#HELP ME I HAVE BEEN CACKLING AT THIS FOR LIKE TEN MINUTES IT’S SO FUCKING FUNNY 😭😭😭 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs | Tumgik

#HELP ME I HAVE BEEN CACKLING AT THIS FOR LIKE TEN MINUTES IT’S SO FUCKING FUNNY 😭😭😭

spineless-lobster · 6 months

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“Hwey!”

- The Captain

#HELP ME I HAVE BEEN CACKLING AT THIS FOR LIKE TEN MINUTES IT’S SO FUCKING FUNNY 😭😭😭#I’ve literally seen my cat fall on my bed in the exact same way 😭#he’s so stupid and so silly I love him so much #bbc ghosts #the captain #bbc ghosts spoilers

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buckyalpine · 1 year

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Pretend

College bucky x best friend reader, jealous Sharon, Steve and Sam are goofs.

all the fluffff Friends to lovers

This shit has been sitting in my drafts for months. Idk why I started this or where I wanted it to go but here with our with more sweet college Bucky. Finally decided to finish it.

-

“Buck!”

“Hey nugget”

You plopped on the sofa beside him in the library, not even bothering to pull your notes out to study. You scrolled through your phone, leaning against Bucky while he worked on his term paper.

“I grabbed you your drink by the way” Bucky leaned over, grabbing a coffee cup off the table, handing it to you before returning to his laptop. You hummed contently, sipping on the warm liquid, your body heating up, not because you were drinking hot coffee but because you were snuggled against Bucky. One of your closest friends. Who also played football on campus. Not at all someone you had a crush on. Nope.

Bucky bit his lip, term paper be damned, you were tucked right into his side and he was fighting himself not to wrap his arm around your waist to pull you closer. He huffed through his nose, reading the same paragraph ten times over, not once actually comprehending what it said. The soft scent of your shampoo was evading his senses and it didn’t help that your head was leaning onto his shoulder.

You both sat in comfortable silence, until the sound of clicking heels made its way towards where you were both seated. For fucks sake.

“Hey Jamesss” Sharon sauntered over, letting his name roll off her tongue, throwing him a bashful flirty smile, completely ignoring your presence.

“Hi Sharon” Bucky offered her a pained grimace, shifting uncomfortably as she twirled a piece of her hair, her eyes trailing up and down his toned form. You internally rolled your eyes, staying glued to your phone while she continued to eye fuck him.

“Soooo I heard Sam’s having a party this weekend?” Yes, and you somehow weaseled your way into it, we know, you thought to yourself. “Will you be there?” They’re best friends, of course he’s going, are you daft?

“Uh, yeah” Bucky nodded, his soul dying a little with each passing minute.

“If you weren’t going with anyone-

“I’m going with my girl”

“Y-your girl?” Sharon gawked, her eyes growing wide as Bucky kissed your cheek. You squeaked feeling his lips press onto your skin; it wouldn’t have been the first time he kissed you like that but…never mind, play the part now, worry later.

Bucky smiled, his arm wrapping around you with ease. You cackled internally, happily slipping into your role as his pretend girlfriend, slinking onto his lap. You hit the nail on the coffin pressing a little kiss against his neck, nuzzling into his hold.

“That’s your girl?” She did her best to sound disgusted but she’d completely lost Bucky’s attention; the second you crawled into his lap, he was a goner.

“Mhm, my pretty baby” Bucky murmured, his lips brushing against your cheek. It didn’t even look like he was talking to her anymore, saying it more to himself, loving the way you fit perfectly in his lap. You’d playfully sat in his lap before but this...the softness of your lips on his neck, the way you were relaxed in his arms....why the hell were you not actually his girlfriend, he’d always been in love with you anyway-

“Oh” Sharon cut of Bucky’s train of thought, shrugging, pretending she didn’t care, “Well, you know where to find me, see you there” she frowned when Bucky didn’t bother looking up at her, his eyes still trained on you, while you continued to cuddle into his chest. Sharon huffed, leaving the both of you gazing at each other, unaware she wasn’t even there anymore; Bucky’s hands moving to grip your waist, another slipping up your sweater.

You shivered at the feel of his hands, your eyes flicking down to his lips, the both of you letting your eyes bounce to each others lips, eyes, both of your minds racing with feelings that had been hidden away.

He’s so pretty

She’s always been my doll

His arms are my safe place

She’s so perfect to cuddle with

I wish he saw me that way

I don’t know if she’d want to go out with me

I love him

I love her

You realized you’d stayed in Bucky’s lap for longer than necessary, gasping when he held you in place as you tried to scramble off. He pulled you closer, his nose bumping against yours, your hands going down to clutch onto his hoodie to find a way to ground yourself.

Meanwhile, somewhere in a corner of the library

“Do they even realize Sharon left?”

“No”

“Your best friend is a dumbass, you know that?”

“He’s your bestfriend too”

“I can’t claim him when his game is this weak, y/n is literally in his lap and he’s just rubbing her like a fucking lamp, expecting her to grant him 3 wishes. Fucking kiss her”

“He’s just nervous”

“BARNES, WILL YOU JUST KI-

“SHHH, it’s a library!”

“BARNES STOP ACTING LIKE A VIRGIN AND KISS HER-

Steve scrambled over, slapping his hand over Sam’s mouth, the two of them wrestling in the corner while Bucky continued to obliviously gaze at you.

“So, I’m your girlfriend, huh?” You whispered, softly poking his side to tease him.

“You most definitely are doll” He nodded, his heart nearly thrashing against his chest. “Better be convincing so she’ll leave me alone” He smirked, his blue eyes sparkling. “We’ll have to pretend all the time for her to really believe it”

“Mhm, and how long do I have to pretend for?” You bit your lip, trying to hide your nervousness.

“I don’t know, couple days” He kissed your lips softly, while your eyes grew wide, did he really just-“Or a new weeks” He kissed you again, smiling against your lips when you squeaked, “maybe even months” His pecks were so soft and gentle, you melted more each time, “possibly forever?” His looked at you with his sweet puppy eyes, hoping you’d feel the same way about the last option.

He didn’t even realize the both of you had started to lean into each other until your lips touched, his eyes rolling back, desperate for more of your sweetness. You nuzzled into his touch further, softly moaning against his lips, parting them giving him more access to your mouth. Bucky couldn't help himself, gently tugging your hair, cupping your cheek to deepen the kiss, not letting you go until you both needed oxygen. You pulled away, unable to stop yourself from grinning.

“You okay with forever, peanut?” Bucky looked down at you, having the same goofy grin plastered on his face, his lips brushing against yours, sneaking in a few more pecks before kissing your forehead.

“Of course I’ll pretend with you forever, Buck” You shrugged as if it was obvious, climbing off him momentarily to pack your things.

“Y’know we might even have to pretend to get married some day to really make her believe it” You squealed when he lifted you bridal style with ease, wrapping your arms around his neck while he carried you out of the library and to his car.

“Hmm, maybe we can even have 2 babies, that’ll convince everyone” You raised a brow while Bucky bit his lip, his mind now going other places,

“Hmm, I’d love to make some babies with you, doll” Bucky smirked, setting you down and opening the car door for you. “Let me take you on a pretend date first”

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magicxc · 2 months

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Pillow Talk

Pairings: Survey Corps x Black Reader - Things They Say In Bed

Word Count: 640

Warnings: just a tad bit of FUCKING

A/N: I’ve been directly inspired by the girlies and their idea of what these 2D men be saying in bed. I wanted to create my own version of that, but it turned out totally different than what I was going for; and for good reason too - cause this was so much fun!! Who had your favorite saying?

Eren - “a relationship should be 50/50. I give you my last name and you scream my first.”

You were praying to the high heavens that this wasnt your proposal. Knees touching your shoulders, Eren had the tendency to get lost in the sauce; uttering things he surely didn't mean, like the time he promised to bring you back the moon and the stars from outer space.

Levi - “when did you realise the y in ‘your girl’ is silent?”

Eyes brimmed over with tears and mascara running, Levi couldn't have found you prettier than in this very moment. It's something about the drool slathered across your chin and your messy hair that looked so raw, so authentically pleasing. His dick slid past your lips once more, your cheeks hallowed and tongue flat. The bright light of the flash signaled that he was indeed recording; sending the video straight to Kenny you assumed. But you couldn’t be bothered to care. This can either go terribly wrong or terribly right.

Erwin - “the baby factory is about to get its first employee.”

Hips tilted on pillows and legs wrapped around his waist, Erwin holds you like that for a little while longer trying his best to make sure that his seed takes. Small kisses get placed on your cheek, lips, and neck. Heavily sighing in content, it dawns on you that you could absolutely fall asleep like this.

Connie - “if hot women are going to lie, it should at least be on top of me.”

Lmfao he's so damn dramatic. All this because girls night went a little longer than expected. You’d promise Connie a movie together when you came home, but things took a little longer than expected and it was too late. All he had the energy for now was cuddles; unable to fall asleep unless half your body was draped over his.

Jean - “I've never kissed under the cameltoe or whatever it is that Santa said.”

On bended knee, Jean’s face stood eye to eye with your kitty cat. Mahogany legs on full display as you adorned his favorite black chemise set, he couldn't help but beg for a taste before you headed to bed for the night. You knew you’d be a bit of a tease wearing this to sleep, but the set was sexy and you really wanted the chance to enjoy your lingerie without having it ripped off of you. Just a taste though, you thought. It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. But you knew better! Because although that's how it always started, that’s rarely where it ended.

Onyankopon - “the only thing another nigga can take from me is notes.”

His calloused palm pressed harder into your ass cheek, your face smushed deep into the pillows. The relentless driving of Ony’s hips into yours is another stark reminder that you were his and only his. This is surely the last time you’d ever dream of entertaining another man.

Reiner - “if you dont have my children can you still be my mommy?”

Mommy kink alert!! Who would've thought that Reiner had a mommy kink? Who would’ve thought that it’d turn you on? Either way, the driving of his fingers into your cunt just got drenched in your approval.

Armin - “we can watch the movie or make a movie.”

Is this not the meaning of Netflix and chill? Armin considers himself intelligent, but he couldnt have felt slower in this moment. Thankfully your endless cackling had put him to ease. However, his question did get you thinking.

Floch - “my ears are always sore because your absence is so loud.”

Wrapped tightly in his arms, Floch languidly thrusts into you; his lips touching the shell of your ear as he professes his love. While this had started out as a fling, suddenly he was becoming too much to resist.

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spooky-pomegranate · 8 months

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So I found your “Violence and Timing” fic which led me to ao3 and I binge read every chapter. It is really good. Like really good. Like really fucking good. Like I was up all night last night just reading through those chapters because it’s so good. I just had to let you know because wow. I’m kinda sad I finished all the chapters so far because I feel like I just finished a tv show and I always get sad whenever I finish those. So yeah… just letting you know your writing is top tier.

It Was Supposed to Be Simple:

Captain Price x F Reader Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: For Price, it was supposed to be a simple mission. For you, it was supposed to be the most important meeting of your life. But nothing ever goes to plan, does it? (A/N: Thank you so much @peepawsbeardhair ! That's incredibly sweet to say. I've put a lot of excerpts from that story on Tumblr and people seem to eat it up, but I've never posted the first chapter. Maybe it's time?! )

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--------------------- RUSSIA. DECEMBER 2022 ---------------------

“Bravo 5 how copy?”

Captain Price’s surveillance crackled to life in his ear as Gaz responded, “Approaching Building 1 from the west now sir.”

“Rog. Ghost what’s your status?” The bitter winds burned his lunges with each deep breath.

Another crackle, “In position on the east. Ready to breach on your order Captain.”

The blizzard had made for good cover. In the ten minutes Price had occupied his overwatch position nearly half an inch of snow had gathered on his back. His fingers ached as he pinched his radio.

“Alright lads. On my order in 3, 2, 1. Go!”

For the next several minutes gun smoke, fire, and blood filled the air. The mission was simple. Enter the building, kill any armed guards, and secure the intel.

The location, albeit currently freezing Price to his very core, hadn’t been a complicated one either. An old remote KGB intelligence outpost deep in the heart of Siberia; small, run-down, minimally guarded.

“Nothing that’ll win you chest candy.” Ghost had quipped when Laswell briefed the trio on the mission.

