#I'm serious none of these lines match with anything

[wintrbears]

Universal Truths | JJK

Summary: You took the risk of falling in love in a world where your perfect match is decided for you by the universe itself. When a name you never could've predicted appears on your wrist, you do everything you can to stop the inevitable.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, (Brief) Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU, Boyfriend's Best Friend, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Word Count: 19.3k+

Warnings: swearing, drinking, partying, yelling, crying, lying, heartbreak, physical pain, injury, burning sensations, cramping, chest aches, lose of appetite, vomiting, insomnia, mentions of UTI and mono, emotional cheating (kinda), a break-up, loss of friendship, use of pet names (baby, pumpkin, princess), soccer, use of sports lingo, fear of heights, tattoos. SMUT: one-night stands, kissing, hair pulling, fingering, hand job, oral sex (both receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (she's on bc), missionary, dick riding, big dick!jk bc I'm nothing if not accurate, cum swallowing (m & f), spitting, gagging via hand, cream pie, scratching, aftercare, please lmk if I missed any!

Author's Note: I've returned from my mandatory military service (writer's block) after over two years. I'm very excited to be writing again and hope you all love this one as much as I do. It's my first time posting smut that I've written so I'm v nervous and would appreciate any feedback on that or the story as a whole. Please, please let me know what you think :)

Your thighs are growing sore from the metal of the bleachers digging into them. Taehyung warned you to bring your bleacher seat, but in your rush out the door tonight you forgot it. Shifting uncomfortably, you rise up just enough to readjust your clothes to create a barrier between you and the cold steel.

The girl next to you chuckles at your situation.

You don’t know her very well and honestly you barely remember her name. Jisoo? Jihyo? It isn’t in your best interest to try and memorize the many women who accompany you to these games.

As if to make matters worse, it’s a night game, and the brisk wind of nighttime is nipping at your thighs through your jeans. 

What’s-her-name is wearing a skirt and tights, even though you told Jungkook to tell her she should dress warmly. You’re too nice for your own good; trying to keep these women comfortable while they cheer for your team for the sole purpose of spending their night with the star player afterwards.

Jeon Jungkook is only a sophomore, while your boyfriend, Kim Taehyung, is a junior. Nevertheless, Jungkook can only be described as a goddamn soccer prodigy, and as such he has garnered most of the attention since joining the team. 

It’s certainly no skin off your back. You don’t need hordes of women trying to get at your man. Jungkook can keep all that attention for himself. Which he does. Joyously.

There is no resentment or judgement towards Jungkook for the fact that you come to these games with a new woman every week. Some would even say he’s making smarter choices than you are by having a serious, long-term boyfriend whose name isn’t tattooed on your wrist. 

At some point during young adulthood a name appears on everyone’s wrist indicating who their soulmate is. Impossible to predict nor refute, they could be a stranger you’ll meet down the line, someone you’ve known since childhood, or anything in between. Many people, such as yourself, allow love into their hearts regardless of the impending reveal of one’s soulmate. 

Truthfully, if Taehyung isn’t your soulmate, you don’t know who the hell could be. A perfect match doesn’t even scratch the surface of him. He’s attentive, always catching on when your mood shifts. Considerate, asking for your input over the most menial decisions. And loving, holding you close and providing you with unyielding affection. Taehyung will do whatever it takes to bring you happiness and you strive to reciprocate that.

You were introduced to your now-boyfriend by none other than Jungkook. The pair are childhood best friends who’ve been playing soccer together since they could kick a ball. It was over freshman orientation weekend after you and Jungkook were assigned to the same icebreaker group. Upon mingling for the day, Jungkook served his best friend to you on a silver platter and the rest is history. As soon as you saw his boxy grin, being around him became a non-negotiable. 

There is a piece of you that refuses to admit your soulmate could be anyone else, but the rest of you knows how great the possibility is. A gnawing anxiety finds its way into your bones every once in a while. 

Your fingers dance across your wrist in thought, pressing down against your vein to feel your pulse. 

When you look up, it’s just in time to see your boyfriend’s best friend scoring a goal. Ji-something stands up to cheer as loud as she can. The soccer field is large, but not that large. She only needs half the volume to get her message across. 

You chuckle at Jungkook’s entire face going red when he hears her holler. He scratches the back of his neck as he returns to his position for the next set of plays. 

Eyes perusing for a familiar head of black curls, you find your boyfriend in his defensive position. A smile creeps in without you realizing as pride swells in your chest. You clap when he successfully prevents the other team from scoring, but don’t make yourself as known as your companion. 

A wishful sigh breaks you from your admiration. 

“I wish Jungkook would settle down like Taehyung has,” the girl pouts. 

“Well, I think he’s trying to spare both your feelings, don’t you think?” You’ve had this conversation one too many times with one too many girls. “Neither of you know if you’re soulmates and getting into a relationship could lead to heartache.” 

“Then why did you do it?”

That’s a great question, and one you wish you knew the answer to. Your nature is cautious and you've always been prudent when it comes to love. Prior to college, your plan was to remain single until your tattoo materialized. There were hookups occasionally during your high school years, but never once breaching into the realm of dating.

“I just fell in love, and the idea of not being with him hurt more than the possibility that he isn’t my soulmate.”

“Wow,” she stares in awe. “That’s so romantic.”

You only grant her a nod before reverting your attention back to the game. It’s nearly over now which means you can finally get your arms around Taehyung and hold him close for the rest of the night. 

The team is victorious as usual and the players gather around in the center to celebrate their victory with an indiscernible cheer. Leading your companion down the bleachers, you wait at the separation between the stands and the field as both boys come jogging over.

Taehyung’s smile is radiant as he beams. He pulls you in for a kiss immediately once he reaches you. You’re giggling against his lips as he pecks you repeatedly in quick succession.

“Proud of you, baby,” you whisper into his mouth. 

You steal his hand from behind your head to lace his fingers with yours. When you glance over, Jungkook is speaking with his woman-of-the-week. Although, you aren’t sure you can describe her eager rambling and his mindless nodding as a conversation.

Taehyung’s knowing chuckle meets your ear.

“They never learn,” he says.

“Oh no, she knows she’s disposable,” you correct. “She just wants him bad enough not to care.”

“JK,” Taehyung grabs the younger one’s attention. “We’re gonna grab dinner, you and Jiseon wanna join?”

Wow, you feel like such an asshole. If Taehyung can remember her name surely you should’ve. 

“Nah, we’re good.” 

Jungkook winks at his friend and you feign a gag sound. Sticking your finger near your mouth for dramatic effect. Jungkook only rolls his eyes before waving goodbye. The brat didn’t even thank you for entertaining his little fling tonight. Unbelievable. 

Besides his questionable choices in sexual partners, you genuinely enjoy Jungkook’s company. You aren’t necessarily close, but he’s around enough that you know his favorite food and band. You know that he’s sweet and caring towards the people in his life. And he certainly doesn’t mistreat the women he spends his time with. There is a thick boundary laid before anyone ever steps foot inside his apartment. His girls know exactly what they’re signing up for. 

After dinner, Taehyung walks you back to your place while reminiscing over the most exciting moments of the game. You listen intently while swinging your connected hands back and forth between you. 

He spends the night like he often does after a Friday night game and you wake up together just in time to catch brunch at the closest dining hall. 

While you dress in the comfiest outfit you own, your boyfriend’s voice is telling someone where you’ll be. He ends the call with a quick goodbye before leaning in the doorway of your bathroom.

“JK’s meeting us for brunch, if that’s ok?”

“Is his girly friend joining?”

“Nope,” he says with a pop of his lips. Your head hangs as you chuckle. Figures. 

When you turn around, Taehyung is admiring you like you aren’t in an old hoodie and sweatpants. His hands reach for your waist, pulling you closer and enveloping you into his chest. You sigh, resting your head where his heartbeat can be heard.

“I love you, pumpkin,” he says with a kiss to your hair. You rest your chin on his sternum to get a better view.

“I love you more, handsome,” you reply. 

He kisses you briefly before dragging you from the warmth of your apartment to eat some poorly-made pancakes and instant eggs. 

The dining hall’s familiar scent infiltrates your nostrils. Frankly, you’re starving and need to consume something before the hangry version of you comes out to meet the world. 

You and Taehyung are already eating by the time Jungkook comes in through the large glass doors. The boy looks a mess; hair pointing in a million directions, hoodie barely on and revealing part of his stomach above his joggers, and a purple bruise sits to the left of his throat. 

“Wow,” you say as you chew through a pineapple slice.

“Yeah,” he says with a boyish smile, his body leaning against a chair back. “It was fucking awesome.”

“Ew,” you groan. 

Taehyung cheers for his friend, high fiving him as the younger one takes a seat. 

“Hyung, you wouldn’t believe the shit she did with her —”

“No, no, stop that,” you scold him before he ruins your breakfast. “We’re eating.”

“So? There’s nothing gross or bad about sex, Y/N,” he argues.

“You’re right, but I don’t need to hear about your sex, okay?” 

“I, for one, would like to hear about it,” Taehyung responds. You gawk at him from across the table. “What? Maybe we could learn a thing or two.”

“Tae!” 

Jungkook’s hearty laugh only furthers your annoyance. Once he leaves to get food, you point your fork at your boyfriend in a silent warning before continuing to eat. 

There’s a party tonight at another teammate’s off-campus house. Taehyung begs you with his big, adorable puppy eyes and you instantly fold. They are your only kryptonite and you agree without another thought when he asks to go. 

You travel hand-in-hand back to your apartment after brunch so you can finish some homework before the party. With a kiss and a promise to pick you up at 8, he heads home.

The biology homework for your mandatory gen-ed is staring you in the face. It’s the last of your assignments to complete before you’re free to get ready. A groan passes through your lips while you tip your head back in frustration. Science is so not your thing and this is the last class you’ll ever have to take on the subject. There is a high probability of the course tanking your GPA this semester. 

Chewing on your lip, your phone teases you with its presence. There is someone you know who's a biology major, but you’ve never asked him for help before and you aren’t sure you can handle the teasing that will follow if you do. 

You curse as your fingers find his contact before you can change your mind. You’ve never once called or texted him separately, only ever in a group chat with your boyfriend and a few others. 

He answers after a couple rings, but his voice is laced with confusion when he does. 

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you stretch the syllable as far as it can go.

“What’s up?”

“Jungkookie…” you play coy. “Could you possibly help me with something?” 

“What is it?” 

You hear shuffling on the other end, as if he’s already getting up to fulfill your request. 

“My bio homework,” you answer. “Can I just send you a picture of it or something and you can tell me the answers?”

He chuckles, low and soft.

“Sure.” 

You cheer to yourself, kicking your feet and flipping off the paper in front of you that will finally be conquered. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you shout.

“Mmhm, just send it over.”

You do so as soon as you hang up. It’s barely been fifteen minutes when the photo returns, this time with answers added next to each question. 

You throw your head back and resist the urge to literally kiss the photo on your phone screen. This assignment has haunted you for days now. Vowing to repay Jungkook in kind, you complete the worksheet to match his answers before heading to the shower to get ready. 

When Taehyung arrives at 8, you still have to finish putting on your jewelry. He smirks knowingly at your consistent lack of punctuality. His body takes purchase on your bed while you adjust the final details of your outfit. 

It’s nothing special, just a sweater and a skirt, but you can tell it does something for your boyfriend by the way he eyes you from his position. His legs are spread, feet firmly planted as he licks his lips. Ever the temptress, you situate yourself on his lap when you’re finished.

His hands instinctively meet your thighs, rubbing them as he eyes your lips.

“Careful, baby, we have somewhere to be,” he says.

“Do we, though?” 

You tilt your head without breaking eye contact. He answers with a nod, but his lips are already ascending on the junction between your neck and shoulder. You moan appreciatively, resisting the urge to move against his crotch. 

The kiss is far too short and light for your liking, and once he’s satisfied with his teasing he stands to leave. You groan and give him your best pout. Adorably pleading with him for more affection, but he merely tsks at your antics before tugging you out of the apartment. 

The party is heard before it’s seen. The bass of the music is vibrating the floorboards as you walk inside. Taehyung leads you in by your hand and you greet his teammates and their partners or guests for the night on your way to the kitchen. 

He pours you both a drink into dinky plastic cups and hands one of them over. The first sip burns, but the next couple are smoother as you acquire the taste. 

You traverse the party together as normal, mingling for a while and dancing together for a spell. After a couple hours, Taehyung joins his team in a beer pong tournament while you head to the porch for some fresh air.

You rest your elbows on the hardwood railing and let your heavy head fall forward. Truthfully, you aren’t that drunk, but stuffy heat from the house mixed with alcohol isn’t doing you any favors. 

The door behind you opens, and none other than the friendly-neighborhood fuckboy comes tumbling outside. When he notices your presence, he sighs in relief and joins you at the railing.

“Who are you running from?” 

“Jiseon,” he answers. You giggle. That would explain his antsy behavior. 

“Let me guess, she didn’t take the ‘one night only’ hint,” you say. He shakes his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. “Aw, poor you, it must be so hard to have an endless amount of women at your disposal.”

He turns towards you, leaning sideways against the railing so he can face you.

“This isn’t my preferred method of human connection, you know,” he says. “I would love nothing more than to have what you and Taehyung do. All I want is for my soulmate’s name to show up so I can finally seek the comfort of their arms instead of whatever random girl is chasing after me that day.” 

“Then why don’t you try with someone to have what Tae and I do?”

“Because I don’t want to get my heart broken,” he answers truthfully. “Not that you and Tae will, I just —”

“No, it’s okay.” You turn to face him as well. “I know it’s a possibility.” 

“It may seem backwards to you,” he adds. “And it’s not like I don’t enjoy casual sex. I do.” Your eyes roll back on reflex. “But I don’t sleep around because I’m insatiable or abundantly horny. I’m just lonely.”

You frown, never realizing the extent of Jungkook’s feelings on the matter. One of your hands reaches out to grasp his tattooed wrist.

“You’ll find her someday soon, Jungkook,” you offer with a smile. “And she’s gonna love you.”

If only you knew just how soon he would find her or that he already knew her.

You finish the night off with a brief makeout in the downstairs bathroom. It’s not the most romantic or pretty location, but you’re too intoxicated at that point to care when Taehyung’s lips are on yours. 

He walks you home and ensures you enter your apartment safely before retreating back to his own. You fall into your bed with a plop, the soft blankets surrounding you with warmth and comfort. Nuzzling into your sheets, you’re in dreamland before you can notice the black ink slowly darkening on your skin.

Upon waking up, your headache is the first to greet you. Feet finding the floor through half-closed eyelids, a groan erupts from your chest as you stretch the sleep out of your body. Your eyes are still barely open as you trudge to the bathroom to see the aftermath of last night.

Unfortunately for you, the version of you from last night forgot to take off her makeup. You gently wash away the dried mascara and lip gloss before applying some product. The entire routine is complete before you ever notice the new addition on your skin. It’s only once you brush your teeth and your wrist is in your direct eyesight that you see it. 

You yelp, your toothbrush falling from your mouth and clattering in the sink. Your first instinct is to try and wash it off, as if it’s some cruel prank someone pulled. As hard as you possibly can, you run your wrist under the water and scrub at the name staring back at you. You even add soap, as if that will somehow reverse what you already know to be true. 

“No, no, no,” you chant desperately. “Please,” you beg to whatever or whoever is in charge. 

After scrubbing until your skin is bright red and burning, you finally turn the water off. Your hand shakes almost violently from the fear and adrenaline coursing through you. Pressing your finger down over your vein, you close your eyes in an attempt to bestill your racing heartbeat. 

It’s as useless as scrubbing, and when you open your eyes and look into the mirror, a cry breaks from your body as you collapse into your bathroom carpet. You hug your knees to your chest, keeping your eyes tightly shut as tears escape them. This has to be some sick nightmare. It simply can’t be reality. 

The weight of the truth is pushing you down below the surface of your tolerance. It feels like you’re drowning, swallowing gallons of water and burning your esophagus in the process. Your body couldn’t produce enough tears if it tried. The soul-crushing emotions are too insurmountable. 

The sound of your phone ringing brings your heartbeat to a grinding halt. Your eyes find the source atop the bathroom counter. All you can do is stare helplessly at destiny calling. You already know who the caller is because soulmate tattoos always appear in pairs. 

Attempting to settle your breathing, you crawl to where you can reach your phone from the floor. The vibration of it against the marble is identical to your shaking hand as you answer it. You inhale three shaky breaths before moving it to your ear. 

“Y/N.”

His voice catapults your heart completely out of your chest. You’re unsure where it’s gone, but you know it isn’t inside you anymore. The urge to cry again is so forceful you have to bite down on your lip to restrain yourself. Even then, when you respond, your voice breaks over the words.

“What do we do?”

As you speak, your eyes fall to your wrist again. There, in small, black, cursive lettering is the last name you ever expected to find.

Jungkook

“I’m going to come over, alright?” 

You’re nodding before remembering he can’t see you. 

“Okay,” you whimper. And then, a voice you don’t believe is your own says, “Hurry, please.”

It’s damn near impossible to lift yourself from the floor. You feel concrete in your bones and lead in your blood. Tears are staining your cheeks, but you barely register it over the sound of your thoughts running wild. 

The knock on your door arrives quicker than you expect, but then again you did tell him to hurry. An unfamiliar feeling spreads through your chest at the thought of him rushing to you. Ignoring the way it reminds you of butterflies, you finally stand to answer the door. 

You think your soul must have been replaced with someone else’s. Taehyung is the only person your heart has ever somersaulted for. Your sweet, adoring, funny, and wonderful boyfriend. His smile comes to mind and it constricts your airway. 

Does the soul bond really reconstruct your emotional landscape that quickly? The answer comes as soon as you open the door. 

You’ve seen Jungkook at least 500 times over the course of a year and a half and locked eyes with him even more often than that. You did so just last night on the porch. Seeing him on the opposite side of your door should be simple. Yet, nothing prepares you for the swarm of emotions you feel when you finally see him. 

It’s as if the world has tilted on its axis, but not as if it’s suddenly spinning the wrong way. No, it’s as though this whole time it has been wrong, and only now is it right. You hold your breath without meaning to. Your very soul yearns to leap from your body just to get an inch closer to him. 

Jungkook’s eyes are blown wide, pupils dialated to the point where you can’t tell where his irises begin. His face is flushed, but you’re unsure if it’s from seeing you or the method of speed he used to reach you. His inhales and exhales are shallow, forced out only by muscle memory. You notice his hands are shaking where they rest limply by his side. They twitch towards you before he’s closing them into fists. 

“Holy shit.” 

It falls from your lips before you can stop it. The feeling is a riptide pulling you under without anything to stop it. 

Jungkook inhales deeply at the sound of your voice, as if it was the one thing he needed to hear. He steps into your apartment and closes the door behind him. You take a parallel step back to hold the distance between you. Your own body scolds you for doing so. 

It isn’t for long, because when Jungkook reaches out slowly to take your wrist in his hand, you melt. Your body succumbs to the feeling of his touch the way it feels to slip into a warm bath. Your mouth is releasing a sigh of relief before you can tell it not to. 

He observes your skin curiously, taking in the view of his name written there. His thumb delicately traces the curves. His eyes are misty and filled with something unreadable.

“Jungkook,” your voice comes out so small. His eyes find yours and you come to realize how much his heart is breaking, too. “We should talk.”

Hand dropping yours, he nods and follows you to your couch. Although you were the one who suggested a conversation, words die in your throat. The silence stretches between you like molasses.

“I…” you try to find the right words only to realize there are none. “I love him, Jungkook. I can’t — god — I can’t hurt him like this. I don’t want to lose him.”

“I know,” your companion nods solemnly. “I can’t either.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I’ve known him since I was four. He’s the only reason I even started playing soccer.” A deep breath. “He’s my best friend.”

Your head finds your hands as you fold yourself in half, letting your elbows meet your knees. The pain in your chest reverberates through your entire system. You didn’t even know heartbreak could carry a physical ache. 

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” 

You’re crying into your hands. You can’t catch your breath for the life of you. The sobbing is painful in your throat. A firm hand finds your spine, gently moving up and down in the only way it knows how to console you. The touch leaves a warmth in its wake that you’ve never experienced before.

“We can’t tell him,” you whisper into your hands. Looking up, you find Jungkook’s eyes again. “We just have to pretend like this never happened.”

“Y/N, you know we can’t do that,” he replies. “Bad things happen to people who ignore their soul bond.”

“I don’t care. The universe is fucking sick and twisted and I’m not going to give it what it wants,” you say. Then, after inhaling and allowing your thoughts to rationalize, you continue. “We just continue on like nothing is wrong, but we spend more time together. Find excuses to hang out as the three of us. Maybe that will be enough to keep the bond from retaliating against us.” 

Jungkook looks skeptical, he tilts his head and tongues his cheek in thought. 

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” you respond. Then, despite your best efforts to stop your mouth from opening, “you're not going to keep sleeping with other girls, are you?” 

He shakes his head without missing a beat.

“No, I could never do that,” he answers. You despise the feeling of relief that washes over you. 

“I’ll have to think of something to tell Tae. Say I have a UTI or something,” you muse. 

“No, Y/N, you don’t have to do that. It’s different,” Jungkook argues.

“I couldn’t,” you reply. “The thought of… of him making love to me when I have someone else’s name, your name, on my wrist makes me sick to my stomach.”

Taehyung’s ears must be burning because your phone rings and his face lights up the screen. Shattering your heart in its entirety when you see the goofy smile in his contact photo. Glancing towards Jungkook, you get up to take the call elsewhere.

He tells you he wants to study together after lunch. The thought of seeing him right now nearly sends bile up your throat. It will be too suspicious for you to say no. It’s the weekend and you never shy away from spending time together. You follow through with what you discussed and ask if you can invite Jungkook. You lie through your teeth and say it’s because you need help with biology. He thinks nothing of it as he replies with a sweet "of course." 

Therein begins your corrosive web of lies. Time moves normally, even though you feel anything but. Everyday a new lie tumbles from your lips like smoke. You feel yourself choking on it as it suffocates you from the inside. You vastly underestimated how hard your body would fight you for rejecting your soul bond with Jungkook. 

At first, it was tingling when you kissed Taehyung or an ache when you held his hand. But slowly, it got worse. After a few weeks, you couldn’t kiss him without a burning sensation on your lips. By the end of a month, holding his hand sent a stinging cramp down your arm. You explained you couldn’t have sex due to a UTI. Later, you claimed you couldn’t kiss because you caught mono. 

After six weeks, the aches and pains don’t just happen when you’re with Taehyung. They start happening simply because you’re away from Jungkook. 

You miss one of your morning classes because the cramping in your abdomen is so bad you can’t leave your bed. Dinners go uneaten because you can’t help but throw up the contents of your stomach. One night, while watching one of their soccer games, you leave because the most painful ache you can imagine is surging through your chest. You spend the evening alone, clutching your heart as you cry to whoever may be listening that this isn’t fair.

Jungkook isn’t doing much better, he tells you. His grades have begun to drop and he’s missing practices left and right. One day you see him limping across the courtyard. He tells you he pulled a muscle at the gym doing something he’s done a million times. That he can feel himself getting weaker everyday. 

The pair of you try your hardest to stall the effects by spending as much time together as you can. You don’t think you’ve spent alone time with Taehyung in weeks now. You sit next to each other at meals with your friends. He comes over to study whenever he’s free. If he’s going to a party, so are you. 

It’s not enough, because the physical closeness doesn’t make up for the emotional distance. You know it’s only a matter of time before nature forces you to confront what you’ve been avoiding. 

You’re sitting on Taehyung’s lap in the basement of a teammate’s house. The three Motrin you took beforehand aren’t helping the cramping in your legs nor the burning that follows Taehyung’s touch along your thigh. Jungkook is next to him, an uncomfortable scowl written into his features. It’s almost permanent these days. 

During a lull in the conversation, Taehyung leans forward to brush his lips on your neck. You yelp and stand abruptly from the sharp pain his kiss causes. Taehyung looks at you in concern, grabbing your hands to make you face him.

“Baby?” His eyes are so soft and loving when he peers up at you. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you lie as you massage your neck. “I just need to hit the restroom real quick.”

