#it doesn’t follow her body’s curve it’s very fixed in place

[kismetmoon]

now kith

[ID: a rough, choppy 2D animation on a grey background of two original Flatland characters, named Liz and Ruth.

Liz is a black line with a seven point star on one end of her body, which is her head, and a five point star on the other end, which is her tail. She has two cilia near her tail and one near her head. There is a small indent on one side of her body, opposite the front cilium.

Ruth is also a black line with a V-shaped dent in the middle of her body, two cilia near her head and tail respectively, and light grey patches.

They both move like snakes. Liz enters and goes right, turns as if she will go north, but then sharply turns again and heads south. She meets Ruth, who emerges from the bottom. They move closer to one another until their front points touch, a little black heart appears then disappears as this happens. Liz then backs up and turns right to leave. Ruth follows and stops in front her, as if wanting to touch front points with her again. This causes Liz to quickly halt and back up, before playfully dodging past Ruth and out of frame. Ruth watches Liz leave and then quickly follows in her path. The screen is left empty for a second before the animation repeats itself.

End ID.]

#god ruth’s patches were a pain but i wanted this to look ‘charmingly choppy’ anyways so it’ll be fine #but this was very fun to make. way better than studying pfft #they’re both bendy country gals #ruth used to live in the city but she’s been living in the country for longer now so she can be bendy too #but the main point of this was that ​i wanted to show how ruth’s dent affects her movement #you can kinda see that as she tries to turn and follow liz #it doesn’t follow her body’s curve it’s very fixed in place #it’s just…stagnant ig is the best word #flatland #oc #elizabeth huntsworth #ruth galton #supernova #animation

[mutated-green-things]

Dust Bunnies #1: A pleasure to meet you, O Terrapin Mine

Words: 2,481

Pairing: Leosagi

Rating: E

Warnings: No actual content warnings, but this whole ficlet is a Destiny 2 AU and... D2 lore is so goddamn complicated that I am not going to explain it here. Just. Cliff notes: The turtles are essentially zombie space super heroes resurrected by a silent mechanical god known as the Traveller and Usagi is a robot that used to be a human but was stuffed into said robot frame by a madman who wanted to become immortal through technology.

--

Ada-1 calls him over comms. Something about a newly forged sword he would want a look at. Inspired by a blade carried by Uldren Sov. He doesn’t know how much he likes the idea of using something related to Cayde’s killer, but Ada insists, saying she knows he appreciates the older ways of combat. She also adds something about a new spin on the old ways, and Leonardo honestly has no clue what to make of that. 

All of that doubt leads to a faux pas of sorts. There’s a new face in the armory, an exo like Ada, but unfamiliar, as Leonardo felt the mystery sword would be. So he hesitates. Freezes really, long enough that Ada actually chuckles.

“This is Usa-5, Guardian. He won’t bite.” 

Leo coughs, continues forward, and holds out one of his bulky, three fingered hands. Usa-5 stares at it curiously for a moment, then bows. Leo blinks, then follows suit, smiling a little under his helmet at such a formal, antiquated greeting.

When he rises he can’t help the one word that slips out, raised at the end like a question. “Usa?” 

The new exo doesn’t speak, instead Ada-1 steps in to break the beat of silence.  “Yes,” she says, amusement still laced into her voice, “Usa is intentional. 

Leo’s eyes are still fixed on… him? Usa-5 is clearly styled to be more masculine, his metal body has sharper angles than Ada’s, even if there is still some curves along his— 

Leo’s eyes fly back up, thankful that his helmet is there to cover the sudden heat that flares up into his cheeks.  That face. So very distinct in its shaping. It’s why he’d asked about ‘Usa’ in the first place. The eyes are nothing remarkable. Like most other exo’s, they glow bright and occasionally shutter closed like camera lenses, but… but the metal below them doesn’t shape to form lips, or even a recess and volume visualizer like Ada-1’s. Usa-5’s alloys instead bend out to a tip of what Leo can only describe as a snout. That isn’t all though, really it’s not even the most notable feature. No, even more obvious is the tall triangular antennae that flick and sway as Usa-5 stares him down. Leonardo finds himself wondering if he’s ever seen a more charming exo. 

He doesn’t ask that. Instead he turns back toward Ada, and tries to word his actual question as carefully as he can. “Not to offend, but is he here because of the new sword or…?” 

Neither of them bristle. Ada responds with a nod. “Yes.” Then she tilts her head a little and concedes, “…and no. Usa-5 did indeed craft the blade I called you here for, but he is also here as part of a… training program?” 

“An apprentice of yours then?” Leo says it with a playful note to his voice, and gets the sarcastic bite he expects back from Ada. 

She rolls her eyes. “Something to that effect I suppose. You see, as much I would love to spend all my precious time attending to you guardians, I simply can’t, especially with the hours you all keep. Still, I and the rest of the armory felt that the forge should continue to be available at all hours if possible. The solution is simple enough. I’ve begun to train others to monitor this post, with Usa-5 being the first of a hand picked few.” 

Leo nods, smiles, and turns back to the new face. “So I’ll be seeing more of you then?” 

There’s enough of a pause that Leonardo almost doesn’t expect a response, but no, Usa-5 is indeed capable of speech. “Yes, guardian.” He says with a curt nod. 

—

Leonardo enters the armory backward: smile on his face, helmet in his hand, ghost at his side, and still chuckling at something Michelangelo said before speeding off to find Donnie. 

He turns, and just like last time, freezes. This time, Usa-5 does too. His eyes snap from place to place along Leonardo’s body in a way that by now is completely familiar. When him and his brothers had first been resurrected by the Traveler’s light, there had been questions, wonder, disgust, outrage, curiosity, but between the existence of Exo’s and Awoken, and the undeniable fact that all of them had been chosen, many had gotten used to the presence of four mutated turtles in their ranks. The vanguard’s approval and recognition helped too of course. Not many dared to question Ikora or Zavala individually, and when they agreed on something, well there wasn’t much to do but go along with it. 

Still, new lights and rare visitors to the last city were caught off guard at times. Especially when they took any of their armor off. Usa is a bit more tactful than the new lights though, and cuts his stare with another traditional bow. “Guardian.” 

Leonardo mimics the movement and takes a moment to contend with the deja vu. When he rises, Okami has already drifted forward, shell twisting to and fro as he inspects what he missed last time. There’s a pause where the only sound is the clicking and whirring of his ghost as he analyzes, then Okami turns, and his mechanical voice is as smug as Leonardo’s ever heard. “You’re right Leo, he is definitely… interesting.” 

The teasing makes Leo’s face burn bright and this time there’s no helmet to cover it up. Usa-5 doesn’t seem to pick up on the salacious undertones though, and simply looks at Leo quizzically. “I appreciate being of interest, but I can’t possibly imagine what was so fascinating. I barely spoke last time we met.” Then the metal plates of Usa-5’s snout shift in an unusual way. It takes Leo longer than he wants to admit to realize the change is a gentle smile.  

“Y-Your sword.” He says because that’s the first thing that comes to mind. He means the weapon of course, but can already hear Okami turning that into a double entendre later. He squashes that thought down. “It’s been very useful.” 

Another shift of metal. The smile is wider now, more enthused than gentle. “Oh good. And it continues to interact with the void light you imbued it with as intended?” 

“Yes. Just as you described and demonstrated.” 

“Excellent! And what do you think of the projectile overall?”

Leonardo reaches behind him and pulls the sword from its sheath with the sound of metal against leather. It hums in his hands as he holds it out horizontally, pulsing with vibrant purple void light. He recalls how easily the sharp blade broke through hordes of Hive, Eliskni, Cabal but… any sword could do that. 

No, what Usa will want to hear are stories like the time he and Donnie were pinned down by a Vex Hydra, tense and scared as they watched Raphael’s ghost slowly repair his broken body in the open. He’ll want to know how the sword’s projectiles buffeted back the hulking mechanical frame long enough for Spike to finish fixing their brother, long enough for them to regroup and win the day. 

Leonardo opens his mouth to relay all that, but the recounting sticks in his throat like taffy. There’s another aspect that he isn’t sure he should voice. How he always feels safest with a sword in his hand, even when he knows that the more standard firearms of the Tower and Black Armory are more practical, are safer. Donnie had told him it was likely a memory, something he only half remembered from their past, mortal lives. Regardless of the reason, a ranged blade, a “caster frame” as Ada-1 had called it, allowed him to not have to compromise. Allowed him to always feel secure under fire. 

“It’s.” He swallows. “I never would have thought of it, but that part has been invaluable. Really, words can’t express my gratitude.” 

Usa-5’s shutter eyes go wide, then click closed and open several times in rapid succession. “You mean it?” 

Leonardo nods once, curt and sharp, and Usa-5’s smile blossoms into a bright, beaming thing that Leo can’t help but match. 

—

"Hunter."

"I've graduated beyond Guardian now?"

"I am learning. Your roles. Your... Vanguard, and the titles associated with it. The Black Armory was never concerned with such things. Until recently that is."

Leonardo smirks. "I see. I appreciate the interest. Ada-1 still calls me Guardian. Just... don't make it obvious you're developing a soft spot. Secret's safe with me."

Usa-5's mechanical 'ears' flick downward, hinting at embarrassment or at the very least the fact that he's caught off guard. Just like a rabbit, Leonardo thinks.

—

Leonardo holds the little tin package gingerly, rubbing his fingers over the cool metal. He’s already delivered Ikora’s and Zavala’s cookies and he’s of course picked out more targeted gifts for his brothers, but he’s questioned and reconsidered this Dawning present over and over. 

Baked goods are standard, friendly, but not considered and personal like what he gave his family. He’s had deeper conversations with Usa-5 now. Not anything terribly profound but more than casual greetings and small talk. That’s how he’s learned of Usa-5’s love for vanilla shortbread. That’s how he learned that Usa-5 hadn’t celebrated the dawning in a long, long while. 

“If you don’t make a move soon I’m going to charge in and tell him how much of a chicken you are.” Leonardo startles at Okami’s words, then glares at the little laughing menace. He’s never known another ghost that takes so much delight in teasing its guardian. Even Klunk, fun loving though he is, usually teases others with Michelangelo. 

“I’m—“ he goes to scold his ghost, but then pauses, sighs, and looks down at his gift again. “What if it’s too much?” 

“Oh please! They’re cookies! I bet you fifty thousand glimmer he got you some too.” 

Leonardo rolls his eyes. As ghost and guardian, their resources are intertwined, so any glimmer of his also belongs to Okami. Once Drifter had taught them what gambling was though, there was always some sort of bet from his ghost. Even if it didn’t really count as such. Especially when it didn’t count. 

“I don’t—“ 

Okami starts to drift backward toward the Black Armory’s entrance. “I’m gonna do it!” 

Leonardo lurches forward, grabbing for his ghost’s traitorous form, only for Okami to dart away once, twice, thrice. Leo almost has him, the little demon, just—

“Hunter? Are you alright?” 

Leo turns slowly, and sees Usa-5’s bright eyes staring into him, all curiosity and concern. Okami speaks before he can, calling out cheerfully. “A joyous Dawning to you, Usa-5.” 

Leo wants to cringe into himself, into dust, into a puddle on the floor, even as Usa-5 five calls back cheerfully, “Yes! A happy Dawning to you as well, Ghost. And you too, Hunter.” 

It’s too much. Usa won’t even use his name. Even something as surface level as baked goods is too obviously sentimental to be appropriate. Especially when they’re homemade, especially when Leo remembered his favorite from an offhand comment said weeks ago. Maybe he could just—

“I— I got you something. Well. More… made you something.” It takes Leonardo a moment to realize those words are not his own, but Usa-5’s. “It’s nothing extravagant or unusual, but I did not wish to go overboard, and Ada said this would be… appropriate.” 

Leo’s gaze drifts down from the bright eyes, the metal snout. Usa-5 is holding out a sword in both hands. A finely crafted, honed thing with a long, thin metal blade that has frost creeping along its back edge. Leo immediately feels the pulsing weight of darkness energy, of stasis, of control. 

“How—“

“The Drifter infused it for me. He was very helpful once I asked, though he kept pestering me with strange questions.” 

“Oh I bet he did…” Okami says it with an edge that implies a lot of… something. Leo guesses there might be another entendre in there somewhere, but before he can really start puzzling it out, Okami continues, more cheerfully, “That’s great! Fantastic really, since Leonardo got you something too.” 

Leo freezes as those words float out into the air. He’s ashamed to admit that he does consider ending Okami right then and there for the briefest of moments, then even more embarrassing, he contemplates running for many, many more moments. 

“Oh! That’s very kind of you. I—“ There’s a stuttering whirr that sounds a lot like cogs and wires getting tangled up. For a moment Leo even considers that there might be a serious malfunction in Usa-5’s artificial voice box or metallic jaw. It is kind of just… hanging open. But then the muzzle clicks shut and opens a second later with a gentle, joyous smile. “Thank you.” 

Okami doesn’t say anything else, he simply floats out of the way and turns toward his guardian. Deferring to him, but also… egging him on almost. 

Leo takes the hint and power walks down the hall, hand already outstretched to offer what seems like a measly gift next to Usa-5’s sword. Each movement is mechanical and stiff, more robotic than any exo, ghost, or Vex Leonardo had ever seen. “Here I— um. I-I’m pretty sure I remembered correctly.” 

Usa-5’s shifts the sword to one hand and lets it drop to his side. Each movement seems like water next to what Leonardo was… attempting a moment ago. Usa plucks the tin up with one sleek, intricate hand. They too look like the picture of grace next to the thick, heavy, three-fingered mitts the mutation left Leo and his brothers with. He does his best not to dwell on the difference.

Watching Usa work is a much better use of his time anyway. The way his thumb flexes, strains against the metal cap for a moment, before it yields and pops open. The way that digit keeps lifting, flicking the lid to the side to reveal what Leo can only hope is a prize worth the effort. 

“These—“ There’s a moment where lenses whirr, shutter closed. Then Usa-5’s muzzle flexes and spreads into that bright, beaming sort of smile again. “You did remember. Vanilla shortbread, and—“ he giggles, actually *giggles.* Leo didn’t know a member of the black armory could do that. He does know it’s the most wonderful sound he’s heard since the Traveler resurrected him. “Look at them. Shaped like little blades.” 

Usa-5 had been focused on the gift until that moment, but when his bright eyes and shining smile turn up, back toward Leo, there’s a funny little flutter his heart and stomach do simultaneously. 

He knows he should say something. ‘You’re welcome’ ‘I’m glad you like them.’ Nothing comes out. Leo doesn’t mind though. Usa-5’s next words are better than anything he could have come up with. 

“Thank you Hu—“ a pause, a shifting of the lenses in those glowing eyes, then, “Thank you, Leonardo.”

#leosagi #katanashipping #tmnt #tmnt 2003 #usagi miyamoto #tmnt 2k3 #my fanfiction #destiny 2

[shadowfoxsilver]

Jess the dragon/pony/thing

(Sometimes referred to as Jess the mod!dragon thing because she’s just the ‘sona I made to represent myself among my ocs lol)

In honor of my birthday, here’s some better information/lore/etc about Jess, the Realm Guardian of Dreams and the current protector of the Key Trio keys!

—

What is Jess? Jess is actually a Thing! A creature who can shapeshift freely but rarely shows how they really look. However, she still has a few flaws that can be seen when she takes on her usual forms. She was still created by the keys themselves after all.

For example, in her dragon form (the most commonly seen form), Jess only has scales on her feet and hands! The rest of her body is basically scale-less. It’s very smooth but useless for defending herself. Also, her wings are completely skeletal! The wings you see are actually magical illusions casted to give her the ability to fly. They can appear as dragon, bird, or both! If her magic is weak, she can not hide her wings and also can’t use magic to fly. Her horns are also really fragile and can easily break which is easy to see as her dragon form rarely has her horns in their full length. Lastly, Jess’ tongue is far too long for her mouth and she usually has it stuck out. It is forked. In dragon form, her magic appears around her hands.

In her pony form, Jess also can use mismatched wings freely. This is because her wings are also bones and she uses magic to obscure it from view. In this form she doesn’t have claws or scales, but can also have a dragon tail mixed with her pony tail. Her horn is also slightly curved, and this causes her magic to arc slightly when aimed. She is also part changeling! Though this is only by the one orange arm of hers that has holes in it as most changeling arms do.

Jess is very powerful! But due to her unstable magic she has to use the keys to properly manage her strength. These keys may appear dangling from her tail in dragon form or appear as her mark in pony form. Sometimes this causes rattling noises to follow wherever she goes. If the keys are destroyed, Jess’ power will destroy her as it builds out of control.

While Jess can disguise herself as anything, she can not fix her flaws and they remain across her various forms. She is technically just a dragon who can not fly without magic support but has very sharp claws and can breathe multi-colored flames.

Jess’ canon ‘child’ is @ask-keystar , though only due to Keystar using her magic to manifest from the yellow key that was once held by Darkstar. Keystar appeared as a newborn but quickly aged into being grown up. Keystar still calls Jess mom though. Otherwise, Jess does not have children. Aside from the non-canon ones who are the result of what happens if magic goes awry and created them. These children are scarcely seen. Jess doesn’t see them enough to know where their at.

Due to a curse Lavandu placed on Jess, she can be corrupted. But it’s very dangerous and advised not to purposely corrupt Jess with darkness.

#my ocs #Jess the mod!dragon thing

[batwritings]

Hi there^^

I’ve been following for a while, but it’s my first time requesting lol

Could we perhaps (and only If you want to, ofc!) get some of Eret with a trans!male reader, who just- doesn’t like their body-?

Only if you want!

(Also could I perhaps be 🇬🇧✨ anon?)

Hello friend! This one um...hits closer to home than I'd like to admit ^^; for a few different reasons actually. So, from personal experience: Enjoy~!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You couldn't help the loud sigh that escaped your lips as you looked yourself over in the fitting room mirror. Running your hands down your bound chest and across your waist only made your frown deepen. It felt like no matter what you did, your body was never to your liking. Curves in the wrong places, parts that couldn't be erased without literally cutting your skin up to fix it, not to mention the scars that followed.

"Did you not like the shirt I picked?" came a familiar voice from the doorway. You met Eret's gaze (or what you could assume was her gaze, damn sunglasses) in the mirror where she stood behind you with a few other options. "I thought that deeper red would really suit you."

"It's not the clothes Eret," you sighed, turning away from your reflection. "Or your phenomenal fashion taste." There was a brief smile on your face before your expression and eyes fell. "It's me. It's my body."

"Oh?" She mused, approaching you while tossing the formal shirts aside. "What about this lovely vessel of yours dearest?"

"That's just it," you huffed, turning back to the mirror. "Every time I look at myself I'm just...disgusted. Nothing looks right and it feels like every time I go to make the effort it's in vain. I know I shouldn't get caught up on vanity, but...I don't know."

Eret sighed before placing their hands on your shoulders. "You know, first and foremost that I'm not at all with you for your looks yes?" they asked softly. Soft yet calloused hands ran down your arms, resting on your hips. "You have this body for a reason. And it's perfect the way it is."

"It's curvy in the wrong places," you grumbled softly. Eret gently kneads into your sides. Slowly does the king turn you around, slipping off their sunglasses in the meantime.

Solid white irises meet yours with the softest expression you've seen on your royal partner to date. It's almost unnerving until an onslaught of kisses start to pepper your skin. At first, your immense dislike of your body leaves you with the urge to pull away, but it doesn't take long for Eret to find your ticklish spots.

"E-Eret!" you screech, laughter bursting from your throat almost unwilliningly. "St-stop it! Hahaha, what're you doing?" But she doesn't stop, kiss upon kiss landing on all the most sensitive spots on your body.

"There's that smile I love," he chuckles. Tears prick your eyes both from the tickles and your queen's words. "No matter what body you have, no matter what you look like, I will always love you my dear Y/N." Her calloused pinky links itself with yours. "And that's a promise."

You wanted so very much to burst into tears in her arms, but you simply locked your pinky tighter with his own.

"Thank you Eret."

#bat writes #anon reqs #eret fluff #dsmp fluff #mcyt fluff #🇬🇧✨anon

[thoughtful-lume]

An excerpt from ‘Equilibrium’

Namjoon’s vision is blurry as he forces air back into his lungs. His panic is short-lived, peculiarly so for a child at the tender age of five. He stutters an inhale, chest expanding as he wills the fear away. On the fifth exhale, his eyes blink open; he’s back in the middle of the street amidst the crowds of people racing every which way. The buzzing of their voices dims as he tunes out the sounds around him. He aims his focus at the slabs beneath his feet, the stone cool and uneven under the leather draped around his feet.

Up until this point, Namjoon had believed the earth a constant. Grateful as he threaded over land, as his mother taught him, but the gentle mass that cradled life had never been in motion. Safe, stable, stationary. Until mere hours ago, when the ground had rattled and burst open, fissures rupturing the earth to swallow down entire buildings as the skies themselves had roared something petrifying.

His mother held him close, hand to his head as she had spoken words of calm despite the rhythmic surge behind her ribs right where Namjoon’s ear had been pressed. He wanted to believe her yet he knew her heart best – a melody ingrained in his very bones from way before he had been born.

So he takes another breath. Then another. And as his toes wiggle and trace the cracks and crevices of the patchy slab beneath him, he gathers all his courage, just like his mother had for his sake, and opens his eyes.

It takes him a few moments to process his surroundings, the loud voices, the thumping of feet over the road, the clinking of tools in the distance. He steels his heart, willing it to slow, to listen, and his eyes zero in on a building in the distance. One that stands tall and unscathed, mere steps away from an upturned fountain. A tower soars behind it, tilted, its roof ready to keel over. A tile slides off, then another follows.

Namjoon’s feet move. A safe place is what he had been taught to seek had he ever gotten lost.

He makes his way through the thongs of people swiftly. Rubble and debris stick to the bottom of his shoes.

A cart sits in the middle of the road, chock-full of stone wedges, tools, and leather fixings. He climbs on top of it, one foot after the other, eager not to lose sight of the building as he treads on.

With the general direction in mind, he jumps off the cart and makes his way over to the curved stone path to the right, ducking between a rushing adult’s legs one time too many.

Behind him, now, stretches the market street, where he’d lost the warmth of his mother’s hand all too suddenly.

The stairs at the end of the path are steep but it doesn’t deter him. He continues on valiantly, trusting that his mother will know where to look.

A tree cuts him in his tracks, the green giant lying horizontally across the path. Tears gather in Namjoon’s eyes, something as big is bound to be equally as old. His little hand runs over the bark, rugged and crumbling under his touch and with an apology on his lips, he forces his foot between the ridges of the bark and climbs over the fallen tree.