While Price fired another sniper round into the building, he thought back to the last words Laswell had said to him before he had boarded the helo at base.

“We have solid intel the Russians are planning something John. Something big. I know this isn’t the type of job I usually ask of you boys, but we need this intel and we need it now.”

Price didn’t mind that it was a straightforward mission. In fact, he was looking forward to something simpler. Scars and nightmares often reminded Price of his more complicated missions. He hoped this trip wouldn’t add to either of his unwanted collections.

Another cackle over the comms, “Captain, the building is clear.”

“Copy you Lieutenant. You have eyes on the intel?”

“Yes sir. But Captain…” Price heard Ghost’s voice waver ever so slightly. The most minute change in pitch.

“Bloody hell Price, you’re gonna want to see this.”

--------------------- LONDON. DECEMBER 2022 ---------------------

“Just a hot coffee black. You know what actually, can you add a shot of espresso in there? Sorry, yeah thanks.”

“One red-eye. Anything else today?”

“No, no that’s all thanks.”

You knew the caffeine wouldn’t help your shaky hands. The extra shot certainly wouldn’t quell your uneasy and empty stomach either, but you moved onward, grabbing your order and heading out to the street. You had more important things to worry about today.

As you took your first sip a text came through on your cell.

“In the lobby now. They want to move meeting w/ Deputy CTO up. Didn’t say why. Can you be here in 10?”

Luckily you’d been pacing around the same three London blocks for 20 minutes now.

“Be there in 2.”

You crossed the street and made your way into the towering high-rise lobby. It was crowded with businessmen. You tried to scan the room for your boss. Where the hell was he? Damn it, all these men in suits looked the same.

“Didn’t get me a coffee then?”

“Jesus! Oh my god, I didn’t see you sitting there. Why the hell did you scare me like that!?”

You nearly spilled your coffee whirling around to face your boss. He’d been quietly sitting in a corner, briefcase and winning smile in tow.

“And why are there so many people in this goddamn building right now anyway?”

You tried to calm yourself a bit. The espresso was a bad choice. Your nerves were on fire.

“Did you forget who we’re meeting with today? Half the people in here are Secret Service. We’re lucky the CTO has a few minutes to spare for us between these international summit meetings. ”

You looked around the room. Now that he’d said it, you realized there weren’t a lot of grey hair men in the lobby. Most of these guys were younger, closer to 30, and their posture was straighter than anyone who normally spent 8 hours a day slumped over a desk.

“Right, yeah that makes sense.”

“Hey.”

You looked back at your boss. He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“We got this okay. Don’t be nervous. You’ve made something that’s gonna change the world, so let’s change it okay.”

You took a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay. You’re right.”

“I’m always right.” He huffed out a low chuckle. “Let’s head to the elevators. We’re meeting on the 56th floor.”

Your boss grabbed his briefcase, you clutched your coffee, and the two of you made your way across the room. As you waited for an elevator you took a final look over the cramped lobby when you thought you saw… him. He was in a black jacket, dark jeans, boots, and a hat pulled low over his face. You were sure it was him. It couldn’t be. But it…

“You coming or what?” Your boss’s voice cut through your racing thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m coming” You entered the elevator and tried to put the man’s image out of your mind. It was probably just the coffee and your nerves. A mirage brought on by stress and anxiety. You really didn’t need that extra shot.

A very official-looking staffer met you on the 56th floor. She led you to the meeting space, a modern but sterile-looking conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows, tinted glass separating the room from the hallway, and a massive oak table with a dozen chairs.

“The Vice President and Deputy Chief Technology Officer will be with you both shortly. Please have a seat.”

“Wait the Vice President? Like the Vice President of the United States? He’s coming to our meeting? I thought we were just meeting with the Deputy?” The sentences jumped out of your mouth quicker than you would have liked.

“Yes, as you may know, the Vice President has made technology and anti-terrorism efforts a focus of his office for several years now. He’s been briefed on your work by the CTO and is eager to discuss further details with you both.”

And with that sudden news, the staffer disappeared, slipping back out into the hallway.

As you watched her figure move down the hall behind the tinted glass, the walls felt like they were starting to push in on you. Could the ceiling be dropping in on you too? You took another sip of your coffee, nerves fully on fire again.

Several more minutes of pacing and pep talks occurred before the conference room door opened again. The staffer was back with important friends this time.

After the most formal introductions of your life, your boss took over with his presentation. It’d been decided a long time ago he’d handle the flashy intro and you’d seal the deal with the demo. This was your baby after all and no one knew it better than you.

As your boss finished the pitch you stood from your chair, resting your hands firmly on the briefcase he’d brought. The leather was cool and soft.

You locked eyes with your boss. His eyes crinkled at you again. You felt the air come back into your lungs and the walls didn’t feel so close anymore. You could do this.

As you slipped your hands inside the briefcase the sound of heavy boots echoed outside. Black shadows in the shape of half a dozen men darkened the tinted glass separating the conference room and the hallway. Then came the voices; deep, angry, decidedly unAmerican.

“If you fucking muppets don’t let me into that room I promise you you’ll regret ever stepping foot in this bloody country.”

An agent whipped opened the conference door, nearly tumbling over as four combat-clad men pushed their way inside.

“Diaz, what’s going on?” The Vice President eyed the fumbling agent.

“Sir, we need to move you to…”

The agent's voice was cut off as the windows behind you exploded rocking you forward. Shards of glass rained down on your back as your ribs collided with the oak table. Every ounce of air was knocked from your lungs as you crumbled to the floor. The table toppled over onto its side in front of you while behind you the room opened up to the London skyline.

Total silence enveloped the room except for a high pitch buzzing that felt like it was crawling its way out from deep inside your ear.

Enormous pain rippled throughout your chest as you reached above you for the briefcase now precariously dangling off the edge of the table. You pulled the smooth leather to your chest.

As your braced your forearms on the ground and pushed yourself up to your full height you heard a murmur of a deep voice. Someone was trying to penetrate the ringing in your ears, but you couldn’t understand. The buzzing was still too loud.

Fully upright you came face to face with one of the foreign soldiers. He towered several inches above you, a British flag squarely on his chest. His steely blue irises glanced over your body and when his eyes came back to rest on your face his pupils were nearly double in size.

Then the soldier lunged at you.

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

Price wrapped one of his hands around your waist and the other on the back of your head as he tackled you to the floor. He didn’t care about the bruises he’d leave on your hip as he pressed his full weight roughly against you. He needed you on the ground now.

“Get down! Sniper on the roof across the street. Soap take him out now!”

“On it!”

Before Soap could pull out his rifle the first shot rings throughout the conference room. Price watches as it slams into a businessman’s chest ripping flesh and bone. He can taste the terribly familiar scent of coppery blood in the air.

Before the crimson cloud can even reach the carpet, another shot. This one takes down the stubborn agent who delayed Price getting into this room. A mist of blood plumes where the man once stood. Price grits his teeth.

Then another bang. This time the staffer is down.

Soap fires next. His Scottish timbre yells out, “Sniper down.”

Ropes drop down outside the building. Price knows this means the fight is just beginning. He quickly kneels removing himself from you and grabs your hand, yanking you to a seated position. He can see tears forming in your eyes. He can’t worry about exfiltrating a civilian now. Secure the high-value officials and eliminate the threat, those words repeat in his mind like a command he’s ordering to himself. There are only seconds before this room will be invaded.

But he won’t leave you here out in the open, he can’t watch another civilian die if he can stop it. So without saying a word he looks at you and points to a spot behind the overturned table. He hopes you’ll understand his wordless intention. You hadn’t answered him when he’d asked if you were alright after the blast, a shot eardrum from the blast most likely.

Price lets out a small breath as he watches you scurry to cover behind the overturned table.

He reminds himself of his own order, secure the officials. Price barks, “Gaz, Ghost get the VP and CTO out of here now! Roof’s compromised take the stairs. Go!”

“Moving now sir.” Ghost answers.

Then comes the smoke, the Russian voices, and the sound of boots crunching on carpet and broken glass. Prices slides in next to you behind the cover of the large overturned oak table, shoulders and thighs pressing up against each other. He can feel your body shaking. He doesn’t need to see your face to know that tears are down your cheeks by now.

Price peers around the table. The smoke is thick. Wait, he tells himself. The haze will thin out soon with the windows blown away. Wait … for the moment to strike. Wait… for the enemy to compromise themselves. Wait… because everything in Price’s life depends on the perfect balance of violence and timing.

One of the Russians get’s impatient and fires a rogue round into the ceiling. Patience pays off and Price shoots his pistol. One down.

The smoke is clearing fast now. Price moves from his cover behind the table. Soap emerges from the receding smoke with him. They fire and fight together, pushing their way forward toward the London skyline with bullets, knives, and brute force. Russians falling one by one in their wake.

There’s no one left in front of Price to gun down when he hears a scream from behind him. You’re standing by the door, briefcase clutched to your chest, and knife to your throat. One of the Russians must have taken the stairs from the roof down, sneaking into the room during the fighting.

Price tries to remind himself to wait. To wait for the right moment. To pair his violence with perfect timing… but your eyes. Your eyes beg him not to. Your eyes beg Price to move now, to fight now, to save you now.

So he moves. Price raises his pistol and fires. But at that same moment, you move and two bodies hit the floor.

Fuck. What had Price done?

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

(Read the rest of this story here)

#call of duty #captain price #captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #cod #call of duty fic #captain john price x you #captain price x reader #captain johnathan price

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lovelywoos · 2 years

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a love like lovers | j.ww

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genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, oneshot; crack, fluff

pairings: best friend!wonwoo x gender neutral reader

word count: 2k

warnings: mentions of ghosts, possession, spirits, demons (nothing too bad), swearing

description: sometimes, it takes ghosts and demons to bring two people, so obviously in love yet they can’t see it, together

❀ a/n - comeback post after like 2 years whoop whoop...

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you clutch the phone even harder as you hear wonwoo simply cackle at your whines.

“stop laughing, woo! i will literally jump out my window if you don’t get here soon.”

wonwoo lets out a breathy laugh as he pictures you standing right next to the window of your room, clutching the windowsill in fear.

“don’t you dare, y/n. i’m almost there. just ten minutes away,” he responds, holding in a chuckle.

“TEN MINUTES-- a damn ghost is gonna possess me before you even park your car.”

wonwoo lets out a sigh. yeah. maybe he shouldn’t have begged you to watch that horror movie with him earlier. “i see why you never wanted to watch horror movies with me now.”

but before you could respond, a branch slaps against your window, making a loud thud.

you let out a scream and ran back to your bed to pull the covers over your head, praying the ghost would want to possess wonwoo instead of you when he got here.

he quirks an eyebrow at the noise from your end that was now followed by an uncomfortable silence paired with your heavy breathing.

“y/n? hello?”

“just saying, but if a ghost tries to get me, i will one hundred percent stall them by saying i’ll give you to them instead. you’re bigger and smarter, they’ll want you for sure.”

—

wonwoo parks his car outside your place while he stumbles out and runs to your front door. it was too late at night for him to be going to your place. even as your best friend this felt highly inappropriate (maybe it’s because of his huge crush on you and going to your house late at night made his heart tremble with anxiety, but regardless still not right in wonwoo’s eyes!!). yet here he was, mumbling his regrets on begging you to watch a stupid scary movie as he waited for you to let him in.

it’s been four minutes since you hung up on him after whispering to him through the phone, “if i die, you can have my candle collection.”

wonwoo repeatedly presses the doorbell. he was beginning to think you’re probably hiding in some corner of your house, unable to hear the doorbell.

after hearing a muffled screech from inside the house, he immediately lets out a breath he’d been holding now that he knew you didn’t pass out from shock.

footsteps fall closer to the door. as the front door abruptly opens, a bright light shines into his eyes.

wonwoo groans and puts his hand over his eyes to shield them from the light.

“what the fuck?”

“WONWOO!!!” you let out a squeal as you dropped the flashlight in your hand and released the blanket around your shoulder, jumping onto wonwoo instantly.

“woah, y/n!”

wonwoo wraps his arms around your waist, letting him soften the fall for you as he falls backward.

he groans in pain, taking a sharp inhale as he looks up to see you gain composure to straddle his waist.

