes. Well, not me. For this little man right here.” You tilt your chin down in his direction, shifting the woman’s attention to the wide-eyed boy.

“Ah, perfect. Name?” She goes back to the clipboard, ready to mark off the newcomer.

“Zachary Simmons.”

“There he is! Looks like he’s in Mr. Arlert’s group.” she says excitedly.

“Which is a good thing, right?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Very. He made it here for once. He’s usually gone for this season for tournaments or other miscellaneous events. He’s a great teacher and even sweeter man. This little one will love him.” She puts down her clipboard and beams towards the both of you.

“Uhh, right. Yes. Thank you. Where is that group?” Your eyes look around the semi-busy arena.

“All the way to the left and back. There should be about five other children in the group, and you’re looking for the blonde-haired man.”

Zach doesn’t hesitate to drag you in the direction without another word, and a bubble of laughter escaping you because of his newfound enthusiasm. On your way through, you see many other children giggling and talking with excitement, ready for the next three days.

“Would you like some help, Dela?” You hear a soft-spoken voice as you turn into a quieter section of the arena. Your eyes snap to the source of it, seeing a blonde-haired man squatting with his back to you, facing a little girl who sits on a bench with her feet propped up on what looks like the man’s knee. It seems he’s helping her lace up her skates. After a moment, he leans back as the little girl swings her feet, testing the tightness.

“Thank you, Armin!” She says gratefully before attempting to stand up with help from the man, his hands holding her by her shoulders for stability.

“Let’s take it slow, okay? Try and walk along the wall to the others.” He instructs. You can hear a small smile in his voice. He stands tall, much taller than you, then turns.

You’re caught off guard.

Mr. Arlert is adorably cute. He has boyish features, bright blue eyes, soft pink tinged cheeks, and a sweet smile. He also seems to be about your age, if not older. He’s wearing a sweatshirt that hangs loose on his lean body, followed by equally baggy windbreaker pants and a pair of worn-out sneakers.

He steps over to where you and your brother stand, offering an outstretched hand. You take it hesitantly, surprised by how warm and soft his hand is. But, despite the delicate and soft features, his grip is strong.

“Hi, you must be the Simmons?” He inquires. Even his voice is soft, soothing even.

“That would be us. This is Zach.” You release your brother’s hand and place it on his upper back, nudging him forward. Once bouncing with excitement, he is now suddenly very shy.

“Hi, Zach.” Mr. Arlert bends down to Zach’s level, resting his hands on his knees as he smiles. “I’m Armin Arlert, welcome!”

“H-hello, Mr. Arlert.”

“Please, call me Armin. I’m so happy to have you in my group.” Armin’s eyes trail to the pair of skates with the laces knotted together, hanging off Zach’s shoulder. “Are you ready to have fun?”

Zach tilts his head up to look at you, as if waiting for permission. You offer a thumbs up with a smile, which makes him crack his own goofy grin.

“I’ll be here the whole time. You’ll be okay.” You mutter down to him, ruffling his hair. You’re met with a grumpy swat at your hand, but even still. Zach smiles and nods to Armin, subtly relaxing.

“Why don’t go lace up over there,” he points to the bench that the little girl was just sitting on moments ago. “While I talk to your mom.” His eyes meet yours, ocean deep blue. You’re so mesmerized by him that you barely catch on to what he said.

“Oh! No, um. Not his mom, I’m his sister.” You wave your hands in front of your chest in a dismissive manner. Zach couldn’t care less as he bounds over, quickly slipping off his winter boots.

Armin stands up, a bright blush creeping up his neck and face. He’s a few inches taller than you, not enough to tower but still enough that you have to tilt your chin to meet his gaze.

“I’m so sorry! That was incredibly rude of me to assume. You don’t even look that old, it’s just habit since most of the kids come with their moms so.” He nervously cards his fingers through his blonde hair, pushing the strands back and away from his face, which inevitably falls back into place.

“No, you’re okay! It’s a common misconception.” You shake your head, eyes wide. “My mother married his dad, then they had him when I was in high school. It was definitely not something I wasn’t prepared for, but I really like Nick, he’s good to my mom. My biological dad left the picture early on…” you ramble, your fingers fidgeting with the rings that adorn your fingers. “Which… you definitely did not need to know that. I’m sorry.” You laugh nervously as you avert your gaze, your cheeks now heating up in embarrassment.