He swings one foot over the other side when the earth rumbles.

An eerie hush falls over the city.

He counts one, two–

A sickening crack echoes from his near vicinity and the very ground disappears before his eyes.

His hands scramble for purchase, fingers digging into the ancient bark.

Something moves.

Everything moves.

The earth roars as colossal chunks of it sink, their other halves lifting up towards the skies. Water splashes somewhere and the mere sound of it so petrifying as if a gargantuan mass has broken the surface. The wave of vibration it causes chills Namjoon to the bone.

He remains still way after the movements have ceased, eyes clenched shut and hands firm on the tree beneath him. Breathing in, then out.

Gradually, the sounds of the people come back to him and he chances opening a single eyelid.

His entire body breaks into a tremor when he notices the ground below him. The path he had stood on not ten minutes ago now sits meters below the tree and panic is ready to rush right back in as Namjoon shakily looks to the other side and sees the tree suspended by its crown on a chunk of crumbling land where the rest of the path continues.

His heart trembles. It shakes and convulses and it hurts. Tears roll down his cheeks, unbidden. Something squeezes at his chest and all he wants is to feel the warmth of his mother’s hands around him.

He’s petrified. Not a single muscle in his body wants to move. The tree hangs, its uprooted end barely touching the lowered part of the land.

He sobs and wails, tries to will it all away. But the bark under his fingertips persists, it doesn’t turn into the cotton of his sheets, the silk of his mother’s dresses when he lies on her lap in the afternoons. It’s hard and it digs into his soft skin, unlike the delicate fabrics that his mother blankets him in.

His sobs turn into gasps, his entire body pulsing in turn. The skin of his temple hurts with how hard he’s pressing into the tree, but he vaguely acknowledges it.

His vision swims, the forest across his line of sight mixes into greens and grays.

Something blinks. A yellowish dot blends somewhere into the colors and Namjoon sucks a breath in and squeezes his eyes shut. He pushes his forehead against the bark and hopes it all goes away.

The life gets startled out of him when something pokes his shoulder. He lifts his head and finds nothing there. Tremors continue to shake his small frame and he almost falls when he sees something dart closer within his peripherals.

A gust of wind and a flash of yellow and red twirl around him, disorienting him altogether, just as a shape forms before his very eyes.

It’s stubby, a blend of reds and browns and grays, a hint of ivory peeking behind its trunk. The texture of its skin is similar to the one digging into Namjoon’s fingertips. Big, dark eyes peer back at him, globes of obsidian as deep as the fissure below the tree seems. It smells of foliage, the forest during fall. Its stubby body hangs in the air, held up by the two massive ears made out of what have to be numerous tree leaves intricately weaved together. It flaps them, up and down, up and down. An eleafant.

It stretches no bigger than the size of Namjoon’s fists put together.

The eleafant inhales and as its trunk stretches, a chirping sound chimes out of its tiny body.

It cocks its head as the sounds dies down, eyes curiously trained on Namjoon.

It, then, inhales again, its entire body straining with how much air it forces in and this time the sound is that of a cherry-green lemur.

Namjoon exhales shakily and the eleafant beams, back flipping in the air.

Its trunk reaches towards its ears and it squeezes its eyes shut before it pulls and plucks out a leaf out of its ear. A tear rolls down its face and it uses the leaf to wipe it away before it offers it to Namjoon, hoping that he does the same.

He remains unmoving, eyes fixed on the leaf the creature holds with its trunk.

Moments pass before his muscles budge and ever so slowly, he reaches out and grabs it tenderly, albeit shaking, and whispers out a ‘thank you’.

The eleafant watches happily as Namjoon mimics the action, pressing the leaf against the skin of his cheek.

Its eyes shift, however, and what Namjoon will soon realize is a sign of alarm washes over the little creature. It begins moving frantically before Namjoon’s face, trunk pointing behind Namjoon as it fidgets around.

He slowly turns around in time to see the stone plates that keep the tree suspended are beginning to crumble and crack. His heart speeds up but before he panics he feels a weight against his cheek, and a warm little mass signaling for his attention.

He watches as the tiny creature rolls in the air before it shoots up the body of the tree and begins jerking this and that way at the base of the crown.

Almost like... It’s urging him.

His instincts are split between latching onto the bark and never moving again and climbing up and getting back onto solid ground instead.

The eleafant squiggles from its spot before it shoots back down and wraps its trunk around one of Namjoon’s fingers, pulling it up towards the crown of the tree. He shakes his head from side to side, fear locking him up at the mere thought of moving. Yet, as the wind picks up, the little creature becomes more and more insistent, the urgency now clear in its dark eyes.

Stone grinds on stone and the telltale crack of wood splitting reaches Namjoon’s ears. He twists around once more and to his utter horror, the plate that holds the tree in the air is now threatening to slide off the lifted cliff and slam the entire tree down with it.

[...]

(An excerpt from a story that I probably will never finish.)

— dated December 28, 2021, dormant in my google drive 

#bts fanfiction #fantasy #namjoon #excerpt #title:equilibrium

[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 :’) 

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

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. What happened?”

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

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

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

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

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom gulps nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

Tom follows you…?

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute.

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

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

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

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

Y/N: hey x

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

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, is it a home game?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me a spin, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

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

“Dutchy?” you question.

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

You coo. “That’s cute.”

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

And Tom… Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

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

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

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

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, darling.”

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

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

“What, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What— Tom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Penalty.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

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

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

“Funnier than me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

A smile breaks out across your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Overnight?”

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

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

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

“You can open them now.”

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

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

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

[notnctu]

push & pull | kim doyoung

❀ slytherin!doyoung x hufflepuff!femreader ❀ genre - SLOW BURN, smut, fluff, a bit of humor (idk not rlly) ❀ details -  hogwarts!au, fwb to lovers?, y/n is a player lol, jealous doyoung, mutual pining, doyoung is a lil mean ❀ word count - 9.7k ❀ warnings - explicit language, possessiveness (a concept of marking), dom!doyoung, angry sex?, slight dirty talk, penetration, fingering, praise kink ❀ synopsis - in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞  

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞ ❀ a/n - i changed the plot a little bit as i was writing lol but hopefully it still fits everything! i said this in the teaser, but i want to preface and say that the magic/marking is not canon to harry potter, and that the only thing im using are the sectional houses/subjects. besides that, everything is made up LMAO also pls b lenient with me, i read hogwarts!au but writing it is very out of my comfort zone and am very bad at creating anything magical 

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Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, mindlessly and imperfectly steals glances your way across the dining tables and under several hundred floating lit candles. He sits huddled with his few posh friends that wear the same green and silver tie situated so tightly underneath their necks. And you, just looking as dazzling as ever, with your yellow and black tie hanging loose and a few buttons undone from your dress shirt.

He hates how easily you catch his attention and his ability to spot your figure in a dense crowd. You barely even look his way in public now, often distracted by a broad Gryffindor that tries to make flirtatious advantages at you. And when he thinks it can’t get any worse, it does… as you’re flashing your bright beautiful smile back at him and the shift in your body language.

“You’re staring again.” Yuta flickers between his friend and the subject of his focus.

Doyoung clears his throat, smooths his tie and physically turns his body away from the horrendous scene. “It’s very hard not to stare when she’s flirting with other men in front of me.”

“Does she do it on purpose?” The silver haired boy raises a questionable eyebrow and Doyoung reacts before he can speak.

He perks up and narrows his eyes at Yuta. “Purpose? Like to make me jealous?” Doyoung scoffs, laughs almost at the ridiculous thought. “The answer is no. We’re not exclusive, we’re nothing.”

“If you two are nothing, then why are you acting like you two are something? Get a grip, it’s practically sickening watching you fume over a ditzy Hufflepuff.” As Yuta prepares to bite into his delicious soft bread roll, it flies out of his grip, down the long table and onto another person’s plate.

Both boys are quick to stand to their feet and face each other chest to chest. Neither one of them is intimidated by the other, but their other friends around them are rather shocked by the sudden discrepancy.

Doyoung forcibly brushes off an imaginary dust off his good friend’s shoulders and draws a perfectly strained fake smile, knowing that others may be watching and he is a Prefect after all. But most importantly, you could be watching. “Call her that again, and your dinner won’t be the only thing that’s thrown across the table.” His threat is loud enough solely for Yuta to hear.

Yuta, with glaring eyes, picks up his dinner tray and walks off with his chin held high and a brisk in his stride. Doyoung clears his throat in the midst of the brief silence and out of habit, fixes his tie back in place. He takes a seat back down and the chatter at the table resumes, but he’s beyond embarrassed and disappointed at his loss of temper that everything drowns out.

Almost everything. He feels a light tap on his shoulder and out of annoyance, he spins around hastily and sharply snarls, “what?” But his eyes land on your fearful wide eyes and the slight cower in your stance, knowing that you caught onto his bad mood. And he’s half in disbelief that you’re approaching him right in the center of the Great Hall, that you’re standing so beautiful a foot away from him.

Instant regret and guilt fills his chest, his sharp eyes soften at your pout and the concerned furrow in between your brows. Nonetheless, he doesn’t have any words to say… he can’t get himself to apologize for his behavior.

“Do you want to walk to Herbology with me?” The quiver in your voice made you seem so small, so desperate for him, that he can hear the reactions of his friends. They’re laughing, at him, at you, at the whole scene that’s unfolding. He feels mocked, being a laughing stock isn’t something he’s very fond of.

His lips form a tight line, and in a snarky tone, “you don’t know your own way, Puff? Mind you ask your own Prefect to guide you.” Fuck. He tried to find the nicest way possible to brush you off, but his friends laugh a bit louder and intensely. And you didn’t like that one bit.

Your lips part slightly in a frown, an eyebrow raised and a hand on your hip. You look as if you’re ready to attack him, to jinx him, to probably pinch at his skin. But he knows you, and you’d do none of the above. Instead, you say the one threat that causes his heart to sink into the pit of his stomach, “don’t talk to me in class.” You’re slipping away from him as you pick up your pace, exiting all the commotion in the Great Hall.

He tries to hide the disappointment that stems from his chest, and his heart beats with an inexplicable dull pain. All he can think about is the twist of your expression and he’s gathering his things rather quickly to follow after you, without even a bid goodbye to his clique.

Without any knowledge of what you two do behind closed doors and the complex history that you two share, one may view your relationship as practically nonexistent; you two are strangers, barely passing acquaintances. 

Doyoung does not approach you in the halls, in anywhere that necessarily has many witnesses. You smile at him, maybe even a wave depending on your mood, but no one questions it … as you wave at almost everyone who passes by you.

Classmates might see interaction during the one class you two share, if they pay attention close enough. However, you and Doyoung are much more to each other than passing acquaintances. Although he’s starting to see himself as another name on your list of individuals you sleep with, you are much more to him than you could ever know.

He’ll never forget the first time you two met. He was patrolling the halls for anyone lurking past curfew with his nose dug deep in his heavy book on magical creatures, when you walked right into him and caused the both of you to fall to the granite.

He was beyond ready to dock off points for whoever the rule breaker may be, but you took his breath away when you hovered above him and clasped your palm over his mouth before he can scold anyone. You looked a bit frazzled as your hair was all over the place and he noticed your minimal amount of clothing in the middle of a cold winter night.

He saw the signature Hufflepuff badge on your thin sweater and the sound of your voice completely threw him off his tracks.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper at the stunned Prefect underneath you, whose body feels warm against your own. But your eyes remain frantically on the lookout for anyone else passing, despite the lack of light in the cobblestone hallway. You most definitely do not belong in this wing of the castle and knocking down a Prefect caused more of a problem in your escape route.

Quickly standing up, you lend your hand out for him to take. His long fingers accept your hold as he pulls himself up and dusts the dirt off his robe. His green emblem glows in the dim light and you’re internally screaming at the mess you just made for yourself. But you recognize his features: the sharpness in his eyes, the small curves of the corners of his lips, his neatly parted black hair.

“You’re in some deep---”

“---Kim Doyoung.” The boy freezes at the sound of his name and he blinks at you, curious as to where you know of him. Being a Prefect has its small perks of popularity, but he didn’t expect for it to go this far. “Y/N, we had brooms together.”

As he repeats your name and examines your pretty features, a light bulb goes off in his head. “The clumsy Hufflepuff that fell off her broom in the highest altitude?”

“If that’s how you remember me by.” You smile proudly, and he scoffs at how someone could possibly hold pride in something so silly. “It’s nice to see you around, you’re a Prefect! Wow! That’s incredible.”

“And you’re still as clumsy as you were a year ago. Falling all over the place.”

“Unfortunately, some things don’t change! But you certainly have.” Doyoung looks at you with hooded eyes and a cautious gaze, but you’re so outlandishly bold despite swaying with your hands behind your back. “Please, don’t take that the wrong way. I meant it as a compliment! I used to have a tiny crush on you, baseless, but you helped me catch my broomstick and I’ll never be able to forget that.”

Doyoung, unknowingly, lights up at your shameless confession and takes another good look at you. You're much more mature now, and if he stared into your alluring gaze any longer, he’d be completely mesmerized without the need of a love potion. “So you liked me over a meaningless chivalrous act?”

“I liked you because you were charming and yes, perhaps I am someone who finds attractiveness in men who are chivalrous. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You bat your sweet eyelashes at him so endearingly, and he’s a blushing mess all over the place.

Doyoung has had anonymous love letters passed on from his friends, but they were all Slytherins who yearned greedily to be associated with his status. So knowing that a Hufflepuff, with an innocent youthful approach to love, festered some form of infatuation with him does flatter him quite well. “I’ll let you go.”

You’re about to exhale an exasperated sigh of relief until Doyoung continues, “under one condition.”

“Okay, I’ll do anything.” Your gleaming eyes sparkle like stars paired with the night sky.

He rolls his eyes at you, “don’t be so quick to jump at conditions without hearing them first.” Doyoung groans and you passively brush off his comment.

“If it’s harmless, I’ll do it.”

And in the dead of the night, where only you two stand in the middle of an empty cobblestone hallway, Doyoung requests, “I want to see you again.”

Although that night marked the beginning of your friendship, public interactions were still scarce and this was mainly on the fault of Doyoung. The times you met were late nights past curfew where he was stationed at and he grew to enjoy your wondrous personality. This boy grew up in a Slytherin bubble his whole life, no one outside of his house ever dared approached him … at least, not with the warmest smile as yours.

You were everything he was not, but he liked it so much. You were a half that completed his whole, and there were growing pains he couldn’t confide in anyone else. Surprisingly, you knew his imperfections more than he did himself and yet, you still wanted to be around him to encourage him. Not to mention, you had a sudden growth in other parts of your body and formed into your features very beautifully.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, as there were more male counterparts who smiled at you, talked about you, fawned over you. And he felt something heighten inside of him along with his existing romantic feelings, and that he began seeing you in a new light.

With you experiencing new things, like hand holding and being showered by love letters on Valentine’s Day, it was wrong of him to fester such envy over the ones who publicly adorned you. He was so blinded by his hot headed rage that he completely missed the fact that you never accepted anyone who confessed, maybe the hand holding, but everyone else was a complete rejection.

All this time, you had been waiting for him and when you two shared your first kiss together, you had an assumption that Doyoung was going to finally confess that he felt the same way. But he never did. You two did, however, further your relationship into something more intimate and taking each other’s virginities opened a whole pathway of possibilities --- none being one where you two end up officially together.

He was the first to sleep with someone else, that was his first of many mistakes that he was going to make in his relationship with you. It also became the drop of the needle for you to start seeing other people as well, to explore what Doyoung couldn’t offer, to rid yourself of the feelings you had for a boy that didn’t seem like he wanted anything more.

Chivalry was dead and Doyoung believed that the innocent youthful Hufflepuff love had disappeared from within you.

As his present day runs after you, you’re abruptly stopped by a Ravenclaw for a small chat. Damn you Hufflepuffs for being friendly and social. So, he rushes past the two of you and into the classroom to await for your arrival. The quick shade of green flashes by your side and you’re fuming incredibly at how Doyoung continues to play you like a harp.

When you slide into your assigned seat next to him, he goes off like a canon. Doyoung starts spewing backhanded excuses and endless shameless rambles about his behavior. “I told you. Don’t talk to me during class or I will jinx you. Won’t be able to talk with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.”

“You’re not going to jinx me.” With a subtle flick of his wrist, your chair is pulled closer to his. “And if you were to do so, you wouldn’t do something so cynical.” Yelping at the abrupt usage of his magic, you’re irritably pressing your ink into your journal with a newfound annoyance.

“You’re right. I’d turn you into a duck, so at least, you’re still cute to look at.” The mindless scribbles on the paper make no sense in your head, as you’re primarily zoned in on the disrupted energy you have about your Slytherin companion. These ill feelings make you almost sick, wanting to shut out any bad replay of the moments before and forgetting about the attention you seek so much from Doyoung.

“For you to successfully cast a jinx on me, you must make eye contact first.” His finger lifts your chin and you’re eye to eye with his lustful dark stare. Doyoung licks his lips, a shine shimmers from his saliva, and he’s tempted to bring you into his chambers for an intimacy he’s been craving. “My, oh my. You’re looking very charmed today.” A grin curves up and taunts you, and you’re blinking away down at the table.

“Doyoung, we’re in class. Please, focus.” Your desperate whisper turns into a whine once his cold hand slyly smooths over your bare knee.

“Are you free later tonight?” Doyoung peers over at your side profile and your skin feels soft at his fingertips. He’s imagining your intoxicating scent mixing with his sheets, your light playful kisses along his neck, and gripping onto every naked part of you. For a whole minute, he’s forgotten that he’s in class with other no name individuals and a boring professor. He has tunnel vision whenever he’s with you.

“I have an arrangement.” The grip on your knee tightens at your quiet answer. An arrangement.

“The Gryffindor who had leafy greens in between his teeth?” Doyoung treads lightly, because you’re both well aware he’s made harsher insults than that. He retrieves his hand and picks up his pen as if he’s never touched you.

He sees your head shake out of the corner of his eye, you’re rolling your lips together sheepishly. There’s something odd about your stance and he’s growing a bit more curious…. A bit more spiteful at how closed off you are being. There’s something you’re hiding from him. “Then, who?”

“Is there something you’d like to discuss with the class, Mr. Kim? If not, I’d like for everyone to head over to the greenhouse.” As the class slightly snickers and the classroom empties, you and Doyoung are stopped by your professor.

Professor Sprout, wearing her worn out Dragon hide gloves and a thin lined smile, shoves a potted plant into Doyoung’s hands, “behave, you two. Your conversations are never very secret when spoken aloud.” She gives both of you a warning before proceeding out along with the rest of the class.

Doyoung scoffs at the absurd encounter and rolls his eyes. “Ah, you’re getting me in trouble with you now.”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung. It’s better that you don’t know.” You say this every time, when will you realize that keeping your hookups a secret only causes him more agony? He catches your wrist as you both exit the corridors, he barely ever has you alone now. And to say the least, he fucking misses you.

“Spare me some of your time after class.” He’s disgusted by himself, knowing that his eyes are begging for you to say yes. Him, a highly admired Slytherin, has settled for scraps and if anyone knew, they’d never let him live.

Your hand gently clasps over his and when you look up with your starry eyes, something inside him feels at peace. “Did you miss me?” He gulps at your question and blinks at you like a deer in headlights. If said by anyone else, he would not hesitate to snap his fingers into a malicious spell. But you ask the million dollar question so sweetly, there’s no taunt… there’s no mockery in your tone. It’s full of genuine curiosity.

So, he answers you with part of his heart that you know too well. “Unfortunately.” His body falls slightly in defeat, and suddenly the potted plant is alive in his hands. It’s wailing a dangerous and annoying loud cry, completely ruining the moment.

Doyoung quizzically ponders the monstrous green plant and its magical capabilities puzzle him, possibly reminding him to pay more attention to the actual curriculum than on your unbuttoned shirt.

Moreover, your giggle surprisingly calms him in this stressful situation and you lightly pat his hand that’s still gripping your wrist. “I’m all yours after class.” 

Taking the wretched plant, you hurry off toward the greenhouse to find someone to diffuse the crying creature. Doyoung laughs in disbelief at your comical animated figure running around with a pot over your head and shouting for any student to help you. So you’re not paying attention in class either?

Doyoung takes you to your favorite place, despite the rule that you’re not allowed access to it. The Prefect Bathroom remains spotlessly clean and fresh paired with an immediate scent of rosewater and wild honeysuckle. The white polished marble gleams prettily under the twinkling diamond chandeliers and you’re twirling enthusiastically in the center of the large undressing area.

He observes and smiles widely to himself at the sight of your happiness and cute giggles. It’s always a risk to have you use their bathroom, but he is always abusing his privilege to seek your enjoyment that he truly doesn’t care about anything else. Your morality has beaten him enough and he’s heard plenty about his wrongdoings, yet here you are… sweetly dancing in the one place that’s absolutely wrong. Perhaps, you two have rubbed off a little too much on one another.

“I can never get sick of this place.” As you plead to Doyoung to cast a bubble bath, you’re already stripping out of your skirt. He shields his eyes to give you some privacy and recites the charm to run hot dazzling water in the ginormous pool. A nice soothing bath is exactly what you two need after a stressful day playing in the dirt.

“This is your favorite place.” says Doyoung with a matter of fact edge to this tone.

“It’s my favorite place because I only get to come here with you.” You jump on his back and he hoists you up by your thighs. His heart skips a happy tune. “I refuse for you to tell me the password, even if you do wish for me to enjoy the simple pleasures of a bubble bath.”

“You and your right and wrongs.” With eager hands, you’re loosening his tie from around his neck. “You stripped so fast that you’re going to get a cold.”

“It’s going to get steamy really soon. Plus, I know you like me best without any clothes on.” Your hot breath tickles the shell of his ear and a blush scatters across Doyoung’s cheek. Button after button, his open shirt exposes his toned build. He sets you on the edge of the elevated step before the bath.

Doyoung smirks at your nakedness and your hot lustful expression. Leaning in until he’s practically breathing against your lips, he stares straight into your eyes. “My Puff knows me best.” And dives into you with all his soul. Fruitful drags of his lips along yours, his long tongue enters your mouth. His large hand carefully caresses your cheek to pull you further into the kiss, noses pressing into skin and with a desire to never part.

His heart swells lovingly, kissing you feels like the best thing in the world. There are no tricks, no spells, no recited charms, but you are more than magical. The same surge of energy runs through his veins, but unlike his impressive ability as a notable wizard, he can’t control it. You make him lose control. As meticulous and cautious as he is, you’re the first thing he doesn’t think through.