“oh my gosh, i swear my house is haunted, wonwoo. i just know it. do you think i should move back in with my mom? i mean she had been pestering me about it lately...”

your words fade away as wonwoo could only stare in complete silence at you. with both of your hands pressed against his chest to gain balance and you sitting atop his waist, one leg on each side of him, his heartbeat couldn’t help but start to escalate.

best friends shouldn’t feel this way for each other.

your rambling quieted down once an evident blush grew on your best friend’s face.

you slap a hand over your mouth as your eyes grew big. you look down at your position and look back up to observe his expression.

you were quite literally on top of your best friend (crush) outside in the cold hours of the night.

you roll off him in a panic, ultimately crashing into your front door.

wonwoo lets out a snort as he stands up and grabs your blanket and flashlight you had dropped before tackling him.

“i’m so sorry, woo. i saw you and got excited. anyways, please protect me. i don’t plan on sleeping tonight, so get ready for a long night ahead,” you blurted out with an embarrassed smile.

your best friend simply smiles as he puts his hands on each side of your waist to help you up.

you fight the blush growing on your cheeks as you whisper a soft ‘thanks’ and head inside first.

as wonwoo follows behind you, he sighs, taking in the setup, but he wasn’t surprised. he knew you had an insane collection of bath and body works candles, but to see your entire collection of the many different scented candles spread around your living room and the kitchen was quite the sight to see.

“god, y/n. it smells like christmas in one corner and like berries in the other.”

“shut up, i am repelling the evil spirits... or whatever else away from this house with my nice candles,” you huffed with crossed arms.

wonwoo stops in place as he stares at the way the light glow of the candles lets him see you perfectly. your hair was a mess, your forehead glistened with sweat, your pout looked absolutely adorable, and with your wrinkled pajamas, he couldn’t help but feel a tug on the strings of his heart. you were adorable, despite the odd situation.

uncomfortable with the lack of response from your best friend, you turn to look at him, breath hitching at his unreadable gaze towards you.

“why are you staring at me? stop it!”

wonwoo laughs. suddenly deciding this very moment would be a good chance to tease you, he covers his mouth with his hand with wide eyes, pointing behind you, and says, “oh my goodness gracious! y/n, look behind-- OOF”

the moment those first few words escaped his lips, he damn well regretted it. because you, once again, ran towards him at full speed and tackled the six-foot boy down as if it was nothing.

wonwoo squeezes his eyes shut in pain as you cling onto him like a koala. “it was a joke and you know it,” he groans out.

“your fault for joking about ghosts in our current state.”

—

as wonwoo got situated into your place, he was already well aware you wouldn’t get even a minute of sleep if he didn’t stay over. so he couldn’t help but watch you in disbelief.

every slight noise seemed to make you flinch and no matter what he said could reassure you. the twinge of guilt he had only grew bigger. wonwoo places his cup of noodles on your kitchen counter and makes his way over to you on the couch.

“y/n, it’s fine. i’ll... fight off the ghosts with this!”

your tear your gaze away from the tv to look at wonwoo next to you. only to see him holding up your pink fly swatter.

you blink at your best friend, unamused.

“okay fine, but seriously, try to get some sleep. i’ll get some blankets from your room and sleep next to the couch once you fall asleep, alright?” he says with the gentlest voice, raising a finger to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

your heart swells. your cheeks burn. your hands get clammy. all because of your supposed best friend.

the same best friend who would constantly tease you for absolutely anything seemed so soft and gentle to you at that very moment. he sends a nose-crinkling smile at you as you held back every cell in your body that wanted you to go hug him. jeon wonwoo had gotten out of the comfort of his bed, got in his car, and drove to your place at 2 am simply because you called him, screaming, that your house was haunted.

how could you not fall in love with your best friend?

the soft moment was ruined as the kitchen lights began to flicker off and on. wonwoo and you make eye contact and for once, his eyes matched your fearful ones. your hands gripped the cushions of your couch as you gulped. before you knew it, the lights completely went off.

in milliseconds, you roll yourself off the couch, grab your blanket, and dash to the front door.

“y/n! wait!” wonwoo yells as he quickly follows after you, stumbling on his way out.

wonwoo runs to the front door and comes to a halt. he forgot to bring his glasses to your place. he brought his toothbrush, his phone, a hoodie, and a phone charger, but not his glasses.

“damn it,” wonwoo squints, scanning the area. it was pitch black outside, and you were a tiny person running around in the dark.

“over here, wonwoo!” you whisper yell from a distance.

“y/n, i don’t have my glasses! i can’t see where you are!”

you groan and make your way back to the front door, “how do you forget your glasses? you wear them every day! they’re your eyes, woo.”

as your figure grows clearer, he frowns and replies, “people who hoard candles and leave them at other people’s houses do not get to lecture me about my glasses!”

you gasp. “how dare you? you get free candles from your best friend every week. i would say only best of best friends do that!”

the corner of his lips tilt up as he pets your head. “just joking, y/n. i love you and your candles.”

you freeze in place as his words register. what were you supposed to do, this is all new territory. he had never said those words before to you.

his smile drops. his own words were just processing.

“i mean, no i don’t.”

okay, just because his words caught you off guard did not mean you wanted him to take them back! so you raise an eyebrow, “you don’t love my candles or you don’t love me?”

wonwoo stammers, unable to find his words, “i-i... love your candles, of course, don’t get me wrong. and... i love you as--”

“if you say best friend i might cry, woo.”

wonwoo’s words were stuck in his throat with what you had just said. were you saying what he thinks you might be saying?

“well, what should i say then?” he asks, eyes hopeful, yet anxious with your next words.

unable to form a response, you decide to let your actions respond instead.

you grab him by the collar of his hoodie and pull him closer, connecting your lips to his.

by now you do think a ghost has possessed you because normal you definitely could not be able to do this. maybe falling in love wonwoo just makes you this way.

wonwoo lets his shock dissipate as he kisses back fervently. he puts a hand on your waist, pulls your body to his, and moves another hand to your cheek. his touches always were so gentle to you.

as you pull away, immediately missing the feeling of his lips, your faces stay close together, noses still brushing. before you could move away, he plants another kiss on your lips and moves his head to rest on your shoulder, letting out a soft sigh against your neck. his hand still on your check, caressing it carefully.

and so, he let out years of pent up frustrations for not being able to truly give you the love you deserved.

“i love you romantically. i love you the way lovers do. i’ve loved you since we first became friends. i love you despite all the arguments we had, despite the times we nearly drifted, and despite how clingy and dramatic you are. i love you so much that--”

“wonwoo! i got it! you love me!” you push him away from your neck so he can face you.

you smile seeing his red ears. good to know you weren’t the only one affected by his confessions.

“and i love you too.”

“romantically or platonically?”

your smile drops.

“i’m joking! i could tell by your kisses which way you love me--”

“jeon wonwoo!”

as you yelled his name, crashes could be heard coming from inside your living room.

both you wonwoo stilled for a moment, turned to look each other in the eyes, and agreed.

“my house?” wonwoo asked.

“your house.”

meeting wonwoo and becoming his best friend was possibly one of the best things that happened to you. his kind and assuring words, acts of service, but simply the comfort of his presence alone was all you needed. maybe that’s why you couldn’t help but call him, even knowing you were waking him up because you knew jeon wonwoo was someone who would make you feel safe. maybe that’s when you realized what love is. love makes you feel safe and that’s what jeon wonwoo makes you feel when he loves you.

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marvelstarker-mha98 · 7 days

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The Invention Left By A Little Stark-book 2 Chap 1: A Girl And Her Creation

Pairing: Tony Stark & daughter!Reader, Ultron & Reader, Friday & Reader

Summary

The fate of (Y/n) Stark left the world stunned.

But, as all things do, it eventually moved on. You were by no doubt forgotten, but things were moving fast in the world of heroes and villains.

The quantum realm comes to light, your most loved design gains sentience, and an organisation rooted within evil works harder than ever to destroy the Avengers. But that was just the tip of the ice berg.

How long can the world really go on without you? -------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/n: Hey everyone thank you for the love, commenting and support for the story that you all have for book 1 The Runaway Distance Life Of A Little Stark! Now book 1 is out of the way and we know its been three weeks of excitement and intense waiting for book two, me and my an amazing friend, catastrophicxcreativity aka SlytherinsRebellion give you the sequel!!! Again so we hope you all love this! Warning: Flashback, Animal feces, Blackout Co author with: callikc Tag: @venomsvl @geeksareunique @huntective-kyeo, @klc13, @natsbiggestfan1, @carellmcu,

Inventions.

The action of inventing something, typically a process or device, or a creative ability.

Inventions are created to change the world as we know it. They are made to solve problems and make life easier. They are designed to help the next generation. Only the freakishly smart or badass insane can create something that will be put in the history books.

Me? I'm (Y/n) Stark. I'm one of them.

-

This story began a long time ago.

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It was approximately two weeks before the fall of SHIELD, two weeks before your one decision would change everything. Your compound - your home away from home - was peaceful for the moment.

The lake was still, a glimmering crystal in the sun's glare, and the grass - although overgrown - was barely making a whistle as the blades crossed each other. The gravel of the pathways lay undisturbed and even the animals seemed scarce for that one evening.

However, not all of them.

A tiny rabbit was hopping its way against the sunset backdrop. It didn't stop until it reached your car.

The paintwork shone like a diamond and this rabbit stopped right next to your tire…

It stared for a long moment...

Turned its back...

And took a poo right next to the rubber.

Almost immediately, a light buzzing filled the air. A manufactured drone with claws came whizzing from around the building's side, right out of a window. Inside one claw was a spray bottle and inside the other was a bag and rag.

Inside the room it left was you. It was the lab.

A pale red cleaning robot was sorting out a coffee spillage on the floor and seemed to be humming along to Twisted Sister's 'We're Not Gonna Take It.' Mixed in with the classic sound was a very sudden cackle of electricity.

"Shit!" You cursed.

As it sparked, the lights in the lab - and likely the entire compound - went out. The music also cut out and you were left at your desk with heavy breaths.

"Just another damn day with a blackout." You muttered in a false cheery tone. "Ha, ha, ha. Fuck my life."

You let out a hollow sigh and turned your wrist to check the time on your watch. It was late.

"FRIDAY." You said, tapping the watch a few times. "How long until I get the lights back?"

"Without a manual reset the compound system should be restored naturally within the hour." She replied.

"No chance it could be sooner?"

"I could do it myself. With your security walls in mind, it should take ten minutes."

"Please do. I kinda need my WiFi."

"Forgive me, miss, but is that your main concern?"

"Damn right it is. How else am I gonna listen to my tunes? Or watch The Walking Dead? I need to know what's happening with everyone now that the Governor's gone and ruined the prison."

"Don't you think the food should be a priority?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah, probably. Can't have it going off again."

-

Since those like moi are constantly inventing and creating new things, we have the very real power to change the world.

People used to say that the future would create robots. They used to say that robots would be the product of humanity, that we could bring an entire new species to life.

-

"Ten minutes, miss." FRIDAY said. "It's in your best interests to sleep. You've been awake for twenty-six hours. It's not very healthy."

You raised a brow and spoke sarcastically. "Thanks, Dad."

Instead of taking the helpful advice, you surveyed your cluttered desk for a flashlight. After finding it and twisting the top, light filled the room. You pointed it towards a second workbench.

Ultron.

Not only was he the prototype of perhaps the smartest AI anyone had ever seen, but you may or may not have used the Iron Legion designs from your dad to create Ultron's image. After all, he was intended to be for Tony anyway. To help him.

You approached the bench and set the flashlight down so that it illuminated the area properly before standing directly in front of Ultron. With a reminiscent smile, you placed your hand on his chest and closed your eyes as the cool material reacted against your skin.

"How long has it been, buddy?" You asked in a quiet mumble. "Two years now? Something like that. All those systems and codes and trying to synthesize the right material took it out of me, you know? You've always been my favorite project. I'm not gonna give up. You'll be amazing one day. You are gonna have the world in awe."

Your smile dropped a little.

"I want the world to think they need you. The thing is..."

-

Humans have always wanted robots to assist them.

The aim is specialized workers, the key ones. Doctors, nurses, teachers, those kinds of people.

Anything, really.

-

Ultron - even now - began to flicker in and out of consciousness.