“It’s really okay, I’m not judging one bit! In fact, I think it’s really sweet how much you care for him. I’ve heard stories of stepsiblings and stepparents not getting along well, so it’s great that you both are so close.”

There’s a moment of silence as you both ingest the conversation that just transpired between the two of you.

“Um,” Armin clears his throat. “I’m going to start with the kids. Feel free to sit over on those benches if you’d like to stay.” He turns on his heel and walks away briskly.

Your eyes travel in the direction Armin has suggested, seeing a myriad of parents either working on hobbies they brought with them or video recording their kids fall on the ice. With a heavy sigh, you make your way over and sit next to a woman who was currently knitting what looked like a winter hat.

You assumed the few hours would pass by playing on your phone, anything to distract from the boredom that would inevitably creep into your bones. But that’s not how it went. Much to your surprise, you’re enamored with how Armin slides across the ice with grace. It’s as if he’d been doing this his whole life.

You finally understand by what the woman at check-in had meant by Mr. Arlert being away every year. He is a talented skater as she said, enough to be medal worthy.

You watch as he instructs the children on correct posture, being patient while taking the extra time to help each individual kid that needed assistance. Not once did a flicker of annoyance or frustration cross his features. If anything, he was having the time of his life by the way he smiled and spoke words full of compassion.

By the end of the day, your brother glows with confidence. His semi-toothless grin beams at you while changing back into his sneakers, the weight of his used skates hanging on your shoulders. He doesn’t stop chatting to another boy sitting next to him on the bench who was also lacing his sneakers. You smile fondly.

“Your brother is a natural, are you sure he wants to stay in the beginner’s class?” That familiar soft-spoken voice pipes up behind you.

You turn to face Armin who was currently using a fluffy towel to wipe the sweat his face. There’s no hint of jest in his features, only sweet sincerity. And true curiosity.

“Oh, he has very little experience. He tried it once when he was much younger, out on the lake in the dead of winter. He hurt himself, and that was it. They tried everything for years to get him to try again, but…” You mentally pinch yourself for rambling on again, a ridiculous nervous habit.

“So, what made him want to try again?”

Now it’s your turn to look at Armin with curiosity. To have someone genuinely interested in what you had to say was not something you come to expect from people you just met. It only makes the small smile tugging at your lips that much sweeter.

“He found an old video of our mom and dad figure skating together a few years before he was born, and he’s been watching every day since then. Our parents met on the ice, actually. It’s where they fell in love. He’s under the impression he’ll find his first love on the ice too. Silly kid.” You chuckle softly as you turn to face Zach again who is talking animatedly about something with his new friend.

“Hm.” Armin thinks for a moment. “So, that must mean you’re pretty talented in skates as well?” You meet his gaze again with tight lips.

“Definitely not. I’ve never even been on the ice before.”

“No? Not interested or…?”

“Never really gave it much thought. I was so focused on my studies, I refused to have anything outside of that since it was a distraction.” You shake your head dismissively before cracking a smile. “But it’s okay. I get to live vicariously through Zach. And, well now you, I guess. You’re a very talented skater, the way you move is very beautiful.” Your words slip out faster than you can stop them, heat rushing up into your cheeks again.

“Anyway!” You chuckle nervously as you back away with your car keys in hand. “I really need to take us home for dinner. Uh, see you tomorrow, I think.” You say quickly before turning and walking straight to where Zach still stands. You mentally berate yourself the whole way back to the car and on the ride home.

The second day of camp came and went faster than you would have liked. Much like the day before, you were enchanted by the way Armin carved into the ice. It was almost as if it required little no effort for him.

Somewhere around noon, Zach collided with another camper which flared up your sibling instincts. Before you could throw off the soft blanket you had brought with you, Armin was there in an instant. He had dropped to his knees to help your brother up, gently gripping his biceps as he steadied Zach's trembling posture.

There was something about the compassionate moment that made your heart melt. It’s not unusual to see someone comforting an upset child, but the way Armin went about it was just as stunning as he was in his skates. At that point, you had left your stuff on the bleachers while you made your way down to the entrance separating the ice and the carpeted floor.