Your needy hands push off his dress shirt and he hurriedly unbuckles his belt. When you break the kiss, he automatically pouts and pulls you back in for one more lingering peck. “Are you going to scrub my back for me?” You smile, dragging him closer to the overflowing bathtub.

Large puffs of white bubbles spill from the rims and disappear with your every step. It reminds you of sea foam that washes upon the shore, with a floral fragrant that fills your lungs. “That’s quite an intimate gesture, but yes.”

After removing all his garments, he joins you in the large pool of glossy bubbles and the clouds of steam that rises from the water suffocates him warmly. He sits with his back against the wall and eyes unwavering on your alluring expression. 

The bubbles do a great job at covering your breasts, but his sneaky hands snake under the water to grip them. Doyoung grabs a full tit and thumbs over your erect nipple, all while he holds the most sensual gaze with you. Slowly, you naturally end up in his hold and your wet back relaxes against his chest.

The beating of his heart is too loud and surely, you can feel the way it jumps out of his chest. Doyoung attaches his lips on your skin and as you’re melting at his harsh suckling. However, you perk up and snap out of your dazed arousal at the realization of his purposeful licks. “You’re trying to mark me?”

His hand continues to rub and twist your aching nipples. The sensation stimulating the growth of pleasure to sprout below and your mind to wander. 

“Possibly.”

A lovers’ mark is the ultimate testament of mutual love. Engraving the skin with your beloved’s Patronus, wherever the giver chooses to mark. Love emblems are meant to be something sacred to the couple, a way to make someone completely untouchable to everyone else. Not only does the symbol glow with an iridescent shine whenever love is felt, it also numbs any romantic feelings for all others besides the partner.

Besides the use of possessiveness, it’s a beautiful way to discover one true love since the engraving of their Patronus shows up on the skin under the conditions that both individuals must be madly in love with one another. And if it doesn’t end up forming, the receiver is left with a bright, sparkling star hue in its place before fading away completely. If it does appear, it fades when both fall out of love.

“Doyoung--” His name falls from your lips as a moan and he’s running down to explore the beauty between your legs. “--can’t do that unless you actually want to commit to me.”

“I am committed to you.” The more your neck cranes off to the side and exposed to him, the more he wishes to etch the symbol of his love for everyone to see. A hand is hooked under your thigh to keep your legs spread open and you’re gasping at the slight pressure from the water.

“Romantically committed to me.” You remind him, but your train of thought is cut fairly short as Doyoung begins rubbing circles on your needy clit.

“You’re afraid of it showing up?” He’s lathering your breasts with bubbles and dragging his long finger along your slit. His greediness overtakes him and with wandering hands, he’s gripping every part of you that they can reach. Doyoung’s guilty pleasure is always going to any form of physical affection from you specifically. When he finally gets ahold of you, it’s hard for him to let go.

Your warm skin is delicate and smooth beneath the very tips of his fingers and every exploration of your terrain makes him feel inexplicable explosions of fondness. Perhaps, you’ve captivated him and although he believed it would take something as extreme as the Amortentia to have him falling for someone, you did it as easily as being yourself. His better half.

So, he’s impressed by your genuineness and how he’s willing to give up parts of his reputation to unapologetically be himself around you. No one else matters, nothing else matters, but why must it be so difficult to tell you that?

“I’m afraid of it not showing up.” You’re more than convinced that Doyoung has confused his strong sense of lust with love and there would be no possible way his Patronus would appear. It’s better to save the embarrassment for the both of you.

Spinning in his arms, the water twirls to the curves of your body and he’s admiring parts that expose above the surface. He’s matched with your beauty before him, resemblance to the stained glass window that situates above the large bathroom.

However, the doubt in your statement finally reaches his ears and he’s grabbing your ass as you settle over his thighs again. His furrowed eyebrows bring together a rather upset expression --- lip pout and all.

“Why wouldn’t it show up?” Doyoung puzzles, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. Leaning into him, your pruney fingers trace his smooth chin and he notices your quick flicker between his eyes and his lips.

While your gentle kiss reassures him of your subtle endearment, your next words do the opposite. “You tell me.” All you do is push him away with your vague doubtfulness, like you’re constantly testing him and using his poor guessing skills to your own advantage. He can pull you close after any altercation he wants, but you push him away in any emotionally romantic sense.

“You’re rather mischievous and mysterious today,” Doyoung squeezes your ass and smacks it lightly, causing ripples in the water. “I liked it better when you told me everything you felt.”

Suddenly, his fingers poke at your entrance and his other hand drops in between your legs again. Your mouth opens in shock when his long fingers enter slowly and he enjoys the pleasurable contour of your reactions. “Like this, for example.” The pad of his fingers working rapid flicks against your sensitive bud. “How does this feel?” His whisper dances across your shoulder, landing a kiss at the end of his question.

Your moans echo in the lavish bathroom, bouncing off the marble walls and encouraging Doyoung to keep a steady pace. There’s no worry about how loud you may be, Doyoung charms every room before every lustful encounter. This allows you to let go, let free, let him know how he makes you feel.

He curves his fingers into you, pumping and dragging into your tightness until you’re practically screaming. He only has one thought, as his eyes trail down your intoxicated needy figure, how beautiful you are as a moaning mess under his control. Your head is thrown back, eyes are squeezed shut and opening them to see nothing but tiny yellow starlight.

Dainty kisses line your exposed neck line and his ego swells with so much pride. Doyoung has mastered every flick of his wrist to have you under his trance, spewing nonsensical words and forgetting anyone else that exists. He gives your erect nipples harsh licks and with a faint drag of teeth, the sensation pushes you to your end.

Sporadic pleasurable convulsions cause your legs to close around Doyoung’s hands, but the strength of his knee keeps them apart. “Doyoung… I’m going to free fall.”

Leave it up to you to beautifully announce your climax. He snickers, applying more pressure on your clit and a rubbing motion against your walls. “I’ll catch you.”

Moon crescents embed into his skin as you’re holding onto him with your whole life. As your scream hits every octave, the massive collection of bubbles that cover the surface of the bath fly and splatter every corner of the pristine room. 

White and wet bubbles drip down from the walls, falling from the diamond chandeliers, and coating every steamy mirror. Doyoung’s eyes light up from the chaos, making sure you’re riding out your high for as long as he can provide.

Your body trembles with euphoria, falling forward into Doyoung’s chest and squeezing around his lazily pumping fingers. For a brief second, your mind is wiped and nothing in the world feels better than being in this perfect moment with the one person who’s Patronus you hoped would etch your skin.

If one possesses feelings that are practically unbearable to contain, one should confess… right? For all your life, you’ve lived by this statement. Friends do not hear the end of it and most surely, one should follow their own advice… right?

So why do you yearn for Doyoung in your gaze as he stands across the Great Hall as if he doesn’t know of your existence? As if he wasn’t kissing you in the Prefect bathroom a few days prior?

It’s not an understatement to say that you catch the attention of almost every person in the room, but the one head that refuses to turn your way… the one who’s looks you wish to steal… is the one person who looks right through you.

Feelings have become a nuisance ever since the first time you confessed to him and it was worse than landing on cobblestone after falling off your broom. The reason why you’ve buried them deeper than any chamber is that you’re positive that the prized Slytherin would rather be with another, preferably one from his own house.

While you try to remain optimistic and playful for the time being, you’re simply replaceable to him. He can barely care to acknowledge you in public when Gryffindors boast about you in their arms like winning a trophy. You’ve kept good relations with every Ravenclaw you’ve slept with. You’ve kindly rejected every romantic gesture another Hufflepuff has offered.

But if there is one thing you’ve learned about him is that he’s lived in his Slytherin circle for as long as he lives. And it will stay that way. You’re his sweet Hufflepuff that he’ll push away at no cost, then pull you back in secrecy.

Now if one feels as if they’re wasting their time, one should leave… right? Wrong. Kim Doyoung has skewed with your morality… and your feelings remain loyal to him since the day he confessed to see you again.

“Lemon-drop, I’ve been looking all over for you.” An arm slings around your shoulders and the notable red and gold tie is the first thing you see. Jung Jaehyun, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, flashes his deep dimples at you. “Walk with me.”

He extends his palm out for you to take and your friends painfully elbow your sides to wake you from your hesitation. Taking his hand, you get up from the dining table and follow him out the Great Hall.

Doyoung sees the scene unfold before him and rolls his eyes at how Jaehyun’s dimples are all it takes to have you wandering off with him. Despite every wicked intent to follow you two, he heads out in the direction of the dormitories to fume in his room.

“It’s such a nice and sunny day today.” Jaehyun runs a hand through his luscious brown locks. You both exit into the front courtyard as other students are scattered on the lawns mingling with one another. When you peer up at the sky, the sun is barely seen past the layers of clouds.

“Jaehyun, is there something you needed to speak with me about?” His laughter roars, full of hefty song and amusement.

“Listen, lemon-drop. I like you and I have a feeling you feel the same way. I want to mark you if you’d let me.” Jaehyun smirks and just as he brings your hand up for a kiss, you gently let go. “Am I coming off too strong? We don’t have to do it today, I just wanted to see if it would show.”

“Jaehyun, you’re going to find an extravagant person one day. A person who is going to know all your favorite castle balconies to swing from and how you like to be kissed on the nose.” His ears grow a bright red and for once, his gaze drops to the ground. “I am, unfortunately, not that person for you so I must kindly reject your confession.”

As you turn on your toes, Jaehyun lightly holds your wrist to stop you. “But, you know all those things about me. Is there anything I can do to prove that we belong together?”

“I know them because I care enough to remember things you tell me, not because I loved you enough to observe these things about you. I give you my word that there is nothing you can do to prove me otherwise.” The corners of his lips dip downward and you’re running to the one person that will erase this sad rejection from your memory.

When you’re scanning the Great Hall for any sign of him, he’s not there and it leads you to his only hiding place. Doyoung loves to shut himself out from the rest of the school whenever he gets the chance. However, a lost Hufflepuff wandering outside the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories is rather an odd sight to see and you haven’t had the chance to form many connections from this house.

The sparse amount of Slytherins you know aren’t going to be passing by, unless with some stroke of luck, someone will be kind enough to open the door for you. Every person passes by you with questionable stares until a silver haired boy blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Who is it that you’re trying to see?” He asks abrasively, but softens his tone when he realizes that you mean no harm.

You bid him a small grin, “your Prefect.”

“And what for?”

“There is an urgent matter that involves him and he’s practically unreachable when he’s hiding away in his private room.” The boy narrows his eyes at you, but beckons you to follow him down to the Slytherin dungeon.

Excitedly, you hurry behind him and whisper over his shoulder, “what’s your name?”

“Nakamoto Yuta. No need to tell me yours, I’ll doubt he’d want me to know.” He spits and then, mutters the enchanted password to reveal the large green common room. “Come this way.” He leads up the boys’ dorms and walks briskly. Although you never mentioned a name, Yuta seems to already know who you’re here to see and it makes you wonder how he must know.

“Open up.” Yuta stops and knocks at the wooden door, Kim Doyoung written in a fancy penmanship on the center. “You have a guest.” He looks your way before rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s irritated tone through the other side.

“Tell them to leave.”

“He wants you to leave.” Yuta repeats, mostly to satisfy Doyoung’s nag.

“That’s fine. Thank you for bring---” The door swings open abruptly and Yuta almost loses his balance. Doyoung frantically turns his head side to side to comprehend what he is seeing. His ears felt deceived, hearing your voice through the door, he had to make sure it wasn’t you.

But you stand before him and Yuta. Here you are approaching him whenever he least expects it. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see you. I’ve been here plenty of times.”

“What are you doing bringing her in?” scolds Doyoung and the other boy shrugs carelessly.

“What was I supposed to do? Let her bat puppy eyes at several other Slytherins and have her telling everyone who passes her that she came here to see our Prefect? It was also getting cold out.” Yuta mumbles, but finds great entertainment at seeing how frazzled Doyoung has gotten by your presence.

“It was a bit chilly.” You admit and Doyoung groans, pulling you into his room and shutting the door on Yuta. “Thank you, Yuta.” You whisper through the crack between the door frame.

“It’s too risky for you to be searching for me around other Slytherins.” Doyoung paces the room and you notice his tie is loose and shirt is unbuttoned around his neck. “Why are you here?”

“A Gryffindor blew me off. I thought I’d come and see you with all the free time I can get.” Taking a seat at the end of his neatly made bed, your legs swing adorably and Doyoung almost doesn’t hear you.

“Jaehyun? Does he think he’s too good for you or something? That cocky dimple Gryffindor, with the draw of my wand---” Doyoung whips out his intricately customized Dragon Heartstring, and you’re on your feet to calm his temper down.

“Will you put that thing away? I’m here for you.” Your giggle warms his tight chest and puts out the fueling flame for anyone who dares to hurt you in any way. “It’s not a big deal and it’s not the first time it has happened.”

Doyoung uncomfortably clears his throat and withdraws his wand. Buttoning up his shirt, he fixes his tie back in place. To say the least, your words erupted his festering jealousy and this may have been a small tipping point.

Before you had entered, he was so frustrated with himself and you. You can just walk away with another man without a second thought, in front of him too. He remembered the soft feeling of your body and how he’s not the only one who’s needy hands ran their course over you. That may be the one pain he can never get rid of.

“I never understood why you give other men the time of your day when they just brush you off undeservingly.” He stings and you’re slightly surprised at his sudden attack. When you respond in silence, he continues.“I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?”

Crossing your arms, your weight is barred on your left leg and there is a shift in your overall mood. With an eyebrow raised, you sass him back, “People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you chase after me?”

Doyoung swallows hard and blinks at you speechless. A clammy hand runs through his black strands as he tries to find any possible explanation without confessing his feelings. If he had a plan to confess, it would never be in the middle of an inquisition with you.

“I guess you didn’t think before acting on your desires.” And how he hated how correct that statement is. He doesn’t ever think whenever he’s around you. All his actions are conducted with his emotions and the feelings that overtake him.

Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes at your rash comment. “Aren’t you supposed to have the strongest morality among all the houses?”

“Sleeping with multiple men isn’t morally wrong. There’s nothing wrong with it…” The slight hurt from his question is difficult to ignore, but you must remember one thing if you want to protect your heart on your sleeve. This is nothing serious to be bickering over. You two aren’t anything serious, so why feel the need to squabble over nonsense? “... it would only be wrong if someone liked me and wished to commit to me.”

Your eyes meet and Doyoung blinks at you with wide eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he gulps again, completely whiplashed at how the conversation has turned. “And if that’s the case and you like me, would that make you jealous, Doyoung? That’s why you’re trying to poorly attack my character?” He’s never heard such a strong taunt in your tone and he’s baffled by it, slightly aroused, but shocked.

“I don’t like you.” His voice is small and he pouts his lips at you. Doyoung crosses his arms and perhaps, his sad expression reveals a little more than it should have. Your heart softens at his ridiculously cute response, had you expected something much more angry and vindictive.

“Then this conversation is over, right? I’ll be on my way now. I have herbology.”

“We have the same class.” He grumbles, grabbing his robe from his desk chair.

You open the door to make your exit, “but since you don’t want to be seen with a Hufflepuff, I’ll go ahead first.” When you stumble out into the hallway, a recognizable face brightens at your appearance.

“Haechan! Hello, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You’re cheering and Doyoung chews the inside of his cheek. His pride is left at the door and along with all the things that hold him back from you, he doesn’t want to push you away anymore.

“My favorite Hufflepuff, are you just leaving?” Haechan walks up to open his arms, wishing to embrace you in the longest hug. However, Doyoung quickly takes you by your hand and rushes past him.

“She came to walk with me to class. Bye Haechan.” And Haechan is left standing in the middle of the hallway, confused and watching your backs as you’re both briskly walking out the common room.

Doyoung looks back at you, “you think I’m going to let you walk out of my room and have another Slytherin walk you to class? Don’t be so foolish.”

But you are foolish. Your heart beats foolishly and loudly for Kim Doyoung. And may you be foolish enough to wonder if his heart does the same for you.

And it does. Foolishly. Loudly. Lovingly.

You both wonder if this vicious cycle will ever meet its end. Doyoung pushes you away by ignoring your existing relationship, but pulls you back into his embrace as if it never happened. You push him away by running off with other men, but come back to him as if he’s the one person you’re loyal to.

But on this particular night, after mass circulation of rumors reaches the ears of the lovesick Slytherin, Doyoung is pulling you away from your huddled group of friends in the middle of the long corridor hallways. Without any greeting, any spoken words, he’s dragging you to his room right in front of everyone to see. His hand around yours like it was two days prior, but with an expression so grave on his sullen face.

The silence between you two brings no comfort, but you don’t dare say the first words. Doyoung, finally, approached you first in public and it is possibly for a greater reason. Perhaps you’ve done something horribly wrong, and the moment you two step into his room that you’ll hear a mouthful.

However when he closes the door to his room, your hand immediately drops from his embrace and he turns to face you. There is a darkness in his eyes, one that light cannot touch, and his lips are tight in a line.

There is an eerie silence that fills the dark room and the murky windows paint the area an ominous green. Doyoung focuses on your confused, yet adorable expression. “Why did you lie to me?”

The door catches your slight stumble and you’re blinking cluelessly at him. “About what?”

“Jaehyun.” He breathes the name in spite and aggressively loosens his tie. “He didn’t blow you off. You rejected him and he’s telling everyone it's because you’re in love with someone else.”

You scorn at such a ridiculous rumor and for the fact that it’s even made its way around to Doyoung. Another realization hits you. All it took for him to approach you in public is a meaningless rumor.

So in response, you laugh and it mocks him further. “This is not a laughing matter, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you so upset at that? Fine. I did lie to you, but I never told Jaehyun I was in love with anyone else.”

“Are you in love with someone else?” Doyoung says with balled fists at his side. There is a mixture of anger and sadness running through his veins and he’s so sick of feeling this way.

Your hesitation speaks for you, “It’s better that you don’t know.”

“You say this every time and it does nothing to ease my conscience.” Doyoung throws his hands in the air and stares at you with sharp eyes. “Is that why you were afraid that my emblem wouldn’t show up? Because your heart belongs to another. Yeah, I heard Jaehyun wanted to mark you too.”

Men and their constant want to prove something to themselves with their marks. Everyone has a twisted reality of markings now. There have been many others who have tried to mark you, feeling as if lust would be enough to suffice its appearance. As one's Patronus is special to their own protection, a beloved’s Patronus mark holds the same value.

You’re quite at a loss for words, “I was afraid that it wouldn’t show up, not because of myself, but because of you.”

Doyoung points at himself in disbelief. Him? He loves you more than anyone he’s ever encountered, even if you didn’t know it. “I wouldn’t have almost tried it if I wasn’t sure of myself.”

“You don’t love me, Doyoung. I don’t even know if I can even say you romantically like me.” Those words hurt the both of you and it lingers in the room for longer than you’d like.

“Do you think I fuck you meaninglessly like all those other losers you sleep with?” Doyoung steps forward, pulling you into his chest and admiring everything he’s fallen in love with. A pain spreads across his heart as he thinks of you with another person, of someone else kissing you, of someone else making you happy.

“You really don’t feel it in the way I kiss you?” He asks once more and your own stare drops to his shoulder, a bit ashamed to maintain eye contact with such pained eyes.

“And if I did? How would you explain that? That you are actually in love with me?” Your questions pelt him like rocks. As he pushes you on his bed, you pull him down with his tie.

Doyoung drinks you up like fresh water, a crisp and refreshing love that encourages him to reach heights. His hand cups your face and his feather touches reminds you of his gentleness. Your lips taste like sweet honey, dripping and coating him with a sticky sugar.

He’s happier with you and he’s the happiest kissing you. Perhaps, it’s hard for him to express with words, but he’d always hope his actions speak louder. So, his lips press against yours with a whirl of passion and every good feeling that grows in his chest.

The collar of his shirt is wrinkled in your fist and you’re holding him as if you’re afraid of him letting go. Doyoung runs a hand down your torso and lifts the end of your skirt up. A warm hand pushes your legs apart and a finger presses your clit through your cotton panties.

Your mouth opens into a moan and he takes this opportunity to shove his long tongue inside, lapping with your own. As a wet spot forms on your panties, he pulls them to the side and gathers the slick to gently rub your erect clit. His name is lost and muffled in the kiss, but you tap at his chest.

When he breaks away and halts all movement, he looks down over you with a fire burning in his dark orbs. And a confession falls from his swollen lips, “may I mark you?”

“And if it doesn’t show up?” Though, you’re wishing to the most powerful wizards that it does or else your heart would shatter into a million pieces beyond repair.

He bites his lip and every possible outcome scatters his thoughts. It’s too hard to concentrate, so he doesn’t at all. He focuses on your pretty lips and the way you look at him like he’s the only person that matters. “Then, we’ll deal with the consequences later.”

With your quick nod, Doyoung attaches his lips to your neck and harshly sucks at your skin. For the most part, it’s a pleasurable feeling and sends a shiver down your spine. So, he licks and nibbles until he can barely breathe. Your faint scent of patchouli and ginger intoxicates him, wraps him up in a fuzzy coziness that is unmatched.

Your hands unbutton his shirt and a final gentle bite seals his mark. If the love is reciprocated, the emblem would take a moment to form. Doyoung is rather hopeful and excited, as he’s never seen his Patronus before. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look dazed as if someone charmed you.” You giggle and kiss his red lips.

“You’re quite the powerful one, my Puff.” He smiles against your jaw before proceeding to your mess down below. He gives your aching clit a few licks, which cause your body to twist and turn at the sensitive sensation.

“Please, I haven’t felt you in so long.” Whining and tugging at his hair, Doyoung leaves a lasting kiss and gets up to remove his pants.

“Did you miss me?” Doyoung raises a suggestive eyebrow and cocks his head to the side in mockery, a smirk growing on his face.

You reply with a silly response that only he knows and causes him to chuckle, “unfortunately.” And he’s finding every way not to confess his endearments for you.

His dick stands tall and proud against his abdomen, giving it a few jerks as he watches you strip out of your own clothes. You turn around and sit on your knees, with a slight tilt forward and the arch in your back to accentuate your ass.

Doyoung rolls on the protection as quickly as he can. His hands lightly smack your cheeks and slowly enters your dripping hole. His hands grip your hips as he slides deeper into you, both being moaning messes at the delicious feeling.

“Have you always been this big?” You look back at him and to which he devilishly smiles at you.

“You know just the way to fuel my ego,” when his length is fully buried inside of your tight walls, he wraps an arm around your waist and a hand on your tit. “After all the times you’ve been fucked, your pussy is still as tight as ever.”