He couldn't move or talk, but he was aware, able to observe. He watched as you - his creator - began to move around the lab as the power flickered back on.

He liked to study your actions. He enjoyed it. You were intriguing.

He watched until a loud telephone line began to ring in the warehouse. Then he listened.

"Incoming call from an encrypted line." FRIDAY - your primary AI - said.

He saw you furrow broth brows. "Can you decrypt it?"

Your voice was familiar to Ultron now. It was like home.

"I'm afraid not, miss." FRIDAY said.

"Alright." You sighed and answered whoever it was. "Look, if this is a scam call, shove it up your ass."

"Charmed, Campbell." Another replied.

Ultron used what capabilities he had to deduce that the voice belonged to Director Nicholas Fury. Your boss.

"Fury?" You questioned.

His tone indicated pain.

"You good? You sound beat." You said.

"Look, we don't have much time. I need you to get Loki's scepter."

"Eh?" You sat up straight, even more confused. "What's going on?"

"SHIELD is compromised."

Your voice faltered. "What?"

Ultron ran more information through his database, deciphering everything in real time.

"It's HYDRA." Fury said. "Agent Sitwell and STRIKE, probably others. Don't trust anyone."

HYDRA...

"How did this happen, Fury?" You asked, panicked.

"It doesn't matter. Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff are being targeted, as am I, and maybe even you. It's the Winter Soldier."

"The Winter who?"

"HYDRA's trained assassin. Look, just get the scepter before they do and wait for my instructions. Remember, don't trust anyone."

The line disconnected.

Ultron watched again as you began to pace and mutter underneath your breath. You cursed and grumbled and seemed annoyed. He wished he could do more, that he had a suitable power source that would enable him to reach out to you.

You finally stopped.

With the power on, you switched off the flashlight on the workbench and tossed it away. You hesitated as you looked up and met Ultron's gaze. You knew what you had to do, but you couldn't ensure his safety. The only way you thought of was to hide him so only you and your dad could find him.

You checked over the lab and went over to the furthest wall. It seemed pretty normal. Standard white paint, a few blueprints and instructions hung up among post-it notes and memorabilia. At least until you hit a certain part of the wall several times and suddenly it all began to shake and withdraw.

A secret compartment was revealed.

You flicked on a light before turning and going back over to Ultron's body. You looked into his eyes one last time before letting out a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry." You told him. "I've gotta keep you safe."

Then you used all of your strength to move his body towards the secret compartment.

-

Bringing something to life is incredible.

You start with nothing but bits and pieces and then somehow you finish with a living and sentient being who can think for itself. Something that is capable of passing the Turing Test. It's insane. It's the game changer.

But it's also risky.

What if these robots we make can surpass humanity? What if they outnumber us and they rule the world. What if they rule us? They will always be more intelligent, everything we wish we could be.

-

You held the door to the compartment aside, the limited light barely peeking through.

"I'll be back." You promised. "When I am, we'll do a test, yeah? We'll see how you manage."

You closed the compartment properly, waiting until you heard it click before backing up. You needed to get to the Triskelion.

Once you left, the time passed quickly.

-

I don't know who first raised the suspicions about robots, but they did.

They started the paranoia. Or maybe they just watched a lot of Terminator and I, Robot and end of the world movies. But seriously? Robots taking over the world? That can't happen. It's bogus.

-

Night had fallen on the warehouse compound.

The lab was abandoned and yet the compartment inside showed itself.

The groan of the wall receding broke the silence and it revealed Ultron, standing alone in the darkness. He seemed to be the only thing inside until a shadow passed over him. It belonged to a man.

"Well, well, well..." The man drawled in a very antagonistic fashion. "What do we have here?"

The man - the one who had reopened the compartment - tilted his head to assess the robotic body. It looked like an android.

"Little Stark has her very own bot, does she?" He murmured, tapping Ultron's chest.

-

God... I hope my robot won't take over the world.

#Tony stark #tony stark x daughter!reader #ironman #reader & Friday #Reader & Ultron #mcu #marvel #avengers

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stratossphere · 1 year

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tequila sunrises | j.k

johnny and tequila don’t mix well.

warnings: overall horribly drunken behavior, fluff

word count: 3.6k

— —

Liquor was one hell of a drug. It sounded funny, because most people would’ve argued that liquor was the safest alternative when it came to booze and narcotics combined, but most people hadn’t seen Johnny Knoxville after nine tequila sunrises.

You were partying after what had felt like years of doing press that none of you wanted to do, and with the promise of a free weekend without a single occupational obligation, everyone was going hard.

The bar you were all holed up in for the night was turning into a complete free-for-all. Chairs had been turned on their sides, Steve-O and Ryan had already been in two fist fights with Dave (turned Darf) joining in on the second, and everyone was so wasted that it was like talking to completely new people every time you interacted with the friends that you had arrived with.

However, there was one person who was acting just like he always did; just adding enough tequila to kill a small child into the mix to spice things up a little bit. Johnny had drifted from your side as the night had gone on, which was probably how he had managed to down nine drinks loaded to the brim with tequila without being cut off, and you had actually lost sight of him in favor of talking to Jeff.

“—which is like, the main reason why you shouldn’t have kids. I will literally go over to the Safeway across the street and get you a box of condoms if it means you won’t get Laura pregnant.” You were drunkenly relenting to him after he had offhandedly admitted that he and his girlfriend Laura had been thinking of having kids. You weren’t sure why your drunk brain was so against the idea, but your mouth was only as coherent as your brain, so you’d been on the topic for the past ten minutes.

“I feel like I should be recording this to play back to your happy accidents someday in the future.” Jeff snickered, finishing off the last of his beer and then glancing around behind you. Suddenly, you watched as his eyes stopped and his jaw dropped slightly. “Uh, have you checked on PJ lately?”

“Fuck.” You sighed, knowing by the look on his face that Johnny was doing something that you weren’t going to like. You saw that look a lot in bars where Johnny’s tab was on Paramount. You took a deep breath before you requested what exactly that something was. “What’s he doing?”

“He’s teabagging Bam’s forehead.” That had not even been close to what you had been expecting to hear, and you choked on the drag of your cigarette you had just inhaled when he spoke. You then immediately whipped around in your seat, and true to Jeff’s observations, Ryan was holding Bam down on a table of one of the booths behind you while Johnny literally stood over him with both dick and balls in hand.

“Oh my fucking god.” You shot out of your seat, ignoring Jeff’s cackling as you bolted across the space between you and the booth of debauchery. Johnny and Ryan were laughing too hard to be paying any attention to anything other than the ‘task’ at hand, but Bam’s eyes immediately sought yours in a desperate plea for help once he spotted you.

“Get them the fuck away from me!” He screamed, wriggling aggressively in Ryan’s iron grip as he tried to get away from Johnny. Jeff saying that Johnny was teabagging Bam wasn’t exactly accurate, because that would’ve implied that he was actually successful. In reality, he was so drunk that he couldn’t stand still enough to even get near Bam’s face, and every other second he was just managing to catch himself before he toppled right over.

Once Bam had called out to you, however, both of his attackers’ attention was immediately drawn in your direction, and Johnny’s eyes met yours about a millisecond before you were forcibly pulling him away from Bam by the back of his shirt.

“What the hell are you doing?” You snapped, giving him a glare that stopped his giggling in its tracks. It was bad enough that he was trying to teabag his friend (honestly, you had seen much worse, and really weren’t all that surprised), but you were in a crowded bar. With potential indecent exposure charges just waiting to stick themselves to the first person of the Jackass crew to whip out their dick for the night. You were drunk, but nowhere near enough to excuse public exposure.

“Uh…” Johnny smiled sheepishly when he trailed off, seemingly frozen in place where you had pulled him away from Bam and Ryan (who were now shoving and hitting each other in retaliation for Ryan’s actions against Bam). When you raised an expectant eyebrow, his sheepish smile turned into a wolfish grin. “Giving the people what they want!”

“Put it away. Now.” You warned, using your hand on his shoulder to angle him away from the rest of the bar so that no one else besides you was getting a clear-shot view of his dick. He groaned like a teenager who’d just been asked to clean his room, moving like he was going to try and get away from you. Your grip on his arm solidified. “PJ. You do it or I’m going to.”

“You can.” You hadn’t even realized how stupid that suggestion had been until he immediately jumped at the opportunity, a suggestive look on his face as he did so. But, nevertheless, you did exactly that, forced to let him lean his entire body against you so that he would stand still enough to let you get his zipper done up. Once you were successful and he was once more fully clothed, you took your cigarette out of your mouth and crossed your arms as you stared at him.

“I can’t fucking believe you. You can’t just walk around with your dick out in a crowded bar!” You lectured, noticing the way his expression stayed completely the same despite the fact that you were scolding him. His eyes had been trained blankly at the wall, but soon you watched them slowly drag from the top of your head all the way down to your feet, lingering on the low-cut collar of your shirt for a lot longer than what could be considered inconspicuous.

“Can you touch me again? Like in the bathroom or something?” His voice was so airy as he begged, you were almost surprised that it had come from the man standing in front of you. You deadpanned, because he was clearly trashed way beyond being a sensible, coherent human being, before pointing to an empty table. You couldn’t hold him on his feet forever.

“No. You’re too drunk.” You said as you coaxed him into sitting down, wincing at how hard he squeezed your hand when he grabbed it to give himself some support. He whined at your refusal, dropping his head down onto the table dramatically and still not letting go of your hand.

“But baby. I need you.” He protested, lifting his head just enough to look at you with a hopeful spark in his eyes. He was clearly just jonesing for your attention, and looked a little hurt when you pulled away to sit on the opposite side of the table from him.

“You just had your dick on my friend’s face. I’m not touching it.” You said with finality, almost breaking your glare when you felt him rubbing his foot on the inside of your thigh. Johnny Knoxville: actor, producer, and stuntman, everyone.

“It was just a little bit of my balls. He was being overdramatic.” Johnny whined, his voice slurred and just a little high-pitched as he clearly tried to convince you to go jack him off in the bathroom. Or right there in the booth, considering how bold his foot was getting on your thigh. Usually that was your move.

“Babe. Look at me.” You drew his attention before leaning out and tipping his chin up towards you with your thumb and index finger, forcing his complete focus onto you. “No.”

“But I’m really hard now!” If you hadn’t been looking directly at his face, you would’ve thought he was crying. He sounded so broken-hearted that it almost made you feel bad for him. Almost.

“How can you still get hard after drinking so much?” You sighed, a small frown pulling on your face as he attempted to reach out and steal your cigarette from you. He had a habit of dropping them when he was drunk. “PJ. Nuh uh.”

“Ugh.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, as if you were being an asshole by keeping him from being a complete nuisance. As you tried not to laugh at his insolence, his eyes then sparked with an idea. “Can I sit in your lap instead?”

6’1, lanky Johnny Knoxville curled up in your lap in a bar booth seat. Sure, he’d actually done that many times before, but you were in a cramped space, and he was a messy drunk. You were already picturing him leaning back a bit too far and then falling right out of the booth while taking you right down with him.

“We’re in a bar.” You reasoned, motioning around as if he wasn’t aware of his surroundings. With the amount of alcohol he’d clearly consumed in such a short period of time, you actually wouldn’t have been surprised if he wasn’t. He shrugged like that made no difference to him, and you sighed. “Fine. You can sit on this side with me.”

“Yes!” He cheered like getting to sit in a grimy booth seat with you was the greatest gift he could’ve ever been given. You laughed and rolled your eyes as he dragged himself out of his side of the booth slowly, taking a second to let his bearings come back to him. “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?”

“Keep your voice down. Someone’ll find out.” You teased, feeling a little bit of satisfaction run through you as he giggled at your stupid joke like a little girl. If you ever needed a pick-me-up, all you had to do was start telling even the lamest of jokes to a drunk Johnny Knoxville.

“I love you so much.” Once he was on his feet and had made it around to your side, Johnny practically fell in on top of you, ending up basically in your lap anyways with his arm thrown out haphazardly around you as he almost burned himself on your cigarette. Your back hit the wall at the end of the booth with the impact of his weight, and you groaned.

“Honey. Be gentle.” You complained, trying to stop him from rolling around too much in your lap. He settled slightly at your words, finding a final resting place with his head on your chest and his body draped over your legs.