As if nothing happened, Zach clumsily skates off to meet up with his friend. You only see the back of his head so you aren't able to get a good look at his face, but you can imagine the smile that lights up on it like it usually does once he's feeling better.

The sound of scraping startles you, paired with Armin's lean body gracefully holding on to the half wall to stop his slide. He looks at you with a soft gaze and kind smile. From his position, you can make out the subtle light freckles that scatter on the bridge of his nose and fade out towards his cheekbones.

“Your brother reminds me a lot of myself when I was his age.” He states.

“Clumsy?” You laugh under your breath as your eyes trail back to your brother. He's currently working on starting and stopping with a wild grin.

“Yes,” He chuckles as well. “and determined. He's a fighter.” The sincerity in his compliment draws your eyes back to his.

“What made you want to start skating?” You rest your forearms on top of the half-wall, leaning forward onto the balls of your feet.

“Well, let's just say something traumatic happened when I was a kid, and I found that figure skating distracted my mind. It became therapeutic, and then it just stuck.” He shrugs as if that was that. In all honesty, you wanted to ask more. You wanted to know more about this soft spoken man before you.

“I'm really sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, it's fine really! I found something I love because of it.” The way his eyes scrunch when he genuinely smiles almost kills you. “What do you like to do in your spare time?”

At the time, you assumed this was polite small talk. Something to pass the time while the kids practiced starts and stops. To Armin, though, this was him trying to learn as much about you as he could.

“Well, it's nothing exciting as skating, that's for sure.” You prop your chin up on a palm as you continue to lean on the wall. “I like to write.”

“That can be very exciting depending on what you write! Can I know?” There's that genuine and sincere curiosity again.

“Well, it depends, I guess. I'm working on a murder mystery right now.” You purse your lips in thought, thinking back to the last paragraph you had outlined.

“That sounds extremely exciting!” His eyes widen, soft blue eyes filled with wonder. “Have you published any?”

“No, I don't think I will. It's more of a hobby if anything.” You shift your weight onto the other foot.

“Still, it’s great that you write. I love to read, so if you ever publish it I'd love to read it. Having a best selling author live in my town? That's a pretty cool fun fact.” Despite Armin's confident words, his face turns a pale carmine red. It's adorable on him. Your face heats up as well, his words resonating through you.

“O-oh, well. If I ever do, I'll make sure to give you a signed copy.” Another nervous laugh leaves you.

A resounding thud sounds behind Armin, followed by a child’s cry. “Ah, shit.” He whispers under his breath. His blue eyes meet yours and gives you an apologetic smile before pushing off the wall and skating over to the fallen beginner.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips, finally able to breathe normally. There was something about being in his presence that left you dizzy. He was calm. Peaceful. Refreshing.

The third and final day was more than you bargained for.

Considering it was a three day camp, perfect results were not expected. If anything, this camp served as a way to teach kids the basics of skating and if they liked it and wanted more, there were sign up sheets for lessons that started in about a month.

The way that Zach talked about the camp at the dinner table, it was clear he wanted to continue to practice. Your parents were elated, of course. As were you, but for an entirely different reason. The last two nights consisted of you thinking about Armin against your will. There was just something about him.

So, when your little brother comes bounding up to you with the seasonal sign up forms with his request to be in Armin's class, you could feel your heart leaping up into your throat – either from anxiety or excitement, you couldn't tell. You just know that you'd be the one transporting Zach, which meant you could see Armin every week. You roll your eyes at yourself the moment that thought crosses your mind.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” You ask Zach as you read through the sign up sheets and waivers, your eyes glancing up at him from the overwhelming amount of words that swim on the page. You'd let your parents take care of this, you decide.

“Yes! I really like him, he's a good teacher. He said he liked my skates too!” His ice skates were slung over his shoulder like they usually were. The red and orange flames on the side of them make your eyebrows quirk, because it's the first time you've seen them like this. “Plus, I think you like him too!” He giggles at the way your body language changes from being flustered.

“You don't know what you're talking about! Shush!” You give him a look, scrunching your nose.

“I see the way you look at him!”

“Stop!”

“Are you going to kiss him?”

“Zachary I swear to-!"