Jungkook’s eyes are swimming with distress as they follow you out of the room. 

Forcing open the sticky bathroom door, you shut it behind you and brace yourself on the sink. When you look in the mirror, you don’t recognize the woman looking back. She’s skinnier than you, face pale, eyes hollow and devoid of light. You breathe deeply and are about to return when the door opens.

Jungkook moves as quickly and quietly as possible, peering out for any onlookers before shutting and locking the door behind him. Your body relaxes, your breath leveling, your nerves taking a rest from their constant anxiety. 

“Are you alright?” 

His hand is halfway in the air when he speaks, as though to reach out, but he changes his mind and lets it fall to his side. 

You respect his hesitation, but you can’t do this a second longer. Grabbing his hand back, you place it on your cheek, covering his fingers with your own to hold it steady. His eyes widen momentarily before relaxing and gazing around your face.

“I am now,” you whisper. It’s true. His touch feels like aloe in the summer. The warmth of him is so comforting you could fall asleep standing up. 

He licks his lips and you can see the gears turning inside as he analyzes your expression. You blink slowly, cat-like, and realize you don’t need words to communicate because he does precisely what you want him to. 

His forehead presses to yours and your lungs sing as they finally work unimpeached. Tension releases from Jungkook’s body as his shoulders slump forward. You know how terribly you both need this, and yet your betrayal to Taehyung feels venomous. A moment of serenity passes over you in the silence of the room. It’s a welcome reprieve from the chaos your lives have become. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” you admit. “Everyday just gets harder. My heart feels like it’s going to rip out of my chest every second I spend apart from you.”

His head twists against you, his eyes opening to catch your gaze. There’s an intensity in his stare you’ve never seen before. You’re on a precipice together, and Jungkook is like a dam just waiting to hear you say the word so he can break. 

“Tell me what you want, Y/N,” he says. 

“It’s not about what I want,” your tone is harsher than you hoped. “It’s about what I need.”

His other hand curls into your shirt near your waist, tugging you closer until your bodies are touching. Your free hand finds its way to his chest, fingertips passing over unfamiliar territory.

Jungkook sighs deep in his chest.

“I could stay like this forever,” he tells you. “Feel like I’ve been drowning and I can finally breathe again.”

Your eyes snap shut as you will yourself not to cry. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be and there is nothing you want more than for everything to go back to the way it was. But your harsh reality is staring you down and sinking its teeth into your jugular. The universe is sucking you dry and soon there will be nothing left. 

“We'll tell him tomorrow,” you announce. The finality of it constricts your airway. Jungkook is pulling you into him before the first sob even exits your body. He wraps his arms around you as a hand finds home in your hair.

Your tears soak Jungkook’s shirt where it rests against his shoulder. Every single drowning emotion comes out in slamming waves, pushing you up against a rocky shoreline. It shuts down your nervous system and disrupts your mental state. 

When the sobbing subsides, Jungkook gently lifts your head and his free hand swipes away at the tear stains still present on your cheekbones.

“It’s going to be alright,” he states. “And don’t ask me how I know,” he smiles just a hair. “I don’t. I’m just hopeful.” 

You laugh for what feels like the first time in forever. It’s short and quiet, but it’s enough for Jungkook’s smile to grow.

He lets you exit the cramped space first, waiting a few minutes before exiting and finding a spot elsewhere so he has an alibi. You return to Taehyung feeling a mixture of dread and relief. Tomorrow could very well be the worst day of your life, but at least this nightmare will be over. 

When you kiss Taehyung goodbye that night, you do it through physical ache, but knowing that it will probably be your last hurts worse than anything else. 

You cry yourself to sleep because it’s the only way you know how to cause enough fatigue to fall into slumber. 

The following morning you text Jungkook and Taehyung asking them both to come over. At this point it’s routine for the three of you to hang out so it goes unquestioned. When they arrive, you make yourself busy in the kitchen so you don’t have to touch your boyfriend unnecessarily. You also need the extra time to mentally prepare yourself. 

Placing two hot bowls of ramen in front of them, you take a seat on the couch as far from Taehyung as possible. Jungkook sits in a chair just across from you. 

“Pumpkin, you didn’t have to do this,” Taehyung says as he slurps his first bite of noodles into his mouth. 

Jungkook is staring into the familiar food with a faraway look. You gesture for him to eat, but his response is a shake of his head.

“So, why’d you want us here on this lovely Saturday?” 

Your gut twists at the notion of today being lovely. Taehyung is clueless that you’re about to shatter his heart in your hand. Yours has been slowly deteriorating all this time. 

“I actually have to tell you something, Tae,” you start. His eyes glance at you briefly, nodding for you to continue while he eats. “You should probably put that down.” 

Taehyung stops mid-bite, slowly setting the bowl back on the coffee table without breaking eye contact with you. 

“What’s going on?” He questions as his eyes flit to his friend sitting silently across from him. Jungkook doesn’t dare look up as his eyes find something on the floor to distract himself. 

“I got my soulmate tattoo,” you admit to him. The raw truth both burns and soothes your throat simultaneously as it breaches the air. Taehyung’s pupils are shaking when he looks at you and you can tell he doesn’t believe you yet. “It was almost two months ago now.”

“And you… you didn’t think you should tell me about that?” 

His voice pitches up, but he doesn’t sound angry, just confused. 

“I didn’t know how,” you reply. “And —”

“Wait,” Taehyung’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. “What is Jungkook doing here? Why would you want us both here, Y/N?”

Your mouth snaps shut in an instant as your eyes begin to water. There’s no mental strength left within you to even say it out loud. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. 

“No.” Taehyung stands. “No, no, there is no fucking way.” He holds his hand out towards you. “Give me your hand.” Your limb is shaking as it stretches towards him. Despite his tone, he’s gentle when he grabs your wrist to inspect it. You can feel the unbridled anger pulsing through his fingertips. When he spots the familiar name etched into your skin, he gasps painfully. It’s a sound so unlike him it makes you flinch. “No,” he repeats. His voice breaks over the syllable in the most soul-crushing way. He blinks tears from his eyes as he just stares at your skin. 

“Taehyung,” you grab his attention. Your tears mirror his own now. “I love you. This doesn’t change that.”

He lets your wrist fall limply against the couch before crashing down himself. His expression is so utterly broken you aren’t sure if he can even hear you. 

“It changes everything,” he replies. “Love doesn’t matter in the face of fate.” He laughs, but there is no warmth in it. “How does this always fucking happen?” You want to ask what he means, but his eyes are already on Jungkook. His expression hardens into pure ice. “You always get everything you want, huh, Jungkookie?”

“Don’t do that,” Jungkook says coldly. “Don’t act like I fucking asked for this.”

“But that’s just the thing, you didn’t have to! The universe just spits out good luck at you like you won the lottery,” Taehyung explains. “Ever since we were kids you were always on top. Better grades, better skills, better looks, and now,” he laughs again, but this time with venom dripping from his voice. “It gives you the one thing that matters most to me.” 

“Hyung, we tried —”

“Nah, you don’t get to call me that, kid,” Taehyung sneers. Jungkook’s face drops in terror, so unbelievably shocked at his best friend’s words. “You took my fucking girl from me. I will never forgive you for that, whether it was your choice or not.”

“Tae, it isn’t his fault,” you interject.

“And you,” Taehyung snaps. He stands to face you directly. “You little fucking liar! A UTI? Mono? Were you fucking him this whole time behind my back?”

“Jesus — fuck, no!” You match his stance as you stand before him. “I would never do that to you!”

“No, you’d just lie to my face instead,” he retorts. 

“Yes, Tae, because I wanted to be with you. I did everything in my power to try and stop whatever destiny had in store for me,” you say. “You have no idea what I went through just to stay next to you for even a second longer. What we went through. For you!” 

“Yeah, right.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I was missing class. I was taking double the daily allowance of painkillers,” you say calmly. “Touching you would send shockwaves down my arm. Kissing you burned. There were nights where I couldn’t breathe because the pain was so bad.” You inhale through your nose. “And I did it anyway. I did it because the thought of losing you was astronomically worse than any pain I was in.” Then, you point to Jungkook, who still sits defeated in the chair. “His muscles were literally atrophying. Could barely lift half the weight he used to be able to. His GPA dropped a whole point because he couldn’t focus enough in class. He would wake up drenched in sweat and so tired it was like he hadn’t slept at all.” You take a final deep breath. “You mean the world to me, to both of us. So don’t you dare claim we’re at fault for this. We’re hurting, too.”

Taehyung is staring at the ground as he mulls over your words. He sniffles and meets your eyes. 

“So that’s it, then… we just break up?”

“I don’t know what else to do,” you answer truthfully. “I think the soul bond will kill me if I keep denying it any longer.” 

Taehyung throws his head back with a groan.

“So I’m just supposed to watch you two date right in front of me? See you hold hands across the courtyard like it’s nothing?” The question makes you pause. Never once did you even think about what happens after. Jungkook answers on your behalf. 

“No, Taehyung,” he starts. “We wouldn’t do that to you. We’re not gonna date… right away. And when we do we’ll keep it far from where you can see it.”

There’s a sense of finality in the room after Jungkook’s answer. Taehyung’s eyes move around the room, but his expression tells you nothing. His eyes land on you before grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. 

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he says as he leaves. He doesn’t spare Jungkook a single glance before the door closes behind him. 

Before you can think of doing anything else, you crouch down in front of Jungkook, using your hand to gently bring his head up. Your fingers travel across his cheek, wiping the stray tear that’s fallen. 

“He couldn’t even look at me,” Jungkook murmurs. 

“He needs time,” you tell him as you caress his cheekbone with your thumb. 

His fingers gently curl around your wrist, removing it from his face. You watch as his eyes bore into the ink on your skin. You hate how pretty they look when he’s sad. Slowly, he brings your arm closer and you’re in awe when he presses the softest of kisses to his own name on your wrist. The action makes your breath falter and your heart beat out of time. His lips leave your skin after lingering there and he bows his head so his forehead takes their place. 

Your fingers are in the perfect position to comb through his hair, so you do. A hum of satisfaction comes from your soulmate. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says. 

“What for?”

“Existing,” he laughs, but it’s hollow. “I keep wondering if it would be easier for everyone if I didn’t.” Your blood runs cold. “You wouldn’t have a soulmate anymore and then you and Tae would be free to be together.”

“Jungkook,” you say sternly, making him face you. “Don’t you ever say something like that again.” You grab his face for good measure. “You’re mine. The one and only soulmate I’m ever going to have. The world, my world, is a better place with you in it and I don’t ever want to be someplace you don’t exist. Okay?” 

He doesn’t reply, just nods. You push his hair out his eyes and he closes them. Letting his head rest in the cradle of your hands so he doesn’t have to hold it up himself. He looks peaceful like this and you let him savor the moment as long as possible. You’re nursing a heartbreak, but his best friend just walked out his life without a goodbye. 

You already know how complicated and difficult moving forward is going to be. While grieving the only long-term relationship you’ve ever known, you’ll be crafting an entirely new one. Your heart has to recover from the ache while reconstructing into something new. It’s going to take time, but you’re unshackled now. The universe wants this for you, and so it shall have it. 

The following weeks are composed of awkward silences and tentative touches, but you both take the necessary steps to get to know each other more. Jungkook begins to visit whenever he has free time to study or have dinner. You watch his games from the university sports channel for Taehyung’s sake, but Jungkook always comes over afterwards to celebrate. He helps with your biology homework and you rant to him about whatever classic novel you’re analyzing in your classes. 

You’re fairly touchy with each other because your very soul yearns for him, but it’s yet to break past the platonic wall between you. Jungkook does often find himself leaning down to kiss your forehead, but you welcome it warmly. You rest your head on his chest when you watch whatever anime he wants to show you and he plays with your hair while you force your favorite films on him. Your relationship is in its adolescence and you’re both cautious about messing it up. 

Jungkook wants more before you do. You can tell even if he thinks you can’t. It’s the way his eyes look when he sees you, even if your hair is a mess and your clothes are stained. The way his fingers twitch just enough when you’re cuddling to show he’s holding back. A piece of you wants to give in and grant his wish, but you’re unsure if your heart is ready to be given away again.

Spring enters with rainstorms and budding flowers. You’re basking under the sun’s rays while finishing your weekly readings. Your book is poised between two fingers while your back lays on the blanket-covered grass. The pages go one by one while the sounds of people moving through the courtyard fill your ears. 

The familiar lisp that accompanies Jungkook’s voice is the only reason you pick him out amongst the rest. Turning your head to locate the source, you spot him not too far away. You twist and sit up onto your elbows. 

Jungkook is standing at the corner of the courtyard, just outside the science building you know he has classes in. An unfamiliar girl is standing beside him. Perhaps too close. You can’t hear much of their conversation, only lone words as they float through the air. 

That’s when you feel jealousy pooling in your lower stomach like acid for the first time. Surely, you have nothing to worry about. He’s tied to you by an unknown force that neither of you can control. Still, a sour feeling creeps through you when you watch her hand reach out to touch his arm. 

He nonchalantly moves his arm out of her reach, and you can’t help the smile that appears on your lips. She seems persistent, though, and you wonder if you should intervene. When her fingers flit to his chest and dance across his shirt, you decide you definitely need to. 

Jungkook is handling the situation with grace before you can even rise from your position on the blanket. His hand removes hers from his body and he tilts his head with a pointed look. When you see his expression, the reaction from your body is completely involuntary. A sensual heat pools where the jealousy once resided. 

The girl is turning away from him with a scoff, her feet slamming the ground like a child with a tantrum. You cover your mouth to stop the laugh from escaping. Jungkook spots you then and he smiles, enough so that it crinkles the corners of his eyes. You wave at him before sending him a thumbs up, using your head to gesture in the direction the girl went. His eyes widen when he realizes you saw the interaction, but as he takes in your response, his lips form a smirk. He winks before turning in the opposite direction, off to whatever class he has next. 

You’re unsure what it is about the entire scene, but something in you stirs. For the first time since finding out Jungkook is your soulmate you realize you want more, too.

Jungkook has a game tonight and you mutually agree that it’s been long enough for you to watch in person. Close to three months have passed since you and Taehyung broke up. Heartbreak has no timeline, but you figure hiding yourself amongst the crowd will ensure you don’t make him too uncomfortable. 

The padding of the bleacher seat beneath you is comfortable, even if your bare thighs are sticking to it in the warm weather. The company you keep is much different than before. In fact, it’s the first time you aren’t accompanied by a stranger. Instead there are friends, parents, and siblings of the team all around you. 

You gnaw anxiously at your bottom lip while you wait for the players to enter the field. When they do, Taehyung is one of the first to exit the locker room. He looks good, as he always does, and he’s smiling at something a teammate said. The sight spreads a melancholy warmth through you. Happiness is the only thing you want for him. 

When Jungkook emerges, he’s tousling the front of his hair with his hand to keep it out of his eyes. His tattooed bicep is staring you in the face like you owe it something. You sigh, crossing one leg over the other as if that will help anything. 

Your soulmate moves effortlessly across the field, leading to him scoring more than one goal against the rival team. Taehyung does well too, blocking players and passing the ball with expertise. You don’t miss the obvious tension between him and Jungkook. Even from the stands their aversion for each other is palpable. 

Taehyung passes to someone else when Jungkook is wide open. Then he chooses to block a player who doesn’t stand a chance, leaving a different guy wide open to steal the ball from Jungkook. Their teammates are noticing it, too. You’re sure they have for the last three months. 

In the second half Taehyung avoids assisting Jungkook and they lose a goal to the other team. Worry seeps into your bones. One thing you’ve always known about Jungkook is that he’s competitive. If he loses tonight, it will hurt more than usual. 

You can hear the exacerbated sigh from Jungkook way across the field. His head tilts to the sky as he groans, running both hands through his hair. For whatever reason, this pisses you off more than it probably should. Taehyung can be angry with you and Jungkook, but to willingly allow the team to lose is petty. 

Two can play at petty, though. 

Standing up from your seat, you cup your hands around your mouth to amplify the sound.

“You got this, baby! Kick their asses, Jungkookie,” you shout. Everyone around you cheers in response, but the sound falls on deaf ears. The world goes into tunnel vision when Jungkook’s eyes find yours in the crowd. You wave excitedly at him and he smiles for the first time tonight.

"Baby?" He mouths at you as he walks backwards to get into position. You nod dramatically enough for him to see from afar before taking your seat again. 

When your eyes land on Taehyung, he’s wearing an expression that seems to be an equal mix of betrayal, hurt, and rage. You don’t ever want to hurt Taehyung. A piece of you will always hold love for him. But if he couldn’t be a big boy, you weren’t going to be either. 

They win the game by a landslide despite your ex’s best efforts. Although you already loudly made yourself known, you decide it’s too cruel to rub anything else in his face tonight. Instead of meeting Jungkook down below, you send a text that you’ll meet him back at your place. 

There’s a knock on your door at the perfect time, since the post-game meal you always make just finished cooking. The tradition didn’t start for any particular reason and Jungkook never asked you to have warm food waiting for him. It started because one time his stomach was growling so loud you could hear it over the TV. Ever since then you cook him his favorites so he can eat after burning all his calories on the field. 

You open the door and he slumps inside, dropping his bag unceremoniously by his shoes. He closes your apartment door lazily behind him. 

“Sheesh,” he pants. “That was fucking awful.”

Your hands push back some of the sweaty locks from his forehead, trailing down and tracing his jaw once his hair is out of his eyes. He hums appreciatively, leaning his face against your hand. 

“You did amazing, though,” you reply.

“Well, I had some help… baby,” he smirks proudly. Your eyes are rolling as he encompasses you in his arms. You giggle into his neck as he holds you by the waist. He smells like freshly cut grass and sweat, but it’s familiar now and you miss the scent when he isn’t around. Fresh out of the shower he smells like cedar and clean laundry. You’ve stolen a hoodie or two because you love the scent so much. “Thank you for that, by the way. I really needed it tonight.”

“Anytime,” you tell him. 

He loosens his grip but doesn’t let go. His eyes are searching yours for something you’re unsure of, but you wonder if he’s trying to gauge how you’re feeling. There’s been an obvious shift in your affection towards him lately, but he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries. 

“Where did that even come from?” 

“Tae was pissing me off. He doesn’t get to do shit like that and get away with it,” you explain. Jungkook acknowledges it with a hum.

“Thank you for defending me.” He leans forward to brush his lips against your forehead. When he pulls back, there’s a pout on your lips. “What’s that face for?”

Some childish part of you wants him to figure it out on his own, even though you know he’s too chivalrous to kiss you without you explicitly saying you’re alright with it. 

“Do it for real, Jungkook,” you grumble. 

“Do what for…” his voice trails off as his eyebrows lift. “Wait, do you want me to kiss you?” You cross your arms across your chest, trying to paint the picture that he’s already taking too long. “You’re pouting because you want me to kiss you?”

“Yes, Jungkook! You’re my soulmate can’t you read my mind or some shit,” you respond to his teasing. Jungkook is throwing his head back in laughter rather than doing his soulmate duty of giving you a smooch. You can’t believe it. His pretty soulmate is asking to be kissed and he’s laughing. “Googie…” you groan, letting your foot stomp just slightly in retaliation. Now this is getting embarrassing. 

As Jungkook slowly ceases his laughter, his hands find purchase on your cheeks. Your heart starts hammering in your chest, but much to your chagrin, he squeezes them to pucker your lips.

“You’re absolutely adorable, do you know that?” 

“Jun Jungoo.” Your attempt at his name is pathetic. He laughs even harder and you hate how endearing it is while you’re trying to be annoyed. He stops squeezing but leaves his hands there.

“Yes?” Your eyes are shooting daggers at him, tired of having to beg for his lips on yours. He smiles so, so beautifully in response. It’s hard to do anything but adore him when he looks at you like that. “Patience, baby, I’ll give you what you want.” 

The descent of his face to yours seems to stretch for eternity. You can’t tell if he’s deliberately moving slow or if the world has slowed in anticipation. When his lips finally do meet your own, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before and nothing you could’ve ever imagined. 

There’s a shock when you touch for the first time, causing Jungkook to recoil for a second before pressing his lips fully to yours. It feels like all the seasons at once. The brisk air of autumn, the chirping birds of spring, the running waters of summer, and the crunch of snow in winter. Your body feels weightless as though the only thing holding you to the ground is him. 

At first neither of you move an inch, your lips pressed together in the most middle school way. But once the initial wave of euphoria passes, Jungkook is moving his lips like he’s tired of wasting precious time. His hands grip your face tighter, his mouth devouring yours so passionately you can’t imagine anyone else ever kissing another human this way. You can’t even think clearly enough to do something with your hands. They lay limply at your side as you experience the utter bliss that is kissing your soulmate. 

One of you moans when your tongues meet for the first time, and you truly don’t even know who. You’re unsure where you end and he begins. Jungkook licks into your mouth and you swear you’re never letting him outside again. He’s just going to have to stand here and kiss you for all eternity. Your tongues dance together, and you finally come to your senses enough to tease him, biting his lower lip before letting it go. He groans deep in his chest and you realize you’d do just about anything to hear it over and over. 

You can see yourself passing out from lack of air soon, so you reluctantly pull away from his mouth. Only by a centimeter, enough to take a breath, but not enough that you can’t purse your lips and reach him again. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes into your mouth. “You’re… you’re everything, Y/N.”

There is no response you can muster for him in the state you’re in. All you can do is nod and slip your fingers into his hair. Pray he gets the message that yes, you’re everything and more. You’re unsure how long you stay that way, but you whine embarrassingly when he backs up to look at you better. He smiles at your reaction, his nose scrunching in admiration for you.

“Don’t laugh at my pain, Jungkook. Get back here.” 

You tug on his shirt, but he doesn’t budge. Another pout appears. He lifts your chin with his fingers, smiling and seemingly memorizing your face as he admires you. 

“Why don’t we eat first? Then we can talk,” he says.

“Talk? I don’t want to talk, I want —”

“I know,” he chuckles. “I do, too. But I think we should talk about it. I don’t think we should be rushing anything.”

Begrudgingly, you lead him into the kitchen where the food waits. The two of you eat. Well, he eats. You push the food around your plate while deep in thought. Jungkook notices your behavior while he’s chewing. A crease in his brow appears while he deciphers your change of attitude. 

“What’s wrong?” He says with a mouthful of rice. Your cheek falls into your hand, sighing as you scrape your fork around. “Baby.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t do that,” Jungkook scolds you. “Talk to me.”

“Jungkook, you went through girls quicker than I could learn their names before all this,” you start. “So why do I get the 'let’s not rush things' treatment? Do you not want me like that?”

If expressions could speak, Jungkook’s would be saying you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“That’s a joke, right?”

“No, it isn’t. I genuinely don’t understand why I, your soulmate, am being rejected.”

“You are not being rejected,” Jungkook states. He ensures you’re hearing him by locking eyes with you. Staring you down so you know he means it. “I want you. You have no fucking clue how bad I want you.” A now familiar heat flares inside you. “But you are not like those other girls. You’re more special to me than I can even put into words and I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“But why?” You probe him. “Am I special because I’m me or because I’m your soulmate? Do you want me because you’re attracted to me or because the universe told you that you are?” 

Jungkook scoffs, your audacity is so much for him that he takes the time to move his plate into the sink. You hear another scoff while he’s washing it off. 

“You…” he starts, but stops to lick his lips. His eyes bore into yours with what you can only guess is a mixture of mild annoyance and curiosity. “We’ve spent nearly every day together for the past three months. I have watched every movie, read every book, and scrolled through every tik tok you’ve showed me. We cuddle in your bed watching anime together. You watch my soccer games and cook me a meal after every one.” He scoffs again just for good measure. “And you think you’re not special to me after all that? You think I’m not attracted to you? You! One of the most beautiful fucking girls on campus who I so luckily got paired with by the universe.” He throws his hands up and turns away. “Ridiculous.” 

“So…” You play with your hands in your lap. Part of you feels a little silly, but the other part craves validation. 

“So, no, it is not just because you’re my soulmate, Y/N. It’s because it’s you,” he answers, turning back towards you. “I like you.”