Doyoung slams hard into you, showing no mercy and causing you to jolt up. He takes every frustration, every feeling of anger, every ounce of jealousy into his thrusts. “But you take me so well, darling. I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you.”

His compliments cause your heart to soar, despite the soreness you’re beginning to feel in your pussy. He’s relentless, bottoming out until his tip is practically in your guts. “Just like that, baby. You’re the only one who fucks me this good.”

He blushes under the low light and leans forward to kiss the top of your head. “My Puff, you’re so sweet to me.” The loud squelch of your tight pussy gripping his dick fills the hot room, “and so wet.”

You’re shamelessly dripping on his green velvet blanket and Doyoung picks up his speed. Your knees give out as you fall face forward into the mattress, hands in fists from the incredible pleasure of every hit. Your ass now in his full view and every tingle of magic lights up in his veins.

Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning, Doyoung holds your hips steady to thrust into a new angle. Automatically, your body twitches as his tip hits your special spot and he’s well aware that you’re close to releasing.

And with his fast thrusts, he asks you an intimate question that is fueled by envy and rage. “If I fuck you the best, then why do you sleep with other men?”

There are no thoughts in your mind to even give him a white lie, to mask the truth of your actions. He’s fucking you into an oblivion that it’s hard to even focus on anything besides pleasure. The books on his shelf begin to tremble as you’re crying out, “I- I don’t know! Fuck, please… ! I’m tipping over.”

“Answer the question or I will stop.” He’s absolutely cynical and you have every reason to believe his threat. Doyoung lifts your limp body upright, against his torso and an arm secured around your middle as before. His hand snakes to your clit, rubbing feathering circles over the neglected bud.

Nonetheless, his single action paired with his tip grazing harshly against the particular spot causes your legs to tremble. “Do you want me to stop?” His threat rings in your ears when you still left him without an answer.

You’re so close, you’re starting to see white. So, you say what your heart tells you and the truth falls from your lips in a loud confession. “Because I wanted you to love me instead! I fucked them to forget about my love for you… fuck, I’m--”

“I’ve got you. Let go of yourself, baby.” Doyoung slows his hips when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. Every book flies out and hits the opposite wall, clattering the floor with heavy academia. However, he repeats your proclamation endlessly in his mind and his heart surges with the most intense romantic desires.

“I do love you, y/n.” He whispers, cumming into his rubber and simply holding you tightly. He lets go of every prideful arrogance in his body, tossing the lame reputation he always tried to hold onto. He didn’t need that if it meant losing you. Doyoung chuckles to himself for being an obvious cliché, announcing one’s love in the midst of a lustful act. He pulls out and gently tucks you into the covers.

Breathless, you’re finally realizing his confession. “You do? Are you sure?” Any subtle movements has your aching lower half in pain, so you settle with resting on his plush pillows and await for him to join you in bed.

All this time, from beginning to now, you’ve been oblivious to his yearning looks across the Great Hall. The intensity of his kisses had been lost upon you completely as you had convinced yourself that he was incompatibly of loving you back. Even now, as you lay in slight doubt, you’re wondering how you managed to have everything fly over your head. 

When he discards his used protection and with a quick flick of his wrist, every book finds its original place on the shelf again, he enters the warm covers. Your arms wrap around his neck and you’re admiring each other’s expressions in the low light. He spots the notable twinkle in your eyes and his thumb lightly rubs your cheek.

“If the symbol of my Patronus doesn’t show, I promise to love you harder until it does.” Doyoung leaves the softest, most loving kiss on your lips. He’s more than thankful for the lack of light as he’s bashfully red all over his cheeks.

“Usually, people just give up.” Your voice is harsh, possibly from the deafening screaming of pleasure prior.

Doyoung shakes his head. He’s made too many mistakes in this relationship with you. Sleeping with another. Ignoring your existence. Being too prideful to be seen with another house. All these incidents have made him feel nothing but ugliness and distraught, and pushed you away further than how much he is able to pull you back.

He loves you. He’s in love with you. He’s fallen for you recklessly as you did off your broom the first encounter. You’re everything he’s never been and never will be, yet you don’t care. You’re by his side, despite his spitefulness and you never miss a beat. That innocent youth approach to love, oh how he wishes it never faded, and though he thought it did, it didn’t. You remain true to your character when he fights with himself internally.

“That would be a mistake and I can’t afford to keep making them.” A glossy sheen over Doyoung’s regretful eyes, but you pull him closer and you refuse to let his eyes wander.

A tired harmless sigh escapes your lips and a dreamy haze overcomes you. Besides the reminder of needing to use the bathroom flashing in your mind, there is nothing else you want to dissect. Feelings are too complex to discuss at the moment and the resolve has already passed.

Regardless of the marks appearing, you’re content with the night and for the rest of your days. Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, loves you back and the power of that alone beats any spell in those dusty old textbooks.

“Why can’t we lay here forever?” Your heavy eyelids fall slowly and your voice grows small.

Doyoung kisses your shoulder, then your neck. “That’s impossible. I can’t give you forever.” He mumbles against your skin, sending vibrations across your throat.

“You are my forever.” Doyoung halts and is left speechless as a white glowing entity catches his eye. And the absolute perfect outline of his Patronus sits underneath your jaw, brightly shining with iridescent brilliance --- he makes out the outline: a White Swan, representing his love for you. Doyoung smiles to himself and hopes for it to never fade. Perhaps, he can give you forever.

some fun critical questions to think about hehe -

why do you think y/n lied to doyoung about jaehyun confessing? why do you think yuta helped y/n enter the Slytherin dormitories? what is the meaning behind the White Swan Patronus? Why do you think y/n continued to like doyoung after all this time?

there are no right or wrong answers, just something fun to have you thinking a little more about the fic haha if you want, you can send me an ask about it :) but overall, no pressure and thank you for reading! please leave me some feedback if you can! happy new year!

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#neosmutcollective #nct-writers #neowritingsnet #kpopscape #neothestars #nct scenarios #nct smut #doyoung scenarios #doyoung smut #nct imagines #doyoung #kim doyoung #doyoung x reader #nct hogwarts au

[piecksz]

dirty little secret | (m)

pairings: jock!eren yeager x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, dub con, cheating, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), mouth fucking, saliva, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, sneaky sex, explicit language

words: 3.2k+

summary: eren’s unsatisfied in his relationship with his girlfriend, so he looks to you for sexual gratification.

a/n: all the characters in this story are adults! it was originally meant to be a college au but the whole “fire drill” detail doesn’t really make sense in a college setting since fire drills are typically held in dorms, so as per usual 18+ minors dni. 

Your legs moved quickly against the polished tile of the hallway while you sped up to meet with your class who had already been far ahead of you, disappearing into the throng of people filing outside at the blaring signal of the fire alarm.

You’d excused yourself during your lesson to use the bathroom, unaware that an unplanned drill had been scheduled for that day, so with haste you finished up and rushed to rendezvous with the rest of your classmates before you were left inside the building.

As you rounded the corner, you felt a pair of hands wrap around your forearm, forcibly pulling you behind the small door that stood at the end of the corridor.

Instinctively, your hands balled into fists, and you threw them blindly in the direction of your assailant. You hoped that you’d at least land one successful hit, and it would give you enough time to break out of their hold and flee.

“Y/N, relax! It’s just me!”

Your hysterical flailing ceased, and you opened your eyes hesitantly at the sound of your attacker’s familiar voice. “Eren?”

Frantic pupils fell upon a pair of mischievous jade eyes, and your terror-stricken expression contorted into an angry scowl as you drove the palms of your hands into his chest, sending him careening back into the metal shelf behind him. “You asshole! What is wrong with you?”

Eren’s quick reflexes allowed him to catch himself and the rack before both were sent tumbling to the floor. “Ow,” he grumbled, rubbing away the soreness spreading over the skin of his arm from your knuckles’ potent impact. “You’ve got a brutal left hook.”

“Yeah? You wanna see my right one?” Your right hand tightened as if you were projecting another throw, but Eren’s outstretched arm maintained a safe amount of space between you two. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

Eren’s tightly-wound eyebrows began to arch as his distressed face eased into a buoyant grin. “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

You blinked. “Were you the one that pulled the fire alarm?”

“No, I didn’t pull the fucking fire alarm,” he replied sourly, evidently offended that you’d suggest he’d do something so juvenile. “I just got lucky.”

Your curled lip relaxed, and your irritation waned into a resigned stare. You desperately wanted to trust Eren’s saccharine words, and it didn’t take much effort to believe him while you were faced with his stupidly winsome expression. His smile was warm, eyes glossing over with adoration like he was truly expressing what he felt, and it wasn’t just empty flattery, yet you’d been more perceptive than to just take his intentions for what they were. Rather, you’d been smart enough to learn from last time.

He’d said something along the same lines, after you two had hooked up in his car after his lacrosse game. He was feeling mirthful after winning and wanted to celebrate with you, but on the cusp of his orgasm, he’d let the “love” phrase slip, and when you’d asked him about it afterward, Eren mulled over it for a second before nodding, admitting that he had feelings for you.

His confession had been somewhat of a relief, and you’d expected him to end things with his girlfriend shortly after he’d realized what he really wanted, but the following day in the courtyard, you were stunned to see Eren sitting with her and the rest of his friends, showering her with kisses like nothing had taken place the night before.

You swore you’d learned your lesson.

“Are these new? Can I see them?” Eren’s fingers gently wrapped around the frame of your glasses, pulling them from your face, and he slid them onto his ears, adjusting their position on his nose. “How do I look?”

“I can’t see, Eren,” you answered simply.

Eren laughed bashfully. “Right, I think they look better on you instead.” He slid your glasses off and tucked them back behind your ears.

Your lenses restored your lucid vision, and now that you could properly see, you noticed the way Eren’s lips were parted, lids low and languid as his face lingered only inches from yours. He’d used your glasses as leverage to get closer to you, a crafty technique, and now that he was close enough, he could whisper.

“You know what else looks better on you?” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards into his cheek, and he closed the space between you two, fixing his lips onto yours while his thumb and index finger supported the curve of your chin. His kiss was slow, mouth undulating with the most tender of movements, and when he carefully slid his tongue between your teeth you could taste the vague chill of spearmint on his breath. He proceeded timidly, as though he was touching you for the first time, but that was the very detail of your couplings that always had you running back. He handled you like he cared.  

The tip of Eren’s nose skimmed against yours, ever so slightly, while he continued prompting his tongue further into the depths of your mouth, eager to have you savor his desire.

Your body was traitorous and unmoving, allowing Eren to command you with his lips, and for a few blissful minutes, you forgot the two of you were crammed into the unyielding space of a storage room.

Eren withdrew from your mouth, and tilted his head to the side so he could occupy the empty curve of your neck, and once you felt him press mild kisses to the hollow of your throat, you freed a displeased sigh and sent him backwards with an assertive push.

“Seriously? In the supply closet?”

“We’ve got like fifteen minutes before everyone comes back.” He reassured you, shrugging dismissively before tipping his head in for another kiss.

You shifted backward, studying Eren as he continued to lean in until his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Wondering why he wasn’t receiving any contact, his eyes flitted open.

“You still haven’t broken up with her have you?” You pressed your lips into an unamused line.

Your question had Eren angling until he was standing upright, and then he rolled his head back and released a groan as though already tired from your question. “Y/N, come on. I don’t feel like having this conversation.”

“Have you?” you probed.

“No, I haven’t. It’s not that easy.”

“It really is.”

Eren drew his eyebrows up, now in regret. “We’ve been together since freshman year. Do you know how big of a douchebag it makes me look if I break up with her two months before graduation?”

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest. “Do you know how big of a douchebag you look fucking me behind her back?”

Eren’s eyes drifted to the side.

“Or are you just embarrassed to be seen with me?” you questioned, canting your body into his view.

“Okay, you sound ridiculous,” Eren laughed dryly.

“Because I’m not a cheerleader or an athlete, and I have about one other friend. You don’t want everyone to know you’re fucking the girl that spends lunch in the library.”

“What kind of cliche movie do you think we’re in right now?”

“It’s just something I’d expect from someone who peaked in high school.” Your words were sharp on the tip of your tongue, and you could tell by the way Eren recoiled that your statement managed to penetrate his seemingly careless guise.

“I’ll handle it okay?” Eren’s hand slid over the back of his neck, looking blameworthy of all the faults you’d accused him of. “But right now I really need help handling something else.”

Your eyes narrowed in his direction after realizing he’d managed to do it again, forcing you into forgiveness with his charming abashed impression. He’d taken advantage of how spineless you were when it came to matters concerning him.

“Please?” he urged.

It was his thick brown brows that were creased in the middle and opalescent green eyes that stared you down that made him look so sincere. He was easily one of the most spellbinding people you’d ever met, attractive and likable, he knew exactly what cards to play to get his way, and even though you were aware of it, you always found yourself wrapped around his finger. A pretty face and a sweet tongue was a recipe written up by the devil himself.

You lowered yourself onto your knees, leveled with Eren’s hands working swiftly against the buttons of his slacks. “I’m done doing this, Yeager,” you announced wryly.

“I know,” Eren said, as though guaranteeing you it would be the last time.

He pushed his pants down along with his briefs in one swift motion, freeing his cock from the tight cotton confines of his underwear. His length was already rigid, the sticky beads of precum leaking out of his swollen head the result of your stalling. He’d already provoked himself by thinking of all the ways he wanted to have you, you didn’t have to do anything more to get him hard.

A relieved exhale left Eren’s lips once he grabbed the base of his cock in the sweaty heat of his palm, tapping his wet tip against your bottom lip, then he pulled the hem of his shirt up slightly, allowing you enough clearance to take him into your mouth.

You wrapped a ginger hand around his length, feeling the way his warmth throbbed in your fingers, and you leaned in, using your tongue to lap along the rim of his cock.

“Fuck—” Eren’s voice was husky as it ripped through the depths of his throat. He watched you with heavy lids, observing the way your tongue’s tip danced around his swollen head, giving coy licks to his slit, and the way his cock twitched with need at the slightest provocation. “Jesus Christ—”

You gave him a few generous pumps before taking him whole, humming at the way his girth felt against the inside of your cheeks. The skin of his length ran like hot silk over your tongue as you fell into a natural rhythm, and your lips and hand rocked back and forth against him.

Eren’s face broke out into a dirty grin. “You’re such a little slut for my cock, aren’t you?”

You glared up at him over the edge of your glasses.

“Sorry,” he responded meekly, fingers brushing away the strands of hair that fell loosely against his forehead.

You continued working against him, excited by the honeyed melody of his moans every time your fingertips ran over the sensitive skin of his balls. Eren’s cock pulsated against the surface of your tongue with each small ministration, and you watched the muscles across his abdomen tense.

“I know you hate me,” he started. “But you have no idea how hot you look on your knees right now. Keep glaring at me like that, and I’m gonna cum in your mouth.”

The mention of Eren’s warning had a torrent of heat surging between your legs, and you fought off the urge to dip your fingers beneath your skirt and begin rubbing away your discomfort. You didn’t want him to know you were enjoying this almost as much as he was.

Your heavy yet stifled breathing caused your glasses to fog lightly, so you sat back on your knees, withdrawing your mouth from him briefly to catch your breath. You lifted a thumb to wipe away at the saliva that dribbled down your chin, but Eren’s fast fingers stopped you, holding your wrist away from your face.

“Don’t,” he breathed. “You look pretty like that.”

You ran the back of your hand across your cheeks, as though you were trying to rub off the furious heat that crept across your skin and over your nose. “Shut up.”

Eren only responded with an amused smile.

Then when you brought him back to your lips for the last time, his hands settled on the crown of your head, and he pushed his cock back in until his tip relentlessly prodded the back of your throat. Holding your head in place, he began jerking his hips, fucking your mouth at an agonizingly slow pace that had heavy tears cascading down your cheeks.

Every time his cock slowly and deliberately pressed against the back of your throat, you gagged involuntarily, fingertips digging into the side of his thighs.

“Feel how hard I am?” Eren asked. “You did that.” He rocked his pelvis forward again, muffling your whines.

“Yeah? You like it when I fuck your pretty little face, don’t you?” He thrusted himself between your jaws, throwing his head back and liberating a series of foul swears. “I really need to feel you.”

With the declaration of his wish, he pulled his cock out of your mouth, inhaling sharply at the obscene sight of his length coated and dripping with your spit.

After your dry heaving subsided, Eren helped you up with a gentle hand, running his palm between your shoulder blades to soothe your coughing. He made sure you were steady before cuing you to turn so that your back was facing him, then he watched as your shaky hands slid underneath your skirt and fingers hooked around the fabric of your underwear.

“Pull out this time, Eren. I mean it,” you rasped, cautioning him ahead of time. You stepped out of your underwear and used the toe of your shoe to cast it aside.

Eren’s hands reached under your hem, large palms gliding over the curve of your ass. “The odds of you getting pregnant are like one in what?” He flipped up your skirt and continued teasing the skin of your backside. “Plus I always cover you for the pill, don’t I?”

“I don’t care, cum in me and you’re dead.” Your fingers gripped the edge of the metal shelf, and you slid your arm around Eren’s shoulder while he placed one hand on your waist for support and curved the other under your thigh. Then, he brought your knee up to his chest until all of your weight was allocated onto one leg.

Eren held his cock with his fingertips and slid himself between your folds from behind. You let out a soft, unanticipated whimper, but quickly brought your teeth down on the flesh of your tongue to smother any more sounds of pleasure. You didn’t even bother looking over your shoulder at Eren’s satisfied smirk, you could tell by the way his hand squeezed your thigh that he had noticed it.

Eren positioned himself at your entrance, skimming his wet tip over your hole before sliding himself inside you. His cock slipped in with ease, your saliva acting as a crude lubricant.

“Oh fuck—” His breath was hot over the span of your neck.

“Eren—” you sighed, forgetting all your pretenses. You closed your eyes, enjoying the way he stretched you out, and then he started moving causing a pattern of shallow cries and moans to fall from your lips.

“Fuck Y/N, you drive me fucking crazy,” Eren groaned, thrusting up into you, slowly and rhyhmically, steadily filling you to the hilt every time, while his hand traveled beneath your ribcage to cup your breast over the crisp fabric of your uniform. “She doesn’t take me as well as you do.”

You shook your head, making weak sounds of protest between delicate whines. “I don’t wanna hear that, Eren—”

“But it’s true.” Eren moved quickly between your legs, hissing every time your slick walls tightened around his aching cock. With each punctuated thrust, you continued to lose yourself, until your need unfurled and Eren had you under siege. His methodical pace sent you into a flurry of moans, and you cried his name over and over.

His even strokes began to stagger, and his breathing became rapid and shallow, chaotic pants of hot air rolling out over the span of your shoulder.

“I’m gonna cum—” He continued pounding into you, faster now, harder, keen on drawing out his orgasm, and then Eren gave one last thrust, so deep it had you shutting your eyes and pursing your lips to keep from screaming. Then he shuddered, his body convulsing with the bout of his orgasm, and you felt him release inside of you, thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy with every twitch of his cock.

“Y/N—” he moaned, resting his chin in the curve of your shoulder while he continued to jettison every drop of his release until he was sure he was empty.

Your hands tightened around his shoulder, as the ripple from Eren’s climax had your cunt tightening around his length, and ecstasy spread over the span of your pelvis and down your thighs. Once he grew limp, he slipped himself out of you, and you felt a slow stream of his cum run down the inside of your thigh.

“I said not to cum in me you fucking idiot.” Your legs were sweaty, making it easier for you to twist yourself out of Eren’s hold until you were now standing upright, both legs planted unsteadily on the ground.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” Eren wrapped his arms around you apologetically, but you shrugged him off, using your elbow to drive him back.

Your eyes scanned the closet with haste, looking for tissue paper you could steal to clean up the mess between your thighs, and Eren must have sensed your aim because he made use of his height, seizing a large roll from the top shelf and unwrapping it before handing it to you.

You grabbed it out of his hands, waiving a statement of gratitude, and ripped away a few plies, crumpling them up into a generous wad. “You owe me eighty dollars.”

Eren’s eyebrows lifted and his face twisted into an incredulous expression while he stuffed himself back into his pants and buttoned them up. “Are you running a prostitution ring?”

“I’m serious. Fifty for the pill and thirty just for dealing with you.” You straightened out your uniform, and watched as Eren did the same, tugging on his collar to smooth out the creases.

“You’re a mean little bitch,” he jeered with a slight playful undertone, and then he looked off to the side in concentration. He turned around, pressing his ear to the door of the supply closet, and then he looked back at you. “I think they’re coming back.”

You hummed.

“I’ll walk out first.”

“Right,” you said unenthusiastically, recalling that no matter how many praises he lavished you with in private, in public you were still his dirty little secret. He vowed to you that he would end his current relationship because it was clear you were growing tired of being his toy, good enough for him to fuck but undeserving of anything else. And after all was said and done, when you two passed each other in the halls, he’d still glance at you with the cordiality of a stranger.

Eren had promised to handle it, yet it was obvious he had no intentions to, and you knew that while you watched him give you a fond smile before slipping out of the supply closet.

#eren smut #eren yeager smut #eren x reader #eren x reader smut #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x reader smut #aot smut #aot x reader #aot x reader smut #attack on titan smut #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x reader smut #aot au #eren au #attack on titan au

[beyondspaceandstars]

congratulations! 📚 could you do promos 4 & 7 from the smut with Natasha Romanoff???

by the way, I hope you have a great day/night!

Brat

Relationship: CEO!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, fingering, dirty talk - 18+, minors DNI

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I went a bit CEO!Natasha with this one - hope that’s okay, I thought it lent well! Also, thank you! I hope you're having a nice day/night as well :)

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You really didn’t want to go and Natasha knew this but she was also quite the persuasive one, having such a dominance to her that you could rarely, if ever, say no to.

So, that’s how you found yourself a bit grumpily sitting in the car passenger seat while your girlfriend drove you two to whatever charity banquet this was.

Natasha was constantly getting these invitations being the high-up, fancy CEO that she was and usually you were fine with them. You liked the little appetizers and flutes of champagne. You especially liked your girlfriend parading you around, showing you off to fancy city people.

But tonight just wasn’t the night for you. You had had a ridiculous day at your own job and frankly, you just wanted to lounge around with your girl, maybe order pizza, and have lazy sex. Natasha had shut down your idea, saying she already RSVP’d for you two. Grudgingly, you shoved yourself into a dress and let her whisk you away

Little did she know, though, that you weren’t letting down easily. You had some potential ideas for the night, hoping that maybe — just maybe — you can rile Natasha up enough to keep her focus just on you and not the millionaires trying to network.