“You smell so good.” He mumbled after a second, taking in a deep breath after he spoke to inhale the scent of your perfume. You laughed a little bit, glancing up momentarily and then noticing that Ryan and Bam were coming towards you. Not a smart idea considering what Johnny and them had just been doing, but to each their own.

“We are in a public bar. Can you not fornicate in the booths?” Bam drawled as he came within earshot, a deep frown settling on his face as he looked at you and Johnny. You smiled sourly, not even having to open your mouth to invite them into the other side of the booth before they were sliding in on their own.

“I think he’s had like, half a bottle of tequila.” You explained, shrugging it off and then raising your eyebrows expectantly. “Did you get tired of beating each other up?”

“Yes. We came to inform you that Jeff accidentally put his card down instead of the Paramount card, so he’s throwing a bitch fit at the bar. In case you’re interested.” Ryan announced, jabbing a finger back towards said bar where you could vaguely make out Jeff yelling at one of the bartenders. You motioned down to Johnny.

“I’m a little wrapped up.” Quite literally. You had a feeling that your ‘never-ending’ night of partying was going to have to be cut short soon before Johnny completely slipped into a liquor-induced coma. “Now would be your chance to teabag back.”

“Yeah, like I’m putting my balls anywhere near him.” Bam scoffed, shaking his head while Ryan shared an amused look with me. “Do you think I’m fucking crazy? He’s got a stun-gun in his back pocket.”

Upon checking, Johnny did in fact have a stun-gun in the back pocket of his Dickies. He was too drunk to even notice you pulling it out, and you gave Bam a ‘now stop complaining’ look as you dropped it down on the table in front of him before taking another drag off your cigarette.

“I don’t know if I should be giving that to you considering you’ve been drinking, but whatever.” You snickered, talking over Johnny’s sleepy groan at being touched. He wrapped his arms around you tighter then, and you let out a small exhale when he basically squeezed the air right out of you. Jesus Christ, he was strong.

“Sweet! I wonder if you can electrocute someone through their beer bottle.” Ryan immediately snatched the stun-gun off the table before Bam could even make a move for it, and you silently regretted your decision. Alcohol and weapons had never been a good mix, but with the Jackass crew, it was kind of a given.

A shoving match ensued between Bam and Ryan over the gun, which resulted in the table being jostled, pulling an irritated sigh out of you. You loved your friends (and boyfriend) to death, but sometimes they were a huge fucking handful. It was hard to believe that they were all truly adults with fully-formed brains. It just didn’t seem real.

“Hey, Y/n, I’ll give you fifty bucks to let me taze you.” Ryan still had the gun, and was now looking at you with a wickedly eager look plastered on his face. You rolled your eyes at him, jabbing a finger towards the rest of the bar.

“You’d have to pay me a lot more than that. I bet Steve-O’ll do it for 25.” You pointed out, knowing that he’d actually probably do it for 10. If you wanted painful entertainment, he was definitely your guy. Bam made a face.

“Dude, you gotta take him home. Or like, give him a bump or something.” He said, pointing towards Johnny with a slightly unnerved tone in his voice. You glanced down at your boyfriend, only to see that his eyes were closed and his head had moved to dangle off of your side with his mouth wide open. You sighed, sharing a ‘can you fucking believe this?’ look with Ryan as you gently nudged Johnny.

“PJ, honey. Get up so we can call a cab back to the house.” You prompted, ignoring his groan of protest when you woke him out of what was a clear attempt at being done with his night. When he didn’t budge, even after you shoved him lightly, you gritted your teeth in frustration before putting your cigarette out in an empty pint glass and nudging him with your knee. “Philip John Clapp. Let’s go.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Johnny snapped, looking deeply offended that you’d just called him by his full, legal name as his eyes finally snapped open at your prompting. Bam and Ryan were both snickering as he fought his way out of the booth after you had coerced him into doing so, stumbling a little bit when he stood and then grabbing your shoulder harshly to hold himself up. “Fucking ridiculous. We just got here.”

“We’ve been here for like, six hours, dude.” Bam laughed, watching you struggle to wrangle Johnny in as he did absolutely nothing to help you. Fucking typical. Johnny just brushed him off, shooting a consistent dirty look at both him and Ryan as you finally got him fully out of the booth and away from the table.

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, or if you can’t make it back to your hotel room and you just want to come back to our place.” You said breathlessly to your two friends, blowing them both a kiss and then promptly alost getting pulled down by your trashed boyfriend, who was basically crawling all over you. They both called out their half-assed goodbyes, probably more focused on getting even drunker now that there was the option to come back to Johnny’s house than actually seeing the two of you off.

“We’re gonna snuggle when we get back, right?” Johnny asked as soon as they were out of earshot, head basically resting on top of yours as he spoke in his high-pitched, whiny voice. You were waving your goodbyes to everyone else in the bar at the same time as you walked, and you could see everyone’s amused looks at Johnny’s state as you dragged him along after you. You sighed, a hint of a grin on your face.

“Sure, baby. If you make it that far.” You agreed, wincing when he took your hand and squeezed tightly. You were trying to enjoy your time while you could, because you knew the only thing worse than black-out-drunk Johnny was hungover Johnny, but he wasn’t exactly making it easy. “PJ. You have legs.”

“Don’t even need ‘em.” Johnny slurred through a snicker whilst continuing to drag his feet, leaning back lazily and giving you a proud grin as he looked down at where you were basically holding him up. “You’re so fucking strong.”

“Thanks.” You grumbled, finally making it out to the sidewalk outside of the bar and sighing in relief. The least you could do was take a couple minute break before you hailed a cab and had to deal with getting him inside on top of everything else. “Sit down for a little bit.”

“You gonna sit in my lap?” Oh, how the tables turn. He collapsed right down onto his ass before you could even answer, one arm catching the belt loop of your jeans and yanking you down along with him. You had consumed considerably less alcohol than him, but you were still drunk, so it didn’t take much for you to go right down with him.

“Ow, you fucking asshole. Warn me.” You complained as you felt his belt buckle stab right into your lower back, one arm shooting out behind you to grab his shoulder so that you didn’t go tumbling over to the side. He just wrapped his arms around you and squeezed hard enough to make you wince. Again.

“Shh.” He cooed, tucking his chin onto your shoulder before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Don’t be such a pouter.”

“I’m gonna tell you that when you yell at me for talking to you when you’re throwing up tomorrow morning.” You pointed out dryly, giggling when his scruff tickled your neck as he continued to press kisses to your skin.

“Aw, don’t be like that. I’ll be a good girl tomorrow. Promise.” He crooned sleepily, finally ceasing his kissing attack to rest his head heavily on your shoulder.

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure.” You snorted, letting him lace his fingers with yours once more and feeling relief when he only held your hand gently. “Guess what. Jeff wants to have a baby.”

“Tremaine makin’ babies!” Johnny guffawed at the idea right in your ear, leaning back slightly as he laughed his ass off. Once he finished his giggling session, his head was immediately back on your shoulder. “You and I should practice makin’ some babies.”

“Can you wait until we’re not sitting on the street, you psycho?”

#johnny knoxville #johnny knoxville x reader #johnny knoxville fic #jackass #jackass mtv #jackass imagine #jackass movie #jeff tremaine #i kinda hate this one but oh well

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mamawasatesttube · 1 year

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“When you laugh like that, it just — you’re so beautiful, you know that?” for the ficlet prompt pls !! love your writing so so much ❤️

Tim is a very serious guy, busy doing very serious work.

"—still don't know why anyone would write this! Actually, who the fuck paid them to write this?! Is this the state of journalism in today's world?" Bart flails a hand at his laptop screen, laughing so hard he's turning red. "Someone—someone got paid to write—to write this?! This is a self-help article?!"

"I just don't—why would you—" Kon stares at the screen, too, fingers steepled and pressed to his lips in deep consternation. "I can't even finish my dramatic reading! Why would—why would—who even wants to phone a friend in the middle of doing an enema?"

Tim is a very serious guy, busy doing very serious work, by which he means playing Minesweeper while listening to his very un-serious friends read a how-to guide on, for some reason, coffee enemas. It happens. He really did mean to get work done, but sitting in the common room was a mistake; he's just been listening and swallowing laughter for the past ten minutes.

"I can promise you this. If any of you ever phone me with anything up your ass, we are not friends anymore," Cassie says, sounding disturbed.

That does it. Tim's finger slips and clicks a bomb instead of a safe tile as he wheezes with sudden, explosive laughter.

All three of them whip around to look at him; Bart is the first to crack into giggles, too, then Kon smothers a chuckle into his hands, and finally Cassie slumps back onto the cushions behind her, cackling. Tim really, truly does try to get ahold of himself, but it's a losing battle at this point.

"Where did you even find this article, Bart?" he manages, grinning breathlessly. "Send me the link." It sounds like a great way to harass Dick, and Tim needs to do that yesterday.

"Why?" Bart shoots back immediately. "Feeling inspired?"

"You better not call me when you try it out," Cassie wheezes.

Kon, meanwhile...

Oh. Wait. What's up with Kon? He's still grinning, but it's a softer look than before; his eyes sparkle with warmth as he looks at Tim, perching in the bay window. That's a very, ah... fond? Yes, fond. A very fond look for someone whose companions are currently losing their shit about a self-help article about coffee enemas.

Tim meets his gaze and quirks an eyebrow. Kon blinks at him, seeming surprised; did he think Tim wouldn't notice him gazing over like that?

"Sorry, sorry," Kon says, though he certainly doesn't sound particularly sorry. “When you laugh like that, it just—man, you’re so beautiful, you know that?”

Tim's face immediately flames. That's rich, coming from the most beautiful guy in not just the room, but the entire city. Country. World? Yeah, world. "Uh."

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up, you're so sappy!" Bart groans, smacking Kon on the shoulder. Kon, because he's Kon, just preens at his complaints. "Stop being a cheese before I kick your ass!"

"Be careful that it doesn't have coffee in it!" Cassie snickers into her hands.

Normally, Tim would join in on the ribbing. Right now, though, he's still a little stuck on Kon just casually calling him beautiful for laughing. What the fuck. They've been officially dating for two weeks! He can't just spring that kind of thing on Tim! And the worst (best) part is, because he's Kon, Tim knows he's being completely genuine about it!

Why did this have to happen during this, of all conversations?

"Now, Bart," Kon says, and aggressively ruffles Bart's hair. "You know Tim is the only one here with the rights to touch my ass, kicking or not."

Bart blows an obnoxiously loud raspberry. Tim drops his face into his hands.

Yeah, he's a serious guy, alright. Real serious about... starting a new game of Minesweeper and listening to his friends continue to be a bunch of comedians.

♥ soft sentence starters ♥

#writing short ficlets rather than longer stuff with room to breathe and trying to be funny without feeling like it's ooc/crack #is Insanely hard for me actually! PHEW that was a challenge (but in a good way!) (at least i hope it came out good LOL)#anyway this article is real and does exist my friends and i read it together once #''if you ever call me with something up your ass we aren't friends anymore'' is a direct quote from duck <3 #timkon #tim #kon #core four #bart #cassie #huilannie #rimi writes

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ieroween1031 · 2 years

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My Thoughts in Real Time as I Watched Episode 10 of Love in the Air That Absolutely Nobody Asked For (Spoiler Alert!):

Oh my god, Pai just called Sky his boyfriend, I’m gonna snap my computer in half.

Pai’s face when Sky is crying and begging for him not to let go, I’m already emotionally weak

What does Prapai even do for work? Like, what kind of business does his family run?

“Do you know how hard it was to hold back?” You mean how hard it was to not assault a half-conscious person when they’re sick? I love you, but come on, Pai.

Peat’s an amazing actor. Sky, not so much.

I’m not proud of the noise I made at the close-up shot of them holding hands in bed. I literally squealed.

I literally will never get over how fucking gorgeous Fort is. Like he’s seriously so pretty, it makes me sick.

Sky’s clothes are changing but Pai’s aren’t, and I feel like that’s kinda gross. How long have you been wearing those clothes, my guy?

I JUST FUCKING SQUEALED AGAIN AT SKY TOUCHING PAI’S HAIR

GODDAMN IT, SKY, JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU AND LET YOURSELF LOVE HIM!

I don’t know why, but I’m obsessed with the difference in their skin tones.