“But you still want to wait?”

Jungkook finally sits down again. He reaches for your hands and you gladly offer them to him. He presses his lips to your knuckles a couple times before holding both your hands between his own. 

“It’s not that I want to wait, I just don’t want to go too fast,” he says. “We just shared our first kiss. I haven’t even taken you on a date yet.” A giddy smile overcomes your features. “Let me woo you a little first, alright?” Your answer comes in the form of you leaning over to kiss him. He hums warmly, a soft chuckle breaking against your lips. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Jungkook proceeds to hold his kisses hostage until you finish your dinner, which you promptly inhale and then purse your lips at him expectantly. If it was up to you, you’d kiss him until the sun comes up and your lips are raw. Unfortunately, Jungkook already knows you have a biology exam coming up and decides helping you study will be a better use of your time. It’s borderline cruel and unusual punishment. 

Jungkook makes you wait for your first date to happen. Not only is it exam season but he has a soccer game every Friday for three consecutive weeks. Once that glorious fourth Friday rolls around, he formally asks you out. The destination is a secret and he tells you to "wear whatever you want." This gives you pause because you can’t wear the same outfit to a restaurant that you can to go skydiving. Jungkook is certainly the type to pull a stunt like that. 

You meticulously curl your hair and delicately apply your makeup. This is the most important date of your life and you don’t want anything out of place. Jungkook deserves someone who puts in effort even when it’s unnecessary. Especially when this will be his first date ever. He’s never given his time of day to a girl for longer than a night. Even though he’s the one planning everything, you want it to be special for him, too. 

Nostalgia over this being your first date since ending things with Taehyung makes it difficult to push down the feeling of missing him. You were together nearly a year and a half and those memories don’t go away just because you’ve moved on. One day, you hope you can have him in your life again. Perhaps once he’s found his soulmate and you can put all the pain behind you. 

Three knocks tap against your door as you slip your dress on and ensure the placement is correct. It’s early in the season for sundresses but you enjoy driving Jungkook a little crazy. Trekking over the piles of clothes that didn’t make the cut, you open the door for him.

You’re met not with the handsome face of your soulmate, but a bouquet of bright red roses.

“Jungkook,” you gasp and take them from him. Hiding behind the large bouquet is Jungkook himself, smiling so wide you can’t see his eyes. “They’re so beautiful, thank you.” 

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells you. His eyes trace over your figure as he tongues the inside of his cheek. You swear you hear a quiet ‘damn’ leave his lips. He graciously accepts a kiss from you before entering your apartment. “Are you ready to go?” 

He’s wearing a dress shirt and slacks, as opposed to the usual baggy clothes he sports. The top three buttons of the shirt are undone to reveal just a sliver of his pecs. You could die happily right here and now. Your man is so fine it is physically painful to allow him outside where others can perceive him. 

Nodding in response to his question, you grab your purse and his hand before heading out. 

Contrary to where you think you’re going, Jungkook drives towards the countryside rather than the city. Your anxiety spikes when you realize he may actually take you skydiving. You watch him cautiously from your peripheral vision, but he only smirks and squeezes your thigh. 

After an eternity in anticipation, you realize where he is taking you when neon colored lights and a large ferris wheel come into view.

“No. Way.” You shift in your seat to turn towards him. “This is why we had to wait for our date. The carnival is in town!”

Jungkook’s smile appears in his eyes before it ever graces his lips. He steals a glance at you to watch your eyes light up excitedly. 

“You like it?”

“Are you kidding?” You look down. “Wait, Googie, I’m in a dress.”

“Don’t worry, I stole some of your clothes the other day for you to change into,” he explains.

“You know, if I wasn’t crazy about you that would be really creepy,” you respond. “What about you?”

“I can wear this.”

He looks down to double check. 

“Oh, thank god, if you change out of that anytime soon I’ll be so pissed.”

Jungkook parks and turns around in his seat to grab the clothes he brought for you. It isn’t exactly easy changing in his backseat, but at least he has tinted windows. A true gentleman, he even turns away from you while he waits patiently outside. 

When you step out in the jeans and blouse he chose, his eyes flicker with pride. Shoving him in annoyance that his outfit looks even better on you than the dress does, you tell yourself you would’ve picked it for tonight if he hadn’t stolen it first.

Jungkook back hugs you while you wait in line to enter the carnival. Your fingers absentmindedly trace the only tattoo on his left arm, mapping the familiar curves of your name. When he recognizes the feeling and realizes what you’re doing, he nuzzles his face in your neck and pecks your exposed shoulder. 

Comfort spreads through your chest when you stare at the black ink against his honey-toned skin. The absolute doll of a man attached to your back was hand-picked for you. Chosen by an incomprehensible force long before you would ever meet one another. You wonder how long ago your destiny was set in motion. Have you belonged together since the dawn of time? Your hands squeeze his arms in a feeble attempt to express everything you feel for him with your touch. The feelings are too extraordinary to ever describe with words. There are simply not enough of them in existence to accurately do so. 

It’s not merely the way he makes you feel as a soulmate. You’ve grown accustomed to the way your body naturally yearns for him and your heart calls to his. No, it’s the way he makes you feel simply because he’s Jungkook. Because he’s kind, gentle, and warm. Because he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters and treats you just the same. 

You don’t love your soulmate. You love him. 

Your silent epiphany shakes the ground beneath your feet. This whole time you’ve been focusing on grieving one relationship and fostering another. Taking the time to learn everything you can about Jungkook. His likes and dislikes, favorite foods, colors, and books. There is an infinitely long list of all the things you want to accomplish as a partner to him. Love, or falling in love, didn’t even cross your mind. 

The sensation is the same as waking up and not remembering when you fell asleep. Sure, you remember closing your eyes, but not the exact moment you succumb to slumber. You have no idea when you fell in love with Jungkook, just that you are in love with him. 

Your reviere is broken by the sound of the tickets ripping as the teller hands them to Jungkook. He squeezes your hip and leads you into the bustling carnival. 

Mutually agreeing to eat first, Jungkook drags you by the hand towards the food stalls. He refuses to let you pay for a single item as he buys you both some actual dinner before giving in to your demands for a sweet treat. Ironically, he’s the one who ends up refusing to share. 

After successfully filling your stomachs you decide to conquer the rides one at a time. They’re all relatively small and easy-going, but still plenty of fun. Other than when Jungkook decides to spin the teacup so fast you think you’re going to either fly out or throw up. Probably both. 

Jungkook’s competitive streak makes an appearance once you’ve tried all the rides but the ferris wheel. He insists he’s going to win you a big stuffed animal. Says it’s a right of passage and he’s not leaving until he does.

You argue the right of passage is for a guy to try and win his girl a stuffie before utterly failing. Your argument fails to take into account Jungkook being magically perfect at everything. 

It only takes a single round of tickets for him to beat the game and win the jackpot. He looks back at you with a shit-eating grin and your eyes practically roll into the back of your head. 

“Which one do you want, princess?” He asks as you ponder the options. You gaze at his side profile and chuckle when you find your answer in the familiar curves of his features.

“The bunny,” you say with a proud smile. Jungkook looks at you knowingly before telling the staff member your choice. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, ya know,” he says while holding your big pink bunny under his arm. The blush on his cheeks is completely betraying his words. 

Once the sun sets you agree to finish the night with the ferris wheel. At first, you’re not worried since it’s just a small carnival wheel. That quickly changes once you and Jungkook are seated across from each other in the little trolley.

Staring up at the rusted metal hinge that now holds your life in its delicate balance, you feel your throat drying up and your blood running cold. 

“Um, Jungkook,” you say through shaky vocal chords. “I kinda forgot to tell you I’m afraid of heights.”

Jungkook looks at you incredulously.

“You didn’t think to tell me that before we got on the ferris wheel?” 

“I thought it would be fine, but now that we’re going up I kinda wanna throw up,” you admit. 

Jungkook acts immediately, grabbing your hand and pulling you into his lap. The trolley shakes momentarily and you shout in terror before it levels out again. Your hands are clutching onto his shirt so tight you already see the wrinkles forming. 

“Is this better?” He asks as he runs his fingers through your hair. You nod ever so slightly as to not disturb the state of the trolley. As your heartbeat starts to return to its normal pace, you rest your head on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Are you happy?”

It’s hard to answer him accurately when the word happy doesn’t feel like nearly enough. 

“Of course I am,” you say as you lift your head. You turn his face so he can see your sincerity with his own eyes. “You know, when I first saw your name on my wrist I thought I had the worst luck in the world. That the universe was doing something so unfair and cruel.” Your fingers run along his collarbone. You're nervous to let him see inside your heart. “But I was very wrong. I’m so lucky to have you, Jungkook.”

The trolley shakes again with the force of Jungkook’s kiss. Your shout dies in his mouth as he swallows every noise you make. The kiss is definitely too nasty for the location you’re currently in. His hand is gripping your hair like reins, his mouth chasing after yours like he’ll never let you breathe again. You moan when his tongue slips into your mouth and he growls against your lips when you move your ass across his lap. He travels from your lips to your jaw slowly, one kiss at a time across the bottom of your face. You’re whimpering as soon as you feel him kissing your neck, his lips sucking at your skin before licking over the red blotches he creates.

“Jungkook… Jungkook, baby, we’re in public,” you stall his ministrations as you try to catch your breath. It’s then you notice that you’re already on the opposite side of the wheel, having completely missed when you reached the top. “Oh.”

“Pretty good distraction, huh?” 

Jungkook is wiping your lipgloss off his lips with the back of his hand. 

“You — hey!” He laughs loudly and buries his face in your neck where his lips were moments ago. You feign annoyance and push him away from you, but you’d go another round on the wheel if it meant he would keep distracting you like that. 

Jungkook helps you off the ride by offering you his arm to hold onto. Your legs are a little wobbly when your feet meet the ground again and you’re unsure if it’s from him or the ride. 

Before you leave Jungkook finds a spot with the perfect lighting to capture a selfie. You make sure to hold your bunny high enough so it gets in the photo too. Jungkook tongues his cheek when he notices it in the photo on his phone. 

Upon your return Jungkook takes you both back to his place across campus. You carefully place your plushie in the backseat along with your dress so you remember to grab them both tomorrow. Jungkook leads you up the stairwell and unlocks the door before stepping aside to let you through first. The door shuts with a click behind him. 

The air is thick with an unspoken promise. The heat and tension sparking between you is new but certainly not unwelcome. Jungkook toes off his shoes and offers you something to drink, passing you by with a skim across your back as he heads to the kitchen. 

He’s uncharacteristically nervous. You’re unsure why when once upon a time there was a different woman in his bed each night. Has his six months of celibacy made him antsy? You feel guilty that his predicament sends butterflies flying in your stomach. The playboy bunny himself being nervous for your first time sleeping together makes you feel all the more special. 

You follow him into the kitchen and wrap your arms around his waist as he stands at the sink drinking a glass of water. He gestures for you to drink some, but you shake your head against his back. You can hear his heartbeat pounding rapidly in his chest. 

“Googie.” You grab his shoulder to turn him around. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”

He smiles affectionately, caressing your face. 

“It’s not that, princess,” he says. Your brow creases in confusion, so he continues. “I just don’t know how to make you feel even half of what I do when I’m with you. What you said to me on the ferris wheel… I don’t know how to express how much that meant to me. I don't know how to show you that I feel the same.” 

“You don’t have to,” you answer like it’s obvious. “I already know.”

He shakes his head at that. 

“No, you don’t,” he responds. “There aren’t words.”

“Then don’t use words.”

Your response beckons a silence between you. There’s no sound other than your breathing and the faint hum of utilities. 

Jungkook takes a deep breath, the hand still on your face slowly tracing your outline until it reaches your waist. 

“Okay,” he whispers assuredly. 

He yanks you off the ground and your legs latch around him while your arms tangle behind his head. You kiss him first, using your mouth to coax his lips open. He moans at the same moment his hands press you impossibly closer to him. He pushes stray hairs out of your face and cradles your neck to take control of the kiss. You’re aware of him carrying you away, but you have no semblance of where he’s going because he’s kissing you too deeply to pay attention. 

It isn’t until your butt meets the softness of his mattress that you even realize you’re in his bedroom. Jungkook is quick to leave your lips so he can unbutton his shirt, but you swat his hands away before he can successfully undo the first button. 

“Nuh uh, my job,” you say as your fingers replace his own. You use the grip on his clothes to pull him so he’s standing between your legs. You kiss the skin that’s revealed as each button is undone, groaning against his skin when you reach the tight abdominal muscles you’ve been longing to get your hands on. 

Jungkook is helpless above you, panting deeply while he watches you work. Standing to push the material from his shoulders, you kiss him again. This time you take it slow, moving your lips in a tortuous rhythm while your fingers trace his biceps, nails digging into the muscles. A low growl reaches your ears and all you want to do is make him do it again. 

Jungkook finds the hem of your top, letting his hands skirt beneath it to feel your bare skin before peeling it off of you. His eyes sharpen when he gets the first real look at your chest covered by your bra. Fingers tracing ever so gently from your waist, he cups your chest and massages you. 

“Oh,” your head tilts back as you moan at the feeling of him traversing your body. He takes advantage of your movement to connect his lips to your neck. Messy, wet kisses are placed all over your throat and collarbones. 

He sits you back down on the bed without ever stopping, lying you on your back and climbing over you. You arch so he can unclasp your bra behind you. He stops kissing you for a moment so he can watch while he pulls the straps down your arms. 

“Fuck, baby,” he curses at the sight of your bare chest for the first time. “You’ve always been perfect, but damn.”  

You can only convey a giggle in response as you gesture for him to come back with your pointer finger. He obliges, kissing you again while caressing one of your breasts. His hands are rough on your sensitive skin, but the feeling is pure bliss. He pinches your nipple to harden it. Once he’s done with one he moves to the other and repeats the process until he can feel it pebble beneath his fingers. 

Jungkook is slowly grinding himself against you and you swear you’ll come completely untouched. His cock is hardening with each hump of his hips and it meets your covered pussy perfectly every time. 

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you moan. 

“I know, I know,” he whispers. “Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you.” He grabs your hips to grind even harder against you. “You drive me crazy.” You’re aching to touch and feel every inch of his skin. Jungkook begins to grant your wish when he moves away to unbutton your jeans and tug them down your legs. When he’s done, his hands take their time feeling your ankles and calves, inching far slower than you want him to before he reaches your thighs, pulling them apart. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

He throws his head back with a pornographic groan at the sight of your wet underwear. You watch helplessly as his Adam's Apple bobs with the need to taste you. His hands continue their mapping of your thighs, alternating between squeezing and caressing them. And then he’s making himself comfortable, kneeling before his bed and tugging you down so you’re right where he wants you. 

“How long?”

“What?”

“Exactly how long have you wanted me?” There’s an answer waiting on the tip of his tongue. “Before or after?”

“After,” he says. You pout. “Hey, need I remind you that you were my best friend’s girlfriend before?”

“Yeah, but you saw me first,” you retort.

He doesn’t answer yet. His lips find purchase on the meat of your thighs, leaving a wet trail behind as takes his time kissing across your supple skin. 

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, Y/N,” he finally says, speaking directly into your skin. “But you wanted something I couldn’t offer and Taehyung could.”

Jungkook returns to his prior task except on the other thigh. The feeling of his lips all over you is indescribable, but the knowledge that he’s worshiping you inch by inch is what makes you dizzy. It feels like he’s trying to memorize you so he can recreate it later in his mind. As if this is the last time rather than the first. 

“Jungkookie, please,” you beg him. His face is centimeters away from where your pussy is leaking just for him. You think you’ll cry if he doesn’t touch you soon. 

He only hums before kissing you through your underwear. Your hips jump and his hand slaps against your stomach to keep you still. He’s slowly making out with your cunt through the lace of your underwear. It’s pure torture, but you can’t bring yourself to complain. His mouth feels so unbelievably good even through the fabric. 

“You’re so fucking wet, princess,” he moans against you. The vibration makes you twitch again, and he wraps his arm around your thigh to steady you. “Can drink your cum right through your panties.”

You whine pathetically. 

“Please, my love.”

Jungkook’s eyes soften, but you’re too far gone to realize the reason why. He kisses your hip bone with an adoring moan. But when his eyes dance over your figure again, watching your tits rise and fall in time with your shaky breath, they’re sharp and possessive once again. 

He sits back only to pull your underwear down your legs and tuck it into his back pocket. You clock the movement instantly, eyebrows raising at him. 

“I need something to remember tonight by, don’t I?” 

He doesn’t give you the chance to reply before he’s situating your thighs over his shoulders and kissing your clit. 

“Oh shit,” you curse.

There is a jolt of electricity that burns across your inner thighs and abdomen before simmering into an unrelenting heat. Whether it’s a soulmate thing or a Jungkook thing, you can’t bring yourself to care. All you know is you need more, more, more.  

His tongue is circling your clit before going back and forth, then trailing down to flatten against your slit. His lips come into play as well, kissing your pussy ravenously. He licks into your hole, moving his tongue in and out of it before returning to your clit and doing it all over again. When he laps at your pussy, it feels like he’s trying to drink you dry, tongue curling to bring your essence into his mouth. 

He never once stops making noise against you, grunting and groaning at the way you taste. Whispering how you "taste s’good" directly into your cunt. His hand disappears from your thigh and you realize he’s palming himself while he pleasures you. The thought alone is enough to make you cream right then and there. 

He returns to your clit to suck it into his mouth, letting his teeth graze it softly. You squirm beneath him but his arm is holding you taut. Without warning you feel two of his fingers circling your hole before pushing in. You cry out, back arching off the bed from the pressure. 

Jungkook allows his mouth to take a momentary reprieve, resting his head on your thigh while he slowly pulls his fingers in and out of you. He watches intensely as his fingers come out soaked in your juices before going back in with a squelch. 

“So pretty like this, baby,” is the last thing he says before his mouth is on you again. His fingers begin to pump faster, curling inside you and meeting just the right spot to send your mind spinning. His mouth is relentless against your clit, kissing and sucking on it before soothing it with his tongue. 

You’re on the precipice of an orgasm and you know Jungkook can feel it. Can feel the way your walls pulse around his fingers, begging for release. 

“There you go,” he whispers into your cunt. “Come for me, Y/N.”

And who are you to deny him? Your orgasm hits you like a fucking freight train, a needy cry coming from your throat while you back arcs off the bed. Thighs shaking and practically crushing Jungkook’s head between them. Nevertheless, he continues kissing your clit and fingering you until he hears your breathing even out and your body still. 

As soon as his touch is gone, you whimper from the emptiness. Jungkook meets you back at your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on him. Your hands grab his head to keep him there so you can properly thank him for his hard work. He deepens the kiss with his tongue, fighting against yours for dominance. When he inevitably wins, you moan around the wet muscle. 

He begins kissing your face all over starting from your cheek and then down your jaw before moving up again to your nose and continuing upward to your forehead and hairline. 

“You were so good, baby,” he tells you. “Everything I could’ve ever asked for.” 

You hear the sound of a belt coming undone and pants unzipping. Jungkook stands so he can kick off his jeans. The first thing you notice is a wet patch on his boxers. Your head ticks to the side. 

“Oh no, that’s all precum, baby,” he answers your silent question. “Nearly did come in my fucking pants, though. Thank you very much.” 

“Oh? I'm flattered.” You come up to your elbows to see him better. He shakes his head with a lazy grin on his face before moving towards his dresser. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Jungkook looks at you in confusion, as if the answer is obvious. 

“I’m grabbing a condom,” he explains.

You tilt your chin down with a piercing gaze. 

“Do you think I want to feel my soulmate through a condom? I’m on birth control,” you say. Jungkook’s mouth drops open in awe and he waits for you to reaffirm what you just said. You mimic his expression and nod slowly so he gets the picture. 

“Oh, hell yes!” Jungkook scurries back over to you in a flash. You cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your giggle. He’s so freaking cute even when he’s about to fuck you into his mattress. 

He’s climbing back over you now, pushing at your shoulder to lay you back down beneath him. He runs his hands up and down your waist before cupping your breasts. Just when you think he’s going in for a kiss, his head dips to take a nipple in his mouth. 

You moan as his tongue flicks over the nub and then circles it. His hand gives attention to your other nipple by rolling it between his fingers. Hands twisting into his dark hair, you tug until he releases and kisses you instead. You pull on his hair, letting your nails scratch his scalp. He grunts and you do it again a little harder to make him repeat the sound. 

“Jeon Jungkook,” you speak against his soft, swollen lips. “I need you inside of me.”

Not needing to be told twice, he rises to his knees and hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers to pull them down. Only, instead of moving them he merely snaps them back against his hips with a devilish smirk. 

You glare at him, reaching up to do it yourself before he smacks your hand away. 

“Ask me nicely,” he orders. 

You want to laugh and cry at the same time. This man is the biggest tease you’ve ever met and you feel like you’re going to lose your damn mind. 

“Jungkook…” you rise to your knees as well, crawling over to him. “Jungkookie…” you let your hands take a stroll across the expanse of his abs and chest until they’re digging into his shoulders. “Googie…” you lean in so you’re speaking directly into his ear. “Will you pretty, pretty please fuck me?”

This man loses his damn marbles. You shout as you’re thrown back onto the bed with a soft bounce. He rolls his boxers down his thighs and kicks them off as you’re trying to catch your breath. It’s no use because the second your soulmate’s cock is in your face you no longer know how to breathe. You fear you will need to be retaught before the night is over. 

Your jaw drops and you’re surprised you don’t drool all over yourself at the sight. Jeon Jungkook is pretty all over. His dick looks painfully hard, his precum dripping from the tip just waiting for you to taste it. It’s large, perfectly thick, beautifully veiny, and curves at the perfect angle to hit just the right spot. You think you may die the second you feel it inside of you. 

Jungkook is on top of you before you can admire his physique any longer. His tip rubs deliciously against your clit as he coats himself in your wetness. You groan impatiently as he teases you with his cock. 

He places one hand next to your head, the other on your hip so he can guide himself into you. You both watch in awe at the space where your bodies connect. Before Jungkook takes the plunge, he kisses you one more time. You smile into it. Unable to resist the physical manifestation of the happiness bubbling in your stomach. 

That smile is gone the second his tip pushes past your hole, replaced with an O shape as you gasp at the intrusion. Jungkook takes his time, whether for your sake or because he’s committing this moment to memory, you aren’t sure. 

You feel impossibly full as his cock stretches you open. Moaning without end, you hold onto Jungkook’s shoulders to keep yourself afloat. When he finally bottoms out with his hips pressed against yours, you see every star in the galaxy all at once. 

If you thought your first kiss was euphoric, this is another feeling entirely. Your body is pulsing and hot from the ecstasy, but your soul is floating in the Dead Sea. Above the surface tension of the water as a cool breeze blows.

You know precisely what a soulmate is now. One person split in half and destined to find one another. Because when Jungkook is inside you, connected with you in the most human way possible, you feel complete. It’s mind numbing. His cock is throbbing inside you and it feels like coming home. 

Jungkook’s forehead rests on yours as he pants. Your hands slide from his sweaty chest to caress his cheek. He must feel the same, and in fact you’re positive he does. There is no confirmation necessary when his soul is bound to yours. 

“You — fuck, baby — you feel amazing,” he tells you. 

You can only nod in agreement, too overwhelmed by the sensations to speak. Grinding your hips up against him, he registers it accurately as you telling him to finally move. 

When he does, it’s a slow pull away from you, leaving just his tip inside before pushing himself back in just as slowly, but he rolls his hips into you, forcing his cock in so deep you feel him in your stomach. 

The moan that rips from your throat is embarrassingly loud, but you are no longer on a plane of existence where you care. Jungkook, on the other hand, doesn’t want a noise complaint. His hand covers your mouth as he shushes you. He leans over so he can speak directly into your ear.

“Be good, baby. I need you to stay quiet for me.” The sound of affirmation is muffled behind his hand but he watches you nod at his demand. Your eyes are peering up at him like they’re awaiting his next instruction. He groans at the gorgeous sight. “God, you’re so sexy.”

He’s still thrusting into you slowly. He watches as his cock comes back out covered in your cum. You moan every time he enters you despite his earlier request. 