“Zach!” The friend that your brother had made calls him over, standing next to his mom. They're both smiling in your direction, waving politely. With permission from both moms (and a physical meet up of course), a little playdate and dinner were set up to celebrate.

Honestly, you could have just dropped him off in the care of the mother at the beginning of the day. But, then you wouldn't be able to see the way Armin smiled every time he hit the ice.

“Just go.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. Despite the annoyances, you still grab him and pull him into your chest for a final hug. “Don't forget to call if anything happens. And if you're ready to come home earlier than planned, please let us know. Do you have your jacket and everything?” You say down to him, finally releasing him from your grip.

It was his turn to scrunch his nose at you.

“Yes, yes, and yes. Can I go now?” He nods, clutching the little drawstring bag he brought with him in his little hands.

“Okay, okay. Go have fun.” With a smile, you watch him run off. He's never been great at having friends, so the sight of him laughing so freely with someone else is nice.

You turn to head out the large double doors, checking your pockets and hands to make sure you have everything. Wallet, phone, earbuds, sign up sheets, waivers… keys? You pat around all of your pockets, hoping maybe that you put them in a different pocket than usual.

Nothing.

With a deep groan, you turn around and head back to the back bleachers where you were sitting just moments before. At this point, the arena was next to empty. The only people left were mingling camp and venue staff, and they were all up front tidying everything up.

After five minutes of deep searching in every crevice of the nasty seats, you sit up with a frustrated sigh. The thought of someone stealing your keys and driving off fills your mind, dread slinking its way through your body like a snake.

“Ugh, what am I going to tell mom…” You whine into the air with your hands thrown up in defeat.

“Um. I assume these might be yours?” The soft-spoken voice behind you creates goosebumps down your arms.

You turn around slowly and see Armin looking at you with your car keys dangling from his lithe fingers. The relief that crashes over you is palpable, so much so that you aren’t aware of how quickly you threw yourself off the bleachers and almost on top of him.

“Oh my gosh, thank you Armin! You just saved me hours of being yelled at by my parents.” Armin drops them into your open palm with a shake of his head.

“It’s no problem. I’ve been looking around for you anyway, so this works out.” He smiles at you as if what he just said wasn’t that big of a deal. Again, despite his confident and unwavering expression, the red around his neck and face tells just how awkward he must be feeling.

“For me?” You tuck your keys and other belongings in the shoulder bag you brought. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yes! Everything is fine. Um,” he runs his fingers through his blonde locks as he looks down at you with a shy smile. “I was wondering if you’d like to learn how to skate while you were here.” His voice slowly gets quieter. The way he lifts his arm to rub the back of his neck nervously gives a good display of his lean muscles and milky skin under the bright fluorescent lights.

There’s a moment of silence, him waiting for your response and you slowly comprehending his question.

“Learn? Like, me…? Get out on the ice…?”

A soft huff escapes Armin’s lips, the nervous smile now an amused grin.

“Yes. I’m here, I promise I won’t let you fall.”

“I don’t think you want to see that. And, I don’t even have skates.”

“There are ones you can borrow from the rental booth.”

“Don’t you have to pay for those?”

“So, is that a yes?” His blue eyes sparkle with enthusiasm, excitement even at the proposition of spending actual time with you outside of professionality.

“I-I don’t know. I’m not very balanced.” You step away slightly, feeling your face heat up yet again.  

“What if I promise that you won’t fall and that I’ll buy dinner after? If you do fall, then we can promise to never see each other again.” There’s a small playful smirk that threatens to tug on the corners of his mouth.

You purse your lips at him, fingers intertwining with each other as you weigh your pros and cons. On the one hand, you could finally indulge yourself with what might happen between the two of you. On the other, you’d have to lace up some skates and pray your jeans don’t rip.

“Do I get to choose the restaurant?” You meet his gaze with a quirked eyebrow.

“Sure.” He chuckles. From his voice to his laugh to the delicate features on his face, you wonder how anyone could say no to him.

It takes you a while to find skates that fit you comfortably. They were very used and even smelled like it too, much to your disdain. Armin makes sure to hold you by the arm as he leads you back to the rink entrance, letting go so he can step on the ice first then holds his hand out to you to take.

“I never got your name, by the way.”