You tell him, Pai. Let’s get some decent communication going, please!

PRAPAI’S FACE WHEN SKY KISSES HIS CHEEK IS THE CUTEST FUCKING THING I’VE EVER SEEN.

Fort in these racing jackets should be one of the modern wonders of the world

GOD MOTHERFUCKING DAMN IT YOU SON OF A BITCH I’M SO FUCKING ANGRY RIGHT NOW WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING HERE JUST SEEING HIM MAKES ME LIVID YOU TRASH EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING

Tag yourself: I’m one of the three people all chastising Sky at the same time

I am completely here for everyone telling Sky how important he is as how much they appreciate his hard work. My baby deserves all the love he can get.

THAT STUPID CHICKEN SONG IS STUCK IN MY HEAD FUCK YOU

More communication, we stan.

Okay, I’m not mad about seeing that shitbird Gun anymore, because I’ve been waiting for this scene with Prapai and Payu helping with the freshmen

DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY

I’m older than both of them, but I would still call Boss and Fort ‘Daddy’ and not feel the least bit guilty about it.

OH MY GOD NATSU I’M SQUEALING AGAIN

Joy, you fucking gossip.

That x-acto knife, I’m fucking cackling. 😂😂😂

“Did I sleep with a psycho?” Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time, sweetheart.

Was that too soon? I feel like that was too soon.

This is all entirely too happy. How are they planning to rip my heart out in the last ten minutes? Because I have a feeling something is coming that’s gonna make me want to cry.

Yes, please introduce Sky to your family. They’ll absolutely love him and I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; my sweet baby just deserves all the love he can get.

KISS HIM KISS HIM KISS HIM KISS HIM

GODDAMN IT FUCK!!!

I’d like to apologize for my outburst earlier; this is the the best episode so far. We got the Phis helping the Nongs with the freshman, the writing on the hands, and now I get the scene with Prapai on the floor and sweet, precious little Sky just a-grinning away on the bed. My heart hurts.

Prapai googling how to take care of a sick person is a mood

He called his mom? My sweet child is a clueless idiot and I would kill or die for him.

Is he keeping a log of all the things he’s learning about Pai? I can’t breathe, that’s too fucking adorable.

Huh. I was wrong about something devastating happening in the last ten minutes. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong before.

The preview for the next episode has me flailing. I can’t tell you how excited I am for Sky for finally admit that he’s completely gone for Pai, because fucking same, bro.

Are we getting another NC scene next episode? Probably not, because Me Mind Y are teases, but I don’t care. just that was enough to drive me insane.

My heart literally hurts knowing that this is all gonna come crumbling down around us sometime in the next three episodes.

WE’VE ONLY GOT THREE EPISODES LEFT I’M GONNA THROW UP

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sunlightandsuffering · 1 year

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Heavily inspired by the fact that I nor any of the female bartenders at my restaurant can lift a keg and must, unfortunately, rely on finding the nearest guy around and making them lift it for us lol 😂😂

"Just admit it, you can't lift it." "I can so." Eren scoffs, "Then go ahead superwoman, be my guest, why did you even call me back here?" Mikasa's face scrunches up in irritation because Eren is completely right, she can't lift it. Maybe in a past life she had crazy super strength but in this one, she does not and there is absolutely no way she can carry the approximately 160 lb keg from the back where it's just been delivered to the bar cooler, not a fucking chance.

Eren waits a moment before a smug smile breaks his face, "Just admit you can't lift it." Mikasa fumes, she'd asked him back here to help her out, not leave the bar unattended for 20 minutes while they argue, but he'd just had to go and be all smug about it. It's friday afternoon, they should be prepping for a rush as they switch off bartenders for the night, not sitting here arguing over a keg.

"Can you just lift it?" "Not until you tell me, you can't." "Well I can!" Mikasa denies, lying through her teeth and Eren cackles, bypassing her down the hall back towards the restaurant, "Well then have fun Ackerman." He leaves and she spends ten minutes trying to come up with solutions to get the keg to the cooler. She might not have muscle, but she has a brain. At first, she shuffles it inside, very slowly, her coworkers chuckling at her as they pass in the hall, she's barely made it a few feet when Eren comes by again, grabbing ice for the bar. He doesn't even try to hide his smugness as he heads to the ice machine, winking at her as he goes. Fed up, Mikasa turns to him, pleading, she even tacks on a 'please', "Eren please can you just carry it?" He sends her a wicked grin as he shovels ice from the machine into the buckets, "The price has gone up Ackerman, now it's a kiss." "Damn it Eren!" She kicks the keg in her irritation, and to no one's surprise, it doesn't move an inch.

"Fine, I admit it, I can't carry it over, can you please just," she gestures irritably towards the keg but Eren shrugs, "Sorry my new terms are non-negotiable Miks, I want a kiss." He bumps her with his shoulder affectionately on his way back out to the bar, "And on the lips, none of this cheek bullshit Ackerman." She hates him, she hates him so much.

There's not even anyone else around right now that she can ask, all the guys in the kitchen are slammed with happy hour orders, Eren is her last hope before she can leave. It's her last job before the day bartender can leave, switching out the empty kegs for full ones, and while the empty ones had been a breeze, this is a different task entirely. Fifteen minutes later Eren appears again, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, "Are you gonna give in?" "Are you going to sexually harassing me?" He shrugs, "You're my girlfriend, I think I'm allowed."

"I'm not your girlfriend!" At this, Eren truly cackles, "Fine, fuckbuddy, whatever you're calling us these days Ackerman. I'm sorry I forgot what a little commitment-phobe you are." At this, Mikasa truly feels like bursting, he's teasing her so much today, it's not fair!

"I'm not a commitment-phobe and we're not dating." Eren casually shoves her out of the way, grabbing the handles of the keg, glaring at her over his shoulder, "This morning I made you breakfast in bed and dropped you off at work, I have a key to your apartment." "That you stole!"

Eren shrugs, before picking up the keg like it weighs nothing and Mikasa is left to salivate after him as she watches his biceps and forearms flex with the motion. He carries it easily down the hall and towards the cooler, barely making a sound as if he's not exerting himself at all. She swoons to a little, although she'll never admit it. He only puts it down to open up the cooler door and Mikasa sulks as she watches him replace the old keg, it's not fair. She wants to get that strong!

Eren lets out a grunt as he finishes replacing it, stacking the one currently in use on top of the new one for easy access, before turning to her. He pats his cheek rather demandingly, leaning down, "My payment." Mikasa sighs in exasperation before ultimately giving in, a quick peck to the cheek. "Was that so hard?" Eren teases and Mikasa fights the urge to growl at him, she's had a long shift and she's feeling prickly, she doesn't know how much more of his teasing she can take!

"That was torture." "Whatever," Eren grumbles, "So unappreciative, maybe I'll just hangout at my own apartment tonight."

Mikasa vehemently opposes this idea, and before she can stop herself, her feelings on the matter become infinitely clear to her current love interest, "No you can't come to mine." "And why would I do that, you're so grumpy." She can feel herself blush, even in the chill of the cooler, her cheeks pinking up, "I umm, I'll reward you properly for helping me out." Eren looks completely gobsmacked by the assertion, in a state of sheer disbelief and Mikasa hates it, this is why she doesn't do relationships, all this mushy gushy stuff is gross!

She turns away, huffily, "Or not, I don't care what you do." Before she can storm out, he's grabbing her waist and planting one on her, on the lips this time and he tastes like the coke he's been throwing back all afternoon to get through the rush and his terrible mint gum habit, but he takes her breath away all the same, fuck. "Don't, I'll be there, god you're so fucking cute Ackerman, I don't know what to do with you." And then he leaves, the asshole, heading back to the bar, leaving her speechless, that was supposed to be her cue! She was supposed to leave him speechless!!

#lys's drabbles

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droughtofapathy · 9 days

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"Welcome to the Theatre": Diary of a Broadway Baby

The Outsiders

April 18, 2024 | Broadway | Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre | Evening | Musical | Original | 2H 30M

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The Outsiders is at its most tolerable when all book and lyrics are excised and the story told through movement. With well over two hours of the most pedestrian book and exposition-heavy lyrics you can possibly imagine ("My name is Ponyboy, I'm the youngest of the three," in the opening song...), this show would have done well with substantial cuts. Book scenes are slow and plodding with long bouts of silence amid bland dialogue that does a disservice to the book's well-paced narrative. Each song is virtually indistinct from every other, with a few minor adjustments to tempo, and they all follow the same horrifically-bad lyric structure. The song "Great Expectations," - the Dickens book replacing "Gone with the Wind" - repeats the title a dozen times over. And there's a reprise later, don't worry.

Choosing to begin and end with the same badly-written song doesn't help matters either. At the end of the show, Ponyboy says, "I love bein' a greaser. And I love greasers... But I ain't just a greaser. I got a lot more inside me than just grease." A line delivered so apropos of nothing, I'd have cackled aloud had I been a ruder person. (The couple behind me had no such qualms, and I respect that.) Ponyboy says this to his brothers, who have just spent an ungodly slow scene telling him he's capable of getting out of their situation and being something more, so like...yeah...who are you arguing with, Ponyboy? They just told you that. Why are you acting like they just said you're nothing but grease and never will be?

This feels like a show that wants to play with the big kids, but for some reason, the creative team insisted on writing it with an elementary school audience in mind, dumbing down each moment to make sure the audience couldn't (somehow?) misunderstand a single second. The production value and complex, innovative staging itself doesn't match the sophomoric writing. This is a straight play forced into being a musical, and as a result, loses the gripping essence of the story in repetitive music not written for the stage. I understand wanting to bring different genres to Broadway, but to be a musical, the music must be suited to a fucking MUSICAL.

There is a single ten, maybe fifteen-minute interval in the second act during the rumble that feels like a balm. The fight scenes are choreographed so masterfully that it's almost painful to watch, but you don't dare to look away. The undercurrent of lighting and the (wordless) score only elevates this impressive feat. And then it's right back to bad book and lyrics for the rest of the show.

Verdict: Enjoyable, But Left No Lasting Impression

A Note on Ratings

I did not actually enjoy it, and it was a horrible slog, but I'm giving extra points for the staging aspects. Absolutely worthy of nominations.

Also. I need someone to explain to me why the three girls (who don't do jack shit, let me tell you) are made up like the Powerpuff girls? Red hair, pink dress; blonde hair, blue dress; dark hair, green dress. Exact hair and dress color schemes. This can't be a coincidence, but why is a nineties cartoon being referenced in a 1967-setting show? What are we doing here? It left me with so many questions that the show's pedestrian dialogue, for once, didn't blatantly answer.

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Not pictured: girl in green dress with dark hair.

#the outsiders #broadway #musical theater #welcome to the theatre: diary of a broadway baby #the show seemed to connect with the kids i was sitting near and i know it was a musical geared towards gen z #but does that really mean it has to be written as if the audience doesn't have an ounce of media literacy or reading comprehension?

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musicfeedsmysoul12 · 2 years

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I am Batman Part 4

Alright so- Justice League.

In my personal Batman Canon, Dick is about 14 (and Bruce/Bryce is 27) when the JL forms or at least, Batman and Superman first team up. (Plus uhhh I think Damian is conceived here. In this AU, it's Ra's who has been watching Batman find out that Batman is human and then stealing some DNA.)

There's always a MILLION reasons why they team up so fuck it, let's go with alien invasion.

Shapeshifters. Martians? I like legit watched ONE old cartoon for ten minutes with Manhunter and that's the reason.

Or whoever attacked them?

...yeah no shapeshifting aliens invading it is.

Manhunter approaches Superman first and then Wonder Woman. They begin hunting for others to help. It's Green Arrow and Flash who bring up Batman, the spirit in Gotham. they aren't sure if it'll work, but they need to try.

Bryce would like it known she doesn't like this. But she does come to them as the bat, creeping behind them, silent as a grave to growl and hiss at them. Talon cackles from a streetlight as Batgirl, named by the media, laughs her high laugh from a billboard.

"What do you want?" the shadow asks the heroes. "We have nothing for you here..."

Because it's true. The rogues that Batman fights are Penguin still, the man in and out of jail, with Riddler appearing alongside Condiment King and Kiteman. Poison Ivy and Mr. Freeze have also appeared, though Poison Ivy seems more invested in convincing Batman to join her in her goals. Mr. Freeze just wonders how many of the spirits died due to illness. Bryce knows more will come soon.