When you disobey him, he looks at you with a dangerous twinkle in his eye. His hand moves away for only a moment before his two middle fingers push into your mouth. You gasp around them, but he presses down on your tongue with the pads of his fingers. You close your mouth around his digits and suck, moving your tongue around and in between them. 

Jungkook is mesmerized by the way his tattoos disappear between your lips. Once he’s satisfied with your makeshift gag, he thrusts hard and then snaps his hips back to do it again at an inhuman pace. If his fingers weren’t in your mouth you’d be screaming bloody murder. Tears of pleasure roll down the sides of your face as he fucks into you relentlessly.

His fingers leave your mouth and grab your chin instead so he can kiss you. His body weight is on you now as he uses his forearm to keep himself up. Feeling his chest against yours as he fucks you is enough to send you into complete madness. Your nipples are hard and sensitive as they brush against his muscular pecs. 

“Baby,” you cry. He kisses your jaw and neck without ever slowing his pace. You feel your mind descending into complete chaos. Your fingernails scratch down his back, leaving red welts in their wake. It’s the only thing you can do to hold onto some semblance of your sanity. 

“Fuck, do that again,” Jungkook groans into your neck. You oblige him and he growls next to your ear. “You’re so tight, so goddamn perfect for me.” 

“You're so big, Googie,” you whine. “Feel so good.”

“Shit, princess,” he says while biting into the flesh between your shoulder and neck. Your gasp turns into a moan as he soothes the area with his searing hot tongue. 

Then, he pulls out of you, sitting back on his heels as he tries to catch his breath. You reach for him in confusion, but he just takes your hand and kisses the back of it. Holding it against his heart so you can feel the intense beating. 

“Is everything okay?” 

Worry creases your brow, but Jungkook just smiles as one of his fingers smooths it away. 

“Yeah, I was just about to bust, but I’m not done with you yet,” he answers breathlessly. “So, I had to pause. My apologies.”

You can appreciate a man who strives to make his woman come before him, but he’s also turned you insatiable, so you need to do something.

Sitting up, you travel down the bed until your face is directly in front of his throbbing dick. His eyes follow your every movement, his eyebrows disappearing behind his bangs.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Allowing him to see the smirk on your lips for only a moment, you open your mouth and flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock. His entire body spasms and you can see his abdominal muscles constrict in front of your eyes. You make eye contact with him in case he has any objections, but when he just stares back at you with his mouth agape, you continue your ministrations. 

You lick him again all the way from base to tip before circling his head with your tongue and lapping up the precum that’s formed in a bead there. One hand squeezes his thigh while the other slowly pumps his cock. All you can see above you is his throat. He has his head tilted back as he groans endlessly. The veins in his neck are popping out and it makes you want to lick over every single one of them. 

Continuing to tease him with your tongue, you lick gently over just his tip while your hands do the rest of the work. Jungkook’s head snaps towards you when he hears you spit. He watches as the saliva falls onto his head before you use your lips to rub it in. 

“Oh, dear god,” Jungkook gasps, seemingly to himself. 

Lips finally wrapping around his dick, you suckle on his head before slowly inching down his shaft. Your hand moves to his balls to make room for your mouth. Jungkook’s thighs are shaking beneath your fingertips and he finds purchase in your hair, wrapping the strands around his fingers as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. 

Once you’ve made a single sweep down his cock, you pull back slowly, allowing your tongue to glide along the underside. You twist the muscle around his head before finally setting a steady pace and sucking him up and down.

You make it messy for him, because he deserves it. Breathing through your nose and keeping your tongue out to lick him as your head bobs. Drool pools in the corners of your mouth before dripping down your chin. When your nose is as close to his pelvis as you can go, you allow it to drip down his balls so you can work them with your hands. 

Jungkook looks like he may die, but that you’re the angel who’s going to bring him to heaven. His features are drawn tight, eyebrows almost kissing. His mouth refuses to close, panting out breaths like the sexiest dog you’ve ever seen.

The logical part of your brain knows that sucking him off doesn’t solve the issue at hand, but he tastes too delicious to stop. And when the hand in your hair begins pushing ever so slightly followed by his hips bucking into your mouth, you moan deliriously around him. You gag as Jungkook gently uses your mouth for his own pleasure. Letting him take over, you grip his thighs and just go along for the ride. He grunts from above as he watches his cock disappear over and over again into your mouth. 

“You look so sexy like this, princess,” he says over strained vocal chords. “Like your lips were made for taking my cock.”

Your bratty nature wants to correct him and tell him that they are in fact, made for him. You have a tattoo that says so. Instead, you relish in the vibrations of your responsive moan giving him even more pleasure. 

The sound of your spit sliding along Jungkook’s shaft and your gags as he fucks into your mouth is so pornographic you worry you’ll get a fine for filming illegal movies on campus. His melodious grunts and moans are music to your ears. You’d let him use you like this everyday if it meant listening to them.

Before you can savor the moment for much longer, Jungkook pulls you away with a growl. You gasp, your hand grabbing at your throat as you cough. 

The sweetest man you’ve ever known, even while in the throes of pleasure, leaves the bed to bring you water. You’re still trying to catch your breath when he bends down and tips the bottle against your lips so you can drink. 

“Thanks,” you croak. Sore throat be damned, you’d start sucking him again right now if he asked. He pushes your sweaty hair away from your face with both hands, cradling your face like you’re made of porcelain. 

“You’re a fucking goddess, you know that?” 

A strained laugh comes from you.

“I do, in fact,” you quip. Jungkook kisses you senseless instead of replying. Before he can lay you down again, you push him instead. His back meets the footboard of his bed as you place your legs on either side of his thick thighs. “Are you ready to continue or shall I get myself off?” 

Jungkook laughs humorlessly. 

“Sit on my cock before I make you.”

If words could make you come…

As filthy as his words are, his hands still help guide over him and massage your skin while you sink down. You moan in unison, your mouth finding the mole on his neck that you’ve been dying to kiss. Hips grinding down against him, you mark him as yours as you kiss and suck on the sensitive skin of his throat. 

His hands are spread across your back as you rise up and down on his dick. He’s moaning so beautifully next to your ear that you don’t think you’ll ever stop. You repeat the motion over and over, allowing your clit to grind along his pelvis every time you sink back down. The pace is torturously slow, but it allows you to feel every vein and ridge of his cock as it moves in and out of you. 

“I never wanna stop,” you admit. “Don’t ever wanna not have you inside me.”

“I think I can make that happen,” he says over a chuckle.

Your lips meet again and you kiss at the same pace your bodies move. Jungkook’s mouth and tongue explore yours like he hasn’t done it a hundred times already, like every sensation is still new. He bites on your lower lip, pulling it away before letting it go so he can watch it bounce back. He doesn’t waste a second before diving back in for more. 

The warmth of Jungkook’s hands leaves your back and reignites on your hips. His grip is bruising as he uses it to bounce you faster against him. Your moans grow in pitch, but you muffle them by biting and kissing along Jungkook’s shoulder. When the pace still doesn’t feel like enough, Jungkook plants his feet on the bed so he can thrust up into you. You scream into his skin, holding onto his back and hair for dear life. 

“You close?” He rasps in your ear, licking your earlobe as he does. 

“Yes, baby, please,” you cry. 

Jungkook goes into overdrive, thrusting up into you at a speed and depth that feels impossible. The tip of his cock is hitting your g-spot over and over again like a magnet. You can feel yourself falling over the edge any second. 

His pursuit to bring you pleasure is relentless. The friction of his thick cock inside your walls is creating hot tears of ecstasy that roll down in droves. Your bodies are touching in every possible place they can and it still isn’t enough. You know Jungkook feels the same when he squishes you against him like he’s trying to merge you into one. 

Jungkook kisses down the side of your face with wet smooches. Slobbering all over you and getting saliva in your hair. Sweat, spit, cum, you want him to paint you in all of it. Ruin you so endlessly you’ll never be able to look another man in the eye. It’s him, him and only him. Every fiber of your being is filled to the brim with just Jungkook. Jungkook. Jungkook. Jungkook. You fear you’ve forgotten every other word. 

“I’m gonna —”

You stop his sentence with a searing kiss, moaning into his mouth as you come undone around him. Your cunt pulses and squeezes around Jungkook so tightly he can barely thrust anymore. Luckily, he doesn’t need to because with a few more pistons of his hips he’s groaning and nestling his cock as deep as it can go as he comes. You feel the warmth of his cum filling your pussy and dripping out around his cock to pool into his lap below. He’s still rolling his hips against you as his orgasm wanes. 

Even once the comedown ends, neither of you move. Your head is resting against Jungkook’s chest, his leaning back against the wall. He rubs your back lovingly. You focus on the feeling of his fingertips traveling up and down your spine. Before the repetitive motion can send you to dreamland, he pries your head up so he can see you. 

“I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve any of this,” Jungkook muses. You mull it over for a moment.

“Whatever you did, I’m sure you were amazing at it,” you reply warmly. Jungkook nuzzles his nose against yours.

Jungkook is careful when he finally pulls out, not wanting to hurt you after abusing your pussy in the name of pleasure. You whine at the emptiness, but he kisses your pouty lips before leaving to find something to clean you with. 

Sleep overtakes your mind before he returns. You’re in a daze as you watch him clean between your legs with a warm towel. He cleans himself off as well before joining you in the bed. By the time he’s pulling you into his arms your eyes have closed. He wishes you goodnight with a press of his lips to your forehead. You don’t hear the other words he whispers to you. 

Jungkook finds it impossible to keep his hands off you after that night. Frankly, you go at it like rabbits on crack. It begins to impede on your day-to-day life and neither of you give a damn. You nearly delete an entire assignment by accident because he’s eating you out under your desk. He risks a suspension from the soccer team by shoving his dick in your mouth in the locker room. You swallow his cum just as people begin to pile in for practice. 

Despite your best efforts, you do eventually stop fucking across every corner of campus. School ramps up and Jungkook is promoted to head striker so he’s away at practice more often. Before his first game in the lead position, he gives you his spare jersey to wear. 

Your mouth hangs open and you just stare at him because you can’t believe he’s serious. When he nods with the softest smile and stars in his eyes, you squeal like a schoolgirl. He sneaks his hands below your shirt and caresses your waist before pulling it over your head. Once you’ve pulled the jersey on and tucked it into your jeans, you look at him in affirmation. 

“What do you think, lucky number 7?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer. At least not verbally. He just pulls you close by the fabric of the jersey and kisses you. The kiss is soft, but undeniably passionate. His lips move against you sensually even though there’s no heat behind it. He kisses the corner of your mouth, your nose, your eyelids, all before returning again. You let him create a map of your visage with his lips. 

When he wins that night, the jersey is the only thing left on your body as he makes love to you on the couch. 

You begin forming a routine as a couple, but it’s never complacent. There’s still romance in everything you do, even if you’re doing it for the hundredth time. As time moves forward, so do you and the past heartaches don’t weigh on your chest as heavy anymore. Your mind still wanders into painful territory every once in a while, but you’re confident in your ability to lay the past to rest. 

It helps your endeavor when the aforementioned past comes to greet you one day.

A tap on your shoulder stirs your from your inner thoughts as you walk the familiar path to the library. Turning towards the source, your feet skid to a stop when you see Taehyung rocking back and forth on his heels. 

“Hey,” he says as he kicks at a pebble near his foot.

“Hi,” your tone reveals your confusion. 

“Can we talk?” Chewing on your bottom lip, you don’t need much time to decide before you’re nodding. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. Looking back, after some time and much needed self reflection, I realize that you got your heartbroken just as bad as mine.” 

“You do?”

“Yes,” he affirms. “At the time, it seemed like I was the odd man out. Sure, you and Jungkook would be losing me, but you had each other. And I was left with no one.”

“It didn’t have to be that way, Tae. You chose to walk away from us,” you reply. “From Jungkook, specifically.”

“I know. I see now how big of a mistake that was,” he continues. “I’m going to try and catch him later after practice to apologize to him, too.”

“Good,” you say. “He deserves it even more than I do.”

Taehyung agrees with a nod. 

“Are you happy? With… with Jungkook.” 

You hate the way his mouth is still turned down and his eyes don’t shine anymore. It’s obvious how sad he still is, and yet he’s here apologizing to you. You appreciate his conviction.

“I am,” you answer. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss you. I know it will never be the same, but I’d like to have you in my life if possible.” 

“I’d like that, too,” he responds. 

You say goodbye shortly after that and there’s a sense of closure that fills you up from the inside after your conversation. For whatever reason, finally turning the page on Taehyung’s chapter in your life makes you want to keep pushing forward even more. Including finally letting a special someone in on the secret you’ve been holding close to your heart. 

Jungkook mentions he’s coming over after practice which means you have a couple hours to decide how you want to spill the beans. You could always just say it, but that feels far too anticlimactic. 

Sitting in your kitchen, your fingers play an unknown melody against the table as you ponder your options. It’s only when your eyes land on a certain ingredient in your cabinet that you realize exactly how you want to accomplish this. 

Your soulmate has his own key now, mostly because you were sick of leaving your bed to let him in. But also because one time you lost your key and he had to jimmy the window lock to get inside. You live on the third floor. 

The familiar taps of your fingers meeting the keyboard are the only sound until Jungkook’s voice rings out. He proudly declares that he’s home in a sing-song tone. 

“Dinner is in the kitchen,” you inform him. “I’ll meet you there in a second.”

Your nail slips between your teeth as you anxiously await for Jungkook to see your somewhat hidden message. Eyes looking towards the ceiling, you pray to the soulmate gods that he doesn’t dig into his meal before he can read it. 

You sense your prayers are answered when you hear a chair scrape across the floor and the sound of his footsteps coming towards you. Swiveling in your chair, you patiently await his arrival. 

When he enters the room, his eyes are sparkling and misty. In the good kind of way that makes you mirror his expression. His cheeks are pink with blush and he looks winded from his excitement alone. 

“You mean it?” His tone is pitched up. Giddy like a child on the playground. Trying to stop the smile from breaking out across your face is pointless. You allow that to be your answer.

Jungkook only needs two strides before he reaches you, and you stand in anticipation of what you know will come. A mixture between a shout and a laugh comes from your lungs when he lifts you into the air by your knees. You brace your hands on his shoulders as fits of laughter course through you.

“What are you doing? Put me down,” you order him. 

“Absolutely not,” he says with a shake of his head. “I want to hear you say it. Say it like you mean it, woman.”

“Wo—woman?” You chuckle. “Is that how you talk to someone who’s in love with you?” 

Any joking response dies in Jungkook’s throat when he hears the L word fall from your lips. He sighs deeply, so utterly content. He bends down until your feet are safely on the floor again. His hands cradle your face instead. 

“Say it again, please,” he begs. 

“I love you, Jungkook,” you state. 

His eyes close like you’re the sandman herself. So at peace he could fall into dreamland right where he stands. You can physically feel the tension leaving his body from where you’re holding him by his waist. 

“One more time,” he whispers, but his smirk gives him away. Your hand smacks his chest. He laughs. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” His eyes open again to stare into yours. You think you could spend forever just looking into the deep chocolate irises in front of you. Thumbs gently swiping across your cheekbones, Jungkook does a once-over of your pretty face. “I love you.”

It doesn’t matter if you knew he was going to say it, it still brings tears to your eyes and a smile that hurts your cheeks. 

“Really?” 

He nods.

“I am deeply, devastatingly, in love with you, Y/N,” he continues. His expression shifts. “But if you ever give me good news by spelling it out with alphabet soup again, I’m leaving you.” 

You have to resist the laughter aching in your chest, but when Jungkook is feigning anger with the cutest scowl, you just can’t help it. You laugh loudly before stifling it with your hand. It’s the single most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done and yet you don’t regret it one bit. 

Jungkook proceeds to show you the selfie he took with the now infamous bowl of soup. You can barely see his eyes in the photo because he’s smiling so wide. He’s holding up a peace sign next to the bowl of tomato soup with alphabet-shaped noodles that spell out I love you in the center of the broth. 

His name is the last you expected to appear on your skin, but it’s now impossible to imagine it being anyone else. As you trace the familiar lines of his name you whisper your thanks to whatever or whoever is in charge. 

[angelsuecult]

perfect places | s. crosby

warnings: none? maybe some language

summary: Sidney ends up helping you through the overwhelming world that is hockey gear what was once a shopping trip for your daughter leaves you with something more.

request: Would you be able to write a Sidney Crosby x mom!reader story? Like how she has a kid that maybe is on a little league hockey team and the Penguins go to like a practice or something to help out. Or maybe she out shopping for hockey gear for her kid because they want to do hockey and need the gear? She could maybe looking at equipment and looks a little lost and her comes over and helps.

word count: 9.3k

a/n: back with another for you guys! i hope you enjoy it and once again original requester please don't hesitate to reach out if you hate it or anything! requests remain open and i'm hoping to get a few more out this week!

part one | next part

—

You woke up to tiny feet climbing onto your bed. Not just climbing—launching, full-body flopping, elbow-first into your ribs like it was a wrestling match and she had a score to settle. You’d meant to wake up before her today, but apparently five-year-olds don’t care about alarms, or bones, or sleep-deprived parents.

“Mom,” she whispered, even though she was nose-to-nose with you. “Mommy. You awake?”

“I am now,” you groaned, half-laughing as you peeled one eye open. Her little curls were wild and pointing in five directions, cheeks flushed from sleep, a faint pillow line creasing one of them. She looked like a cartoon character and an angel at the same time.

“I had a dream I scored five goals.”

You blinked at her. “Oh yeah?”

“Yup. And they gave me a trophy and then—then everyone chanted my name. And guess what?”

“What?”

“They were chanting ‘the pink rocket.’”

You blinked again, slower this time. “The pink rocket?”

She nodded, dead serious. “That’s my hockey name.”

“Well,” you said, shifting to sit up and gather her into your lap, “I don’t know how many pink things they make for hockey but I guess we’re about to find out, huh?”

She gasped. “You’re going today? To get my stuff?”

You kissed her cheek, already halfway dragging both of you out from under the covers. “Yup. After I drop you off. I’ll go right after.”

She cheered and clapped, and then ran full-speed out of the bedroom with a yell of, “I gotta find my pink water bottle! I need it if I’m gonna be a rocket!”

Your apartment was small but cozy, lived-in. Art made of crayon and washable markers adorned the fridge, and a pair of tiny sneakers were tucked sideways by the door no matter how many times you straightened them. You got her dressed while she told you all about what a good hockey player does—“they skate fast and they don’t fall unless they do it on purpose”—and you helped tame her curls into two pigtails.

The morning ended up a mess of cereal crumbs, mismatched socks, and one very determined five-year-old girl who had insisted on packing her own backpack. You didn’t have the heart to repack it after she proudly zipped it up and hugged it to her chest like a treasure chest full of secrets—though you’d caught a glimpse of a doll leg, a half-used glue stick, and what looked suspiciously like the lid to your coffee thermos.

The car ride to school was full of questions you only half-knew how to answer.

“Do you think I’ll need a helmet? What if it has a visor like the cool ones? Can I pick pink tape for the stick? Do you know how to tie skates? Do you think I’ll be able to do the spinny move like the girl in the video?”

You answered what you could. 

Once you parked outside her school, she kicked her feet impatiently in the backseat while you unbuckled her. The air still had that early fall bite to it—sunny but not warm, brisk enough that you zipped your jacket up halfway as you lifted her from her booster seat. She was a little ball of energy this morning, bouncing as her sneakers hit the sidewalk, her little hand grabbing yours like always, sticky from syrup and too-warm from excitement.

“Okay, let’s go, let’s go,” she said, hopping down. You held her hand all the way up the sidewalk, her backpack bouncing behind her.

At the doors, she turned to you suddenly, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Don’t forget my hockey stuff!”

You cupped her cheeks. “I won’t, baby. I’m going straight to the store after this, I promise.”

Her whole face lit up like you'd just told her she could have candy for dinner. “You’re gonna go right now?”

“Mm-hmm. As soon as you go inside.”

“Look for pink things!” she reminded you. “Pink helmet. Pink gloves. And if they don’t have pink, purple is okay. So you can see me when I skate. ‘S important”

“Pink. Purple. Got it. Anything else?”

She thought hard. “Something that makes me go zoom.”

You smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

You bent down and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then her nose, and she giggled so hard she snorted. Then she hugged you like she always did—tight and with her whole tiny body, fists balled in your jacket.

“Bye, Mommy. Love you big like the whole sky.”

Your chest ached in that soft, warm way. “I love you even bigger lovebug.”

She let go and ran into her classroom, waving once over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd of other small kids with big dreams.

You were about to turn when a familiar voice called, “Morning!”

You looked up to see Miss Lillian, the teacher’s aide, walking toward you. She was in her usual bright-colored sweater and skirt combo, clipboard in hand, warm eyes squinting in the sunlight.

“Hey, good morning,” you said, smiling.

“I just had to catch you,” she said, pausing at your side. “Your daughter has not stopped talking about hockey since yesterday. I think we’ve heard every version of her ‘pink rocket’ speech. Twice.”

You groaned playfully. “Oh no. She’s gotten to you too.”

“Oh, it’s adorable,” Lillian laughed. “She told Mr. Peters that she’s gonna be the best skater—even though she’s never been on the ice. She said it with her chest. Like a tiny little boss.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, she’s got that confidence thing down.”

“I wish I had half of it. But really—she’s just so excited. It’s really sweet to see. And you know,” Lillian nudged your arm gently, “not every parent supports that kind of dream. It’s amazing that you’re doing this with her.”

That made you pause.

“I mean… I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted. “I’ve never even watched a full game of hockey. But she lit up when she saw those kids playing on the street. Then she tried it herself and came home covered in bruises but still smiling. And then she said ice hockey would be safer,” you added, rolling your eyes, “which I’m pretty sure is a lie.”

Lillian laughed. “That’s some logic, huh?”

“I guess I figured, if it makes her this happy…” You trailed off. “Well, we’ll try it. If it’s not for her, we’ll sell the gear or donate it.”

“I think you’re doing great,” Lillian said. “She talks about you all the time, by the way. Always telling the class how her mom can do anything. That you’re like a superhero.”

That gave you pause in a way nothing else had.

You cleared your throat and smiled. “Well. Don’t tell her I can’t tie skates.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

The two of you said goodbye, and you headed back to your car, heart fuller than it had been twenty minutes ago. The day was just starting, and already you felt like you’d run an emotional marathon. Now, you just had to survive your trip to the hockey store without looking like a complete idiot.

You climbed into the car and started the engine, your mental list already forming—helmet, stick, gloves... was there padding? Skates, obviously. Was there a difference between practice gear and game gear? Did five-year-olds even have games?

After drop-off and a fresh wave of mom-guilt turned motivation, you sat in the driver’s seat of your SUV and Googled: hockey gear for five-year-old Pittsburgh. You stared at the results, rubbed your forehead, and tapped the one that had the most stars and looked the least intimidating.

It was barely 9 a.m. when you pulled into the outdoor shopping complex, the kind of place with cobblestone walkways, faux streetlamps, and fountains that tried to make you forget you were in a strip mall. It was a little too early for it to be crowded yet, and the parking lot was mostly empty except for a few other weekday wanderers—retirees, moms with strollers, maybe someone ducking out of work. When you pulled in, wedging yourself between a massive black pickup truck and what looked like a teenage boy’s first car—dented, bumper stickered, windows covered in sports decals. 

You killed the engine and sat back for a second, staring out the windshield like maybe someone was going to pop out and tell you exactly what kind of skates you needed to buy for a five-year-old who claimed her destiny was to be the pink rocket.

But no one came. Just the pigeons. One strutted past the front of your car like he owned the place.

You stepped out into the cool morning air, shouldered your bag, and told yourself: You’ve done scarier things. Like kindergarten registration. And that one ER visit when she swallowed a Barbie shoe.

Pretzel first.

The pretzel stand was exactly where you remembered it, sandwiched between the upscale candle store and a clothing store that made too-expensive clothes. You ordered a hot soft pretzel with extra salt and a small lemonade, then stood off to the side of the kiosk while you ate, people-watching like it was a competitive sport.