Upon arriving at the event, you hunted down the first tray of champagne you could find, taking a swig of the alcohol promptly. Natasha followed your path, stopping every now and then to chat, but once she was free of the schmoozing, she marched right towards you. An arm made it was tightly around your waist.

"What is your problem?" She gritted in your ear just below a whisper so no one could pick up on the tension. Your eyes darted around the room

"Nothing," you responded, taking another sip of champagne.

Natasha scoffed. "Well, you’re acting like a brat." She grabbed your glass out of your hand. You gasped but before you could protest, Natasha asked, "Is this because I made you come here tonight?

You shot her a look before taking back your champagne and finishing it off. "I’m gonna go get another drink."

Before your girlfriend could pull you back to her, you were already on a rampage for the bar. Luckily, no one tried to stop you. Thanks to your relations with Natasha, you had worked up a bit of your own status but it wasn’t like anyone genuinely cared. You weren’t negotiating deals.

You leaned on the bar and signaled for the bartender. You asked for something a little stronger. He nodded politely and got to making the drink. You turned your attention to the freshly polished wood of the bar.

Running a finger over it carelessly as you waited, out of the corner of your eye you noticed someone approach beside you. It was a man you somehow didn’t recognize. He looked very well put-together, almost like he was trying too hard, with his designer pressed suit and hair that could go up in flames from all the product in it.

You tried to ignore him, turning your attention to the bartender who was still at work, but it was hard when the man was not-so-subtly inching towards you. This wasn’t going to go very well, you thought. But you weren’t stopping it.

"In need of something to get you through the night?" The man suddenly asked. Your gaze shot over to him.

"Excuse me?"

He chuckled, "I meant the drink."

As if on cue, a glass was placed right in front of you. You wrapped your hands around it, slowly bringing it to your lips for a sip as you eyed the stranger. He was watching you quite intensely.

You hummed, delighted by the cocktail. "These things can sometimes be…draining."

He sighed. "Tell me about it."

The conversation fell into a lull. You tried glancing around at the other patrons, all completely oblivious to the bar, but just couldn’t shake this man and his eyes which were still watching you. They shamelessly took in the curves of your dress and even lingered a bit on your chest.

Your stomach dropped as you suddenly saw him step even closer, his finger lightly brushing your arm in the process. You froze but still made no chance to dash away. Maybe your goal of annoying your girlfriend tonight was going a bit too far…

"You know," he began, his voice dangerously low, "if you wanted to sneak away for a bit—"

"She doesn’t," Natasha gritted as she suddenly approached you two. You just about let out a sigh of relief as her arm came around your waist, pulling you into her side. You yelped at the action, stumbling a bit, but she held you tight.

The mystery man looked you two over, a bit of a pleased expression graced his face. But he didn’t press further, probably very deterred by the daggers Natasha’s eyes were shooting at him. He collected his drink from the bar and raised it at you two as if in some awkward toast.

"Fair enough, ladies," he said, and then he was back in the crowd, lost in the sea of aristocrats.

You didn’t know what to do now, opting to stare down at your drink.

"What the hell was that about?" Natasha asked.

"I- He just came up to me," you pouted.

Natasha shook her head in disappointment as she began walking you two away from everyone else. You didn’t know where she was leading you until you were roughly pulled into the women’s restroom. It was empty, thankfully, and you heard the turn of the lock as you placed your drink on the counter.

"He just came up to you," Natasha repeated. She was sauntering over, looking very much more like some powerful CEO than your sweet girlfriend. You gulped and gripped the edge of the bathroom sink. "He may have came up to you but I didn’t see you making any moves to walk away."

"Well—"

"And you let him touch you," she scoffed. "Don’t think I didn’t see his fingers on your fucking arm." For emphasis, she gripped the spot he had brushed over. You yelped. "What made you think he could do that, hmm? What, did you forget who you belong to?"

"No, Natasha, I didn’t mean—" You pleaded but she wasn’t buying it.

"I’m not buying it," she said as she roughly turned you around, her back pressing your front into the bathroom counter. "In fact, I think you need a little reminder."

You held your breath in anticipation as Natasha began gathering the skirt of your dress. You knew what she was going to find underneath. And you certainly knew it wasn’t going to help your case.

Sure enough, once your lower region was exposed, Natasha let out a gasp. “No panties? Are you kidding me right now?!”

"Natasha, please—"

"You really are a fucking brat, aren’t you?"

You tried shaking your head but it was no use. Her mind was made as she pressed into you even more, her hand now coming to caress your inner thigh. You whimpered out your girlfriend’s name as her fingers began slowly circling your clit. She chuckled in your ear before collecting some of the wetness dripping from your folds and putting attention back on your clit.

"So wet for me," Natasha murmured. "It is for me, right? Or did that man out there get you dripping like a needy slut?"

You groaned, captivated by the action happening between your thighs. "Just for you," you said as your eyes slowly fluttered. Natasha picked up the pace adding slight pressure as well. You squealed.

"That’s it," she whispered, holding you tighter around the waist. "That’s my girl."

Suddenly, though, she moved her fingers back to your folds where, without warning, she shoved two fingers inside you. You yelped, twisting in her grip. She didn’t even budge. You cried out as the fingers flicked upwards, hitting just the right spots.

"If you want to act like a slut you have to deal with being fingered like one, got it?" Natasha said. Her mouth was practically on your ear, she was whispering so lowly it sent goosebumps up your arms. She was pissed and serious. You were loving it.

"Y-Yes, Natasha." You barely managed to get the words out but your girlfriend seemed very pleased. Her fingers picked up — significantly. A squelching noise now filled the bathroom, coming directly from your wetness which was not stopping any time soon it seemed. Natasha was also taking the moment to make sure her hand was hitting your clit. With every single pump. It was getting overwhelming very, very fast.

You spoke again, "Please, please… I’m gonna cum."

"Yeah?" Natasha mocked. "My little slut needs to cum?"

You nodded your head profusely. "Please, please." The begging was becoming second nature at this point, your only instinct. Natasha seemed very pleased with that.

"Fine," she huffed. "Cum all over my fingers you greedy little girl. And you better scream when you cum. I want every single person, especially that man, to know who’s treating you so well."

Her paced picked up even more (how that was possible you didn’t know) and your body reacted wonderfully. Within moments, you were crumbling like a house of cards. Your orgasm rushed over you as you cried out much louder than you had actually intended. You couldn’t stop as Natasha continued to work you through the orgasm. She didn’t give up until you were limp in her arms.

She chuckled, watching your body practically collapse from pleasure. "Was that good, honey?"

"Yes," you mumbled, leaning into her body. Natasha fixed your dress and brought her hand to caress your cheek.

"Good," she said and placed a quick kiss on your lips. "Maybe that’ll teach you to behave."

Now it was your turn to laugh. "Why would I behave when that’s what I get for being bad?"

Abruptly, Natasha’s hand came around your neck, forcing you to look at her. Her gaze was dark, her CEO stance still very much engaged. "Don’t even tempt me."

You bit your lip teasingly but nodded your head slowly. You certainly didn’t mean it, though, already secretly planning the next time you could ruffle her feathers.

#1k celebration #request #natasha romanoff blurb #natasha romanoff drabble #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff one shot #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow one shot #black widow fanfiction #black widow x reader #black widow #smut #wlw #avengers #marvel fanfiction #marvel one shot #marvel #mcu fic #mcu #one shot #writing*

[junisfics]

All This Time — Armin Arlert (4)

series masterlist

Pairing: Armin Arlert x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Series Summary: Reader messages her best friend Armin late one night while she's drunk and needy, but will she remember the things she said to him in the morning, and if she does... will she regret it?

Party Summary: The morning after causes a temporary scare, but once Armin realizes he actually has you… he refuses to stay away

Content: Fluff, Smut / Nsfw 18 +

Content Warnings: Unprotected Sex, Very Slight Choking, Creampie (No Breeding)

You awake with an arm wrapped around your waist, and it’s not yours. It’s Armin’s, and this time you know it’s his, you know that body that’s pressed up against your back and you know the legs that are intertwined with yours.

He’s warm against you, and there’s an overwhelming feeling that washes over you that you can only describe as content.

You could hear him softly breathing, his face nestled into the back crook of your neck. His left arm is draped over your waist and snaked under your shirt so his palm rests against your stomach. His other arm must be curled up between the two of you because it’s nowhere in your sight. 

You don’t feel the need to move for quite some time, just laying with him with your eyes closed and face nuzzling into the pillow. You feel his chest rise and fall steadily behind you, and you try and match your breaths to his. But Armin’s are too slow, too even, and you can’t do it.

You savor his warmth and his touch for a while longer before growing apt for food and water. So, when the sun just begins to set down the horizon, you slip out of his arms, out of your bed, and bring yourself to the floor and towards the kitchen.

You estimate that the two of you laid there for at least a few hours given the sight of dusk. Armin came over in the early afternoon and depending on how long… that… lasted determines how long the two of you slept. 

You try your best to remain quiet as you shuffle about the kitchen, getting yourself a glass of water and opening the pantry for cleaning supplies to attempt to clean the mess of baking goods you had spilled about the floor earlier.

You smile at the domesticity of the whole thing. Armin’s been in your home before, he’s been in your room before and he’s had dinner with you before; but it was all different now. It felt better like this, him sleeping in your bed as a lover as you clean the kitchen.

Armin felt like home, is what you realize. That him being here, was him fitting himself in as the final piece of the puzzle. His little puzzle piece was always there, it was always existent, but somehow it had found itself lost under the table and tucked away in a corner. You’d been the one to drop it, but Armin had been the one who had placed himself in a place where he’d be unable to find.

But you found Armin’s little puzzle piece, and you slipped him right into the spot where he was missing. And you were finally able to see the bigger picture: that he always belonged there, and that no matter how many other pieces you tried, they wouldn’t be able to fill the spot as he does.

Armin awoke alone in your bed, and it took him a few moments to realize it was so. And as he was blinking his eyes open and processing why he was in your bed, he realized that he was the sole being in it. His heart sunk upon recognition, all the way into his stomach, and he was temporarily panicked in thinking that you’ve left him once again.

His spirits perk up a little when he hears faint clattering around from outside your room. So, Armin slides out from beneath your sheets and makes his way over to your bedroom door to peek out of the crack in it.

He can’t see much, but he can see you traveling in and out of his frame of vision. You seemed to be gathering things, followed by putting things away, and ever so often he could hear the running water of the sink.

Armin pulls back the door to leave your room, trying to remain quiet to prevent himself from scaring you. Once he steps out, he can make out what you’re truly doing. You’re cleaning your mess from earlier; the floor already seems to have been wiped clean of any sugar or flour residue, and you were continuing to file away jars while keeping others out. You had also pulled out a new bowl.

You were trying again.

Armin smiles to himself as he quietly makes his way over to you. You nimbly moved things around, so focused and precise with what you were doing. You slinked around the kitchen so skillfully that Armin could almost chuckle at the contrast it was compared to yesterday when you were stumbling around.

His heart pitter-patter’s around in his chest when he realizes you’re still wearing what he gave you earlier: his computer sciences club tee-shirt from highschool and cute little maroon panties that hugged the curves of your backside so well.

That was his now… you were his.

And, yes, it was partially the fact that you were prancing around half-dressed that got him hard again, but more so was the fact that you were doing so as his. His girl was comfortable enough to be walking around half-naked in her kitchen while he was home with her.

You didn’t kick him out this time, you didn’t change into something more presentable, because there wasn’t anything to be worried about. He didn’t put a shirt on because there was nothing for him to be worried about.

There was no awkward stage between the two of you. You’ve known each other and have loved each other for as long as either of you could remember, the only difference now was the fact that you’ve revealed it.

You were comfortable enough in this intimacy to be willing to be physically vulnerable with him. And Armin couldn’t get enough of it.

“What are you making?” He asks, making his presence known to you.

You turn to look up at him, keeping your hands on the silver bowl in front of you. You give him a sweet smile, looking down at the task at hand before looking back up.

“Dessert,” You shy away from him, turning back down to the bowl.

“Same thing as yesterday?” He asks, stepping to the other side of the kitchen island from you. 

He watches you intently, looking at the way your fingers curl around the side of the bowl and the wooden spoon. He looks over the array of baking goods you’ve kept out and pulled together, then he looks at your face; your tongue between your teeth as your stir.

“Maybe,” You let out a little laugh, feeling heat come to your face.

You were both standing in front of each other, making a cake, half-dressed, after you had just woken up from a post-fuck nap. You were smiling like an idiot, Armin’s face turning pink, as you both ignore the obvious flirtatious tension that’s beginning to form.

“I could have helped you clean up your mess, you know. It’s why I came over in the first place.” He says, occupying himself by straightening out the jars into a line.

You nod, “I know, but… I created the mess, so I should’ve been the one to fix it.”

Armin knows you aren’t just talking about baking, you’re referencing earlier. He can tell you feel bad about it, but he doesn’t need to hear an apology from you again, he never needed an apology in the first place.

“Okay,” He says softly, giving you a sympathetic smile and ending the conversation there. 

He doesn’t want to argue with you anymore, even if it’s not even arguing, he truly doesn’t want to dwell on things that are already solved. He knows that you know how he feels, and he knows how you feel, and he doesn’t feel the need to talk about it anymore if both of you know the truth.

You’re a team now.

“Do you want to help me with this instead?” You ask, looking up from the bowl and across the island to him.

He nods without verbally answering you, his eyes and face soften and you can see the muscles in his chest relax as well. His cheeks and neck are still flushed a pretty pink, and his body’s warm as he makes his way around the counter and beside you. He takes the spoon in his right hand, his bare chest pressing against the right side of your back as he reaches around you.

You can feel his head hovering above your right shoulder, his cheek just barely pressing against your temple. And although his whole body isn’t pressed against you, you can feel the presence of it behind you. 

Armin Arlert was flirting with you, and you were loving every second of it. 

Who knew he could get like this? He was so painfully subtle, but so obvious with it at the same time, he was playing innocent but somehow still exuding confidence. It was so incredibly attractive.

There was no need for him to be toying with you or trying to win you over, he’s had a claim on you, whether he was aware of it or not, since junior year. But he was doing it anyway like he was making up for all the times he wasn’t able to do so before.

You hope he can’t feel your body heating up in front of him or see the girlish smile that’s teasing at your lips due to his flirtatious intentions. You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbles around in your chest, threatening to escape. It just felt so different now, it was so much more intense now that he knew what he was doing.

You could feel yourself getting weak in the knees as he takes the spoon from your hand, remaining behind you as he stirs, his presence heavy. His left hand comes to your hip, remaining on top of the tee-shirt.

“I’ll always be here to help you, you know that right? In every way.” He says quietly, lips brushing against your ear as he speaks.

“I know,” You mumble, tilting your head to make contact with his cheek, and sinking into his touch. Your tensed muscles relax as you let your back rest against his chest.

You could stay like this forever, just with him, finally able to be with each other in the way both of you have always wanted. You don’t need to make anything official, you both already know, last night made whatever you two had official enough. 

You liked being like this. It felt true and real and raw, and you couldn’t ask for anything more. You were in your kitchen, in your home, with your lover, making a cake at dusk. It was liberating, exhilarating, and had your entire body feeling like it was floating.

You almost giggle when Armin hands you the spoon back, releasing it so he can fully stand behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, clinging to your torso like a little puppy. He turns his head and leans down slightly to rest his cheek between your shoulder blades. He lets out a deep exhale as he does so, him now being the one to settle into your warmth.

He stays latched onto you while trying your best to continue pouring in ingredients, arms around your torso, and hands fiddling with your tee-shirt. You’re quite productive for a while aside from the occasional bulky awkwardness of his arms around you while you’re trying to move around. But He moves accordingly to make sure he’s not in your way, sometimes he’ll detach an arm from you to move something out of your way or organize something.

How deprived he must have been from your touch if he’s one to latch on like this. He could have always asked you to be close, even in the past when neither of you knew what you wanted from each other, you would have still shown him the affection he needed from you… you wish he would have asked. Maybe you would have told each other the truth quite sooner if you had decided to settle for the physical intimacy.

Armin doesn’t care anymore. He’s forgotten all about the time he’s had where you were just at his fingertips, staying out of his grasp. He now lives, his conscious is steady in the now; where you’re in his arms. All he knows is that you’re in his reach, and you’re letting him pull you in, and he wants you closer, and closer, and closer.

His body is flush against yours, now preventing you from any progressive or purposeful movements. And his hands have slipped themselves underneath the tee-shirt, feeling up and tracing over the smooth skin of the upper sides of your thighs before coming above the fabric and holding your waist.

He just wants to feel all of you all at once, like he had a quarter of the day ago. But it wasn’t just the sexual aspect, he didn’t care for that. It was a plus, yes, but what he really wanted was the vulnerability and intimacy of it. He had no desire for the pleasure that came with or the satisfaction. He just wanted you, and he wanted all of you… with him. Whatever came with it was just a bonus.

His hands slide over the soft skin of your stomach, squeezing the plush flesh on occasion. He can feel the way you shiver in response; the little trembles he pulls from your body with his gentle touch. He can feel your goosebumps prickling against the soft skin of his hands and forearms as they continue brushing against your body.

You can feel his hips grinding against the meat of your ass, not intentionally looking for pleasure, you can tell he just wants closer. It was like he was trying to melt into you, two bodies becoming one. 

“Already?” You tease with a light giggle, setting down whatever occupied your hands to brace yourself against the counter.

He was hard against you, cock already throbbing and desperate for more. He’s never wished so before, but now he truly wishes didn’t have a dick… it always made things sexual when they didn’t need to be.

“Sorry — can’t help it,” He mumbles, pulling his head up so he can nuzzle his face into your neck, pressing kisses to the fragile skin before tucking his head into the crook of it.

He continued to feel over your body sensually, palms sliding over your stomach, your thighs, occasionally retreating between the two of you to squeeze the flesh of your ass before returning to your front to play with the waistband of your panties. The ones he picked out for you.

His touching had you already embarrassingly weak in the knees, all wobbly and unsteady as you latched your hands onto the edge of the counter for some kind of support. The task at hand was completely discarded, as you were focusing all your energy on keeping upright. 

Heat was swirling around in your stomach, pooling between your thighs as you feel Armin’s cock grinding against your ass. His lips were back on your neck, pressing soft kisses below your ear as he was mumbling something that sounded like ‘I love you’. 

And you could only return the admission. Tiny whispered ‘I love you’s escape your lips as you needily push back against his hips, aiding his lazy grinding.

He wasn’t trying to ask for anything more from you, he was satisfied with his feeling over your body and the little kisses on your neck. But you were giving him more, you were feeding into his desire

His teeth are nipping at your neck now and his hands have pushed the fabric of your shirt up past your hips. You’re softly moaning at the feeling of his cock brushing up against your barely clothed cunt and your eyes have fallen shut with your head rested back onto his shoulder.

And when his hands play with the hem of your panties from behind, fingers tickling the fat of your ass as he tries to pull the fabric aside to rut his still clothed hard-on right against your dripping cunt, you only aid his growing desire.

“Need you inside,” You breathe, reaching behind you grip his hip, feeling around only for a moment for his waistband before pushing it down his thighs, “Now.”

Armin grows hasty at your plea, suddenly getting knocked out of his lazy state of just wanting to feel your skin and into another mindset where he just wants to fill you. He wants to give you whatever you want, he wants to help you… in every way.

He takes his hands off of you only to push his sweats and boxers down his legs, just enough to for his cock to slap up against his stomach. And you’re already going to work at your undergarments, grabbing ahold of the inner hem of your panties from behind and tugging them aside to expose yourself to him. 

Armin doesn’t hesitate to grab ahold of the base of his cock, the other hand gripping your waist tightly as he slides the head of his dick through your cunt.

“You’re — you’re so wet,” He mumbles, getting lost in the way your slick coats his dick so nicely. He’s in awe that your arousal is due to his doing.

“Can’t help it,” You whimper, mirroring his earlier words and rutting back against him, desperate for his cock to slip inside you.

Armin pushes inside you steadily, with a low groan leaving his lips as he does so. Both of your bodies tremble and you can feel your arms shake beneath your weight. His fingers press into your hips, gripping them tightly as his head falls back onto his shoulders. His eyes squeeze shut as his jaw falls open, trying to prevent himself from prematurely cumming again.

How much change a few days and some honesty can bring a relationship. Your intimacy in the past was limited to lengthy hugs, cheek kisses, and falling asleep on each other while watching movies. And now you were letting him take you from behind, over your kitchen counter… raw. 

“God, Armin, you’re so big,” You cry, grinding yourself against his hips in a desperate attempt to adjust to this angle. You swear you could feel him in your stomach, literally shifting around your fucking organs.

He pulls out slow, shutting his mouth and taking his bottom lip between his teeth, furrowing his brows and exhaling through his nose. He tilts his chin down to his chest, cracking his eyes open just enough to be able to see the way your cunt stretches around his cock and clenches around the length of him.

You were slicking him up so nicely and enabling his dick to slide back into you so smoothly that it has a moan ripping from both of your throats. You fall down to your elbows, for your arms are no longer able to hold you up the way you need them to and splay your palms across the counter.

He opted for a steady pace once more, fucking you slow and long over quick and shallow. He loves the way you squirm when he reaches his hilt, unable to take his cock so deep, and the way you mewl out in the painful pleasure it brings.

But he wanted to take his time as well. He wants to cherish this sexual intimacy; take it whenever and however he wants it now that it’s his.

“Fuck — do you like it like this, from behind?” His voice strains as he leans over your body, his bare chest pressing against your back and his lips back against your ear. 

He’s warm, overpowering, and for a moment, you feel small both mentally and physically. His words hit you like a train, and you're sent melting once more, cunt squeezing his cock again while tremors wrack through your body.

It wasn't dirty talk, but it was talking. It was confident talking with lewd undertones, from Armin of all people. And it had your entire body lit on fire. You were subconsciously rocking back against his hips, trying to get him deeper and trying to pull more of anything from him.

“Yeah?” He asks again, murmuring against your skin and sending goosebumps across your flesh.

“Mhm,” You nod, barely able to pick your head up.

“I can feel it, you know, when you get tighter,” He seethes, pulling out but filling you again with a little more force.

It sends your front knocking against the counter and your arms reaching out in front of you, blinding searching for something to grab onto. But it only causes your forearms and elbows to bump into jars and bowls, spreading them across the counter.

You can't stop the choked-out moans from escaping, even though you've taken your lip between your teeth in an attempt to muffle them. 

“Fuck — you feel so good,” His right-hand reaches around your front, sliding up your stomach until it reaches your right breast. He squeezes it softly, using his thumb and forefinger to pinch at the nipple.