You take it in your own hand, pleasantly surprised yet again by how warm it was. Your fingers tighten around his palm as he gently pulls you into him. Already you can feel your legs trembling under you – but was it the nerves or the lack of skill, you didn’t know. Regardless, you give him a smile.

“That’s because I haven’t told you yet. Buy me dinner first, then I’ll talk.��

[lueurjun]

sunghoon as your nerdy bf!

nerdy bf!sunghoon x popular!reader in which his love for ice pales in comparison to his love for you.!! written on 0 hours of sleep because i’m too warm and i’m simping for hoon rn. this may be longer than my other ones i’m not sure.

idiots to lovers type beat

bc you’re an idiot and so is he

little matching stupid heads the both of you <3 i just love it. i love you both. i ship you both

anyways let’s start

mans can’t stand you

or at least that’s what you’ve made yourself believe

you’re everyone’s favourite person, the type of person who just is so nice to everyone and has such radiance that it’s almost intimidating but you would never hurt a fly

everyone loves you as they should because if they don’t they’ll have to deal with me

me and my 5ft ass will protect you bby don’t worry i’m strong get behind me

everyone loves you but him

idiot boy:D

well you assume so anyway

idiot person:D

you’ve been crushing on him since you met him on the first day of high school

he handed you a pen when he realized you didn’t have one

acts of service type beat

boy you were hooked

bc a hot asf boy with the kindest eyes just gave you one of his pens because he noticed you didn’t have one

HE NOTICED YOU

but like who wouldn’t? ur perfect. forget sunghoon let me have you

anyways yeah he let you keep the pen which means he definitely wants to marry you

but no seriously he completely blanked you after that

whenever you were in the same vicinity as him he’d not even glance at you and if he did meet your eye, he’d just be stone faced

he kind of just avoided you which made you think he didn’t like you

which hurt but you weren’t one to push. if someone doesn’t like you, that’s a them issue and you’re not about to let it get to you

bc why should you? iconic if you ask me

but no yeah sunghoon disliking you stings a little

one day you kinda bring it up to jake who is a mutual friend of you both and casually just ask why sunghoon doesn’t like you

mr sim is baffled

“huh? wdym? my sunghoon? ice skating obsessed sunghoon?”

and you’re just like :O you had no idea he was an ice skater and your crush on him expanded tenfold

because that’s hot

that’s really hot

“yeah? why doesn’t he like me? did i do something?”

jake can’t believe what he’s hearing

wanna know why?

BECAUSE SUNGHOON DOESNT DISLIKE YOU

he has a crush on you<3

and he has since he gave you that pen

love of first sight trope fr

he keeps his cards quite close to his chest usually but he never shuts up about you

and he thinks you dislike him

because you make an effort with everyone but him

but that’s only because you think he hates you

idiots i’m telling you sweet little love sick dum dums

cuties though so i’ll let it slide

anyways jake quickly assures you that sunghoon just gets nervous around you

which gives you the confidence to strike up a conversation with him the next time you see him

it’s so awkward at first but he loosens up and the two of you actually learn a lot about each other

then you start texting

and then hanging out

and soon enough you’re pretty much just dating

like it’s just a natural thing? no asking or anything you kind of just establish that you both have mutual feelings and so yeah… you’re dating

LETS GET ONTO THE RELATIONSHIP BC THIS HAS GOTTEN VERY LONG

carrying each others things and no one can convince me otherwise

you carry his jacket for him when he isn’t wearing it and he holds your bag or your water bottle

protective hoon! always sending silent glares whenever anyone stares at you in a way he doesn’t approve of or if they’re mean to you

boy will use the bottom of his skate as a weapon if need be

test him. hurt the love of his life. go on. i dare you

the first time you see him skate you deadass nearly faint

because why does he looks so??? hot??

like he’s in his element and you find that so attractive

if you can’t skate already he definitely teaches you

holding your hands and gently guiding you, refusing to let go until he’s certain you’re 100% comfortable and safe

tying each others laces

he’s not the best with PDA but will most likely have a hand on you in public whether that be your waist, lower back, thigh. he just likes to be touching you

you running your nails down the back of his head and nape, gently tugging at his hair in a way that’s relaxing and not painful