Then you wandered for a bit, peeking into a few small shops near the entrance. A kids’ boutique caught your eye—wall-to-wall sports-themed onesies and toddler sweatpants. You picked up a pair of fuzzy black-and-gold leggings with tiny hockey sticks on them and held them up to your chest with a grin.

“She’d love these,” you murmured aloud, imagining her in them with her pink boots and that crooked little smile she gave when she felt cute.

You took your time. That was part of the luxury of the day: no schedule, no appointments, no other human being asking you to wipe something sticky. Just this.

“Okay,” you said out loud as you stepped back onto the walkway and stared down the main stretch of stores. “Let’s do this.”

The gear shop was tucked at the end of the row, right before a smoothie place. It didn’t look intimidating from the outside—just a wide front with a logo in clean, white lettering. But the second you stepped inside, it was clear: this place meant business.

You gave yourself a pep talk as you zipped your jacket higher. You’re a mom. You birthed a whole child. You’ve survived teething. You can survive shopping for hockey gear.

It was big. Bigger than you expected. Ceiling fans turned slowly above rows of merchandise. Hockey sticks were stacked upright like rows of bamboo, lining one side of the shop. Helmets, skates, and pads were displayed like military gear. You let your eyes drift over the walls, which were covered in team memorabilia. Penguins jerseys in every variation, from current players to legends. You recognized Crosby’s #87 and Malkin’s #71 without even needing to check the names. Your kid had already pointed them out on YouTube clips. There was a whole display in the corner dedicated to Mario Lemieux, complete with a signed photo and a stick in a glass case.

You made a noise in your throat. “Okay… wow.”

There were two adults behind the front counter, both looking mid-thirties—one was chatting with the other, who was scrolling something on a tablet. Nearby, two teenagers stood kind of awkwardly by a wall of gloves and elbow pads, looking like they didn’t quite know what to do with themselves.

First, you took a lap around the store. Not straight to the gear. That felt too overwhelming. Instead, you let yourself drift through the aisles, fingers brushing along soft sweatshirts and team scarves, scanning everything slowly. A few shoppers milled around, mostly adults—probably parents or weekend league players. A couple of them wore Penguins jackets like they were uniforms, heads down, hyper-focused.

You wandered through the adult section, noting sizes and prices, grateful you weren’t here for full pads or whatever gear adult men needed. Some of the gloves looked like medieval armor.

You passed the stick wall—intimidating and enormous—and casually avoided the skates. Not yet. Not today. You weren’t emotionally stable enough for that.

Okay. Helmet, skates, pads... stick. Gloves? Socks? What the hell do kids wear under this stuff? Pink. Sparkly. Maybe a bag? Definitely a water bottle? Did kids her age even wear mouthguards?

Eventually, you made your way to the kids’ section, tucked just beyond the display of goalie masks. You stopped short when you saw it.

Little jerseys. So many of them.

Little shirts, toddler-sized jerseys, beanies so small they could fit a doll. You stopped and ran your fingers over one of the sweatshirts on a low rack—it was gray with a soft fleece lining and a Penguins logo in a bubbly font across the front. You thumbed through them slowly, smiling to yourself as you passed Crosby, Malkin, Rust. And then—

“Oh my god,” you whispered, pulling out a Letang #58.

Your daughter had randomly pointed to Letang’s photo once and declared him her favorite because “his hair is like a princess.” The jersey was youth small. A little big, maybe, but she could grow into it.

You added it to your arm. Then picked up a black Penguins t-shirt with a glittery logo. Then a matching beanie, soft and warm and clearly made for kids who’d lose it within a week. She’d probably lose it too. You’d buy another. That was the cycle.

You stood there, your arm full of black and gold and fleece and tiny dreams, and just… took a breath.

You could picture her wearing this stuff. Picture her squealing when she saw it. Picture her running around the apartment pretending to be “the pink rocket,” yelling “GOAL!” at full volume and slapping invisible high-fives.

With the clothes over your arm you wandered deeper into the section, avoiding the gear wall for now. You weren't ready for shin guards and blade sizes. Not yet. First, let your brain ease into it. Maybe find something pink. Maybe a miracle.

A teenager behind you coughed into his elbow and said—loud enough to clearly be meant for your ears—“Uh, the youth sticks are along that back wall… if you need help with sizes or anything.”

You turned slightly, caught off guard, and smiled. “Thanks.”

He nodded like he’d done his part and resumed awkwardly re-aligning a row of mouthguards.

You wandered back toward the front counter. The older man looked up and offered a quick nod as you approached. “You find everything okay?”

You gave him a sheepish little smile. “Sort of. I was wondering if someone could help me with... the actual gear part?” You adjusted your grip on the sweatshirt and jersey. “My daughter’s attempting to start playing hockey. She’s five. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

That got a chuckle out of the person beside him. “We get that a lot,” she said, friendly enough. “You’re gonna want to check out the back left corner—youth gear section. We’ve got starter kits, different levels, and some sizing charts posted on the wall. One of the kids can help you if you need it.”

You glanced over your shoulder toward the two teenagers. One of them now had a helmet on sideways and was quoting something that sounded like a bad sports movie. You turned back. “Cool. I’ll... go take a look first.”

“Yell if you need us,” the man added, already turning back to the computer in front of him.

So you headed toward the corner of the store they’d mentioned.

And when you got there...

You stared.

Oh god.

It was just... a wall of black and white. Rows of identical looking gear—tiny shoulder pads that looked like robot armor, pants with layers of foam and plastic, shelves stacked with helmets that all looked vaguely like something you’d see in a futuristic prison. Not a speck of pink or sparkle in sight. Not even a pop of color.

Where were the pink things?

You hovered by the start of the wall for a moment, scanning everything. It felt a bit like wandering into an IKEA when you only needed batteries. You were overwhelmed already, and you hadn’t even touched a stick yet.

You picked up one of the smallest helmets, turning it over in your hands. Inside it was lined with foam, and there were sizing stickers all around the rim. You read one out loud under your breath. “Youth small. Fits 19 to 20.25 inches... okay.”

You had no idea what your daughter’s head circumference was.

You set it back down. Picked up a different one. Looked almost identical. Set it back down.

There were starter kits in bags, sure—some marked. You couldn’t remember what brand your friend had told you to look for when your daughter first brought up the idea of playing hockey. Something with an animal name? Maybe a bird? 

You spent the next twenty minutes slowly picking up items, flipping them over, putting them down, walking in small circles around the same display. At some point you realized you’d been holding a single elbow pad for five full minutes, just sort of rubbing your thumb over the seam like it would give you answers.

You picked things up, tried to guess sizes based on your daughter’s height and width (which wasn’t much of either), and gently put things back down when you realized you had no clue what the difference was between “youth small” and “toddler medium.” Every few minutes, you’d pull out your phone to look something up—How tight should youth hockey skates fit? What’s a cage versus a shield?—but the answers just made you more confused.

You found a pair of pink laces and held them like a victory trophy. One point for Mom.

You were squatting awkwardly by the gloves, holding one up to your own hand and trying to eyeball it, when someone walked past you and reached for a goalie mask off the rack above.

It took you a second to register how silly that was.

Because he was, like... a full-grown man. And that was a tiny-ass goalie mask.

You blinked, looked down at the mask in his hands, then back at him.

You turned your head slightly, curiosity piqued, and said without much thought, “I don’t know that that’ll fit you... but I’m definitely not an expert.”

The man turned, just a little, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. His voice was low, a little gravelly but warm. “Not for me. One of my teammate’s kids. I’m just the delivery guy today.”

“Ah,” you nodded, feeling your cheeks go warm. “I figured. Unless you were shrinking, and no one told us.”

He chuckled, glancing down at the tiny mask again. “Not yet, but never say never.”

He glanced at the gloves in your hand. “You doing gear shopping too?”

You nodded, eyes scanning the mask in his hand before flicking back to him. “Yeah. Trying. I’ve been here almost an hour and all I’ve really figured out is that everything is black and white and confusing as hell.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. It’s a lot when you’re just starting.”

You smiled, shifting the items in your arms, the jersey slipping and nearly falling. You caught it against your side.

He nodded toward it. “Good choice. That’s a popular one.”

You looked at the name again. “Yeah? Honestly, I heard her mention him once and it was because she liked his hair, so.”

He smiled again—this time with something a little more amused behind it. “Well, you’re in Pittsburgh, so yeah. Letang’s kind of a big deal. And he’s got great hair,” then offered his hand. “Sid, by the way.”

You reached out to shake his hand, your brain stuttering for half a second. Sid. Sid. Unassuming dark blue tee with faded black jeans. Penguins cap. Goalie mask for a teammate’s kid.

Wait a second.

“I’m... Y/N,” you said, still shaking his hand.

His smile lingered, and there was a subtle, almost imperceptible flicker of recognition in your eyes as the dots started connecting.

You didn’t say anything though. You didn’t blurt it out or ask for a picture or grill him with questions.

You just smiled.

“Well,” you said softly, “If you have any rookie shopping tips, I’m all ears. Because right now, I think I’m buying two left gloves and possibly an elbow pad meant for a squirrel.”

Sid chuckled, stepping a little closer, a comfortable distance, easy and unpressured. “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got so far,” eyeing the pile in your arms like it was an unsolvable riddle, “why don’t we start from the top—literally. Helmet, shoulder pads, gloves, all that. Then work our way down.”

You shifted your items to one arm, then gave him a helpless glance. “Lead the way, Captain.”

That earned you another one of his quiet laughs. You followed him a few steps to the wall lined with youth helmets, most of them black, though a couple had red or blue detailing. The sizes were printed along the shelf edge—Youth Small, Youth Medium—and behind each, a row of boxed helmets waiting for homes.

“She’s how old?” he asked, already crouching to one of the lower shelves.

“Just turned five in March. She’s about... say, three-foot-eight? Thirty-eight pounds. She’s got this mess of curly hair, so the helmet can’t be too tight. But also—safety.”

He chuckled, glancing up at you. “Right, no decapitations. Got it.”

You snorted. “I’d like to keep her head attached, yeah.”

Sid picked up a small helmet and turned it over in his hands, fingers checking the inside padding. He handed it to you. “This one’s a good brand. Solid protection. Comes with the cage too, which is what she’ll need. Some of them don’t, so make sure it’s included if you go with a different one.”

You nodded slowly, already overwhelmed again. “Okay, yeah, that looks... safe?”

He grinned. “Very safe. Want to write it down?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You know,” he said, standing up and dusting his palms off like this was an outdoor project. “In your notes app. Like an old person. ‘One helmet, small, comes with cage.’”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Are you always this charming, or is it just for flustered moms trying to buy sports gear?”

“Flustered moms are my specialty,” he said dryly, but his smile gave him away.

Still, you pulled out your phone and opened the notes app, muttering under your breath. “Helmet, small, with a cage, don’t let Sid pick on you.”

He leaned over, trying to peek at your screen. “Did you really just write that?”

You snapped the phone shut. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You moved on together, stopping at the shoulder pads next. He pulled a small pair off the rack and held it up in front of you.

“These’ll probably fit,” he said. “She’s little, but these are adjustable. You want the shoulder cups to line up obviously, but the important part is the chest plate—it should sit flat, not hanging off her.”

You nodded slowly, inspecting the pads like they were alien technology.

“And this is—what? For... falling?”

“Contact,” he said, grinning. “And yeah, falling too. Shoulder bumps, accidental checks. It keeps her chest protected if she takes a puck or a stick. Not that five-year-olds are slinging clappers yet.”

You blinked. “Slinging what now?”

He clarified. “Slapshots.”

You stared.

“Hard shots,” he clarified.

“Oh. See, you should just say that,” you said, squinting at the pads. “Why does everything in this sport sound like a 1950s insult?”

He laughed—this one louder than the others, deep and honest—and you found yourself smiling just from the sound of it.

“Okay, what’s next, smartass?” you asked.

He guided you through gloves next, letting you try a pair on so you could get a feel for the stiffness. “New ones are tough to move in,” he explained, “but they’ll break in after a few practices. You want her fingers to reach the tips, not swimming in there. And if you’re stuck between two sizes, go up. You can’t grow into small gear.”

You made another note in your phone and then paused. “Is this the part where I have to pick a stick?”

Sid turned to the bin of youth sticks and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s the fun one.”

“Oh god.”

“No pressure,” he said. “It’s only the most important part.”

You gave him a look. “Really?”

He grinned. “No. Kind of. Sort of. But not at five.”

You sighed dramatically. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

He stepped up beside you as you both peered down into the barrel of sticks, most of them barely reaching your waist.

“Does she shoot left or right?”

You frowned. “She writes with her right hand, brushes her teeth with it. But she kicks soccer balls with her left foot sometimes. Does that help?”

He winced. “Only a little.”

You watched him pick up one, then two different sticks, holding them out and comparing them against each other like a bartender choosing between bottles of wine.

“This one’s left,” he said, handing it to you. “More kids start left, even if they’re right-handed. It’s weird.”

You turned the stick over, testing the grip.

“Let her try both when you get home,” he added. “Don’t cut it until you know which one she prefers.”

“Cut it?”

He nodded. “You’ll probably need to trim a few inches. It should hit between her chin and nose when she’s in skates. Too long and she won’t be able to handle it.”

Your head was spinning again. “I’m writing that down.”

“Good call, Old Lady Notes.”

You flipped him off lightly without looking up from your phone.

You followed Sid over to the youth skates, where he walked you through sizing—tight but not painful, with room to wiggle toes—and pointed out which brands had better ankle support.

“This is a lot,” you said eventually, “Like... a lot.”

He smiled softly. “It is. But it gets easier.”

You nodded, watching him now more than the skates. “Did your parents do this for you?”

He leaned against the shelf beside you. “Yeah. My dad mostly. But my mom did her fair share of sitting in freezing rinks with coffee and a blanket.”

You smiled. “I should probably start investing in hand warmers now.”

“Oh, definitely.”

You let the silence sit for a moment before he glanced at the stuff in your arms again and pointed at the Letang jersey.

“Good pick,” he said. “But if you want your daughter to win games…”

You looked up at him, catching the little smirk on his face.

“Oh no.”

He shrugged, not even pretending to be modest. “I dunno. She might have better luck with a Crosby jersey. Not like I’m a professional or anything.”

You stared at him. “Cocky much?”

He chuckled. “What? I’m just saying.”

“You’re just saying you’re better than Letang?”

He tilted his head. “Tanger’s great.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I’m just better.”

You laughed, full and loud, startling one of the teenagers walking past. “Okay, alright. I guess if I had to pick a role model, the guy personally helping me fit elbow pads isn’t the worst choice.”

“I do what I can,” he said with a wink.

You gave him a half-playful sigh and picked up the Letang jersey again. Then slowly, without looking at him, added a Crosby one to the pile. Two jerseys, she’ll be excited regardless. 

He didn’t say anything, just smiled a little to himself and helped you find the right size.

“You’re either really prepared,” he said, lips twitching, “or she’s about to be the best-dressed five-year-old in the entire league.”

You grinned. “Look, if she’s gonna throw elbows, she may as well look cute doing it.”

“Bulked up in pink elbow pads,” he said thoughtfully. “Terrifying.”

“Exactly.”

You made your way toward the checkout counter, arms full, the jerseys, sweatshirt, t-shirt, a beanie—and the mini stick Sidney insisted every hockey kid needed, sat on top like a cherry on a very expensive sundae, mentally ticking off the grocery list you still had to tackle after this. Apples, chicken, string cheese, enough pasta to keep your tiny enforcer fueled or pre-fueled. 

Sid followed a few steps behind, still holding the youth goalie mask you’d caught him with earlier. You glanced at it again now, curiosity tugging.

You smiled and nodded toward the youth goalie mask he was still holding, white and pristine and blank. “So, mystery solved yet? What’s that for?”

He held it up a little, letting it catch the light. “It’s for my godson. His birthday’s next month. He’s obsessed with goalies. Gonna get it customized—mask, pads, the whole nine yards.”

You raised an eyebrow, impressed. “That’s a pretty cool gift.”

Sid shrugged like it was nothing. “He’s a good kid. Deserves something cool.”

“You getting his name painted on it or something?” you asked, genuinely curious now.

“Thinking about it. His favorite goalie was Lundqvist, but he keeps pretending to be Fleury when he plays in the driveway. So maybe something between the two. We’ll see.”

You grinned at that, setting your items down gently on the counter as the clerk started scanning. “That’s sweet.”

He gave a small, sheepish shrug. “Trying. He’s already better in net than I am, so I gotta keep my rep somehow.”

You laughed. The older man behind the counter gave you a friendly nod as he started ringing up the items.

He hesitated for a second like he might say more, then cleared his throat. “Hey—have you ever heard of the Little Penguins program?”

You paused. “The what?”

“Little Penguins,” he repeated. “It’s this thing we run through the team. We usually do Winters but we added Fall on there too. Kids can sign up and get a full set of gear for free—well, technically a deposit, but you get it back—and they do learn-to-skate stuff, drills, scrimmages. They get to practice on the ice, even skate with a couple of us players.”

Your mouth parted slightly. “Wait—like with the Penguins Penguins?”

He nodded. “Yeah, the big guys. Usually a few of us show up. Just for fun, nothing formal. But it’s a good way for the kids to dip their toes in without it being overwhelming. Especially for parents who are still learning the ropes.”

You blinked. “That… actually sounds amazing. Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”

“Marketing’s not our strong suit,” he said with a crooked smile. “I think the sign-ups start late summer. July-ish.”

You imagined your daughter, pink helmet and jersey, oversized gloves bouncing at her sides, skating across the ice next to Penguins players like it was a totally normal Tuesday. “Okay, yeah. That’s... wow. I’ll definitely think about that.”

He smiled again, and it hit you that he was genuinely pleased you seemed interested. “You should. It’s fun. And your daughter sounds like the kind of kid who’d love it.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “It actually does sound like something she’d love. I mean, if there’s juice boxes involved, I’m sold.”

He grinned. “I’ll make sure they have the pink ones.”

“You better,” you said. “But yeah. She would lose her mind.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said, lightly bumping your elbow with his.

“Just the apparel today?” The cashier asked.

“Yeah,” you said, glancing at Sid. “Apparently I need to go home and take measurements. Like an adult.”

Sid turned to the cashier with a grin. “She’s doing her homework. Proud of her.”

You swatted his arm lightly, but he just laughed and leaned casually against the edge of the counter.

As the man scanned the Crosby jersey—Sid gave a soft, smug hmm at the sound—as if he hadn’t practically forced you to grab it.

The cashier handed you a long receipt and bagged up your stuff, folding the jerseys carefully. You thanked them, then turned back to Sid one last time, tucking your phone back into your coat pocket.

“Well. I should let you get back to your godfatherly duties. And I’ve got to go buy protein-rich snacks for a child who thinks hockey is a personality trait now.”

He laughed. “You’ve got a good one on your hands.”

“I do,” you said, feeling your chest warm a little. “Thanks again, by the way. For the help. Seriously. You saved me from panic-buying a full adult-size goalie kit.”

“Glad to be of service,” he said, then added, “Hey—if you end up signing her up for Little Penguins, I’ll probably be there. Come say hi.”

Your hand tightened slightly on the bag handles. “Yeah. I just might.”

He gave you a little nod, “Keep me posted. If she joins the Little Pens, I wanna know.”

“I will,” you said, turning toward the door. “If she scores her first goal, I’ll even make her point to the sky and say it’s for you.”

Sid smiled, shifting the goalie mask to his other hand. “Hey, if she ends up falling in love with the game, I’d say this was a good use of a Friday.”

You nodded.

You watched him for a second—just a second—then shook your head to yourself with a soft laugh and headed out into the parking lot, the automatic doors sliding shut behind you with a whoosh.

You had groceries to buy. You had gear to organize. You had a daughter to tell about “this thing called Little Penguins.”

A Few Months Later…

The rink was loud with the echo of blades scraping over ice, muffled thumps from little bodies falling down, and the hum of excited chatter from proud parents in the stands. The bleachers were fuller than you expected them to be this early on a Saturday morning—coffee cups cradled like precious gems, toddlers bundled in puffer coats and fleece hats, a chorus of “that’s my baby!” and “get up, you got it!” rippling through the space like music.

You sat midway up the stands, leaned forward with your elbows on your knees and your hands clasped under your chin, barely blinking as you tracked your little girl zooming across the ice in her baby pink skates—the ones you’d debated splurging on, only to be guilted into by her lip-quivering pout and an impassioned speech about how “pink skates make you faster.”

Apparently, she wasn’t wrong.

She was a blur of movement and energy, her tiny helmet bouncing slightly with every stride. Her white jersey was too big on her, practically swallowing her whole, with “Crosby” emblazoned across the back—his number 87 stitched proudly under it. Pink tape spiraled down the length of her stick, the edges fraying just a little from the constant use. It was a vision, the kind that made your chest squeeze so tightly it felt like your heart might burst from sheer joy.

You were smiling like an idiot as she collided softly with another kid, both of them toppling over like penguin-shaped dominoes.

A dad sitting nearby chuckled, following your line of sight. “Yours in the pink skates?”

You nodded, still smiling. “Yep. That’s my maniac.”

“She’s got good instincts. Keeps her head up, even when she’s down,” he said with a grin, nudging his own daughter, who was munching Goldfish crackers next to him.

“She’s obsessed,” you said with a little laugh, eyes never leaving the ice. “This morning she woke me up at 6:10—on the dot—in full gear. Elbow pads over her pajamas. Helmet on backwards.”

The dad laughed. “They don’t just fall in love. They jump in head first.”

“Tell me about it. I think I have about twelve hours of footage just from driveway practices,” you said, tapping your phone like proof.

Down on the ice, your daughter had popped back up, brushing the snow off of herself with those padded gloves that made her hands look like marshmallows. She took a wobbly step forward, then another. A coach—tall, in full gear himself—skated past and gave her an encouraging tap on the helmet. She giggled and tried to chase him, only to crash into the boards.

You winced a little, but she scrambled back up, laughing. Unfazed. Just like always.

“Did you grow up around hockey?” the dad asked, sipping from his thermos.

You shook your head. “No, not even a little. This whole world is new to me. First time I walked into a gear shop, I almost cried. It was like IKEA, but colder and meaner.”

“Ah. One of those,” he said knowingly. “So how’d she get into it?”

You smiled a little to yourself, watching her now attempt to scoop a puck with the toe of her stick like she was playing field hockey.

“It started with street hockey,” you said softly. “Some neighborhood kids were playing, and she just... joined in. She didn’t even ask. Just ran over and jumped into the game like she was born for it.”

“I know the type,” he said with a grin. “Future captain.”

You smiled at that—because part of you believed it. Knew it, even.

“Yeah,” you said. “Future something.”

A cheer erupted from the crowd as one of the kids—somehow—managed to score on one of the adult coaches in net. The coach fell dramatically backward, arms spread wide like he’d been defeated in battle. 

It was cold and it smelled like coffee and the unmistakable sweetness of childhood. The coaches were endlessly patient, calling out encouragement and clapping for every kid, no matter how awkward or uncoordinated they were. One coach—Sid, you realized—was crouched low near the boards now, tying the laces of a tiny skater who looked like she was upset or tired.

You watched him a moment, that same calm energy radiating off him that he’d had in the shop months ago. No helmet, just a cap pulled low over his hair. Still recognizable, though—especially to the row of moms sitting a little too upright on the lower bleachers, their giggles loud enough to rise above the noise of the rink.

You’d never said anything to your daughter about who he was. You liked keeping it simple. To her, he was just Coach. Of course, she knows him. But here he's just a nice guy who high-fived her when she got her skates on the right feet and always knew when she needed an extra push on the back.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you checked it quickly. A message from your best friend:

“How’s my niece doing?? Any goals?? Any falls??”

You snapped a quick picture—her mid-laugh, head thrown back—and sent it back with a caption:

“Living her best life.”

You tucked your phone away and leaned forward again, watching as your daughter bent her knees the way they’d shown her, arms stiff out in front, tongue sticking out in concentration. She was taking it all in—every second of it. From the cool air on her cheeks to the slap of the puck to the roar of imaginary crowds in her head.