You gasp at the sensation, jerking upright, your back hitting his chest and hands coming back up with you to hold you up. It sends your whole body buzzing in reaction, the final drop of water that sends everything spilling over.

“Armin, fuck fuck fuck,” You choke, left hand flying back to his hips.

He’s going harder, deeper, and you swear you feel the head of his cock bumping against your cervix. It hurts, hurts so fucking good. And he doesn’t let up, but you don't want him to.

Then, the hand on your breast continues up your shirt, over your heaving chest until it rests at the base of your neck. It doesn’t squeeze, he doesn't go higher to grab your throat, he just holds the area where your chest meets your neck. 

“I — I’m gonna cum,” You stutter, nails etching into the skin of his hips where your hand remains latched to.

He continues to rock his hips against you, pulling you a little father upright until your right hand no longer has a hold on the countertop and your fingers are just brushing against the granite. He’s pressing on your chest to keep your back to him, refusing to let you squirm away. 

“Please, cum for me,” His voice goes soft again, ditching the sharp confidence for whiny pleading.

You struggle for thoughts, mouthing out words that aren't there, but somehow Armin manages to hear an “Inside — cum inside me,”

His hips stutter for a second, and only a brief wave of panic washes over him as he realizes he's not going to be able to pull out even if he wanted to. But then he remembers that you're on birth control. Christ, he's even picked your prescription up for you once or twice.

“You want it?” He asks, breath hot against your ear.

“Yes, please, please, please,” You beg

So, only after a moment of hesitation where he takes the time to hope you take your pills, he grits his teeth and buries his cock inside you until you’re yelping as you cum around his cock. The way you clench around him is what finally tips him over. And with a shaky groan and stuttering hips, he cums inside.

You can feel your stomach heat up from the inside out, in more ways than one. You can feel his release pooling around hot and thick inside you, and it sends warmth spreading all throughout your body. 

Your fingers are tingling with electricity and your legs are visibly trembling as you suck in air. Armin can feel your pulse fluttering sporadically beneath his fingertips, and every inhale and exhale you take shifts his forearm atop your chest.

He gives you a few moments to catch your breath, releasing his hand from your throat and dropping both of them down to steady your hips. Your palms meet the countertop once more, and you have to lean over them to stop yourself from crumbling to the ground.

He can feel his cum seeping out of you, dripping down the length of his cock. And when he pulls out, it’s almost unsettlingly slick around him.

“Shit —” He hisses, sharp pleasure running up his stomach due to the overstimulation.

He hears little gasps from you as you lean over the counter on your tip-toes, head lolled forward and still breathing heavily. Your panties are still pulled to the side, the fat of your ass keeping you exposed. And once his sweats are pulled back over him, Armin reaches out to pull them back in place.

“I love you,” You say, voice still a little shaky in your post-orgasmic state. You don’t look back at him while you speak, but Armin still looks at you.

“I always have,” You continue, “And… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just — I love you too much to lose you over it.”

“I know,”

“Stay with me,” You straighten up, pushing your hair out of your face as you turn around to him.

“I will,”

Armin grabs ahold of your wrist and gently pulls you to him. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and there’s not a moment of hesitation where you don’t do the same. Your face is pressed into his chest, still warm from earlier, but you don’t mind. 

You don’t ever want to go without his warmth again, in both a physical and spiritual state. And you won’t have to, because he feels the exact same way.

He holds you, with his lips pressed to your hairline and arms holding you tight, only pulling away to speak playfully.

“Let’s finish dessert, yeah?”

#armin arlert x reader #armin arlert x reader smut #armin x reader #armin x reader smut #armin arlert smut #armin smut #all this time #1k

[stylesparadise]

Night cap

A/N: It has been so long since I have written anything, yet here I am down the rabbit hole again. This is super shitty and I am sorry. also if you’re a minor pls go somewhere else ♡ also I own no rights to the gif, credits to them!!

Summary: Louis was meant to only be out for a night cap after a long night of running drills. It becomes so much more when he meets a woman on the dance floor and a bathroom rendezvous ensues followed by him heading home alone.. or is he?

warnings: smut, cheating, some cussing.

word count: 1.4k

The lights are dim and the dance floor is packed, heat radiating off each body that is trying to get their fix for the evening. Her shoes are sticking to the floor from alcohol being slopped out of cups despite there being a few signs that requested no drinks on the dance floor.. Or at the very least bottles to prevent the mess that open cups can cause. 

The woman knew the grip on her hips was going to bruise in the morning but it was just a side effect of her night ahead of her. The brunette man who had approached her had his lips against crook of her neck placing a mixture of kisses and marks. She was never this bold, finding herself in this mix with a stranger who had barely muttered his name. Luke? Lou? Louis? Definitely a short L name. But, L was never this way apparently.. or at least that was what he was telling her when she was dragging him to the bathroom. The single stalls in the back of the bar are a blessing as not many know about them so they are cleaner than the ones in the front. They’re also meant for staff but what someone doesn’t know doesn’t hurt them.

Their lips are attached back to each other as the door shuts behind them. the brown haired man pinning her against the door as she fumbles with trying to get the little nub on the door to twist confirming that it is locked. His leg is slotting between her legs to keep her body propped up against the door as his lips reattach to her neck. Her hands are running across the freshly cut sides of his hair and finally meeting the messy top that he keeps longer. His hands work their way to her thighs, rubbing the smooth skin on the inner thigh before barely brushing her core. His lips are on every piece of exposed skin that he can see, sucking small marks in some places and stopping just before a mark will form in others. His fingers finally reach where she is begging for him, his finger ghosting over the damp lace of her underwear. “who’s got you all worked up?” he mumbles against her skin, earning a moan from her when his finger slips between her folds. She doesn’t respond as her head falls back against the door like she hasn’t been touched in a while. His thumb circles her clit, gently pressing against the bud as his lips leave her skin to try and see her. 

“gotta use your words” he chuckles, adding more pressure to the finger that is circling her clit. “please..” she trails off desperately wishing to remember his name that he had muttered an hour earlier. “Louis” he catches on to her trailing off. “Please louis” she mewls as she looks down at the man with a puffy bottom lip from biting it. His pointer and middle finger sink in to her with a faint squelching sound and fuck if the noise doesn’t go straight to his dick. “so wet.. and tight” he  mumbles as his fingers curve against her walls feeling the soft spot that makes her head fall back to the door. His fingers work her open, occasionally rubbing against the soft spot that makes her breath catch from time to time.

 A rather loud whine leaves her lips as his hand pulls away from her, both fingers coming up to his mouth to get a taste of the girl. “mm.. if I had time my face would be buried in that pretty little pussy.. but I know we’ve gotta make this fast” he mumbles, pressing one last kiss to her chest before unpinning her from the door. 

“ass this way, I wanna see it while I fuck you” he grins as the girl follows his instructions eagerly. Her hands grip the cool sink as she takes the position he instructed, her ass popped out towards the man. His hands are pushing the pleather material up to her waist, his hands ghosting along the bare skin of her ass and waist. She was mentally thanking herself for choosing the black thong versus her comfort pair that she was going to opt with thinking she wouldn’t be in the situation she is in. 

The bass is still bumping but it seems further away now but she can still feel it in her veins. Despite her still being able to make out the words of the song without struggling she can hear the metal of his belt clank against each other and the faint sound of a zipper. His pants and boxers pool on his thighs as he gives himself a few pumps ensuring he is fully hard even though the throbbing he had been experiencing since the dance floor. His head slips between her lips and nudges against her clit as he positions her back to arch down so her ass is out to him more. He lines himself up and is pushing in to her warmth, groaning at how wet she is and how well she wraps around him. ‘fuck” he grunts as he watches himself disappear in to her as much as he can in the poorly lit bathroom.

He lets her adjust before his hips start to move at a rather quick pace. her body is pushing against the sink as he thrusts trying to keep her from moving by holding her hips still. His hands are digging back in to the same spot they had been on the dance floor. His thrusts are sloppy and quick but he still manages to nudge her g-spot more times than she is used to during sex. He’s barely holding on listening to her moans and watching her reflection in the mirror, her eyes rolling back in to her head each time he thrusts in to her harder than the last. 

“I’m.. s-so close” she whines, her head dropping to look down at the sink. His hand reaches between her to rub the bundle of nerves. He knew she was close before she announced it by the way she was clenching around him and the shaky legs he was having to support. “go on pretty girl. say my name” he whispers in her ear, his thrusts are slower now but with much more force. His hand is rubbing in the same spot and she’s falling apart sooner than she’d like to. “fuck louis” she moans, her head falling back against her shoulders as he watches from behind. 

He pulls out after she has worked through her high, giving himself a few pumps before he is cumming against her ass. His hands rest on her hips for a few seconds for them both to catch their breath. He backs up, pulling his pants up further before reaching for some of the tissue in the bathroom to clean himself and then his mess against her back. They’re both situating their clothes back on to themselves when there is a knock at the door. She lets out a giggle and looks at him before opening the door and walking out together. 

She had given Louis her number and said her goodbyes before going back to her friends. His intentions had only been a night cap, but he definitely got more than what he needed. He was still thinking about her as he opened the door to his home, being careful not to make too much noise. He toes his shoes off and carefully puts the keys where they hang in the entry way. The house is dead silent and there’s a glow from the kitchen light above the sink as he passes by to head to the stairs. He makes his way up them, catching a glimpse of another light softly illuminating the dark hall through a cracked door. 

He opens the door and pauses there in the frame to take in the sight that was in front of him. His y/n who had only thought he was going out with his friends for a quick drink after a long practice had tried to wait up. A book in her hand still open to the page she had been on and her head against his pillows. She hadn’t even turned out the lamp. He was on a high when he had driven home, his body enjoying the after sex euphoria. That same feeling is erased, guilt taking over its place immediately as he recounts the events of the night. Just the thought of her home alone trying to stay awake for him while he was buried in some girl was enough to break his heart.

#louis tomlinson #louist91 #louis tomlinson one shot #louis tomlinson x reader #louis tomlinson imagine #louis tomlinson smut #louis tomlinson angst #louis 1d #louis william tomlinson #one direction #zayn malik #Harry Styles #Niall horan #Liam Payne #louis tomlinson x oc

[lomlwintersoldier]

Break Me Down II

Masterlist | Part 1

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: oof more sexual tension, mechanic!bucky

A/N: i wrote this over and over again and i realized it wasn’t working because I was trying to fit it al into 2 parts sooo....there will be a third part to tie all this up <3 

Since that day in the gym with you, Bucky can’t seem to get you out of his head. He finds that when he turns a corner, a part of him hopes he’ll run into you, to repeat the fleeting moments he’d had with you before. When he enters a room, his heart jumps in the half second it takes to find you, and when his eyes do land on you, it’s like he can hardly breathe. You’ve gotten under his skin and all the denial he felt previously about his feelings for you had disappeared. Your smile, your laughter, your darkening eyes when you're serious, and the way you look at him...he could bask in your stare forever. 

But, he can’t let on his feelings to you just yet so instead he chooses to work on the 1965 Ford Mustang that’s been sitting in his garage for weeks. He missed getting his hands greasy while he was dating Serena, she’d typically preferred when he focused all his energy on her so his own interests, such as fixing up “vintage” cars (seriously, he was older than this car by like 30 years) took a backseat. 

He heads down to the old, leftover garage at the back of the compound where he kept his beauty away from Tony’s Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and Porsches knowing the billionaire would make fun of him for having a relatively cheap and ordinary car. 

It’s pleasant to be out in the sun, working on his car, bathing in the summer heat as a light breeze blows through him every few minutes; it reminds him of the times he’d worked on various cars back in the day. Modern cars were so different from the old clunkers he used to fix up so it was a learning curve, but it wasn’t long before he fell into his rhythm and the hours passed like minutes.

It’s mid afternoon by the time he realizes he’s stuck on one of the final parts of the job. His hands, albeit expert and surprisingly delicate, were too big to get to the parts he needed deep in the hood of the car, and he sighs in frustration. He leans over the hood, hands gripping either side as he chews on the toothpick in his mouth quizzically.

Then, he has a wonderful idea.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   “Ms. Y/N, Mr. Barnes is requesting your presence in the garage.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice booms over the intercom, startling you from the book you were reading. 

“What? What does he need me for?” You inquire intently as you sit up on the couch, pushing the throw blanket that enveloped you away from your heated skin. 

“He simply requested your help. The task is undetermined,” her feminine yet robotic voice replies. 

Your heart jumps a bit although you can’t fathom what he could need your help with. Following that day in the gym, you’d found yourself holding your breath whenever you passed the common room, the kitchen, his room, just hoping that you could get a glimpse of him. You wanted his hands on you, to breathe his air, to look into those eyes again. 

And it appears you now have that opportunity.

The walk down to the garages feels endless and you find yourself walking quickly, too quickly. You didn’t want to seem as eager as your speed would show so you slow down to a snail's pace until finally, you reach the side of the compound you’re sure you’ll find him in.

You see him before he sees you and...damn. Does he look enticing. 

His back faces towards you as he bends over the hood of the vintage red car he’s working on, the white tank top he’s wearing gloriously displaying the black and gold arm the Wakandan’s gave him. Sweat glints on the exposed skin and you resist the urge to bit your lip. When he turns, a wide smile crosses his face and you suddenly feel like your cheeks are on fire. 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky calls out to you as you stride over. “Think you can help me sus out this problem with the engine?” 

You look at him quizzically as you plant your hands on your hips, glancing at the cherry red car before you. “I don’t really know anything about cars…” 

He grins, straightening up as he wipes his grease-covered hands on the towel he has tucked in the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to.” 

“I just need your hands,” he holds his flesh hand out for you, daring you to take it with a smirk on his face. 

“Come on, doll,” he laughs. “It’s not hard.”

You roll your eyes before placing your hand in his. Gently leading you by the hand to the front of the car, Bucky points at the mess of black parts that rest under the rather simplistic hood. “There's a part under here,” he gestures towards the left side of the car, “that I can’t get to. Hand’s too big.” He raises his large metal hand and wiggles his fingers playfully. A surprised laugh escapes your lips. “This is what you asked me to come out here for?” You ask incredulously.  “Do you know how far this place is from the main building?”

“You have small hands,” he chuckles as he takes your hand and presses his palm to yours, spreading your fingers to match his and he’s right. Your hands are far smaller than his.

But now, hand pressed to his, you're abruptly aware of his presence, of his large and imposing body that towers over you as he stares intently into your eyes. Locks of his dark hair have fallen out of his bun and frame his face, the strands so close to tickling your cheek. Your eyes drop to his lips and you think, I could just….he’s right here….

“We should fix this car,” you exclaim, breaking both of you out of the moment as you drop your hand from his. You spin away leaning both your hands on the car, focusing very hard on the engine in front of you. 

You can practically hear the smile in Bucky’s voice when he says, “alright doll, I need you to wiggle those pretty little fingers down...here.” 

He places your hand over where he wants you to go as he rests his other hand on your hip. Trying to not be too distracted by his touch, you follow his instructions, reaching through the tight crevice he was unable to worm his digits between. 

“Now take...this,” Bucky murmurs against your ear as he presses his chest to your back, handing you a part with the hand that just moments ago rested on your waist. He smells of sandalwood and cypress, a deliciously intoxicating aroma that is just wholeheartedly Bucky.

As you work, you realize you no longer have autonomy over your limbs. Your hands have become his as if you’re a marionette and he, the expert puppeteer. He guides you through the process, never letting your body move more than a few inches away from his as you listen intently to everything he whispers to you. 

As you connect the last part, you circle around to face him, parting yourself from his chest. In response, he leans forward, practically caging you in against the car. Breaths intermingle, hearts beat faster. 

Fuck it, you think. 

Without stopping to contemplate the choice you’re about to make, you lean up onto your toes, connecting your lips to his with a fervor that initially catches him off guard, but he quickly sinks into your kiss, his scorching hands falling to your waist as he pulls you against him. His tongue forces its way into your mouth as you entangle your fingers in his hair, almost pulling it as you fight for dominance. 

This kiss is filled with all the tension you’ve felt over the last couple of weeks, a desperate result of the stolen glances and held breaths in each others presences. So close and so far at the same time but now, in this moment, there is only the two of you, existing in perfect sync as you ride out this impatient longing together. 

When you finally pull away, you’re out of breath, but you leave your arms tangled around his neck as his drop to your hips, resting lowly enough that his fingers graze your ass.

“What was that?” He laughs as he brushes a strand of hair from your face.

“You were getting too cocky,” you smirk as you push away from him, beginning to strut away the same way he did with you all those days before but you’re suddenly yanked back by the hand. Faster than you can react, he's got you enveloped in his arms and he’s walking you backwards until your back hits the cold cement wall of the garage.

“What’re you-” Bucky cuts your words off by crashing his lips to yours. 

While the kiss was passionate before, there’s suddenly a need, an urgent craving that you can practically feel brewing beneath his skin, a hunger so deep you’re unsure you can satisfy him. His hands come up to cup your cheeks, keeping you so tightly pressed against him that you’re almost certain no one else exists, it’s Bucky, it’s just Bucky. All of him is almost overwhelming. This kiss is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, it sets your body on fire, ignites electricity in your veins and leaves you frantically reaching for more.  

“Was I, doll?” He murmurs heatedly against your lips. “Was I too cocky for you?” 

His hips dig into yours and you tear your face from his, breathless and gasping for air. He wastes no time in moving to your neck, sucking and kissing and biting, earning your quiet moans as he gyrates his pelvis to yours. Your legs have gone weak and the only thing keeping you standing is his waist pressed between your legs.

“Bucky!” You exclaim when he bites the sensitive skin just above your collarbones particularly hard. He takes your cry as a signal to move back up to your lips, giving you one last, harsh kiss before pulling away. 

But this time he doesn’t walk away. He keeps you pressed forcefully against him, the fiery heat between the two of you voraciously palpable as both of you try to catch your breath. 

“Come up to my room,” you breathe as you tangle your fingers in his hair once more. His eyes fix on yours, his brow furrowing as your lips part in hunger, wanting more, wanting him. 

“You sure you want that, baby?” His right, flesh hand cups your cheek and you see a tinge of real concern in his eyes, despite the bravado in his voice.

Instead of responding, you lean up and gently bite the soft skin of his neck, earning a groan from his delicious mouth. 

“More than I’ve ever been.” 

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Next Part: Coming soon! <3

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[slutfor-fictionalmen]

¥ Pretty boy ¥

Rich! Izuku midoriya x F! Plus size! reader

Hi everyone!!! this is part of @bakugohoex‘s Collab, you should check the rest of the collab and her works out!!! enjoy!!

Izuku comes from a rich family, owns lavish cars and houses upon houses but all he really wants is you. You come from a humble background, refusing wealth but dealing when izuku wants to spoil you. Izu can literally fuck you anywhere because he is that rich; Nsfw, Fluff, public sex(kinda), smut(kinda? dom izu), reader is kinda a cheapskate.

Sorry it’s so bad; I may continue/ revise based on how this is taken!

“Oh, come on, Y/n! It’ll be so fun, I promise! it’s just one trip; you won’t feel like you did last time!” Memories of the past trip flash through the shapely woman's mind: paparazzi, lavish hotels(yes hotels, he wanted a different view every night), thousand dollar meals, designer boutiques, everything that you had avoided in your life as a pro hero was ironical, as it was all tackled at once.

You loved your boyfriend, and you admire his willingness to give, but this was the main reason you gave a lot of your earnings to health organizations and hotlines, you didn’t feel you needed the money, you were doing just fine without it, eating at home, carpooling to save on gas, helping out at your apartment to get a bit taken off of your rent. But Izuku was born into a life of wealth. Heir to the Yagi fortune, but despite his wealth, you wouldn’t know he was wealthy by simply meeting him.

“Oh, don’t patronize me izuku, you know I would hate that trip, I always hate overly expensive trips, I could get the same trip through my booking sites for half the price, and you know that!” You huff leaning over to fold your laundry. Izuku walks behind you, placing his large hands on your hips and leaning his head on your shoulder. You could feel his pleading look without even looking at him.

“Indulge me, baby. I promise I won’t make it too expensive,” You felt him kiss at your neck, making you sigh until he let out the final part of his argument, a simple,” Please?” You took his hands off your hips and walked away. Izuku sat defeated until he heard you rustle around, cursing as you made a mess of your once clean closet, and came back into the room with a defeated look and a suitcase. “How long are we going for?” Izuku smiled widely and spun you around, his eyes full of love.

----------------time skip to the day of the plans----------------

You gave yourself one last look in the mirror before sighing, regretting agreeing to this trip as you fix your sundress, admiring how the fabric hugs your soft curves perfectly. You knew this vacation would be perfect, that you would love it, but your stubborn mind wanted to fight the potential enjoyment.

Your mouth turned bitter as you internally fought with yourself, going from a fight of stubbornness to a battle against your self-confidence. Your mind picked on everything that wasn’t on your mind before as a deflect of being questioned. Your unpleasant thoughts were interrupted by a certain green-haired man as he walked into the room, stunned at how beautiful you looked in that dress. Distracted by the unmistakable twinkle in his eyes, your thoughts soon disappeared and were replaced with wonder.

“What’re you looking at?” He shook himself out of his trance to approach you with a smile. “Just looking at my beautiful baby girl in that dress, she so horribly fought me on. You look gorgeous, by the way.” His rough hands were felt through the sheer material of the outfit as his thumbs rubbed gentle circles on your wide hips.

You smiled softly and kissed his cheek, looking into his eyes. “Are you ready to go? Cause one more minute, and I may just back out of this.” His eyes go wide as he pulls away and rushes to get everything in the car. Your chuckles are short-lived as he soon comes back and picks you up. “You’re the last thing I need so we can go” you squeak as you remember this man can lift nearly 300 pounds. Why shouldn’t he lift you? Still, every time he lifts you, it comes as a surprise.

He quickly sets you into the car, alarming you with the fact that the driver isn’t any driver at all, it’s one of his close friends, todoroki, and this isn’t even your car; it’s his. “I figured we didn’t need to use the driver and waste money on parking, todo’s gonna drop us off, and I’ll have the driver pick us up after!” Your eyes watered, you knew that the rest of the trip would be extravagant but it was these little things that made you fall in love with him, over and over again. You sat with your hand in his all the way to the airport. You were excited to see new places but dreading the paparazzi.

You stood out of the car, taking in the cool breeze and walking around the car to get to the bags in the back. You bring both of your bags out, along with your carry-ons, and wait for him to finish his conversation with his friend to come to collect his bags. You hear izuku bid him farewell and thank him for the ride before he slips a 20 for gas in his friend’s car and walks to you. “Now don’t be mad...” His eyes shift when he bows his head, preparing to be lectured,” I got first class, and I know you don’t-” You laughed, only calming to rub his shoulder with a smile. “It’s ok! I’ll let it pass.... for now. Now, let’s get our free drink on!”