KILLS HIM. HE LOVES IT. DO IT EVERYDAY

jake pouting that you stole sunghoon away from him

“yo i regret assuring them. go back to thinking he hates you pls. i want my best friend back”

“cry about it jake. he’s mine”

no but his friends are relieved that you’re finally together

they could not handle listening to him cry about you any longer

sunoo deadass almost locked you in a room together

“i was gonna do that but jungwon said that might be a grey area for kidnap so…”

biggest baby for you in private

the second he gets you alone, sunghoon is smothering you in love

he likes when you trail your fingers across his face because it relaxes him

definitely sprays his clothes in your scent when you’re not around because it comforts him and he can’t sleep without it

you do the same with his

both of you are terrible for leaving your things in each others rooms

“hoon did i leave my ipad in your bed?”

“y/n i think i left my watch on your bedside table”

he’s extremely shy and prefers to fade into the background

which is kinda hard when his partner is one of the most loved people on the universe

you seem to just know everyone

standing behind you holding onto your hand like a little lost puppy whilst you stop to talk to a friend in the street for the thousandth time

he hates parties but will always attend if you ask him to just to make sure you’re okay

let’s you have your fun but kinda shrinks into the corner and keeps an eye on you from afar

definitely the type to find a pet and just sit with it because he’d rather be in the company of a random dog than drunk sweaty bodies

but he loves you sm so he will never complain about attending

jay once found the two of you curled up with a random cat outside asleep together after a particularly extreme party

it was the oddest but kind of cutest thing he had ever seen

until you woke up and threw up all over his shoes

“i swear i hope he breaks up with you”

“leave me alone jay, i’m fragile”

always holds your hair back and rubs your back gently

sweetest bf to ever exist<3

[mattatouilletkachuk]

Hello love! Can you do 22. " My mum asked about you again. " with Owen Power 🥹 thank you!

Owen bby doesn’t get enough attention

Days like today were one of your favorites. Owen was back from morning skate and you had off of work and together the two of you sat quietly on his couch. You let your fingers run through his long hair and made sure to scratch his scalp just as you knew he liked.

The two of you had been together for almost a year but with the routine you both fell into and how comfortable you felt around him, it felt like longer.

You weren't very focused on what was playing on the television. You much preferred paying attention to the way Owen was basically nuzzling into your hand. He, himself, was tapping away on his phone every few seconds.

“Would you ever come home to Mississauga with me during the next off-season?” His question broke the comfortable silence. The way he said it though, sounded as though he had been thinking about it for a while.

Your fingers stilled in his hair and you looked down at the boy whose head was in your lap. He looked sheepishly but you couldn’t help but smile. Neither of you had met the other parents. You told your family occasionally about the hockey player you met in Buffalo but not much, you wanted this relationship to be just yours and you were afraid that if you shared that with your parents and siblings then they would find a way to get involved.

You had no idea what Owen told his siblings or parents about you or your relationship and, truthfully, you were hesitant to ask. If he hadn’t said anything and you were the only gushing about your boyfriend then maybe he didn’t think it was as serious. Maybe he just saw you as a friend who he liked to have fun with in bed.

Asking you to visit his hometown, though. He must have been as in about the relationship as you are.

“Would your parents be okay with you bringing a random girl home?” You asked, trying not to let the giddiness or nervousness slip out. “I mean, it would be during the off-season, wouldn’t they want to see just their little boy.”

Owen snorted and sat up so he could look at you better.

“My mom keeps asking when I’ll introduce you to her.” Owen said, “I think it’s about time but if you don’t want to I understand.”

“You’re mom asked to meet me?” Your voice was quiet but you started to get excited and a little shy at the idea of his mom asking specifically about you.

You had never met the woman but from all that Owen talked about her, you knew she was important. You were frightened that if you met them all and somehow messed it up Owen might never talk to you again. After all, it hadn’t even been a year, how easy would it be for him to wash his hands of you?

“Oh, yeah, on the phone last night my mom asked about you again.”

You were about to say something until you ran his words through your mind again. His mom asked about you again. How often did he tell her about you? Your hesitancy went away after that and was replaced with a warm feeling in your chest.

You smiled at Owen as you teasingly said to him, “You talk to your mom about me?”

Owen smiled back but his reply was earnest when he said, “All of the time, baby.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning over and stretching up to kiss him softly on the lips.