There was something sacred in watching your kid find the thing they loved. Like watching a door open inside them you didn’t even know was there. Every spill, every grin, every wild, uncoordinated movement across the ice—each one carved that love deeper into her bones.

You clapped and cheered when she completed a clumsy turn, just barely staying upright. She turned toward your seat in the stands and grinned, giving you two very exaggerated thumbs up. Then she fell on her ass again.

You laughed, hand to your heart.

The mom next to you leaned over. “First season?”

“Yeah,” you said. “First everything.”

“Well, you’re in for it now,” she said, sipping from her thermos with a knowing smile. “There’s no going back once they get a taste of the ice.”

You looked down at your daughter—scraping her way back to her feet, cheeks flushed, still smiling—and you knew it was true.

There was no going back.

And you didn’t want to.

After nearly three hours of watching your daughter, it was over. The hallway just outside the locker room was chaos in a very specific, beautiful way—kids peeling off helmets and elbow pads, trailing behind coaches or sprinting toward waiting parents, little voices bouncing off the walls, squealing about scoring, or falling, or “that time Coach tripped on his own skate.” Everyone was coach apparently.

You’d waited in the designated spot outside until one of the assistants—some fresh-faced guy in a Penguins jacket—gave the okay for parents to head in.

“Y’all can head in now,” he said, stepping aside and trying not to get knocked over by a tornado of five-year-olds dragging their gear bags behind them.

Inside, the locker room was warm and bright, lined with benches and low cubbies that were already stuffed with half-shed gloves, little skates, jackets, and about seven different water bottles. The buzz of post-practice chatter filled the air instantly, like someone had turned the volume knob all the way up.

You barely had time to take it in before a flash of pink barreled toward you.

“MOMMMYYYYY!”

There she was. Wild curls matted from the helmet, cheeks flushed with effort, teeth bared in a wide grin as she ran, half-hopping in her skates, arms wide.

You bent down just in time to catch her.

“There you are, Speed Racer,” you grinned, crouching down and opening your arms as she barrelled into you. Her gear clunked against your chest—chest protector and all—but you didn’t care. You hugged her like you hadn’t just been watching her be wild on the ice.

“I FELL SIX TIMES!” she squealed, voice muffled against your shirt.

You ran a hand over her head, feeling the heat radiating from her scalp. “You fell six times and you still have that big ol’ smile on your face? Must’ve been a good time.”

“It was the funnest ever,” she said seriously, stepping back and immediately beginning to unfasten her chest protector with a kind of frenzied determination. “And guess what! Owen and me were on the same team, and I touched the puck with my stick! Like for real this time! I didn’t miss!”

You helped peel the Velcro from her shoulders, gently tugging the damp, slightly stinky gear off while she babbled on.

“Toootally touched it. Owen saw. Right, Owen?!”

A little boy with dark hair and dark eyes, Owen, turned toward you, a toothy grin spread across his face. His front teeth were at war—one was missing, the other wobbly and hanging on for dear life.

“Hi,” he said confidently.

“Hi, Owen,” you greeted, giving him a warm smile. “I hear you two had fun today.”

“We’re on the same team,” he said proudly, pointing to his white practice jersey. “White team’s faster than the black one.”

Your daughter nodded vigorously. “We’re the fastest. Way faster.”

“I believe it,” you nodded solemnly, ruffling her sweat-damp curls as you zipped the top layer of her jacket. “You guys looked awesome out there.”

“They were, weren’t they?” a voice chimed in to your right. Owen’s mom, dressed in a puffer vest over a Penguins hoodie, smiled as she peeled her son’s gloves off one by one. “Owen hasn’t stopped talking about it since he got off the ice.”

You smiled back, instantly comforted by the friendliness in her tone. “Mine either. I’m pretty sure she’s still skating in her head.”

“She’s adorable,” the mom said. “Pink skates and pink tape? That’s iconic.”

“She had to be pink,” you said, laughing softly. “Apparently, pink makes you faster.”

Owen's mom grinned. “Hey, she might be onto something.”

You all shared a laugh as the room buzzed louder—parents helping their kids wriggle out of gear, skate guards being snapped on, water bottles getting passed around. Owen sat down next to your daughter on the bench, pulling a juice box out of his small backpack. “We made up a game,” he told you while trying to stab the straw through the plastic film.

Your girl nodded. “You pretend the puck is a bumblebee and you gotta squash it with your stick before it stings someone.”

“That sounds very advanced,” you said seriously.

“We’re gonna play it next time too,” she added. “Owen said he’s really good at squashing bees.”

Owen nodded matter-of-factly, still struggling with the straw.

Owen’s mom bent down to help him, chuckling as she did. “He’s been trying to squash bees with sticks since he was three. I’m just glad he’s finally doing it on the ice and not in our backyard.”

You grinned and reached into your own bag to grab your daughter’s snack. She immediately tore into the applesauce pouch like she’d been starved for days, then leaned against your side, still warm from all her movement.

“They looked so cute skating next to each other,” Owen’s mom added with a soft smile. “I was telling my husband—it almost looked like a little date out there.”

You laughed at that. “I think they’ve bonded over their mutual chaos.”

She leaned in a little and lowered her voice. “He told me in the tunnel that he thinks your daughter’s hair is ‘like gold spaghetti.’”

You choked on your sip of coffee, covering your mouth. “Gold spaghetti?”

She nodded, snickering. “Crush territory. I’m calling it.”

You smiled, heart melting a little, and pulled your phone out from your coat pocket. “Alright, if they’re officially best friends-slash-future-spouses, we need a picture.”

Both kids were now on their snacks, Owen with his juice box and your girl halfway through a granola bar, crumbs smeared around her mouth. You lined them up on the bench—gear still half-on, cheeks still flushed—and snapped a picture.

It was absurdly cute.

“Alright, say cheese,” you said. “Or… say Penguins!”

“PENGUINS!” they both shouted.

Click.

You took a few more, some with funny faces, some with your daughter attempting to put her arm around Owen’s shoulders and nearly knocking his juice out of his hand. You were pretty sure your camera roll had hit triple digits by now, but you didn’t care.

Eventually, your daughter leaned into you again, resting her sticky hand on your leg. “Mama,” she said quietly. “I’m thirsty.”

You glanced down. “Didn’t you bring your water bottle?”

She blinked up at you sheepishly. “I left it on the bench. Where I sit. I think.”

“Oh no,” you said, sighing gently. “You silly goose.”

“I forgot!” she insisted, holding her hands up like that’d fix it. “Thirst to death mama.”

You reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Alright, okay. I’ll go grab it. Can you hang here for a sec?”

She nodded. “I’ll stay with Owen.”

You turned toward his mom. “Mind keeping an eye on her real quick? I’ll be back in like a minute.”

“Of course,” she said warmly. “Take your time. These two are thick as thieves already.”

You smiled and stood, patting your daughter’s helmet-less head. “Be good,” you said.

“Always,” she grinned, already halfway through a whispered joke with Owen that involved a fart noise and something about the Zamboni.

You made your way out of the locker room, weaving around kids and parents and piles of equipment. The hallway was quieter. You passed by a few of the coaching staff and volunteers still lingering around, one of them wheeling a cart of extra equipment back toward storage.

You shifted your weight awkwardly near the tunnel toward the bench, one arm wrapped around yourself for warmth. You weren’t totally sure if you were allowed to just stroll out there in regular shoes. Like—was that frowned upon? A total rookie parent move?

Your eyes scanned the hallway for someone official-looking. After a few seconds, a man in a staff jacket with a clipboard walked past. You stepped forward quickly.

“Hi! Sorry—excuse me?”

He stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

“Um, I was wondering—my daughter left her water bottle out there on the bench,” you explained, nodding toward the rink. “It’s pink and glittery—shocking, I know—and it has a little flower keychain on the handle. Would it be possible for someone to grab it for me? I don’t wanna like... destroy the sanctity of the bench in my street shoes.”

The guy smiled, already turning to wave someone down. “Yeah, no problem. Hang tight. I’ll send one of the volunteers out.”

“Thank you, seriously.”

You leaned back against the wall, tugging your sweater sleeves down over your hands as you watched the lingering players on the ice, most of them part of the older age group now, finishing their drills. Some were still skating slow laps while a couple of the younger assistant coaches stood near the blue line laughing about something. You weren’t really paying attention—your mind was still back in the locker room with your daughter’s flushed cheeks and dramatics about “thirsting to death.”

Then you heard it.

“Called it. I thought that was your daughter out there.”

The voice, familiar in a way that shouldn’t have made your stomach do what it just did, made your head turn to the right.

Sidney.

You blinked once. Then again.

He was walking toward you casually, jersey still on but his skates had been swapped out for black Adidas slides and socks. His hair was damp, curls starting to appear at the ends, and he looked warm—flushed in the cheeks, a little sweaty, and way too comfortable for how good he looked.

You exhaled in something that bordered on a scoff. “What gave it away?”

He leaned a shoulder against the wall next to you, arms crossed as his eyes swept over the rink like he was still mentally coaching. “Let’s see... pink skates, pink laces, pink tape on the stick… Don’t think I forgot, Y/N.”

You grinned. “Wow, real detective work there.”

He smirked, slow and knowing, and turned to look at you instead. “Also? She’s got your eyes. It was game over after that.”

You looked away briefly, caught off guard by the way he said it—not teasing, not in passing. Just simple. Honest. The words made your chest tighten a little, in that soft, fluttery kind of way.

“She had the best time,” you said, your voice softening. “She’s been buzzing since we walked in this morning. Like... shaking with excitement.”

He smiled again, this time a little wider. “That’s what we want. Fun first.”

“She even made a friend,” you added. “Owen. They’re practically a duo now. He’s five. Missing a front tooth. Very committed to calling the puck ‘zoomy.’”

He chuckled under his breath, glancing down like he was picturing it. “Owen’s a good kid. He’s one of my favorites.”

“Wow. Already playing favorites?”

Sid shrugged. “Perks of being Coach Sidney. I can pretend I don’t, but come on—kid called me ‘Sir Puck’ once. I’m only human.”

You snorted.

There was a small lull between you, just a beat or two where you stood side-by-side, both facing the ice as the zamboni started circling again. His arm brushed yours once when he shifted his stance, just barely. The warmth of him so close made your skin feel hyper-aware, like it was begging for more contact.

“She, uh...” you started, glancing at him. “She left her water bottle on the bench. Swears she’s going to ‘thirst to death’ if I don’t bring it back.”

Sid raised an eyebrow. “Thirst to death? That serious, huh?”

You nodded solemnly. “She’s dramatic. I don’t know where she gets it from.”

“I’m shocked,” he deadpanned.

You shot him a side-eye, lips twitching. “Anyway, I asked one of the staff to grab it, but I think they forgot about me. Been standing here like a total newbie.”

“You want me to grab it?”

You blinked. “Wait—seriously?”

He was already pushing off the wall, waving a hand dismissively. “Yeah. I’ll be back in a sec. Pink glitter, right? With a flower keychain?”

“Yeah,” you said, still a little surprised. “That’s the one. Can’t miss it.”

He gave you a quick smirk. “Got it. I’m trained in the art of spotting glitter.”

You laughed, watching as he jogged down the short corridor, and stepped onto the bench in his slides like it was nothing. You bit your lip, just a little, arms crossed again as you watched him scan the bench, crouch, and retrieve the bottle from where it had rolled a few inches under one of the seats.

He came jogging back a minute later, bottle in hand, holding it up like a trophy.

“Coach of the Year,” he said with a grin, handing it over.

You took it gratefully. “Seriously. If there was a trophy, you’d be winning it.”

“You’re gonna make her think I’m her favorite now,” he said, mock-conspiratorial.

“She already called you ‘the guy with the funny whistle,’” you said, twisting the cap to check the water level. “So you’re basically a celebrity.”

“She’s not wrong,” he said, leaning back against the wall again. “It’s a very specific whistle. I’ve trained myself.”

You looked at him—really looked—and shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re such a dork.”

“You keep saying that,” he said, tone low, amused. “But you’re smiling.”

There was a small pause after that—comfortable, but charged. A beat where neither of you spoke, but you could feel the static in the air, the unspoken familiarity that had somehow built over a single strange meeting. The gear shop.

“I’m guessing those notes I made you take all those months ago at the gear shop came in handy, huh?”

You groaned dramatically, rolling your eyes but smiling anyway. “Don’t remind me. I think I have PTSD from that trip. But yeah—God, they helped so much. I never would’ve figured out which stick flex to get her without your help. Or those elbow pads that didn’t slide down every two seconds.”

“You were so overwhelmed,” he teased. “Like I was speaking another language.”

“Because you were,” you fired back. “Half of it was just acronyms. I still don’t know what CCM stands for.”

“Honestly?” he leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially, “I don’t think anyone does. We just pretend.”

You laughed again, head tipping back. His eyes lingered on your face for a second longer than necessary, like he was cataloguing every shift in your expression, every laugh line he could coax out of you.

“How’d the goalie mask go?” you asked, shifting gears, “for your godson?”

“Great,” he said, and you noticed how his whole face softened when he talked about the kid. “He loved it. Said it made him look like a Transformer. His words, not mine.”

“That’s basically the highest praise possible.”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “He even slept with it beside his bed the first night. His mom texted me a picture.”

“That’s adorable.”

He glanced toward the rink doors, then back at you. “So… did you have fun?”

You lifted a shoulder, smiling again. “Oh yeah. Nothing more fun than watching my kid wipe out every five minutes while I try to pretend I’m not dying inside.”

His head tilted, a laugh bubbling up from him. “You looked like you were holding it together okay.”

“I was faking it,” you said. “But thanks.”

“Pretty well, I’d say.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back toward the hallway leading to the locker room. “Only ‘cause you saved me from a water bottle emergency.”

“I’ll see you around?” he asked, but there was something tentative in the way he said it, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to hope.

You slowly turned to face him once again. “Yeah. You will.”

He smiled, something softer than before—less teasing, more sincere.

And then his voice came again. A little more certain. A little bolder.

“Actually—hold on.”

You stopped.

He was standing straighter now, hands in his pockets, one foot shifting over the other like even he wasn’t sure he was really doing this until the words were already coming out of his mouth.

“Would you wanna get a coffee sometime?” he asked. “Or... whatever. Something not surrounded by five-year-olds and hockey tape.”

You stared at him for a second, surprised—though you weren’t sure why. Maybe because he said it so... sincerely. Not flirty. Not presumptuous. Just... hopeful.

You found yourself smiling again.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice low. “I’d like that.”

—

[randomshyperson]

I'll Crawl Home To Her - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: A rewrite of the fight scene in WandaVision, with a less aggressive but equally painful discussion. 

Warnings: canon-typical Westview angst, talking about magical submission and free will, established relationship, some grief mentions, rough kissing just because I can, love confessions/reaffirmations | Words: 1.644k

A/N-> I'm just rewriting loose scenes from WandaVison, none of which are really going to end up in anything bigger. But I hope it's a decent read. 

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

“It’s not often that you get a dog and bury them the same day.”

To your line, Wanda could have chosen to mumble in agreement. She could have said she was sorry, or she could have chosen to remain silent.

Instead, she chooses sarcasm, as if she had a good idea of how ridiculous everything was starting to get around that town.

“Well, life moves pretty fast out in the suburbs.”

You end up sighing, able to feel the anger slowly building up in you. Wanda continues to put toys away, and you decide to wipe your hands on the nearest dishcloth before turning to your wife.

"I spoke to Norm this morning." You start with a serious look on your face, and Wanda, oh your beautiful, stubborn wife, makes a mocking expression. You don't understand why she's acting this way. "He told me things that really frightened me, Wanda."

It was her turn to take a deep breath, the confidence in her expression wavering for a second. There was only one balcony between the two of you, but somehow the emotional distance was immeasurably greater.

Wanda looks you in the eye. "What's that supposed to mean, darling?"

“You tell me.”  You hit back without hesitation. But what you get from Wanda is a tired sigh, falsely innocent.

"I didn't know it was charades night again." She continues to mock. 

You can't remember if Wanda was ever cruel, but it's a fact that you can't remember anything that happened before Westview.

"I got scared because he was scared, Wanda!" You insist, approaching the counter to lean on one hand, while the other gestures your despair. "It was like a different person, a real, suppressed personality crying out to be released. It was accidental, of course, to discover this. But I'm not an idiot, Wanda. I can see what you're doing. The things that are changing around us every time something gets out of your control. And I don't understand why, and you won't talk to me, and I'm so scared!"

The tears in your eyes match hers. "Stop." She pleads earnestly, but you shake your head.

"You don't want this." You say.

Despite the emotion in her eyes, and the thick tears, Wanda gives a short, ironic laugh, her head tilting slightly. "Don't I?"

"If you did, I wouldn't know. I wouldn't be able to see, to question.” You sigh.”You’ve always been so... extraordinary." Her expression suddenly flinches at the compliment. "Your abilities, your power, I can't tell what happened before this place, but I know about now. There's not a trace of doubt in my mind about you, about how magnificently powerful I've always perceived you to be. Not even about how much I love and trust you." Wanda swallows dryly at your words, but you give a sad sigh. "Then I don't understand why you keep letting me see the flaws. If you're going to lie to me, leave me in the dark. Because I think I'm losing my mind little by little. I can't ignore the suffering of those people, and I can't ignore the uncertainty that grows in my chest every second. I can't remember anything, Wanda. I see those pictures on our walls, those fabricated memories, and nothing reaches me. I can't even recall if I had any kind of family before this place."

Wanda comes around the counter with a certain desperation, her hands reaching for your face. "You have a family. Me and the boys, why can't that be enough?"

Your hands reach for hers. "It's not that, sweetheart. Our family is perfect. This life is the closest to heaven I could get. But I can't be at peace with it at the cost of other people's suffering. I can't ignore their pain."

"I'll help you think of something else." She responds with a nod, pulling your face in to kiss you firmly.

Kissing Wanda has always been intoxicating, a sensation that's easy to get lost in. But fresh in your mind is your coworker, terrified and begging you to get away from this place. Get away from your wife.

You pull away, breaking the kiss and ignoring the way your whole body protests. Wanda is equally out of breath, but the gleam in her eyes hides a deep irritation.

"Wanda, I-

"Save it." She interrupts, turning her back on you. You catch a glimpse of a new form of anger and hurt in her eyes at being rejected. You sigh impatiently, following her instantly. 

"You're not going to run away from this conversation, Wanda, I need to know what's going on in this place!" You practically beg, yelling at her back because Wanda just keeps walking towards the stairs. You huff angrily and teleport immediately into her path. She jumps slightly in fright, grimacing with impatience and taking two steps backward, away from the steps as you insist; "Please. Talk to me."

"There's nothing to say if you don't believe me when I tell you there's nothing wrong." But you shake your head at the words, one hand pulling your hair back. Wanda chuckles humorlessly.  "See, you already have an opinion on the subject. On me. I'm already the villain in your story, darling, so why don't you keep digging behind my back and end this whole thing?"

She mentions going upstairs again, but you stand in her way, one hand pulling her face towards yours. The kiss is more intense than the one in the kitchen, heated enough for Wanda to gasp into your mouth.

She's ready to reciprocate with the same eagerness when you break it, the hand on her cheek caressing her skin.

"Because I love you, Wanda Maximoff." You whisper against her lips, and it's not just the words, but the devotion in your gaze that makes Wanda's legs wobble. You offer her a small smile, an air of lost battle in your expression. "There is no part of me that would plan and act against you. Even here, with the truth scratching at the walls, where I could if I wanted to access the suffering of these people, I wouldn't turn against you. I can only beg for a little mercy, my love. Take the pain away from me, the doubt. I will be loyal and complicit in any of your desires and decisions."

Wanda sobs, hugging you before you can say anything. You can't remember anything that came before, but she can, as clearly as if she were there. And Wanda loved every trace of your old self as much as she loves this Westview version, willing to do anything she asks. It's not so different from the person she lost, with the most striking exception that makes it clear in that moment, that nothing could ever replace the real you. 

You would have taken Wanda out of that fantasy. For better or worse, even if she hated you afterward, even if she never forgave you, you wouldn't let her cross lines through grief, you wouldn't let her lose herself again. After all, that's what you swore to do after witnessing first-hand all the guilt she carried for Ultron's madness and the accident in Lagos. Your true version would never let her drown in sorrow and hurt people again.

But the Westview version, so sweet and devoted, would stroke her back and say the same thing you always used to say, even if now you can't remember it.

"I'm sorry if I made you cry, princess, I never meant to. Look at me so I can bring your smile back."

Wanda holds on a little tighter, tears staining your blouse. The vast majority of the times she had heard this phrase, it had been at much less dramatic moments. While she had a passion for sitcoms and things that made her laugh, you liked more emotional movies that could make you cry. And every time you had a movie session, you would tell her that, easily achieving your goal of putting a smile on your girlfriend's face. But there were also times when the situations were dramatic - a poorly planned workout where Wanda ended up hurting you and tears of guilt escaped her and you tried to make her feel better by saying that same phrase. Or when you had a fight and it got a bit out of hand, and you started your apologies that way.

Or when Thanos took you from her, and Wanda had to hear it twice because of a time stone.

She doesn't want to hear it for a third occasion. 

You're ready to say something, maybe apologize, when Wanda breaks the hug. But she holds your cheeks and presses her mouth to yours. Slowly, allowing you to taste even the saltiness of her tears. There's a shaky sigh escaping from between your lips as she breaks away again, but your affected gaze changes to a curious one as red irises stare back at you.

"I'll make it better." She whispers, nodding slightly. You swallow dry, closing your eyes and resting your forehead against hers.

The only thing you whisper is exactly what makes her hesitate. "I trust you, Wanda."

She ignores the internal conflict and lifts one of her hands to stroke the back of your neck. It must be easy, especially within Hex, to change your mind. To make you no longer question.

You repeat that you love her, and Wanda brings trembling fingers to your forehead. 

She suddenly becomes very aware that consciously, she could never do that to you. She would rather you found out everything and hated her than take away your free will. To turn you into another puppet.

She sighs shakily, ready to say she'll put an end to this whole place when the doorbell rings.

Nothing could prepare her for seeing her twin brother again, but that's another story. Besides, not that Wanda has any idea, far away from there, a fallen Avenger is being stitched back together while calling her name in their sleep.

[i-prefer-the-fictional-world]

How does that video prove Blake was right? She claimed Justin dragged his nose across her face and said, “smells so good” which….is not what happened in the video? We don’t see an intimacy coordinator in the video because they aren’t going to be on camera, so honestly whether or not they were there will have to be confirmed in court. The video doesn’t disprove any other claims Blake made, of course, so dude could for sure still be a creep but this video is not serving as proof for Blake’s claims.

I am answering this assuming this is asked in good faith despite my doubts.

You can very very clearly see in the video that Baldoni did drag his nose across her face multiple times. One time around 7 minutes and 22 second mark in this video Baldoni said am I getting beard on you today (because you can clearly tell that Blake isn't comfortable and he probably felt it too, hence the comment. Maybe it's the beared and not me). Blake said I'm probably getting spray tan on you. To which he responded with it smells good. That is creepy. And even if you personally don't think so Blake has every right to feel that way.

Blake's claim was "(Baldoni) did not act in character as Ryle; instead he spoke to Lively out of character as himself. At one point, he dragged his lips from her ear and down her neck as he said "it smells so good." None of this was remotely in character, or based on any dialogue in the script, and nothing needed to be said because, again, there was no sound - Mr. Baldoni was caressing Mr. Lively with his mouth in a way that had nothing to do with the roles."

You may have noticed at the beginning of the video they show part of the script saying

"Lily and Ryal slow dance in the bar. Patrons around them drinking and watching sports. Completely in their own world."

Notice how this doesn't say anything about kissing or Baldoni doing that nose rubbing the face thing. Because that was improvised. The scene was about slow dancing everything else Baldoni was doing was not scripted.