You’re the first to board, ignoring the dirty looks from the other passengers; you made a vow to enjoy this time.... for izuku’s sake. Your smile didn’t falter, even when the check-in lady gave you a surprising look when you gave her the ticket. You walked onto the plane with confidence; izuku could only say that you looked as if you were born for this… that you belonged here.  Your Seats were opened to each other, making a two-bedroom cabin area.

You let izuku walk past you to put your bags to the side and look at the menu. One thing you could never understand is his appetite, he eats more than a group of teenage boys, and he still keeps fit, even if he doesn’t work out. You never found that fair. You shook your head out of the thoughts and sat next to him, searching the tv for a decent channel. You shut off the tv when you saw the news about a new villain, suddenly stressing about the city and what’ll happen if you leave. Your mind flooded with thoughts of the places you love on fire, the people you loved killed and showed as a warning to all the other heroes.

Luckily Deku, who had just finished ordering pretty much the whole menu, sensed your sudden situation and reached over you, pulling the leaver to set your seat back. The sudden movement knocked you out of your daze, causing you to look at the man perched above you with a frustrated look on his face. “You have just been a whirlwind of emotions today, haven’t you? You refuse to calm down; the city will be fine, it’s only a week, and we’re not even going that far!” “but-” “No buts! You don’t want to make me sad, do you?” You sigh, realizing that it was highly improbable for that to happen while you were gone, but that didn’t stop you from worrying. Despite that, you sucked it up, deciding that you might as well enjoy these trips before something happens, after all hero business is very dangerous.

“No Izuku, i don’t” He tilts your chin in order for your eyes to reach his. “Izuku? Really? You know that’s not what i want to hear princess.” You suddenly realize the shift of atmosphere, Izuku’s eyes darkened. “No daddy.” “Good girl.”

He lets his hand drag to the bottom of your dress, pushing up the tinted fabric as he moves his hand to rest on your thigh. Your thighs clench unintentionally when he reaches for the top of your underwear, flinching when he snaps the fabric back onto your skin.

You weren’t used to your soft lover taking the lead, you were the one who took control. You usually calmed your own nerves, with him of course. But you couldn’t think, you couldn't take control, you just had to let him help you, clear your mind and calm you.

You couldn’t help but shiver at the look in his eyes when he’s in control. His eyes darkening,a small glimmer in his eyes is still present but he looks….. Animalistic. You slide your underwear off of your plush form, confidently as he watches you with a ever-growing tent in his pants.

Izuku reached out to your body, holding your soft hip as he moves to slide his form between your thighs. “I don’t think i can be patient much longer beautiful, i may just fuck you like this.” He cups your cheek and uses his thumb to play with your lip, testing how far he can go before sticking his finger in your mouth. You obediently suck on it, watching him bite his lip and shift away to get undressed. “Who says i don’t want you to?”

He quickly takes off his shirt, his scars and freckles littering his tan skin. Izuku's pants are soon to follow allowing his cock to tap his stomach. You always loved how easy it was to get him to get hard, he was always ready for you to fuck him, ready to make love at the mere thought of your full, soft form.

You heard izuku whisper a quick ‘fuck it’ before he grabbed your thighs, wrapping them around his hips and grinding softly onto your soft cunt. Your soft moans fueled the burning fire of his. He grabbed his shaft, lining himself up with your weeping hole. He kissed you deeply before pushing into you, his lips muffling your sweet moans.

His cock throbs as he patiently waits for you to adjust to his girth. Your hips ache, already feeling the pressure of your current activities take it’s toll on your body. Your minds begins to flood with need, processing just how close izuku is, how his muscles feel under your finger tips, how he reacts when you experiment with tightening your smooth walls around him. He waits for you to move, slightly wiggling your hips, before he gives into the feeling, whimpering and keeping a steady pace.

You feel his tip brush against your sweet spot with every thrust, unraveling quicker then you would have liked. Izuku’s blush reaches onto his chest as you moan into his ear, teasing him. He speeds up, ramming into your sweet spot, causing that knot in your stomach to tighten before he shifts to rub at your clit sloppily, letting out lewd noises and tipping you over the edge. Your body freezes, a shaking gasp falling from your lips as you arch your back and your walls flutter and tighten around izuku’s dick. He’s soon to follow, spilling his load over your soft stomach before slowly pulling out and flopping onto his bed besides you.

“That’s one great way to start a shitty trip.” You laugh looking over into his forest eyes. Izuku grabs your hand, kissing your palm and giving you a small smile. “Or just a wonderful way to start a potentially amazing trip. You promised you’d let me spoil you this time, so let me use my money to give you comfort. Ok?” You nod, adjusting your seat to be upright again, and lean over to the champagne. The view out the window is something of beauty as the clouds fold into each other and the sky casts a pink, soft hue onto the white canvas.

Izuku grabs himself a glass, leaning his seat all the way back and putting a complementary eye mask on.

“And besides, the more money we pay, the less people will care where we fuck each other.” He was born into this life, born for it. He was used to this and could be for the rest of his full life.

But izuku would do anything just to be by your side. That’s one thing he can’t pay for.

#izuku midoriya x reader #plus size reader #izuku midoriya x plus size reader #plus size!reader #izuku midoriya #mha x reader #mha x chubby reader #bnha imagines #smut #fluff

[highqueenofelfhame]

fafs, twenty-two

masterlist // rowaelin au // 4k words follow @highqueenofelfhamewrites​ and turn on post notifs for updates! i don’t do a tag list anymore because it’s too time consuming and doesn’t work half the time.  thank you to @punkassbookjockey26​ and @westofmoon​ for help with this one! ash had a great idea featured in here and katie is always my little editing faerie that makes my writing loads better.

AND WE’RE BACK! first things first i do not know when the next update will be, this wasn’t even supposed to happen anytime soon but i missed it and them and here we are. i wrote it so quickly it’s a little weird. i also had a major hiccup with google docs during the editing process so if you notice any extremely wonky typos or sentences, please dm me about it so i can fix it. i think i got it all but i’m unsure and nervous lol. also-- i can’t believe this fic is 86k words. it’s the longest thing i’ve ever written and i am just very proud of myself and this fic. i hope you guys are still excited and eager to read this story, and i hope you enjoy!

Waking up with Aelin’s body still tangled with his after a day of complete and utter ravishing was a luxury that Rowan never wanted to give up. Her golden hair was splayed across the pillow with her face turned toward him. The sunlight illuminated her body’s  soft curves and hard muscles, and he didn’t stop himself from exploring her skin with his fingertips. 

In sleep, her face was smooth and void of concern, worry, or anxiety. She looked so calm like this, and Rowan desperately wished he could bring that same sort of peace to her reality. Most of the time, when she was awake, when the facade of the swaggering assassin fell away, there was still a tightness in her jaw and a sharp coiling to her muscles. Like she was always on alert. Even when she was quick with her wit and sharp tongue, he knew that part of her was still always lying in wait. 

Rowan knew she’d never known a day of peace in her life. Maybe before everything had happened with her parents, but ever since she was a young girl, the explosion of chaos that wrecked every day had sharpened her into a blade. It was paranoia. It was spending her life peering around corners before she walked out because any number of people could have been waiting to take her down.

But when she was asleep, she looked younger. The romantic in him thought she looked like an angel, but he was sure if he voiced that out loud, she would adamantly disagree. Still, she was so beautiful. Any hour of the day, she was the most immaculate thing he had ever seen, and he loved her. 

Love. When he had said it yesterday, something had changed on her face. It wasn’t anything he could quite place— he was sure he saw relief, adoration, and love on her face. Yet, there had been tension to her mouth when he kissed her. It had confused him, but she had seemed so wholly blissful the rest of the day it had been easy to push from the forefront of his mind. It had been a day of cooking together, watching movies, and completely ignoring those movies to peel their clothes off and drown in the feeling of one another. They’d had yet another coupling before drifting off into deep sleep, and Rowan had muttered the words between her shoulder blades seconds before falling into oblivion. Aelin had squeezed his hand in response, but at no point yesterday had she said it out loud.

Not that he needed her to. Rowan saw her for everything that she was. He knew about lives she’d taken, about the blood that stained her soul. He knew that sick, fleshy slap had been Arobynn’s heart hitting the ground, seconds after Aelin had succeeded in cutting it from his chest. None of that scared him— Rowan knew he had no reason to fear the woman that shared his bed. Yesterday had been tangible proof of that, that she was willing to further darken her soul to keep him safe. He would do the same with no hesitation. Rowan would follow Aelin Galathynius to the ends of the earth if it meant being with her. 

But he sensed some hesitation. He could see it in her face and feel it in the way her hands had stuttered over his skin. Despite that, Rowan knew that she loved him. If he was to believe the feeling in his gut, she had felt that way for a while now. Perhaps he had just said those damned words too soon. 

His thoughts were brought to a pause as she roused from sleep, bare legs shifting against his. Beneath the sheets, her body arched as she chased away the stiffness in her limbs, toes pointing while they ran down his calf. It took a solid thirty seconds for her eyes to blink open, the morning sun casting brilliant light within them. Rowan couldn’t help himself and leaned down to press the softest of kisses to her mouth. 

“I need to shower,” she whispered, voice thick with sleep as the heel of her hands dug into her eyes. Rowan watched quietly, letting her drag her body awake while his knuckles brushed over her ribs. 

“I have to go into the office for a few hours. They have some questions for me that I’m sure they’ll have for you, too. But I told them to give you another day to rest.”

“You were kidnapped and drugged. I hardly need another day to decompress,” she countered, sitting up and reaching for his shirt at the edge of the bed. Rowan watched while she tugged it on and flipped her hair out from the collar. 

“It was a long day for you, too.”

“I can handle it.” Taught tension strung the words together as they hung between them. It was so close to coming across as snappy, and she seemed to realize it as she looked over her shoulder at him and gave him a tight smile. “But if you think I should wait until tomorrow, I’ll wait until tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” he said, relief flooding him to his toes. Instead of saying anything, Aelin merely hummed in response and disappeared into the bathroom. In truth, he’d wanted to talk with Lorcan first and see what was going on after his curt summons an hour ago. If anything negative was going to come of what had transpired over the last few days, Rowan wanted to know, and he wanted to be able to give Aelin any heads up that he could. 

As he heard the sounds of water thumping against the tile of the shower, Rowan stretched his own body out in his bed. Focusing on the ceiling fan above him, he flipped through the Rolodex of his memory to recount everything that had happened in the last few years the best that he could. 

Everything had started at the gala where  he’d first met Aelin. Their casual friendship came after, followed by a relationship that blossomed over several months. And when Sam had been killed, and he found Celaena Sardothien left for dead in a warehouse,the truth had slowly unraveled. Anger had been the first thing he’d felt, followed by betrayal. Losing the woman he’d known as Lilian had forced him through grief as if she’d died. 

And in a way, she had. But Rowan also knew that the woman he loved was one and the same. It was the same heart beating under his fingertips, the same lips he ached to kiss. Aelin had made more than one comment lately about burying Celaena Sardothien somewhere that no one could ever find her, paired with a sardonic laugh that made it sound like a joke. But some days, he couldn’t figure out if there was truth in that statement. If she was going to try to run to escape the terrors that she’d endured over the last few years. 

His fingers raked through his hair as he threw his legs over the side of the bed and made for his closet.He went through the motions of putting on a suit for work, his mind still caught up on Aelin. Despite knowing she wouldn’t run, there was still that fear there. Rowan just wasn’t sure what he was more scared of - the law catching up with her or the pain of being left behind. 

~*~

It wasn’t good. In fact, it was worse than terrible. He’d known it from the second he’d stepped into the conference room and noticed the files stacked on the tables. There had been no reason to read the labels. He already knew that every file was a different assassination that Aelin had committed. From what he could tell as he lowered into a seat, this was a meeting about what they could do to finally convict Celaena Sardothien. 

It had gotten worse as soon as Lorcan started talking. There had been no beating around the bush about what everyone wanted to happen. Maeve was even sitting in at the head of the table while everyone on Rowan’s team chimed in about different cases they had studied and what details could potentially be used for evidence against her. To his credit, Rowan managed to stay silent the majority of the meeting and only spoke when he was required.

But as soon as everyone had filed out and the door clicked shut, Lorcan had said the one thing Rowan had been hoping he wouldn’t ever hear.

“We want you to testify against her.” The sentence sent a powerful jolt of dread through his body, and his hands began to shake against his thighs. He curled them into tight fists and turned his gaze to the window. Rifthold was bustling beneath them, no one having a single clue that they wanted his testimony to lock away the love of his life.

“Look,” Lorcan said, leaning forward on his elbows. “I’ve let you carry out whatever dangerous, kinky fantasy you wanted to play with and kept my mouth shut about it. You’re an idiot if you think I don’t know where she stays most of the time or if I don’t see how you’ve started to look at her. But she’s a murderer. One that you put behind bars not too long ago. One that I know you’ve been getting closer to, and I thought she might tell you something that would help our case. That’s why I let it happen because we need whatever she tells you when she thinks she’s safe to really be able to put her away.”

“She doesn’t tell me anything useful about the case.” It was only partially a lie. He knew some of her secrets, some of her darkest and heavily guarded ones. But there was a lot of information that she never told him because it could be used against her. 

“I think we both know that’s bullshit. You’re playing house with her, for gods' sake. I know she’s told you at least one thing that would be useful, and you have to wake up at some point, Rowan. You aren’t doing yourself any favors by deluding yourself into thinking you can have a future with her. She’s a murderer. She’s a con artist. She’s a thief. She is just biding her time before she slits your throat in the middle of the night and—”

“That’s enough.” 

“When we call you to testify, you’ll be under oath. You can’t lie, and if you pull this same bullshit in court that you’re trying to pull with me right now, I will personally make sure you’re locked up for it.”

“Like a good friend,” he snarked, eyes hard as he looked back over at someone he had considered a friend at one point. Maybe not now. Not when he was hellbent on locking Aelin away by using his own words against him.

“If you want to ruin your own life, that’s on you. Don’t try to pin that on me.” Rowan’s jaw clenched while he stared at Lorcan, the darkness in his eyes having nothing to do with their color. “I’m not a fool. I know she was somehow linked to what happened to Elide, and you are insane if you think I’m going to let her walk around and do it again.” 

The temper he had been keeping on a tight leash was slipping. His nails were digging painfully into his palms as the vein in his forehead pulsed. If Lorcan was looking for his body language, he might notice how hard his heart was beating based on the throbbing of the artery in his neck. He might see the rigidity in Rowan’s jaw and the anger flaring in his green eyes. 

“Aelin didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Elide, and you are too clouded by your judgment to see a clear picture. By ignoring the facts, you aren’t protecting her. You’re using it as leverage to get a leg up in your career, so if you want to talk about who is putting Elide in danger, look in the mirror.” There was a sharpness to his tone that he couldn’t keep hidden, one that had Lorcan’s shoulders tensing as he clenched a pen in his fist. 

“You can tell me all you want that your little girlfriend didn’t try to kill my fiancée, but I don’t buy it. If it wasn’t directly by her hand, she had some part in it, and I will not let that happen again.” If Aelin knew what Lorcan was saying, the guilt would eat her alive. It already had been. He had seen her jolt awake in the middle of the night so many times from the deaths that fell on her head. He had spent too much time chasing away the nightmares, too much time holding her hand while she cried about what had happened to everyone she had ever loved.

“You protect what’s yours, and I’ll protect what’s mine.” Rowan couldn’t have said it more plainly if he tried. There was no surprise on Lorcan’s face, however. He merely sat back in his chair with a slight smirk pulling at his lips. When all was said and done, and Rowan looked back on the argument, he might not have a clue who had the upper hand. There was no telling from where he sat who had won.

“When this all falls apart and bites you in the ass, I can’t wait to see what you say about her in court.” 

Rowan said little else before leaving the conference room and exiting the building altogether. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to hit something, anything. He had half a mind to go back inside and lay Lorcan out on his ass for everything he’d insinuated about Aelin. Even the brick of the office building would satiate his need to hit something as hard as Lorcan’s head. 

His day really couldn’t get much worse than how it had gone so far, he decided. Aelin had seemed almost distant this morning, barely returning the kiss he gave her before he left his apartment. Now he was expected to plot behind her back, a move that would lock her away forever. Trying not to dwell on the verdict, he took his time walking to his car, flipping his keys over his finger to give his hands something to do. 

Life in prison wasn’t the worst her sentence could be. Rowan already knew that if she was found guilty, the penalty very well could be death. 

~*~

Undeserving. Aelin Galathynius was wholly undeserving of the way Rowan looked at her when she woke up. Despite her heart fluttering in her chest when she saw his expression, her veins had flooded with ice. It had been easier to pretend everything was fine yesterday after he’d uttered those words to her. It had been easy to keep dragging him back to bed to avoid talking, to avoid her own feelings bubbling to the surface. Feelings that she was doing her damnedest to keep choked down but wasn’t sure how much longer they could stay locked up. The warmth of his body pressing against hers had almost been enough to thaw out her bones. Yet when she woke up and saw that look on his face, a heavy weight had dropped back into the pit of her stomach. 

So after he left, she’d carefully packed all of her clothes into a small duffel bag she found in the top of Rowan’s closet. Every shirt she’d brought had been folded into tiny squares the same way she had folded away her feelings. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t love Rowan. She did. It was the most overwhelming thing she had ever felt, making every part of her body ache. Yet, she refused to let herself feel it. She refused to let him feel it while so much was on the line. It wasn’t just their hearts; it was everything. His life, his jobs, his friends, his soul. How much would Rowan compromise to keep her safe? How much would he wash down the drain to save her from the fate that awaited her? She had already lost everyone and everything that there was for her to lose, but she couldn’t be the reason why Rowan lost everything, too. Not when she was so undeserving of the love that radiated from him. 

Not when she had a ledger so crimson and bloody that it would never be clean. Her soul was marred with scars of every life she had ever taken. Those people had stopped breathing by her hands, and she would be damned if the same thing happened to him. He’d already been kidnapped because of her. She didn’t believe any of the bullshit Arobynn had spewed about her being a pawn. If anything, he was trying to make her hesitate long enough to let him live so she could dig for answers. 

But she knew Arobynn. Knew he was a liar. Knew everything he did and said was to save his own hide and prolong his useless life. She had seen him do it again and again, and when it came down to it, she wasn’t willing to let him say anything in his defense. If Rowan hadn’t said her name and pulled her from that blind rage, Aelin may have gone as far as to cut his tongue out just to ensure that even in whatever hell he burned for eternity in, he could never speak another word. 

No, everything had been because of her. All the pain her loved ones had felt while they bled out on the ground. Rowan kidnapped and drugged and left with bruises speckling his body. And she refused to let it go on any longer.

“What’s this?” Aelin’s eyes moved to the front door where Rowan now stood. She hadn’t even heard it open or close, so caught up in her plan to get out of there as quickly as possible. There was a rigidity to his body that had been mirrored in his tone. Compared to how Rowan had seemed yesterday and this morning, he looked like a wire ready to snap. Confusion weighed heavy between his brows, and the color seemed to be slipping from his cheeks.

“I’m going back to my apartment. Without an imminent threat, I don’t need to be here anymore.” It was the truth of the situation but not of her heart. She hoped her voice was steady and convincing enough. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked, kneeling before where she was perched on the end of his bed. The duffel bag was full beside her, and she didn’t miss how his eyes focused on it before looking back at her face. 

“Yep.”

“Aelin.”  So many emotions flickered through her name when it tumbled from his lips. Frustration and concern seemed to be the most obvious, perhaps a bit of anxiety. Exhaustion. Worry. Irritation. It was difficult to pick out which ones were aimed at her. For his sake, she forced herself to smile. 

“I just don’t want you to get in trouble with me being here all the time.”

“I don’t care about that.” A pang of sadness ricocheted through her body. That he truly didn’t care about the consequences of being with her because he thought he loved her. 

“I know you don’t, but I do,” she said simply. Her smile vanished as he gave a curt nod and rose to his feet with a sigh. The fingers that had spent hours memorizing every inch of her body only yesterday raked through his hair roughly. The meeting hadn’t gone well; she could tell without asking. 

“Do you want me to help you carry the bag back?” The words sounded tired and heavy, escaping on the end of a sigh. His body language told her he would rather not be having this conversation and the way he put more space between them to lean against the bathroom door made it even worse. 

“No. I could use a walk anyway.” She had told herself all day that it would be easier if he didn’t put up much of a fight and try to persuade her into staying. Still…when he didn’t object any further, it felt like a confirmation that maybe he hadn’t meant to say what he’d said yesterday. Maybe it had been a slip of the tongue while he was delirious from pleasure. 

It made it easier that he walked her to the door and just let her leave, but it didn’t hurt any less when he didn’t at least try to kiss her goodbye. 

~*~

“You look like shit,” was the first thing Nox said when Aelin opened the door to her tiny apartment. Eyes rolling, she let him in and scooped the takeout bags from his hand, heading for the couch. Pride and Prejudice played on the television while she dug into her container of Chinese takeout. Making himself at home, Nox kicked his shoes off by the door and soon dropped to sit beside her to eat his own dinner. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I want to eat my food and chase it with the bottle of rum you said you’d bring.” There was little inflection to her voice while she spoke around a mouthful of food. 

“Is this about the suit?”

“I literally just said that I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You actually didn’t answer my question; you deflected, which is kind of cowardly if you ask me. I didn’t think Celaena Sardothien was scared of anything, least of all a conversation about her feelings.” His words hit their mark, gnawing at her mind the way her teeth did her cheek. Turning them over in her mind, her eyes blurred on the meal in her hands. Celaena, perhaps, wasn’t scared of anything. She could walk into any situation and leave the victor, compartmentalizing any feelings she had into perfectly wrapped packages that she could assess at a later date. 

Aelin wasn't that person, though. These days her feelings were a hurricane ravaging her soul, and she couldn't escape them. Not anymore. 

When she had ripped Arobynn’s heart from his chest, she had expected to feel content. There was a peace she thought would crash over her in waves, like his heart no longer beating would soothe the darkest parts of her,soul. Instead, there had only been a sharp ringing in her ears while she held the fleshy mass in her hands, an emptiness that she had never felt before crushing in on all sides. It may as well have been her own death. Maybe that’s what it would take for her to feel at peace.

“Celaena.” Nox’s voice followed a jab to her shoulder with his finger, and she whipped her head around to look at him. “What is it? What’s wrong?” 