“Let’s go to Mississauga over the off-season,” you mumbled quietly, with your lips still slightly grazing his. You could feel his grin as he kissed you again, “I wanna meet your family too.”

[thewomaninlilywhite]

SOTA-KUN

[cowboybarzy]

38 from the fluff list w josty…. i crave it…. congrats bby <3

yaay baby josty request!! thank youu -> 1k celly

38. “Sorry… your hair was in your face… thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

“Oh my god, so cute,” Tyson exclaimed, crouching down to the little brown puppy jumping up his leg. The owners apologized and tried to get their puppy to stop jumping, but both you and Tyson were quick to let them know you were totally fine with it.

“I love him,” you said, scratching behind his little ears. You looked over to Tyson, who had the biggest grin on his face, making your stomach flutter.

A few more pets and cute puppy pictures later, you were back on your way, strolling around the city. You had met Tyson a few weeks ago when he moved to Rochester to play hockey here and you had been hanging out ever since. It started out as just friends, but it was clear to the both of you that it was quickly developing into something more.

You just had just met up to have lunch after his practice and decided to afterwards take a walk through the city, that was still unfamiliar to him. But you grew up here and loved showing him around.

“Yes, I swear we used to be able to skate on here. It’s where I learned to. I’m actually pretty good,” you explained as you stood on the bridge overlooking the river. “But it hasn’t been cold enough in years.”

“Well, I’m going to have to take you skating soon to see those skills. How’s your puck handling?” You rolled your eyes, which elicited a goofy grin which you’d grown to love.

“I was talking about skating, not hockey. But I’d love to take you up on that offer.” He nodded, still sporting his smile. A big gust of wind suddenly blew, almost blowing your scarf off and messing up your hair. You quickly fixed it, looking back at him.

His hand reached over, stroking a strand of hair out of your face. The tips of his fingers, brushed across your forehead. “Sorry… your hair was in your face… thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

You blushed, looking away, but his fingers that still lingered close to your face gently forced you to look back at him. The wind blew, messing up his curly hair as well, but he looked so cute you couldn’t tear your gaze away again. Slowly, Tyson bent down to brush his cold lips against yours. Your heart skipped a beat, then another one when your lips touched with more force.

When you pulled away, you both shyly looked away with equally big smiles on your face and you could tell that this was only the start of something great.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! I've tried looking for it myself, but I've only found two results and both were in languages I don't speak, so I think it's time to call in the experts :)

I'm looking for GO fics which talk about conversion therapy, I figured there must be some seeing as there are many queer and religious themes in Good Omens but so far I haven't had any luck finding them!

Thank you for your help, your patience and your hard work 💚

Hello! These are the only fics I can find that even mention conversion therapy...

The Truth by mordelle (T)

Adam and Warlock to dinner and Aziraphale is forced to talk about his bleak past.

Wednesday by originaldaniphantom (T)

Channeling Matilda and my Evangelism-infused upbringing: Crowley and Aziraphale are surrogate gay dads to a lil bby queer.

fast times at south downs university by littlesnowpea (T)

It’s 2:46 p.m. on a rainy Tuesday in March that Anathema Device, a Women’s History lecturer at South Downs University, realises the following things: She’s forgotten her umbrella again. Dr. Fell, the head of the English Department, offers to share his as they walk into campus together, and Dr. Fell is married. This is significant not because Dr. Fell shared his umbrella – he’s shared his umbrella many times before, and is quite generous – but instead is significant because in the entire two years Anathema Device has taught at South Downs University, she never knew Dr. Fell was married.

So Much to be Consoled as to Console by Arokel (T)

“What are you,” Crowley drawled, “the patron saint of queer kids?” A series of lost souls over the centuries who prayed, whether they knew it or not, to the Angel Aziraphale.

All This Bad Blood Here by erroneous_hedgehog (T)

Maggie moves to a new town and, in search of friends, stumbles into the community at a little church right near her house. The lives of Maggie and her friends will intertwine for a time, break apart, and come back together in somewhat spectacular fashion throughout their teenage years. - Told in scenes across several years, this is a soft, wishful piece (that skates over some much darker themes) that became progressively less realistic (but also more affirming) from one moment to the next.

- Mod D