Blake's claim is factual and the video confirms it. Just because it matches 95% of what Blake said instead of 100% doesn't mean Blake is lying. Just because his nose wasn't on her face when he said it doesn't mean Blake is making it up. Human memory isn't perfect. Honestly I was worried about this. That people are going to deem what happened to Blake as not serious enough. Baldoni did say it smelled so good, it was crossing the line and it did make Blake feel uncomfortable. Just because Blake said something about her tan doesn't make that line okay. Contrary to what Baldoni claimed in his complaint Blake did not say anything about the smell of her tan, Baldoni had no reason to bring up how she or her tan smell and given the context, given how he's behaving in this video it makes me feel uncomfortable watching it.

Also keep in mind Baldoni was the one who leaked it. He's not going to leak the most incriminating things now is he? He's going to leak the least incriminating things.

An intimacy coordinator (not the one working on the movie a different one) has actually talked about this footage. This is the link to the article but I'm also going to show some quotes from it here.

"In a scene like this, it’s really common that you wouldn’t bring on an intimacy coordinator because there’s no simulated sex or nudity, and there’s not even kissing written into the scene. We saw that from that script excerpt. An intimacy coordinator would have been very clear: We’re not doing any kissing. This is the kind of touch that is on the table. Nothing else is, we’re not going to bring anything into the scene that we haven’t discussed prior.”

"I can just see her trying to stay lighthearted and in good spirits about it and not upset him or anybody, and not waste anybody’s time. But of course, she is trapped between a rock and a hard place. I can see her appeasing him and trying to keep a smile on her face."

While talking about "it smells so good" comment "To say that out of character, it’s not inherently wrong or inappropriate, but when there has been mounting discomfort and mounting line crossings, I can see how that becomes yet another thing that was out of line."

Read the full article, it's pretty good. This is why I believe that no intimacy coordinator was present because if they were they would have intervened.

Also can we talk about Baldoni's complaint for a bit. Because it is so stupid and the video that he leaked himself doesn't even support it.

Baldoni said in his complaint that "Lively, consistently unable to take direction, insisted that she really liked the idea of characters constantly talking, because, as she described, she and her husband like to "keep talking and talking and talking." Baldoni, her director and the film's assistant director (who was directing the scene) disagreed. In an attempt to encourage her to take his direction Baldoni offered up that he and his wife often look into each other's eyes silently, to which she responded "Like sociopaths" and Laughed."

Not only is this just a straight up lie because Blake was silent for long stretches of time, not only was her suggestions of talking during this scene was better than whatever weird face rubbing thing Baldoni was trying to do, you can also very clearly see that she was pulling away from him and suggesting that they talked because she was uncomfortable with the face rubbing thing!!

Baldoni also just agreed with her multiple times throughout the video. You can also very clearly hear around 8 minutes and 28 second mark that Baldoni said I'm going to let you direct this scene or something along those lines. Which is conveniently not captioned. Baldoni claimed to have wanted a female gaze and female perspective but now he's framing his lead actress giving him suggestions for some scenes as 'taking over the movie'? He also said that Blake can come to him any time with suggestions but when she actually does she's somehow undermining his authority? Let's be real about what's happening here. Her suggestions were better than his and that hurts his ego so he's accusing her of hijacking the project for doing things that under any other circumstances she would have been praised for.

Also the sociopath thing is so misleading. Baldoni said that he and his wife literally stare at each other for five minutes and that Blake would find it terrifying. To which Blake says "I would be like, oh no I found a sociopath". Both of them were laughing throughout this interaction. The shit Baldoni mentioned in his stupid lawsuit is taken far far out of context to make Blake look like a mean girl at best and is just a straight up lie at worst.

Lastly I'm linking a video by the youtuber Ophie Dokie. She has been covering this topic since the beginning and she has been on Blake's side since the beginning of this "drama" despite not liking Blake as a person. She has made other videos on this topic, she has done livestreams doing research surrounding this situation and she's just a great youtuber in general who deserves far more views than she's getting especially compared to the pro B*ldoni drama channels so please please watch her videos. She has covered everything I've said here and more and she goes into much more depth about these things than I ever could.

And Yeah I know this is long but it can't be helped. Spreading misinformation is far easier than correcting it. If you show someone a video of a woman being sexually harassed and the other person goes "nuh uh didn't happen" there is very little you can do to convince that person. It's frustrating. If this ask is made in bad faith no amount of evidence and nothing I say is going to change your mind. But I still wanted to put this out there just because all the assholes saying "tHe vIdEo pRovEs bLakE wAs lyINg" makes me so angry.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook/Taehyung

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭: 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 [teaser]

Humanity is facing serious problems- extinction, to name the worst. Introducing Project: New Generation- where polygamy is strongly encouraged, and relationships are 'matched' by irrefutable data. Though some people prefer it the 'old fashioned way'...

Tags/Warnings: Taehyung x Reader, Jungkook x Reader, no taekook action tho sorry, futuristic AU, romance, angst, smut, fluff, more TBA

Type: Oneshot

Wordcount: not yet set

There is no taglist for this fic.

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It's like you've reached the final finish line with them both. They've finally turned into two people unashamedly being themselves, no longer keeping themselves locked away because of what they've been told is meant to be kept hidden- no. These two are proud, confident, and all the safety and comfort you always longed for.

"Jung-" you start, trying to stay quiet, but Taehyung behind you doesn't seem to think at all about his partner next to you.

"Is sleeping. Like a rock." He chuckles into your neck. "And I doubt he'd get upset being woken up by a sight like this." He just comments, before his hand moves in between your legs under the covers.

"I'm awake, actually.." Jungkook mumbles with his eyes still closed, moving a little to stretch his legs. It's only after a few more breaths that his eyes finally crack open, watching you, before his hand reaches out to brush some hair away from your face. "You're always so slow.." he says, while Taehyung laughs.

"And you always tire her out too much.." he argues teasingly, while his hands still have you entirely under their control.

"Hm, but she likes that, too.." Jungkook chuckles, before he leans in to kiss you, completely shutting off your brain it feels like, as you can't concentrate on anything else than what your body feels anymore.

And maybe that's what you always wanted in the end.

Love, so much of it that there's no space for anything else in your head. Who cares if humanity faces extinction? At least in this moment, none of you do.

You should feel bad about this. Bad about 'wasting' Taehyung's 97% rating on the fertility scale. Bad about not 'making use' of Jungkook's healthy genes. Bad about contributing nothing to the Project, and basically working in favor of humanity's downfall- you should feel terrible knowing that all three of you will most likely just throw your best years of life out the window in favor of love-

But you can't bring yourself to care.

One day, the project will realize that the system is fundamentally flawed. That it's being exploited by people like you, who just want to exist, and not have to worry about anything. But right now, they've got other problems to face.

You know for a fact that the world will collapse way sooner than you three will grow old together-

So why not make the best of it while you still can?

[cypheroo]

Morning Confessions | Laurence Zvhal

"Hi can I request a fic with Laurance complementing the reader but she doesn’t believe him and he tries to prove that he serious?"

Word count : 774

Tw : none?

AN : SO, I tried to follow the request :) AND I have two more Laurence ficss coming soon (a siren x Laurence one and an angsty Laurence one both of which are long asf), so I wanted to get this one written!

Laurence was so handsome…he had such a charm to him, and gosh even just a light graze of his touch would send Shivers up your spine. And he knew this, he knew because he looked at you a lot more now than before. His ‘accidental’ touches seemed to happen more now.

Some people would say he might be feeling the same way you do, but his eyes were for lord aphmau, not for you. And those thoughts alone kept you from asking him if he felt the same. He was just teasing you at this point, toying with you the way a flirt would with anyone, you and him being friends didn't make much of a difference either.

And this morning was no different, Laurence and you were both sitting in the town square, both sipping your respective drinks, chatting the early morning away. It was so nice, being able to meet with Laurence like this, sure you wished you'd be able to call this a date…but it was ok! You were content.

“Really! Come on, how long do you think Brendon will really be into kawaii-chan?” Laurence questioned, “I dunno? The real question is when another person will catch His eye” you answered jokingly. “True. I'm surprised he hasn't tried his hand at aphmau” Laurence joked before he took another sip of his drink. You Shrugged and Looked back out at the main square looking around, no one was really out this early, most still being inside asleep. It was quiet for a moment before you felt Laurence's eyes on you, you held still trying to act like you didn't notice, “your eyes look really pretty against the morning light, has anyone ever told you that?” Laurence asked, his voice a tad bit more serious this time.

You felt your stomach get butterflies over his words…his tone, and the idea that it Was directed to you? You turned your head to him and laughed softly, “and who are you trying to impress Mr?” You asked as you shook your head, “you're just being nice” you cleared your throat trying not to sound too shaken up by his words. “No, I'm being serious. your eyes are absolutely beautiful, if you don't mind” as the last Few words of his sentence left his mouth he set his drink on the floor and slowly cupped your cheeks, forcing you to face him, “let me get a closer look, honey” the pet name rolling off his tongue easily. His eyes narrowed as he focused on your eyes.

You felt your face get warm, hell you felt your whole body get warm as the man in front of you studied your face, “your eyes are stunning” he moved his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head.

You couldn't take it as you pulled away and stood up, “oh wow, haha. Funny joke Laurence you can quit it now” you waved him off and faced away from him, trying to calm yourself down.

“joke?” Laurence joined you in standing up. “I'm not kidding. seriously” he insisted. Before you looked back at him with some fake unimpressed look. “Laurence you gotta stop testing out your little pick up lines on me” you said with a small smile and furrowed brows. Your look was matched with laurences confused look, “testing? You think I'm testing them on you?” He asked, almost flabbergasted. “yeah? For lord aphmau, you know full well she'd never let you cup her face like that” you continued with a small hum.

Laurence was quiet for a while, he was absolutely surprised you'd even bring lord aphmau into this when he had been trying to hint at you for months about his feelings about you.

“none of anything I've said to you has been for testing, not for lord aphmau or anyone else.” He stated, his eyes slightly more assured, “to put it quite frankly you're the only one I've used these ‘pick up lines’ on. His words were very self assured which made you confused, “wait so…everything you've said- no way laurence” you couldn't even fathom it. “No way? No way I'm looking at you with hearts in my eyes?” Laurence joked as he crossed his arms. “No way I say these things to get you flustered?” He continued, “no way I say what I mean?” He whispered close to your ear.

You shook your head, “no that'd mean-” you started as Laurence nodded, “that I've fallen for you?” Laurence finished. He nodded with a laugh. His hand slowly grazing your shoulder as he moved in front of you, "Baby, im in love with you. And eyes don't lie. It's clear you feel the same, " he purred as he moved closer to you. "So understand my words are made for only you to hear," he continued. "So please... take my compliment?" He asked with that stupid smirk you hated to love. It was when your eyes met his once more that you slowly smiled and nodded.

Tags :

[modernwarfarelover]

Match Made in Hell pt3 (Final)

PART1

IM SO SORRY IM THIS LATE- Again, Reader's codename is Zero. I'm aware there's a character in KorTac named Zero but I'm too lazy to come up with anything. This is Male!Reader, just a reminder.

As the mission goes on, you and the others keep contact over the comms while you're seperated through the warehouse to cover ground. You're with Ghost, Raven with Soap, Alwin is with Price and Yachi is with Gaz. It's been quiet. So far no has run into any of the enemy team thankfully. All you need to do is disarm a bomb and engage fire if necessary. It's not too hard, simple really.

But appearnantly there were hostages that none of you knew about. When you and Ghost got to the room where the hostages were being kept, both of you are surprised to see two people tied to a chair and blindfolded while there's an enemy soldier standing near them. One of the hostages is a man and the other a woman. Both you and Raven are silent as you stand outside of the door, backs against the wall while you peer through the window and listen in on what the enemy is saying.

You press a button on your comms and speak quiet enough so the soldier in the room doesn't hear. "Yachi, we've found that there's hostages. There's only one hostile guarding them, but the room is too small for us to shoot without risking hurting one of the civilians."

After a moment, you get a response from your captain, "hostages? Didn't know anything about that.. Well, you're the knife specialist here, use that." For a second, you pause to think of a plan. When you have an idea, you tell it to Ghost and he nods. He stays at the front door and you go to the back. Once you signal him to go in over the comms, he barges into the room and points her gun at the enemy. The soldier is just about to shoot Ghost only to get stabbed right through the back of his head with your combat knife.

You give Ghost a thumbs up and he nods before both of you go to untie the hostages. When it's confirmed that they're unharmed, you get them to safety then continue with the mission.

Then without warning, the two of you are being shot at. Ghost ducks behind a crate while you get behind a wall near him. "Shit-" You curse, causing Ghost to briefly look at you. "What's wrong?" He asks. "I'm out of ammo."

Ghost sighs as he looks in his vest to see if he has any extra magazines, only to realize he himself is almost out. "Well, you're going to have to hold off until we can get backup."

Ah, damn. This isn't good. The two of you are outnumbered, and the others are pretty far from your location. Just as you're about to contact the rest of the team, you feel a sharp pain in your right shoulder. Your gaze quickly goes to the source of the feeling, only to see your sleeve starting to stain dark red.

"Im hit." You hiss, putting pressure on the wound and stepping further behind the wall so you're less likely to be shot. "How bad?" Ghost asks. This was supposed to be a simple mission, in and out. Well, that plan has gone far out the window.

"I can hold a little longer, nothing too serious."

Ghost does the only thing he can think of. That bomb could explode at any time, you have to hurry and get there or this operation is a fail. Before you can even regesture what he's doing, you're being grabbed by the arm and you and Ghost are running away from the line of fire. It's not like there were many other options. Both of you are sprinting while being shot at, not stopping for antyhing until you get to that damn bomb.

10...

9...

8...

7...

A sigh of releif escapes your mouth, a bit muffled by your balaclava as Ghost finally gets the explosive disarmed. Now you don't have to worry about the place being blown up with the team in it.

"C'mere you stupid bastard," you suddenly hear Ghost say, but before you can even react your balaclava is pulled up and your lips are met with his. Your body stiffens, unsure of how to respond to the sudden action.

He pulls back and brings his own balaclava back down over his mouth. "Not a word about this." Ghost says, and you only manage a slight nod in response. That's not something you expected. After that, both of you get back to the team who are waiting outside by the chopper.

"What took ya both so long?" You hear a familiar Scottish accent, looking up from the ground and up at Soap with an expression that looks as if you're questioning reality.

"Uh..." You mumble, only for Ghost to answer for you. "We were the ones who had to disarm a bomb, Johnny." He says dryly.

[mister-qi]

Mr. Qi Friendship and Romance Mod Devlog 5/9/2024

Previous update

For those curious about the mod progress, read on!

Since the previous update, most of my efforts have been spent on Art and Implementation. While I've made some progress on Writing, that hasn't been my main focus.

Writing

Heart Events: no major progress, besides a bit of writing/blocking for the 4 heart cutscene.

Daily Dialogues: Generic dailies are 64% done. Unique dailies are currently on the back-burner. Marriage dailies are also on the back-burner, but I have quite a few written regardless.

Misc dialogues: A new section! This includes so many little details, which even get as hyper-specific as what happens if you divorce him and then attempt to invite him to a movie. What does he say if you give him a bouquet at low hearts? What does he say if you're married to him and there are slimes in the house? Stuff like that! There are 49 of these written so far, and it's hard to estimate my progress because as I continue looking through both the documentation and existing files I get more and more ideas.

Gift Dialogues: Not a ton of progress since the previous update, though I've written his birthday gift reactions.

Art

Portraits: 2 new portraits finished: blush and shocked.

Sprites: You may have seen me posting about this, but Mr. Qi does not have a walk cycle in the vanilla game, so I had to make custom animations for him. I've also changed his color scheme to better match his sprites.

Besides that, I've also made a walk cycle for the Bouncer, who will show up in at least one cutscene, maybe two.

look at him go!

Maps: I'm really excited to announce that I've recruited someone to help with maps! Their name is wovensong, and they're currently working on the Casino VIP Room, which features in the 10 heart cutscene. They're helping with both the sprites and .tmx files, which is a huge help.

Misc sprites: none yet

Implementation

I have a functional version of Mr. Qi that can be befriended in my files now. He doesn't have a ton of dialogue in game yet, but you can give him stuff, raise his friendship, and trigger some placeholder heart events. But getting to that point has been kind of a hassle, in ways that the average modder doesn't have to deal with!

You see... the vanilla "Mister Qi" has a space in his internal name. If you know anything about coding, this should be setting off alarm bells.

Here's an example of where that's an issue: say you want to trigger a cutscene at two hearts with an NPC. You'd write something like:

f Jodi 500

which the game reads as "trigger this cutscene when you have 500 amount of friendship with the NPC named Jodi"

But if you were to write:

f Mister Qi 500

the game would go "you want me to trigger this cutscene when you have Qi amount of friendship with the NPC named Mister?? WTF?" and then SMAPI throws you a big red error and the cutscene would never trigger. Yippee!

It took me... a while to figure out how to get around this. Luckily the 1.6 update now allows for parsing for quotes in certain scenarios, so what actually works is:

f \"Mister Qi\" 500

So I'm glad that I started this mod now instead of pre-1.6!

However, it's definitely possible that the space in the internal name will cause issues down the line, so I have some (rough) code for what to do in that scenario. This involves hiding the vanilla Mister Qi, and adding a new, identical NPC with an internal name that doesn't have a space. Other mods, such as Morris Redeemed and some NPCs like Marlon and Gunther in SVE, do this as well.

And, if you're thinking that I could just change the internal name itself: maybe?? But probably not. There's some hardcoded stuff surrounding Mister Qi, and I worry about breaking it. Additionally, if any future official Stardew updates added new content revolving around Mister Qi, there's a risk that the mod would break in more serious ways.

Final Notes

Overall, I feel like I'm making pretty good progress! There's still a lot to get done, but I'm proud of the work I've done so far. Thanks for reading!

[otomemer]

TKDB NSFW Alphabet - Rui Mizuki

Note: The Haku NSFW Alphabet was received quite well. Thank you so much for the lovely comments (and tags because I saw all the wonderful things y'all said there too)

As promised, I'll be continuing this series. Though probably quite slowly since I'm busy with work and other irl stuff.

Also, for this one, let's just all assume that all the stuff happening here is right after Rui finally breaks his curse :)

Minors don't interact!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's a really great fella with a great personality. It doesn't end when you two are done having sex. He'll shower you with kisses, massage all your sore spots lovingly while asking you if you had fun or are you hurting somewhere. He'll happily clean you up and get you everything you need such as food and snacks before he gets cozy and cuddles with you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

It's canon that Rui takes pride in his looks. I think he's mentioned it jokingly in the homescreen lines that it's his only redeeming feature (I disagree because it's only ONE of his many great features, but I'm just biased). Rui is handsome and he knows it. He knows he can charm people easily, but none of that would really matter if he couldn't charm you.

On his partner.. Rui can be a bit greedy. He just doesn't like one body part of yours. He loves your neck, shoulders, chest and breasts. He would litter them with his marks, branding you as his. He'd admire his works after and the blooming red-purple love marks will only make him want you more.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Rui likes doing it raw so he'd also most likely enjoy cumming inside of his partner. If you're not using any protection, and didn't want him to cum inside of you, he'd just quickly pull out. He's already mastered the art of pulling out lol

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I think he sorta fantasizes about having sex while both of you are inebriated or under the influence of some kind of aphrodisiac where the two of you can barely think of anything else other than fucking each other until you pass out.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Pre-curse, he's probably had plenty of experience. Though he might need a few refresher and re-familiarization once he's freed from that curse and is allowed to have sex again.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Definitely missionary and cowgirl. He just likes seeing the expressions you make while he's making you feel good. He gets filled with so much love when he sees you working hard on top of him, riding him until you both come.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Cracks a joke or two, or lets out flirty remarks which definitely gets a reaction out of you. Though if the sex is more serious, he wouldn't even think about it because he'll be too busy fucking you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

NGL I think Rui is one of the few TKDB men who shaves it all down there lol. He's really smooth and clean down there (you'd just want to suck his dick every time)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's definitely very romantic. I just think a lot about how much he missed being so close and being able to touch anyone without the risk of killing them due to his curse. Now that he's freed, and he has you, he's going to show you just how much he wants you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

The moment he's freed from his curse (and you become his partner), he would never masturbate again. He's grown tired of masturbating as it's the only thing he could ever do over those years when he was cursed and restricted from touching people. Whenever he'd feel horny, he'd just come visit you (or make you visit him) and fuck you to relieve his need.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's got a praise kink. Tell him he's done really good with work today, or that he looked really handsome with his fresh haircut and you'd end up in bed again.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He likes having sex in the intimacy of your rooms, but he also likes to do it in his bar.. on the counter, specifically.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Lace lingerie paired with sexy stockings and garter belt and a pair of heels. And also a little sip of some alcoholic drink before you get started with your evening together.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Sharing. Ed probably teased him into sharing you with him a few times, but he's always rejected the idea. He gets a little jealous with the idea of having you look at other men other than himself, especially when it's about sex. He's not about to let another touch and pleasure you for as long as he is alive.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He's missed getting blowjobs so he tends to be a little greedy with receiving at times? Though, he lives to see and hear your reactions when he's making you feel good so he enjoys giving you head just as much as he receives them from you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It's usually more sensual and slow with Rui. He always wants to show you that he worships you and the ground you walk on. Expect lots of kisses being littered all over your body, his hand caressing your skin, and sensually thrusting his hips onto you as he expresses how much he missed feeling someone this close and how thankful he is that it's you he's sharing this intimate moment now with him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He's always game to have sex whenever you want to so it's definitely happened a few times. Your usual quickie location is his bar.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's happy to experiment always. He felt like it's been so long so he needs to have you suggest things so he can look them up and decide if he wants to do such new things with you. He's probably gonna find out about things he'd want to try too but, your comfort always comes first. If you don't want to do it, then it's definitely not gonna happen.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can do about 2.. probably more if you just let him take a break. That is, if you'd even still think about continuing once he gets to cuddle with you and begins to whisper romantic stuff to you. I feel like the cuddles will be so good, they're gonna be so effective in lulling you to sleep after you have sex.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He probably owned a few since we all know he can't touch people when he's cursed. But he's still a man with needs, so he has to find creative ways to relieve himself.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Not really much of a tease in the bedroom. When he's busy making you feel good, that's all he's pretty much thinking about. He's really down bad for you that he wouldn't dare remove his focus on you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Quite loud, if I'm honest. If he's feeling good, he's always happy to let his partner know. Though he can hold his noises if you happen to be doing it in the Obscuary house because Lyca and Ed will definitely hear (they still hear you going at it even when you keep your voices down).

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He has this little game he plays in his head where he tries to guess what kind of underwear you're wearing. "Is it the black lace set I got her a week ago? or maybe the pink one she wore for me on the night of my birthday?"

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Quite long with an average girth. As I've said in H, he keeps himself hairless down there. His tip is extra sensitive.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

HIGH. Look, the man was deprived of physical contact for years. Once he's allowed to touch people again, he would want sex almost every day to make up for lost time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He gets really sleepy but he will always make sure that your needs are taken off first. Also, he likes to shower you with praises and cuddle you until you fall asleep.

[theshipsong]

basil hawkins' cartomancy continued: "probability"

prompted by convo with @shzdoffy <3, part one here

knowing that this is more work than oda put in, here's what i've worked out as a possible way to use an enormous tarot spread for hawkins' probability readings. to be clear, i think this is total bullshit, moreso than tarot itself. the most any serious tarot reader would do is pose a question, draw a single card, and take that as a "yes," "no," "likely," "unlikely," what have you based on the gist of the card's meaning. however, i need this model for myself as i write the kawkins prequel fic, where we will argue about it

the spread

i like that oda didn't entertain for one second that hawkins would place his cards horizontally. firstly, it doesn't make for nice manga panels and practically requires a flat surface. secondly, hawkins' spreads seem to have at minimum eight cards, which is enormous. more to interpret if you're doing a classic 10-card spread like the celtic cross.

appropriately, i'm using my pip deck, the golden visconti-sforza where the minor arcana resemble playing cards instead of the classic smith illustrations. i don't read reversals and shuffle my cards so they don't happen, but this is not my daily deck, so i'll make it hawkins' and allow reversals (jesus christ we're down bad). what i drew with the question, "what's the probability i will finish my hawkins horoscope post this week?":

i laid this out counter clockwise like a birth chart but you could do this in a line or rows it does not matter

3 of coins, reversed

the hanged man (xii), reversed

judgment (xx), reversed

7 of coins

the devil (xv), reversed

the chariot (vii), reversed

ace of wands, reversed

the emperor (iv), reversed

justice (viii)^, reversed

two of cups

^ the major arcana have different numbering in different traditions. viii is strength in the waite-smith.

method 1: pure arithmetic (meaning-neutral)

draw 10 cards. your starting value is 50% for 1:1 odds.

for the minor arcana, add or subtract from 1-14 as matches their orientation.

for the major arcana, add or subtract from 0-21 as appropriate.

as you can see, none of this really has anything to do with tarot, so you could do something similar with a 52-card playing deck. this gets us the simple arithmetic of

50 - 3 - 12 - 20 + 7 - 15 - 7 - 1 - 4 - 8 + 2 = -11 (????)