She just doesn't know when. (this is my canon for Batman. 'safe' rogues were appearing first, then we get the really dangerous ones. Poison ivy is dangerous as fuck, but I prefer the headcanon she isn't as bad as some others.)

"We need your help, if you can." it's explained and then... for some reason... they think she is a spirit. She doesn't understand. She really doesn't- how can they not? Doesn't Manhunter read minds? What's going on. But they need to focus first.

Batman appears with the others, fighting off aliens. The few media drones who catch the battle hear the hissing of the Spirit, the entity, as it growls and snaps. It is GOTHAM and even the crime in the city stalls, watching with baited breath.

Bryce would like it known that she is NOT a fan of fighting shapeshifting aliens. She does it, but fuck is it bad. She's also you know, worried why no one sees through her.

They win though, with some help from Batgirl. Barbara isn't Oracle, but her genius knows little match (a young boy with a camera who watches the news with squinted eyes outclasses her, but it is only by a small amount). They win, and in the end the Justice League is formed.

They still end up with all their snazzy things and stuff cause the government, Clark's Alien tech, Diana's riches, Bryce's more liquid money and Green Arrow's money helps.

Bryce presses at the group, wondering why no one notices anything. Why they don't react to her. She even goes to Metropolis to see if Clark can recognize her. He doesn't. (And if it leads to a one night stand, well she does it for bragging rights and the chance to see how that stamina affects him). It is here she learns the truth:

They all fully believe Batman is a bunch of souls formed by Gotham. there are all sorts of questions how he can leave Gotham that Batman slaps a: magic and cause world needs me to on. They accept it.

There is a bunch of research about the phenomenon, as Bryce tries to understand how it works.

Also, like while this happens Dick ends up forming the Teen Titans at age fifteen and suddenly Bryce is dealing with baby superheroes and also parenting with the other JL members who have sidekicks.

"Talon is a child. He may be a spirit but..."

"Oh no, we get it." "Wait, you guys eat?"

It's fun. But back to the weirdness. As I said, it's either magic or Gotham.

I actually like Eldritch horror Gotham more then 'magic Bryce' so fuck it. Gotham has a personification who tracks down Bryce to explain shit. Said personification ends up basically living on the farm and keeps leading Bryce to more riches in the underground caves in Gotham. Which awesome, more money- how the fuck did no one FIND THIS SHIT GOTHAM?

... Gotham is a wine aunt and enabler for all of Bryce's children and flirts with Alfred.

Gotham protects Bryce and helps shift her aura and prevent people from going into her head. Gotham protects Dick and Barbara to as time goes on. At times as well, a shift of a wall, a loose floorboard, an easy to each gargoyle saves them each time. The family is thankful.

Gotham is still an enabler though.

Times goes on, and suddenly Bryce is dealing with more teenage bullshit. Talon convinces the titans he can have sex/kiss people and suddenly he's dating Starfire, and Batgirl is upset and Batman wants a drink please.

Dick finds himself banished to chop wood or clean the coop a few times. Bryce doesn't care WHAT you do Dick, just don't do it where someone sees and complains to her.

Then he breaks up with Starfire before dating Kid Flash. Bryce wants a refund on teenagers. Alfred laughs at her and Gotham teaches Dick places to hide.

However, Dick breaks up with KF for the reason he breaks up with Starfire: he will never tell them who he is.

Bryce watches as Barbara finally makes a move she's been slowly wanting to for a while. It's cute.

Bryce does have to get a hose a few times though, and now both are cleaning the barn. You break the rules of NOT doing that in the public areas of the house and you get punished.

Dick is seventeen when Bryce finds a young boy stealing tires. Not her tires, but some tires.

She isn't surprised to know who it is.

Part 5... soonish.

#i am batman #bryce white #batman #batman au #dick grayson #richard grayson #justice leauge #clark kent mention #look #it was one time and bryce never did it again #dick is a farm boy now #bryce using the farm parent tradition #of handing your kid a shovel #and telling him to go and dig holes for fences #or pick rocks out of the field #gotham is an eldritch horror #who is now a wine aunt #bryce: my teenage son keeps doing things he shouldn't in public areas #bryce: chicken coop cleaning is thus the punishment

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razorblade-kiss55 · 2 years

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The Aquarium

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Hello! This is my first fic on here and I’m no professional writer so please go easy on me! I would love positive feedback and I had this thought pop into my head randomly and decided to write it lol I hope you enjoy! <3

Word count : 2.9k

Disclaimers: drug use, slight language, I think that is all!

Summary- You visit your boyfriend bam margera on the set of jackass 2. You two get the bright idea to eat edibles and go to the aquarium what could go wrong?

You woke up this morning not

expecting anything less than the usual shenanigans. That’s exactly what you got. The past few days especially, had more more insane than usual. Maybe it was because you were on set for a few days, and the guys love to fuck with bam. Or maybe it was the extra excitement of almost wrapping their second movie. Whatever it was you didn’t care, you always gave them a taste of their medicine back.

When you first started dating bam it was strange. The guys would taunt the two of you relentlessly. Especially when you started to prank the guys back. When they’d get bam good that was even more reason to do something diabolical to them. In turn they made fun of bam, suggesting he couldn’t fight his own battles. After months of this playful but aggravating banter the guys realized they liked you and backed off. Only a bit though. Steve-o still always tries to gross you out. He knows you hate vomit so anytime he has to, (which is a lot) he does it right by you. Causing you to curse and slap him, running away like a madwoman.

Today was no different. You had just arrived on set a few hours ago after your plane landed from New York. The vibes were good and the footage they were capturing was even better. We were at a lake and the guys were doing countless launching tricks into the water. Hard hit after hard hit. That’s the life here you have to accept it or you’ll only cause yourself pain too. So that’s what I did accepted it, not without hesitation though. “Hey pooper what are you doing way over here?” You heard a familiar voice from behind. Turning around you aren’t shocked to see your brown eyed friend smug look and all, plastered across his face. You roll your eyes choosing to ignore his ever so lovely nickname. “Ryan” you pull him in for a long embrace relishing in the bear hug he always made sure to give you. It’s the first you’ve seen him since getting here for the next few days, he must’ve just arrived. It hadn’t been long since you visited set but anytime away was too long. “Oh ya know just trying to fully grasp the scene In front of me.”

“You’re terrified you’re gonna hear a bone pop or something aren’t you?

“I’m so scared” you respond almost too quick earning a cackle from ryan. “Extra squeamish today” you shrug laughing along with him little longer than necessary. After catching up for a moment, you two decide to head back down to the group.

“Dunn what did I tell you about trying to steal my girlfriend!” Bam yells as he sees you and ryan walking up together. Followed by the sound of leaves crunching as he runs up and scoops you into a big embrace. “What can I say she’s perty.” Ryan says back in a overly southern drawl

“Shut up Ry” you never called him dunn for some reason.

Bam ignored him fully focused on you now. He finally stopped spinning and set you down but still didn’t let go. “I’m so happy you’re here” he mumbled, unsure if he even meant for you to hear. After a few more kisses scattered across your face you were back to filming. The whole encounter left you feeling warm inside. Bam had just seen you ten minutes prior yet he was still so happy to see you. Even after the six or seven months you had been dating. It never ceased to amaze you have content he could make you feel. You couldn’t help but feel that now surrounded by your best friends, bam, and laughs.

It was nighttime now and we were in our hotel room getting ready for the club. All the guys were going out tonight so you two choose to swing by for a while. You’re dressed in a short black dress simple, with lots of accessories. Lots of necklaces bracelets and of course your rings. Your favorite favorite skull ring placed on your middle finger. Standing at the mirror now putting on your earrings you look up to see bam has his skull ring that matches with yours placed on his middle finger as well. Obviously it was both of yours favorite piece of jewelry. He’s dressed like a dream. His long coat on his shoulders coordinating with your outfit perfectly. “What?” He laughs as he realizes your staring at him from the mirror across the room. Darting your eyes around the room the blood rushes to your cheeks. “Gawking were we?” He asked in a goofy voice as he slowly sways closer. He stops behind you snaking his arms around your waist resting his chin in your shoulder. You both stare at each other for a minute in the mirror admiring one another. “So what if I was?” You whisper, eyes never wavering from his icy blue ones.

“Mm” was his only response for what felt like forever. He was now running his hands up and down your sides slowly swaying with you. “Don’t say that baby” he almost half whined in response “we’ll never make it to the club and I want to show you off.” Before you can ever respond there’s a loud bang followed by ryan’s loud voice seeping through the hotel door.

“Hey fuck faces let’s go or I’m leaving without you!”

The two of you scattered quick to gather your things and head out. He really would leave without you two, and you didn’t want to go without ryan. That’s how it always was when you three were together, inseparable.

The night was nothing short of a blast. When you arrived all the other jackass crew was already there. They all made a commotion, screaming “the three amigos!” As you walked in. Johnny was cackling as usual as you made your rounds hugging all the guys hello. You could tell he was the one who orchestrated the little “chant”. By now it was 1:30 am and you were getting restless and bam could tell. You were the type that could only dance around and drink for so long. He knew that about you and sort of loved it. Like you were always unsatisfied looking for something more exciting to do. He thought is was fascinating and always was up for an adventure. So this time he prepared.

“Babe” he said into your ear as you stood drink in hand swaying to the music. You looked at him smiling, he looked so pretty as the lights flashed across his thinly sweat coated face. He was glowing and you couldn’t help but stare (the alcohol wasn’t helping) you almost forgot he was talking to you. “Babe” he said again grabbing the side of your neck laughing. “Stop staring at me I have a surprise.”

You laughed shaking the unholy thoughts away. “A surprise? For me?” You act all shocked even though it was not unusual for bam to buy random lavish things for you.

He held out his hand two little wrapped gummies in his palm. “Ooo what’s this?” You ask curiously holding it up to the light inspecting it. “Edibles” he almost giggles which cause you to laugh too.

Out of nowhere you gasp having an epiphany of sorts. Looking your eyes connect with your wide eyed boyfriend. “Bam, I just had the best idea let’s go.”

He of course had no hesitation, you said quick goodbyes (not without groans from the guys that wanted you two to stay) you made a quick exit bam’s tattooed hand glued to yours. “Are you gonna to tell me where we’re goin?” He asked his accent present more so now than ever. That always happened when he was drunk. “Nope!” You dragged him along for a few more minutes before stopping again.

“Ok let’s eat them.” He looks at you confused why you stopped him in the middle of the sidewalk on a random street in the middle of the night. “ what here now?” He asks rotating and throwing his hands gesturing to your surroundings.

“Yeah! So they can kick in by the time we get there.” You reply fishing the gummies from his front pocket impatient with his slowness. “Babe, I’m trusting you here don’t get us killed.” He groaned out in his usual dramatic manor.

“Such a drama queen” you smirk at him before popping the gummy in your mouth. Then holding up the second for him to eat placing it gently on his tongue.

After another few minutes of walking you arrive at the destination. “Ta da!” You sing out as your turn him to the building.

“What are we doing at the aquarium?” He asks confused and almost like he’s annoyed but you know he’s not. You had remembered seeing the small aquarium on your way to set from the airport. you guessed you made a mental note to go here because drunk/high you was ecstatic to go in. “Well we’re gonna break in and look at some sharks while we’re high.”

So that’s what you did.

Somehow the security guard was not up to par. The both of you peeked in his office and he was fully invested in some weird foreign film on his little box tv propped in the corner of the room. Containing your laughter at the sight in front of you. You were thankful because the breaking in was fairly easy. You did have to climb on bam’s shoulders to jump over a tall wall but other than that it was easy as pie. For you anyways he struggled at bit, but you got a lot of amusement out of his multiple attempts at leaping up the wall.

Once you got In and got go all your laughs out you then just walked around for god knows how long. It was something you had on your bucket list and you were so thankful you could do it with Bam. You told told him how you knew it was silly but you were so happy that you were there with him. He reassured you a million times over insisting he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else in the world right now. You were now at the last tank in the building the hammerhead sharks.