Her heart was beating so hard she could barely hear his voice. It almost sounded like she was underwater. It took several more thumps of her heart to focus on his face, and she didn’t realize that her cheeks were wet until he brushed at them with his thumb. Truthfully, she ached to tell someone, anyone, about the turmoil that ravaged her. But Rowan was the only person that knew her for everything that she was. He was the only person, save for Arobynn, that knew her true identity. And Rowan was the last person she could get herself to be fully honest with today. Nox didn’t know the truth; he was on a  need-to-know basis. There was just no accounting for how he might react if she told him everything, so instead of letting honest words tumble from her lips, she forced them up into a smile and shook her head. 

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

#fafs #far away from sane #fafs22 #rowaelin #rowaelin au #modern au #white collar au #tog au #tog fanfic #tog fic #throne of glass fic #throne of glass fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #my writing #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #lorcan salvaterre #maeve #crown of midnight #com #heir of fire #hof #enemies to lovers #queen of shadows #qos #empire of storms #eos #kingdom of ash #koa

[axwalker]

Jealousy--One Shot

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 2. Engagement Tour. 

Pairing: Drake Walker x Alexis O’Brien (MC) 

WORDS: I’m using my WD golden ticket so 3,000 words. 

POV: Dual 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SMUT!! 🍋🍋🍋 A very frustrating Drake and Alexis.  

ALL MY FICS ARE +18 !!!! 

I’m participating in the  @wackydrabbles​   prompts. This week’s prompt is “I can’t do this anymore.” 

I apologize for any grammatical errors.   

Tags in the comments ;) 

DRAKE

Standing next to my window, I admire the Roman ruins of the Palatine hills as the royal train rolls into Rome. I’ve always loved Italy, but something about this trip is getting to me. It might be the woman occupying the cabin next to mine. It might be the fact that my best friend is almost as crazy about her as I am. Almost. He can’t possibly care for her the way I do. I down the rest of my glass and pick up a simple shirt and a pair of pants for tonight’s banquet. Fuck the black tie.

Since O’Brien came back to court, I tried to avoid her as much as I could. As a result, I’d cut off a leg tonight just to lay eyes on her again. I crave her like a drug. I spent the last few days debating with myself, and each day I grow a little more desperate, my arguments growing wilder and less probable by the minute. “Maybe” is how every single thought began, each one borne of desperation. Maybe I can make Liam understand that I’m crazy about the woman he loves. Maybe he’ll understand that I’ve been lying for months. Maybe Alexis will realize that she wants a quiet life with me. It’s a weakness on my part; I just need to get through this banquet without giving into it.

Thank God there’s a bar. I’m going to need something to make this experience tolerable. I grab a whiskey and drink half of it before I even head to my table. I’m halfway there when my eyes meet Kiara’s. She’s been leaving me flirty messages since we built the barn to celebrate Liam’s engagement. She’s a beautiful and smart woman but I couldn’t be less interested. 

“Come with me,” she says, pulling at my elbow. “I saved you a seat.” 

At that very moment, Lexie walks in. She’s wearing a red silk dress that matches her lips, pours over her curves, and reveals only a hint of cleavage while allowing you to imagine what you can’t see too fucking easily. Her hair falls over her shoulders and down her back, highlighting her long neck and her gorgeous face. As always, I seem to settle on her mouth. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her wear red lipstick before, and, for some reason, this opens an entire box of fantasies. I want to see it soiled. To kiss her so hard that neither of us can breathe. To pull back and find that mouth ajar, panting, the lipstick a red blur around the edges., I want it so badly I’m not sure how I’ll get through the goddamn night without having it. My hands sliding that silk dress over her head, learning every inch of her the way I’ve dreamed about for months. Except right now, Lexie’s eyes are fixed on the point where Kiara’s arm is linked with mine, and her expression—sad and wounded—is like a knife to my chest. I step away from Kiara, grabbing my drink and draining it. “I’m sitting with Maxwell and Olivia,” I tell her firmly. 

 “Doesn’t Lexie look gorgeous?” Max asks. My eyes move across the room again. Her red dress shimmers, sticks on her curves. `

“She looks like she needs more clothes,” I complain. 

“Olivia helped her choose that dress,” Max says with a brow arched. “It fits her like a glove.” 

“Yeah,” I reply. “That’s sort of the problem.” 

My gaze is still on her, though. Moving up from her hips to her waist to her breasts, back up to that mouth of hers. I picture it again; the lipstick smeared, her breathless under me. And then a single hand cups her hip bone, visible through the thin silk, and I’m ejected from my fantasy at high speed. My lust transforms into rage in a single breath. Fucking Signore Francesco Lombardi. When everyone finally takes their seats, I discover that she and Francesco are at the table on the other side of mine, giving me a painfully direct view of the two of them. Whenever she stands, his eyes are on her, devouring her. He paws at her when she returns, jumping to pull out her chair but managing to get his fucking hands over approximately sixty percent of her body when he does it. And if he tries to look down her dress one more time, I’m definitely taking him out. I don’t give a fuck about our diplomatic relationships with Italy. I go to the bar again and ask for another glass of Macallan. Tonight it’s either get drunk or completely lose my shit in front of hundreds of witnesses. Pretentious food and great speeches are given out that I don’t notice. She is more real to me than anything in this room or out of it, the only thing I can see. No one knows her fears like I do. No one knows how fragile she really is, how deeply sweet. How funny and smart and kind. But I know. And for all the fighting we’ve done, there aren’t two people in this room as made for each other as the two of us. My world is constructed entirely of rules about what I owe Liam –my education, my career, and so many other things. But somehow, it excludes the only thing that matters to me. Her. If it weren’t for how Liam feels about her, she’d be here with me tonight. I watch her say something to Liam, and he nods, his eyes telling her how he feels. Jealousy runs through my veins. 

 “Enough,” I say quietly as I stand. I don’t know what possesses me to follow her. I know, with every bone in my body, that I have no claim on her. But I saw that look in Liam’s eyes, the one that says he’ll do anything for her, and I found myself on my feet. She’s halfway down the hall by the time I reach her. She looks over her shoulder warily when she hears me, but she is too late. I’m already there. I grab her elbow before she has time to react and pull her into an empty office. She stiffens and pulls back, ready as always to fight. Eyes flashing and hands on her hips. Seething before I’ve even said a word. “You have no right to—” That’s when I cup her jaw and capture that mouth I’ve longed for the whole goddamn night.

ALEXIS 

 His mouth comes down on mine, demolishing my pathetic attempt to object. He seizes it thoroughly, with such certainty, as if he’s spent his entire life practicing for this precise moment. His hands raking back through my hair, his tongue finding mine as he presses against me. His mouth moves over my neck, and he groans, a noise of both despair and satisfaction. 

“You didn’t want me a week ago, but now you do?” I start to push back, but he holds me tight against him. 

“I just don’t want you stuck in a shitty ranch with a poor veterinarian when it all ends. It was never about not wanting you.” I know there are other reasons why I’m supposed to object, but they escape me. I’ve wanted this too long, his hands on my body, my skin pressed against his, and his mouth creating a trail of kisses down my neck. It’s right. I’ve known nothing in my life with such certainty as the fact that nothing in the world matters more to me. His hands move from my hips to my breasts, and then he pulls one strap of my dress down, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses over my shoulder and collarbone, almost reverently. Nipping with his teeth and soothing it with his tongue. He pulls the dress down to my waist, unclasps my bra with a single hand. He cups my breasts, bringing his mouth to them in the same way, sharp and sweet at once and creating a need in me so intense that it borders on pain. I gasp and arch toward him, submitting entirely as my head falls backward against the wall. He pulls back just enough to see my face. His chocolate eyes are dark now as he searches mine, looking there for something he desperately needs. Permission. He wants permission. As if I’d ever tell him no. 

“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.” 

“You’re sure?” His voice is gruff with desire. And when I nod, he pushes the dress over my hips and allows it to slide to the floor. His hands follow, skating over my hips, down my thighs, and I stand before him now in nothing but panties and heels. “That fucking dress nearly killed me,” he says, smoothing my skin as he kisses me again. He pushes against me, his shirt against my bare skin, his erection pressed hard to my stomach, a quick pulse there as if he is desperate for friction. He slides his index finger under the elastic of my panties. The moment he touches me, my whole body jolts. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “You’re already soaked.” His finger slips back and forth, lightly, in torturous circles before it pushes inside me. 

“Oh God,” I whisper, my body bowing toward him. He adds a second finger, and this time his groan is louder than mine. 

“Jesus, Lex,” he growls. “You’re going to be the end of me.” 

I unclasp his belt and unzip his pants reaching down to pull him from the confines of his boxers. He is thick and heavy in my hands, hissing as my fingers wrap around him, tugging gently. 

“Stop,” he exhales after a minute. “I’m not gonna last if you do that, and there are so many things I want to do to you first.” 

He pushes my panties down and lifts me up almost simultaneously, turning to deposit me on the table behind us. He kisses me once, hard. “Lie back,” he commands. He drops to his knees, spreading my legs so I’m displayed before him. Suddenly, his fingers are joined by quick swipes of his tongue. 

“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Drake … just—”

 His mouth and tongue lick and brush and pull, creating flames that begin there and spread all the way to my toes. I try to move, but his free hand clamps down on my thigh, holding me in place. 

“I’ve dreamed about doing this every goddamn night for months, Alexis. So let me.” 

I can’t even nod in agreement because suddenly, everything inside me is building so quickly that I can’t tell where I am or where I’m going. 

“Oh,” I gasp. And then his fingers push inside me and I explode with a cry of ecstasy and surprise, arching against his mouth. He doesn’t pull back, but instead slides his hands beneath my legs and tugs me closer, buries his face to create wave after wave of something I never thought would happen in the first place. 

“Holy shit,” I breathe. He leans over to kiss me and when he does, I wrap my legs around his waist, bringing him against me so suddenly that he gasps in my mouth. 

“Lexie,” he groans. 

“Please,” I whisper. It seems impossible for anyone to be more satisfied than I am now, yet I still need the very thing Drake wants most, the thing he is so sure he shouldn’t give. He looks tortured and pulls back, but I tighten around him, pressing him against me. “Don’t even think about stopping right now.” He shifts his hips just enough that he is pressing right there, not inside me but mere seconds away from it. In a single pulse, he could be buried deep inside me. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice tight. “Do we need …” 

“No,” I beg. “Just do it. I’m on the pill.”

He pushes in, barely. He’s so thick that already I’m stretched to the point of pain. 

“Oh fuck, Lexie,” he whispers. “God, that’s so good. Just give me a minute, or this is going to be over before it starts.” 

Finally, he moves once more, going slowly, a low noise deep in his chest as he finally shoves all the way in. 

“Are you okay?” he asks between clenched teeth. I nod as I adjust to the size of him, pain still outweighing the pleasure. It’s when he starts to withdraw that the pain recedes as a burst of pleasure sucks the air from my lungs. It feels too good, something so vast and all-consuming it can’t possibly end well. I never finish this way but oh my God… If it were ever going to happen, it would be now. His next thrust is faster, more certain, but he stops entirely at my sharp inhale. “Did I hurt you, baby?” he asks. 

“No.” He didn’t hurt me. He stunned me. His strokes come slow and rhythmic then, as he leans over, finding my mouth with the table bracing his weight, his arms taut. “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long,” he says, holding still inside me. 

“Keep going,” I beg. “Don’t stop.” 

“Patience,” he grins. “You have no idea how hard it is not to come right now.” 

I grab his ass and push upward, ignoring his warning, thrilling at the low grunt he makes. “Alexis,” he growls, “goddammit.” 

His hips jerk back and then forward, almost involuntarily. It’s all I need. I cry out as it happens again, everything inside me bursting. He thrusts quick and hard, desperate now, and then stiffens with a single guttural noise as he pushes in one final time. He falls against me, his mouth against my neck, his breath warm on my skin. It’s closer than I’ve ever been to another person, and I would like to stay here, just like this, forever. But after a moment, I open my eyes when I realize what we’ve done. 

It’s a little like waking from a dream. What the fuck have I done? The best sex I’ve ever had and the biggest mistake I’ve ever made just occurred simultaneously. The guilt and astonishment collide with each other. It was wrong. No matter what other considerations there are, I just slept with Liam’s best friend.

I know I don’t owe Liam anything. I came to Cordonia to see if there was something between us beyond that kiss in New York, and there wasn’t. He’s engaged to Madeleine and I’m hopelessly in love with his best friend. Bu this isn’t about me. This is about Drake. 

I just became that woman. The kind of woman that would stand between two brothers. The type of woman capable of breaking a lifelong friendship in a moment of lust. 

I know that sooner or later, Drake will resent me, us, if he loses Liam. Somewhere inside, I knew that, but because I wanted him and was jealous of Kiara, I chose to ignore it. He looks up at me, and his smile fades. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks. There’s dread in his voice. His jaw hardens. “You regret it.” 

“Drake,” I sigh, nestling in his chest. “It’s not that. It was…amazing. I just need to figure this out.” 

“Figure what out?” 

I bury my face in his neck. I don’t want to be having this conversation with him. I wish there was a way he could just hold me and take me to his cabin and work this all out on my own later. But there’s not. “What happens next. I mean, it shouldn’t have happened. We both know that. Liam… “

“No,” he snaps, pulling away. “Do not bring him up. Are you really going to let the way it might look to everyone outside this room dictate whether or not it’s okay? This is about us, Lexie. No one else.” 

Except it’s not everyone outside this room. It’s him. Until a week ago, Drake was determined to push me away. He didn’t want to betray his best friend. He told me over and over again that he wasn’t that kind of man. That he would never forgive himself. 

I let my need obliterate every reasonable thought, as usual. And in doing so, I’ve let myself down and—far worse—I may have put Drake’s friendship with Liam at risk. I pull away and grab my dress and bra off the floor. 

“We have to get back out there before someone notices we’re gone.” 

He buttons his shirt. “So you want to go back and continue flirting with Liam like this didn’t just happen?” he asks.

.

It’s right then, at that precise moment, that I realize that no matter what happens, Drake and I will never be together. Liam will always be there, between us. Right now, in our post-orgasmic bliss, Drake is not thinking straight, but I know what he will be telling me tomorrow morning. Or at least how he will be feeling. Guilty. 

“I can’t do this anymore.” I take a deep breath to calm myself. “So what matters most is that we both get through the banquet like nothing happened.” 

“And then what?” He growls.

His anger doesn’t scare me. “Can we please just get through the next hour?” I ask. “Liam is out there. Olivia, Max, Kiara are out there. The most important thing either of us can do right now is to act like nothing’s wrong.” 

He fastens his belt and moves to the door, his jaw rigid. He’s doing what I asked, but I hate that he’s leaving mad. I’m doing this for him. I don’t want him to lose the only relationship in his life that matters to him. “Drake, wait—” 

 “For what?” he demands. “I just fucked you on a table, and now you’re sending me on my way. What more could you possibly need to add to that?” With those parting words, he crosses the door and walks out, leaving me heartbroken. 

#axwalker writes #drake walker #drake walker x mc #drake x mc #trr fanfic #drake x lexie #n*sfw #🍋🍋🍋 #trr fanfiction

[startanewdream]

Tipsy

Summary: Lily and James find themselves in need of a more private location — and there's nothing like having a whole place for them...

For the Anon who asked exactly for this.

Rated M, so mostly below the cut!

_______________

James’ mouth is hot over hers, demanding with a urgency that Lily hasn’t felt in a while. She can’t fault him; amidst all their worries — war, prophecies, fighting to survive — they haven’t had time to rest for a while. This is their first time out in months.

Maybe he longed for a moment of tranquillity too; maybe it’s all the alcohol they’ve consumed so far, in a silly attempt to play drinking games with Sirius — last seen over the dance floor, so attached to a blond that it felt nearly explicit, though Lily won’t fault Sirius this time. James had interpreted Sirius’ dance just as another drinking game and had decided to snog Lily in the middle of that nightclub as if his life depended on it.

Well, not exactly in the middle of the club. But he had taken her to the darkened halls leading to the bathrooms and ignoring the bored look of the security guards and the amusing looks of anyone who passed behind them, he had proceeded to pin her against the wall and snog her senseless.

Later, Lily will blame the alcohol for that very public display of affection, but for the moment she can’t really thinking in anything else than the way James’ tongue is dancing with hers, his hand everywhere — at one point holding her neck, burying themselves in her hair as if he wants to pull her even closer; then moving over the front of her dress almost distractedly, hand casually sliding over the swell of her breast as if he didn’t even notice what he was doing; or tugging at the edge of her dress, climbing over her thigh —

There is a cough, and they break away as little as they need, breathing hard, equally guilty and wanting looks on their faces.

‘So, you come here often?’ he asks, lips curved into that lopsided grin she loves so much.

‘Pick-up lines at this point, Potter?’ she asks in answer, watching his lips swollen, glasses crooked, all signs that his pick-up lines were not needed at all.

‘Back to using surnames now, are we, Evans?’

Lily giggles. Yes, she is more than a little tipsy.

And yet this supposed innocent sound makes his eyes flash darkly and she knows the look on his face — Lily is rather familiar with the expressions on James’ face before he moves to kiss her.

‘Hey,’ she stops him, putting her hand over his lips. It’s really hard to keep a chain of thoughts while he kisses her fingers, so obscene, but she must try. ‘Maybe we can take this somewhere else?’

‘Ohhh,’ that picks up his interest, eyes glistening with desire. He approaches her to speak at the base of her ear. ‘Back-alley?’

It’s also hard to think with the shivers his voice sends down her body.

‘I was thinking somewhere more private. I don’t want to be interrupted.’

‘Ohhh.’ He takes his time, breathing slowly, and Lily knows the prat is just enjoying the reactions he is causing over her skin. ‘My place is empty tonight.’

‘Your place?’ she repeats, amused.

‘I share with others sometimes,’ he answers without losing a beat. She laughs. ‘What do you say?’

‘Only if we can share dessert over the kitchen table,’ Lily replies boldly, and this makes him break apart to stare at her.

‘Merlin, I love you.’

‘Now, now, James,’ she places a chaste kiss over his lips, lingering long enough to make him crave for more. ‘That’s what you’ll say after.’

_______

They shouldn’t have apparated home, because drink and apparating don’t mix, that’s what James said more than once, stern...

But he can’t think right now, vodka and Lily twirling his brain into blissful oblivion as they land inside the house, all parts intact, thanks Merlin. He’ll deal with the consequences of all the vodka tomorrow morning, because for now all his concentration is focused on Lily, on the way her hands scratch his scalp and her legs wrap around his hips as he raises her, putting her carefully on the table of the kitchen, pushing the tablecloth away.

A glass falls to the ground — ops, maybe he thought he was being careful —, not breaking but making enough sound to echo in the darkened kitchen, but James can’t bother with it now. His hands are busy finding the zipper in the back of her dress, face buried in the cleavage of her dress, desperate for the moment he will finally kiss her breasts as he wanted ever since she first showed up in that dress, way too short and way too tight than he had seen her wear in a while.

She doesn’t help him with her dress, instead fighting a battle of her own with his shirt, opening the buttons there with easy expertise before moving to open his belt. Her hand slide down the zipper of his trousers just as he does the same if her dress, his hand brushing her skin and making goosebumps arise in the trail — though he knows she can’t be enjoying this as much as him, not with the way her warm fingers are enclosed over him, making him whimper — that’s okay, he tells himself, he will make her feel good too —

The lights turn on.

And for the first time in his life, James actually appreciates fighting two wars, because his reactions are very good. He jumps back, hands closing his trousers, just as Lily jumps from the table, her face impossibly red while she tries to close as much as she can of the zipper of her dress.

To their luck — or not, considering how occupied they were — Harry enters the kitchen rubbing his eyes, without his glasses, which gives them even more time to fix themselves — as long as their son doesn’t notice James’ shirt is buttoned all wrong…

‘Mum? Dad?’ he asks sleepily. ‘I thought you wouldn’t be back until dawn.’

‘I thought you wouldn’t be home, Harry,’ James answers, exchanging a look with Lily. It’s the week before Christmas and with Ginny and Hermione back for the holidays, Harry should be there spending time with his girlfriend and friends.

‘I was going to stay at the Burrow, but — Mrs Weasley places the weird charms —’ he blinks, seeming to realize he is oversharing, and he flushes, suddenly interested in looking at the ground. ‘Sorry, I just heard a noise here, I’ll be back to bed.’

‘Yeah, you do that.’

‘Night.’

‘Night…’

Five more seconds and they will be safe… Then Harry’s eyes find the glass on the floor and his gaze follows a path to the table, all messy, and then back to the ground, where there is a belt laying.

Harry’s eyes widen, and James feels suddenly old when he realizes his 17-year-old son understands what this means. Merlin, they grow up so fast…

‘COME ON!,’ Harry cries, pulling James away from his reverie. ‘Really? We eat at this table! Why?’

‘We are drunk,’ James says, and while this seemed like a good reason before, a part of him wonders if he should have admitted this to Harry.

His nostrils flare. James wonders if Harry knows he uses the same anger expressions as Lily.

‘Drunk? And you apparated home? Merlin, you KNOW you cannot do this! What if you had splinched yourselves?’

‘We are fine, Harry,’ Lily points out, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. ‘We just got caught.’

‘Yeah, by our son,’ James agrees under his breath, though everyone seems to hear it. Neither seems to find this amusing, though. ‘It’s not like he has never interrupted before.’

‘What?’

‘Harry, Harry,’ James grins. ‘Remember that time you caught us in your mum’s office and I told you I was just helping her take the potion out of her blouse?’

‘James —’

‘DAD!’ Harry backs away, looking properly shocked, his hand twitching in the direction of his wand as if he just wants to obliviate himself. ‘That’s it, I’m out. Locked in my room forever.’

‘We’ll place Silencing Charms next time,’ James promises, and this doesn’t seem to comfort Harry much.

He is still shaking his head as he vanishes in the stairs; James looks at Lily. There is a beat — then they break into a fit of laughter.

Yep, mostly tipsy yet.

_______

The next morning Harry makes sure to set the breakfast in the dinner table they never use, handling them a Hangover Potion without meeting their eyes. Lily notices he didn’t put the mint leaves to ease the flavour.

Well, they deserve it.

Notes: (Part of my Eyes Glistening - Jily Lives AU, which I didn't mention before to keep the twist a little! Anon asked for Harry to interrupt James and Lily, since Lily already interrupted Harry once - The Talk 2.0 | The other talk)

#Jily #Jily Fanfiction #Jily Lives AU #James and Lily #don't drink and apparate