“My favorite!” You gasp out letting go of bam and running over. You couldn’t help but feel like a little kid. It was your favorite thing to do so long ago and now you were experiencing it in such a different way. It was so simple but felt so magical. He laughed keeping his same slow pace, watching you get so excited made him feel a way he had never felt before. And he wasn’t sure if it was just the gummies.

Finally he caught up to you where you stood mesmerized by the creatures. He snaked his arms around you resting his chin on your shoulder just like earlier in the night. Only this time he held you tighter than ever before. You rested your head on his chest and just watched, stood in a comfortable silence. “This has been one of my favorite nights.” You say turning your attention to his face now, arms still entangled in his. “Thank you.” You whispered

“I love you” was the only thing he said, his voice low and smooth like honey you could listen to him say that all day. “I love you too” you wanted to say more but that was all that could express your feelings for now. He ran one hand up to the back of your neck pulling you in. Placing his lips on yours in the most loving and sensual way, when you two were high together it always got heated. But now just felt like comfort and warmth and just love. “I think the Aquarium is my new favorite place.” He whispered

“Hey! Hey you two!” A deep male voice yelled behind a bright flashlight. You two immediately turned back to see the once distracted security guard running towards you two. Looking back and locking eyes immediately you realize. “Oh shit” you said simultaneously grabbing each other’s hand bolting it for the nearest exit.

#bam x reader #bam margera #cute #jackassfanfic #ryan dunn

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ficsforeren · 2 years

Note

What do you think would be the Erens advice to a man who can’t keep up with his wife sexually? I feel like himbo would try to give the sweetest advice lol

keep up with his wife sexually--you mean like, can't satisfy his wife with his dick? ejaculating too quickly? running out of stamina in bed? gotcha

Rockstar Eren: "You have ten fingers and a tongue. Use them."

Himbo Eren: *is shocked, then gets really sad* "oh my god, bro, I'm so sorry. I mean, I've never had that problem before--thank god--but I can imagine how hard it must have been for you. Umm... Maybe try to do some morning run, hit the gym, you know to increase your stamina? and watch porn, bro, seriously. that helps me a lot. here, let me give you a list of channels that can help you make your wife squirt in like three minutes. I tried to do it once and she came like all over my face, bro. just like, splashing everywhere. You don't even need to use your dick for this one. Here. Yeah, i have like a hundred channels, at least. too much?"

Soft Knight Eren: "Talk to her. Ask her what she wants you to do to her. So next time, instead of just going straight to the main course, you can spend more time pleasing her with mouth and your hands. Make her reach her high first before anything else. Kiss her and tell her how much you love her as much as you can. Sex isn't just about satisfying your psychical needs. Your emotional bond is much more important than that."

Yandere Knight Eren: *is disgusted* "You can't keep up with your wife sexually? Do you still call yourself a man?"

Soldier Eren: "Have you tried talking to her? Communication is the most important part in a relationship. Maybe what you've been doing wrong is that you've been doing the things you think she likes, and not what she actually likes, that's why she's unsatisfied. This is the kind of problem that you have to talk it out. If she loves you just as much as you love her, I'm sure you can work things out."

College Eren: *is laughing* "fuck man, i don't know, I've never had that kind of problem before. sorry, dude."

Vampire Eren: *is cackling* "okay, wait, let me get this straight. You're saying that you're alive and healthy and well and you can't get your dick hard again when your wife ask you for another round? bro, i'm literally dead and I still can go on for like five rounds in one night. the only thing that stopped me is because she passed out from losing so much blood."

Secret Agent Eren: *is shaking his head in amusement* "I'm sorry, bro, I wish I could help you but you're asking the wrong guy. Do you think I've ever experienced that kind of thing? nah. Just use viagra bro."

Mafia Eren: *snorts loudly* "can't satisfy your wife? just chop off that fucking useless dick. I know someone who can do that for you if you want. I'll give you a discount."

Idol Eren: "maybe the reason you can't get your dick hard is you're no longer attracted to pussies. yeah, i'm saying you're gay. and i'm saying i'm gay too, sometimes. wanna try? i can make use of that dick 😏"

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duskholland · 3 years

Text

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. What happened?”

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

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

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

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

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom gulps nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

Tom follows you…?

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute.

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

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

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

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

Y/N: hey x

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

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, is it a home game?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me a spin, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

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

“Dutchy?” you question.

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

You coo. “That’s cute.”

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

And Tom… Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

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

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

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

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, darling.”

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

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

“What, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What— Tom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Penalty.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

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

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

“Funnier than me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

A smile breaks out across your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Overnight?”

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

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

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

“You can open them now.”

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

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

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

#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?

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babyboibucky · 3 years

Text

Charm

Pairing: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky checks whether he still has his 1940′s charm.

Word Count: 1,613

Warnings: TFATWS spoilers! No warning, just a bit of fluff I guess???

A/N: Nothing really, just that Bucky deserves all the love in the world :’)

Charming (Part 2) || MAIN MASTERLIST

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“You should date someone.”

Bucky groans at Yori’s suggestion. Again. The old guy had been pestering him about it ever since they started their little friendship. Introduced girls and forced him to take them out to dinner or bingo. He did try of course, but it always seemed too fast for him.

“I already did, haven’t I? You sort of forced me to go on one, remember?” Bucky asked before downing a glass of sake in one go.

Thank god they went to a different Japanese restaurant this time. His date with the girl at the other restaurant went pretty badly, with him walking out after a particularly sensitive topic and never returning. Bucky felt bad and as much as he wanted to go back there and apologize, he just doesn’t have the courage to show his face again.

“Yeah, well you messed up.” Yori said pointedly.

Bucky chortled, “Or maybe you messed up by forcing me. I told you, you gotta take it slow like a dance. I mean, you don’t just ask anyone to dance with you. You ask someone you’d like to dance with.”

Yori’s shoulders trembled as he tried to bite back his laughter. Bucky made a face when he realized he’d been talking a lot.

“Then go find someone you want to date. Or maybe you just don’t have it in you.” The older man teased.

Bucky couldn’t help but grin, “Sounds like a challenge.”

As Bucky poured himself another glass of sake, he began to wonder whether Yori was right. Maybe he really didn’t have it anymore, the confidence and charm he used to have back in his time.

Only one way to find out.

-

The club was a bad idea. A really bad idea.

Initially, Bucky thought that it would be the perfect place to find someone to date. Apparently not, because despite the presence of beautiful girls, they were pretty much throwing themselves at him. As much as Bucky was curious about the so called “hook-up” culture in the modern times, it just wasn’t for him.

And good god, the dancing? It’s not what it used to be; Bucky wasn’t even sure if he could call those movements “dance”.

Bucky called it a night and quickly headed to the exit. And that’s where he noticed you, fumbling with your phone and clicking your tongue from what seemed to be frustration. He slowed down in his steps, not wanting to interrupt your little moment as you mumbled a string of curses to yourself.

He eyed you from head to toe, noticing that you were wearing something too simple for a club: just a white shirt, some jeans and a pair of sneakers. With Bucky’s experience, he learned to be observant enough to read someone’s personality.

You were definitely not a frequent visitor to these clubs. And he was right about that because you were just forced to tag along to your officemates to celebrate a promotion.

“Ugh, fuck. Come on!” You unintentionally exclaimed out loud, stomping on the ground causing for Bucky to let out a chuckle.

Bucky’s eyes widened when you abruptly turned around, “Oh sorry. I didn’t meant to uhh...are you okay?” He asked timidly, slowly walking over to where you stood.

You huffed out, “I’m trying to book a ride, but the signal here sucks.” You explained. “And I’m not really comfortable to walk home at this hour.” You quickly added.

It was close to ten in the evening, it wasn’t that late yet but given the location and downsides of being a woman, you really didn’t want to risk your safety.

“Won’t your friends give you a ride home?” He asked.

You groaned, “They aren’t really my friends...I just work with them. They’re all shit-faced drunk and I didn’t even plan on coming here. Not a fan of clubs.” You admitted.

Bucky chuckled as he kicked the ground, “Guess that makes two of us.”

Your hum caught Bucky’s attention and when he looked up, you were looking at him suspiciously. For a moment he thought that you might have recognized him but you merely laughed and shook your head.

“You don’t seem like the type to hate clubs. Why are you here then?” You asked curiously.

Bucky shrugged, “Thought I’d find someone here that I can you know...take out on a date.”

You cackled out loud, it was the kind of laughter that made Bucky join in. You probably thought it was stupid for him to come looking for love at a club. And well, given his experience inside, you were correct.

“I know. It’s stupid. I haven’t been to clubs really, so I honestly didn’t know what to expect.” He admitted, rubbing the back of neck sheepishly.

You nodded, “How was your experience inside then?”

“You could say I was pretty shocked. And disoriented. The lights made me dizzy.” Bucky said, widening his eyes in emphasis.

Laughing, you nodded and agreed before introducing yourself so casually. Bucky repeated your name, he liked the way it sounded.

“I’m James.”

Bucky found himself easily opening up to you. The conversations flowed naturally, from something as basic as favorite food down to your mutual hatred for crowded places and everything in between. Bucky learned that you often volunteer at an orphanage and that you hate plums which happens to be his favorite. It resulted to a harmless debate that lasted ten minutes.

You asked him about his work, something that he had to lie his way around. As much as he wanted to be honest with you, he was afraid that revealing the truth might scare you off. You seemed to be really interested in him whenever he talked about his boring daily routine.

“Do you...do you like to talk somewhere else?” Bucky blurted out.

You offered a sad smile, one that broke Bucky’s heart because you were probably going to reject him. Understandable though, he was a stranger and it was late at night. It was hard to trust people nowadays.

“I have work tomorrow morning.” You apologetically said.

“But you can walk me home...if you’d like?” You asked. “I probably sound demanding but uhh, I don’t think I can really book a ride and I don’t want to walk home alone at this hour.”

Bucky heaved out a deep sigh of relief and laughed, “I thought you didn’t like talking to me.” He sheepishly admitted.

“No, I actually like talking to you. You’re fun. And interesting.” You smiled.

Bucky beamed and extended a hand, letting you lead the way before matching your pace. The more he talked to you, the more he realized that maybe, just maybe, you’d be the first person he’d willingly ask out on a date.

The walk lasted half an hour but to Bucky, it only felt like minutes. It was definitely not enough for him to get to know you more.

“Well, this is me.” You announced when you reached your apartment building.

“Thanks for walking me home, I really appreciate it.” You said.

Bucky placed his hands inside his pockets and nodded, “Call me old-fashioned, but I felt like any gentleman should do so.”

Bucky held your gaze and debated how he should ask you out. Should he just blurt out the question? Would that be too soon? Your number! Maybe he should ask for your number first, show his therapist that finally, there was a new number registered in his contacts.

“Well, I should head inside.” You said when Bucky remained silent and although Bucky didn’t want to assume, he thought he saw a look if disappointed in your eyes.

Yori is going to regret saying that he doesn’t have game.

“Wait,” Bucky called out before you could turn around. “Being old-fashioned and all, I know this might be too forward. Or too fast, even.” he trailed and cleared his throat.

“Would you like to go out on a date with me? This Saturday. We can go to the beach, get ice cream...” he suggested.

Wrong move! Out of all the places he could suggest, it just had to be the beach! It’s not like he could wear a long-sleeved top and his gloves without getting dirty looks from people. You were going to find out the truth about him, his arm, his past. And then you’d regret letting him walk you home because who knew what the Winter Soldier was capable of?

“I’d love to.” You replied with a grin but before Bucky could suggest another place, you had already walked up to the front door of your apartment building, pulling it open before suddenly stopping.

“Or we can just take a walk at the park if you want, if that’s more comfortable for you.” You suggested turning your head to look back at Bucky.

He furrowed his brows in confusion. Again, he was unable to say something because you beat him to it with a surprising revelation.

“I’ll wait for you to come pick me up on Saturday. And don’t worry about your arm, I don’t mind. Good night, Bucky.”

And with one final beautiful smile, you headed inside the building leaving Bucky with a confused look. You knew him all along but didn’t say anything. You opened up to him, held his arm when you laughed and still, it didn’t bother you. You didn’t call him out when he lied about working for a mechanic shop, didn’t get scared when he offered to walk you home.

It took a few seconds for Bucky’s brain to process everything. And then he found himself grinning like a fool when he proved something to himself. And well, Yori too.

“Guess I still got it.”

-

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