-11 percent! (yikes! and probability can't be negative!!)

here's what i don't like about this option: it's simplistic, and most cards have more nuance. they're not black and white, positive or negative (hence why i hate reversals). allowing reversals closes you to the possibilities of roses to thorns, you know?

method 2: with interpretation

i agree with most of the above except for two cards: the devil and the emperor.

3 of coins reversed: upright, this is card about community and collaboration and tbh mutual aid; more of an alliance or coalition than cozy friendship. reversed, it's about a lack of cooperation. so i stand by -3.

the hanged man reversed: I LIKE THE HANGED MAN. i think it's a neutral to positive card. he hangs by his foot, not his neck. he is j chilling, contemplating, he's chosen to be there as an act of sacrifice. in one piece, the hanged man is luffy smiling on the gallows in loguetown, or the g-5 showing a thumbs up as they save tashigi, or any of the times zoro or sanji fall back to defend the rear as the other straw hats run ahead. reversed? that is not my friend. the hanged man reversed is just the doubt and fear that is surely running under the surface of all the aforementioned. can you tell i hate reversals? whatever. still -12.

judgment reversed: judgment is assessment. luffy in udon saying "not enough" or "still not right" when trying to learn ryou. reversed, it's stubbornness and a refusal to learn from your past or take advice, like hawkins ignoring drake's suggestion that he betray kaidou, or law and kid going after emperors despite knowing they needed each other to defeat big mom. i guess i stand by -20 for this too.

seven of coins upright: the classic imagery for the seven of coins is a guy sowing, hard work that will pay off later. +7 stands here too.

the devil reversed: NOW we're getting somewhere. firstly, i think the first thing hawkins would have thought upon seeing kaidou was he looks like the devil. secondly, the devil is one of few major arcana i struggle to see as double-edged. classic booklet interpretations frankly get finger-waggy and ableist by saying the devil signifies addiction, mental instability, violence, what have you, but it's way more about temptation and fear to me, giving in to fear with unhealthy copes and trapping yourself. it's hawkins losing to his animal fear of kaidou and big mom that he can't believe kid and killer don't feel or are able to ignore. reversed? reversed is kid and killer! this is positive! +15!

the chariot reversed: the chariot is about advancing forward despite fear, perhaps in a suicide charge. there's something about contradictions here that feels related to temperance. it's associated with mars, but also cancer, a sign where it's fallen (that i gave hawkins in his birth chart). reversed? man i don't know. i guess it's someone who can't square with those contradictions and just freezes. still a -7.

ace of wands reversed: i want to ignore this integer so bad. aces are my favorite cards, really, as the purest manifestation of their suit/element, but. whatever we'll stick to -1.

the emperor reversed: i don't know how we didn't see this card in the arc where two yonko fall. the emperor is stubborn and conservative and martial, tightly controlling his domain possibly through isolation. does this sound familiar? does this sound like, i don't know, sakoku? reversed, i think it must be the one piece myth of a benevolent, open-minded king, the sort that the straw hats go around restoring to the throne: nefertari cobra, riku, momonosuke. much like with the devil and much like sabo not really giving a fuck about cobra (based), i reject a subtraction. +4.

justice reversed. this is a loaded term in one piece and if justice came up in a reading done for any marine they would start crying. i think. i don't have much to say here though. still -8.

two of cups. a lovely card about balance. still +2.

as you can see, my opinions of the emperor and the devil are colored by my anti-imperialism and anti-monarchism, and my relationship to the concept of "sin" as a lapsed catholic who obviously got into tarot and astrology as a rebellion.

our end result is:

50 - 3 - 12 - 20 + 7 + 15 - 7 - 1 + 4 - 8 + 2 = 27

27 percent?

i'm no math whiz, but i'm sure it's still possible to get a negative value in the second method. here's a third one for shits and gigs:

method 3: that's too many majors

draw 10 cards. your starting value is 50% for 1:1 odds.

for the minor arcana, add or subtract from 1-14 as matches their orientation.

for the major arcana, multiply by 2 if upright; divide by 2 if reversed.

this is also stupid as hell, to be clear, because it means we have to think about PEMDAS. jesus christ. i do not want to try because this spread is 70% majors. no!! and i think this would result in non-integers

a conclusion

this is absolute nonsense and shenanigans and i'm even more pissed that i tried it

[alwaysmicado]

Are you happy now?

3k words | 18+ NSFW | Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings: a little angst, light smut (18+ MDNI, oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, voyeurism), age gap (unspecified), drug use, Dieter being a menace Summary: You unknowingly cockblock Dieter at a party before he watches you having sex. It's a whole thing. A/N: Well, well, well... if it isn't the consequences of Dieter's own actions. Takes place after the breakup, but before he shows up at your apartment in It's always been you. @Anon: I hope this fulfills your wish for toxicity... Thanks for reading! 🖤

Thinking of you… I wish you were here with me 

The loud buzz of your phone startles you. You immediately take it out of your purse to look at the message. Of course it’s from Dieter. He’s been texting and calling you every single day since you broke up. It's always something along the lines of I miss you, please talk to me, let me make it up to you, blah, blah, blah.

He didn't care about your feelings when he was fucking someone else a few weeks ago, did he? So why is he pretending to care now?

You hate his texts. You hate that he's not leaving you alone, continuing to rub salt into the gaping wound in your heart with every message he sends you.

Most of all though, you hate how badly you want to give in. You’re aching for his touch and the beautiful lies he’d whisper in your ear. He’d change for you, do it right this time. You could be so happy…

“You okay, babe?” You look up at Ben and see the concern in his blue eyes. You put your phone back in your purse and nod quickly. “Yeah, all good. I'm just not a big fan of parties, but I'm really glad you came with me,” you give him a forced smile to stop him from asking any more questions about your well-being. You're tired of lying.

He puts his arm around your waist and kisses your temple. “I'm happy you asked me and I'm sure we're gonna have a good time. We always do, don't we,” he murmurs in your ear and slides his hand along your dress to playfully grab your ass. You smirk and hum in agreement. 

It's true, being with Ben is always easy and fun. You've made it clear from the beginning that you're not interested in anything remotely serious and he doesn't seem to mind. You usually fuck, order food, get high and sometimes fall asleep together. He’s nice to you, makes you feel wanted and respects your boundaries.

You really wish you didn't think of Dieter every time Ben touches you. You know it's unfair and all kinds of fucked up, but so is your whole life right now...

And it's not even like Ben is doing anything wrong, far from it. He’s actually matching your kinkiness quite nicely. Eating you out on his desk at work, fingering you under the table at the little Italian place you guys like to eat at, fucking your mouth while he’s on a Zoom call with your boss, the list goes on. The problem isn't Ben.

It's you and your stupid heart. You gave it to Dieter and even though that was arguably the dumbest decision you’ve ever made, you can’t take it back.

Fuck, you’re pathetic.

“I need a drink,” you sigh. And with that you two make your way to the bar. 

The party is in full swing with music pulsating through the air and colorful lights dancing on the walls. Your eyes scan the room filled with partygoers happily chatting, flirting and drinking. You quickly find Katie, your friend and hostess of the party. She's a fairly prominent agent here in LA and none other than the person who introduced you and Dieter over a year ago - in this house. At a party. 

You remember going out on the balcony for some fresh air, since people snorting coke left and right, smoking their joints and starting to get handsy with each other was making you woozy. Completely mesmerized by the twinkling lights of the city, you didn't hear the glass door slide open. “Hey beautiful,” Dieter greeted, leaning on the railing next to you. “Also had enough of the circus downstairs?” “Yeah,” you nodded. “Can I stay here with you for a bit?” He turned to face you, his beautiful dark eyes searching yours. You never stood a chance. 

Katie comes up to you to introduce herself to Ben and catch up with you briefly before she is being dragged away by a nervous looking young man in a sharp suit. “My new client,” she whispers, “he’s like a puppy. Can’t be alone for more than two minutes.” She rolls her eyes dramatically and you laugh. “Actors are weird, man,” Ben chuckles and shakes his head. You chug the rest of your drink and snort.

You have no idea. 

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Dieter looks at his phone and furrows his brow. Left on read, as always. At least you still look at his messages, he supposes. Probably just need a bit more time to cool off. He sighs and puts the phone back into his pocket. 

He’s so fucking bored with the conversation he’s finding himself in right now. Sitting in the lounge area with a bunch of people he vaguely knows, his third glass of whiskey in hand, he just nods absentmindedly at whatever his co-star is babbling about. Something about her husband fucking the nanny. Dieter couldn’t care less, he’s at Katie’s party only out of obligation to his own agent. Good for his image and promo of his new movie, she said. 

You’re going to show up, be polite and keep your nose clean. Oh and Dieter, try not to blow anyone’s husband this time, okay? 

Being good is absolutely draining and he’s been trying so hard since you left. Not drinking enough to black out, doing coke on the weekends only, fucking his fist exclusively, giving you the space you need. Of course he begged Katie to tell him where you live as soon as he realized you weren’t coming back home, but he’s kept his distance so far. Fighting the urge to be close to you with every fiber of his being. He really is trying to be better for you.

But that’s not enough tonight. 

Not when the perky brunette next to him keeps throwing herself at him so blatantly. Batting her eyelashes, pushing her chest out so her tits almost spill out of her dress, caressing Dieter’s thigh, purring into his ear what a big fan she is…

“I’d let you do anything to me, you know,” she coos while moving her hand closer to his crotch, her warm breath on his neck making him whimper. “You could snort coke off my pussy and then fuck my ass, baby,” she whispers while trailing soft kisses down his neck. Dieter’s cock twitches at the thought. He closes his eyes and feels a comfortable buzz, enjoying the sensation of her soft lips on his neck and her hand near his balls.

“C’mere, pretty girl,” Dieter murmurs before pulling her close and capturing her lips with his. He moans into her warm mouth and bucks his hips to chase her touch. “Fuck baby, you’re killing me,” he groans, completely lost in the haze of the alcohol, the happy pills he sprinkled in earlier and the girl’s hand now rubbing his cock over his pants. “Can’t wait anymore. Let’s go, c’mon,” he pants breathlessly, getting up and making his way through the crowd .

He leads the girl upstairs and out onto the dimly lit wraparound balcony. Fucking outside always does it for him - something about feeling free and uninhibited.

“You wanna be bad, angel? Want a movie star to fuck you, huh?” Dieter presses her against the corner wall with his body, pushing his thigh between her legs, tilting her chin up to look into her eyes. Her pupils are blown and her mouth is slightly open when she nods. He grabs her chin a bit tighter, slowly tracing her soft lips with his thumb. “Say it, baby. Tell me you want my cock.” She looks at him with bedroom eyes, moving her head to suck on his thumb, slowly circling it with her tongue. Dieter hisses at the feeling of her warm wet mouth, his thigh pressing into her core.

“I want your cock so bad, Dieter, please I need it so much,” she whines and starts fumbling with his belt. “Fuck yeah, you do,” he murmurs, pulling his pants down just enough to free his hard cock. She moans at the sight and Dieter chuckles, always very amused at the reactions his dick gets.

It’s a fucking work of art, so he’s not surprised. 

“You wanna blow me, hm?” he asks while slowly stroking his length. “Yeah, Dieter, anything you want,” she coos. “Alright, baby, but don't say I didn't warn you. I ain't gonna be gentle. Now, be good and get on your knees for me.” She immediately lowers herself onto the floor, making sure to keep eye contact while he's cupping the back of her head and stroking her hair. “Good girl,” he purrs, “now get started, baby.” 

He doesn’t have to tell her twice, she’s so eager to please him. Blowing Dieter Bravo on a balcony at a Hollywood party? Fuck yeah. This is the closest she’s ever gotten to taste fame - literally. 

“Fuck baby, just like that,” Dieter groans, rocking his hips back and forth steadily, spurred on by the loud slurping and gagging sounds coming from the girl’s pretty mouth. The night is quiet around them, the muffled sounds of music and laughter coming from the party downstairs the only other thing Dieter hears when he closes his eyes. 

Until it isn’t. He hears a sliding door open around the corner, followed by the clicking sound of high heels.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“Can’t believe the prettiest girl at the party wants to be alone with me,” Ben quips, showing you his irresistible smile. “Oh, you’re underestimating your allure, Mr Jones,” you murmur into his ear, whimpering at the feeling of his fingertips trailing down your back. “Follow me,” you whisper, leading him upstairs. “I'll be with you in a sec, babe,” Ben says, pressing a kiss to your cheek and then heading for the bathroom.

You need fresh air to clear your head a bit, the vodka tonics you’ve downed starting to make your head spin - and you’re itching for Ben to finally bend you over the railing and fill you up. He’s been teasing you all night, loving nothing more than to see you squirm under his touch and to hear those delicious little noises you make when you can’t take the anticipation anymore. 

The glass door slides open and you step out into the night. It’s absolutely stunning - pleasantly cool and wonderfully quiet. You walk up to the railing, take a deep breath and enjoy the view over LA.

The last few weeks have taken a toll on your physical and mental health. You’ve basically been wallowing in your own sadness save for the time you’ve spent with Ben - and even that isn’t healthy. You know you guys have an expiration date, so you’re making a conscious decision to live in the moment right now. You just need to stop wallowing and start allowing yourself to be happy again. That's it. That's all you need to do. The night is yours.

When did you start crying?

You quickly wipe your cheeks when you feel Ben’s body pressing against yours from behind, putting his hands next to yours on the railing, softly kissing your neck. “Hi,” he murmurs into your ear. “Hi,” you answer softly,  turning to pull him into a passionate kiss. 

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Dieter’s jaw drops when he sees you. You’re an absolute vision. Still the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. How did he ever get so lucky?

You’re standing by the railing, the black satin dress you’re wearing hugging your curves perfectly, your gorgeous hair slightly blowing in the summer breeze.

Dieter’s just watching you for a few seconds, enchanted, forgetting everything around him. There's only you.

When you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, he can see the single tear running down your cheek, illuminated by the lights coming from the city. He winces at the sight, instinctively wanting to embrace you and tell you that everything is going to be alright. I'll take care of you.

The girl with Dieter’s cock in her mouth taps his thigh, yanking him back to reality. He looks down at her in shock, the realization of what’s currently happening setting in.

You’re fucking here. On the same balcony he’s currently getting a blowjob a few feet away from you. What kind of fucked up karma coincidence is this?

Jesus fucking Christ. 

"What's wrong baby, I always thought you liked an audience?" the girl whispers, looking up at Dieter with big innocent eyes and a provocative smirk that doesn't match.

He immediately pulls her up by her arms and shoves her against the wall. "Shut the fuck up," he hisses, moving his face so close to hers she can feel his breath. He grips her chin roughly with his hand and tilts her head so she is forced to meet his gaze. His eyes are black. "You don't make a fucking sound and go back inside. Now."

The girl is surprised by his sudden change of demeanor, but not scared. She's been with enough assholes like him. Men who take what they want and then throw you away when they've had their fill. She just nods at Dieter and makes her way back inside quietly. She'll have another drink and then get an Uber home to disinfect her scraped knees. Why are people so cruel with one another?

Dieter is leaning against the wall, eyes closed, taking deep breaths as quietly as possible. When he feels like his brain is receiving enough oxygen again, he thinks about what to do now. Should he just walk up to you? He doesn't want to spook you, but this right here seems like a chance he shouldn't pass up. He misses you so fucking much.

His thought process is interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the floor. Dieter turns his head and his heart drops. He sees a guy approaching you. You don't flinch when he puts his face close to yours - you must know him, Dieter thinks - and then you turn around to kiss him.

Fuck.

Dieter is paralyzed. He should turn around, go inside and process the information that you've moved on. That you're fucking someone else on the balcony where he kissed you for the first time. But he can't. He just stands there, frozen, watching you arch your back and moan at someone else's touch.

You're so beautiful when you let yourself fall.

Dieter reaches into his pocket and retrieves the coke baggie. He pours a bump onto his hand and snorts it. He repeats the process until there's nothing left. His nose is burning, his head is spinning and he feels like his heart is going to explode any second. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is how he dies.

He can't look away.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“Fuck, baby, I need you so bad,” Ben pants, as one of his hands holds the back of your neck and the other swiftly hikes your dress up. “You want me to fuck you out here, hm? Where anyone could see you?” You open his pants and free his hard cock. “That's it, baby, fuck,” he groans when you begin to stroke him. “Turn around for me, c'mon, hold on to the railing.”

Ben immediately sets a punishing pace, hitting your G-spot over and over again. You're so wound up that it only takes you a few of his strokes to reach your peak. Ben can feel it. “Make yourself come on my cock, baby. Want to feel you.” You only need to circle your clit a few times with your fingers before your orgasm hits you, making you scream out in pleasure.

“Fuck me, you're such a good fucking girl,” Ben growls, his thrusts becoming sloppier. “Oh fuck, I'm so close babe, tell me where.” ”Come inside me, Ben. Please, please please, want to feel your cum deep inside me,”you whine desperately. That does it for him. He comes inside you with a strangled moan, his upper body immediately collapsing onto yours.

“Jesus, babe,” Ben murmurs, kissing your neck. “You're perfect, you know that?” He pulls out of you and tucks himself back into his pants. You turn around to face him and smooth out your dress. “I wish you could see it, you know,” he says, his tone sincere. You caress his cheek and press a soft kiss to his lips. “Thank you, but I'm definitely not,” you shake your head. Why would he even think that?

Ben looks at you fondly. He knows you well enough by now to see that your self-esteem is in the gutter - a fact he can't wrap his head around. But he also knows that now is not the right time to get into it. Instead he wraps his arms around you and gently strokes your hair.

“You wanna go home?" he asks softly, “it's been a long night." You nod and let him lead you back inside.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Dieter leans against the railing, vision blurry, his phone in hand. He watches you and Ben walking out of the house and stopping to say goodbye to Katie.

He presses send and keeps his eyes on you.

Your phone buzzes and you immediately take it out of your purse to look at yet another message from Dieter. You furrow your brow.

I hope you're happy, babe

You can feel tears starting to pool in your eyes. Why is he doing this to you? Is this fun for him?

He sees you type something and his heart starts to flutter. You shake your head and delete the message, quickly putting your phone back into your purse.

Dieter smiles. He'll wait for you.

Phew, this was a lot! So yeah, Dieter knows about Ben lol 👀 Anyone wanna know how he got his black eye in It's always been you?  I love hearing from you, so feel free to come talk to me about anything! 💕

[endereies]

FUCK IT - MATT STURNIOLO - PART 6

Spotify Playlist:

Pairing: Matt x Oc

Contains: Growing up with parents who make her feel isolated, what happens when she meets Matt. A person who introduces her to new people, new experiences and new feelings.

Requested?: no

Author's notes: I'm finally finished with school for the break so I should be updating a little quicker over the next 2 weeks.

Word Count: 3265

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

“Is this something we are meant to do?”

“Fuck it.”

“Okay, so, we submit this on Monday and we still have four scenes to analyse and then two exam questions to go through.” Matt mumbles as he places his back down next to me in the library and unsheathes a load of sheets, more are crumpled than ones that aren’t. The amount of them excelling the more meetings we had after school.

“We can get that done in a weekend, right?” My voice tainted with uncertainty. I had got to the library fifteen minutes before him so all my work was already displayed out in front of me with scribbles of different coloured pen one each of them.

“right.”

We were a little bit behind in our project since the majority of our meetups end in us just talking about random things or playing music with our home equipment. I would borrow Chris’s old guitars which was covered in a metallic red with black strings. The picks he bought matched perfectly dividing the red and black shades with lines of silver. Matt’s drumkit was similar to the school’s own designs yet on the base drum was the name ‘sturniolo’ in a faded midnight blue. Each drum fastened with the same blue wrapped around them. He had custom drum sticks too, fading from the original beige wood to a dyed neon-blue. The vibrancy capturing my attention every time, I bet he knew that to with the amount he’d smirk at me when he noticed me staring.

It's why we planned on staying in the library to finish the project, hopefully none of us get distracted. That’s if Matt stopped tapping his pen on the table.

“Matt.” My tone is stern as I frown still facing the pages of my book. He was too distracted in his ‘mini-concert’ that I grabbed his wrist firmly, which made his pen fall out his hand and onto the wooden desk below him.

He stammers a little as I glare at him and raise an eyebrow at him.

“The fuck did I do?”

“If you keep tapping that fucking pen on the desk, I will snap it in half.” I hold eye contact until I’m finished speaking and I let go of his wrist, watching his circulation fade back.

“And yet, you can do it all the time.” He smirks at me again and I retort by scoffing.

“When I’m in class and have nothing to do…you haven’t written anything for 10 minutes.”

“Normally by now we are playing music at our houses, this is a long ass day and this is only making it longer.” A sigh escapes my lips and I drop my pen, lean back for a moment and fold my arms loosely across my chest.

“Okay. If you work with me until six, I’ll buy you lunch all of next week.”

“Ain’t no way, you aren’t serious.”

“And you can get whatever you wish, no matter the cost, doesn’t even have to the food on campus.” I interject him by cutting him off and leaning closer over the table.

“Fine. Deal.” He holds out his hand in front of me and I look up at him with a blank expression.

“What are we, in 6th grade? I’m not shaking your hand.” I roll my eyes to him to just pick up my pen and start writing again.

“Damn, you’re no fun.”

“No…I just happened to hit puberty.” I click my tongue inside my mouth

I feel his glare on me before he continues to work on the papers in front of him. I take out my small white case and take out one of my headphones and pick up my phone to play some music in to them. I don’t bother checking what playlist I click on and immediately blast heavy dubstep into my ears, loud enough to make Matt pay attention to me again and giggle when I jump from the volume. I spam the volume control and turn it down rapidly until I can tolerate it. Matt immediately looks away from me, trying not to laugh when I hold my gaze on him for a few seconds.

-

“Is it nearly six, Alyia. My hand is fucking cramping up.” Matt whines for the fourth time in ten minutes.

“Like I said two minutes ago, no. Besides you have yet to finish of that question and it’s been nearly thirty minutes.”

“I don’t understand how you’ve been writing for that long without taking a break.”

“I want to get this finished; I don’t exactly want all this effort to go down the drain. I’ve stayed up too many nights for this.”

“Really…?” His voice filled with concern as his smirk and joke-filled demeanour faded quickly.

“What.”

“I would’ve done more of you asked me to…you didn’t have to stay up for any of it.” I interject him before he can continue

“Matt. I have more time than you, the project’s getting done. Does it really matter?” I look up to him, dropping my pen for the first time in a while.

“Of course it matters, you need sleep Alyia.”

“I also need this project done.” He sighs and rolls his eyes at me, returning the glares I’ve been giving him all night.

“Promise me you’ll relax after the project is due and let me finish off the last two questions.”

“You really like your promises, huh?” My page fills the silence as it crumples, getting caught on itself, making me purse my lips as I try to fix it before continuing to write.

“Alyia.” He grabs the pen out my hand and places it far from my reach and I narrow my eyes at him again. “I mean that, let me handle the rest of it and get some rest. Please.” I raise my eyebrow at him.

“I’ll sleep appropriately, fine, but I’m writing the last question. You can happily take the other one if you so desire.”

“Thank you. I’m not having your sleep decrease because you don’t want to ask for help.” His words make me raise my voice at him.

“What do you mean by that.”

“I don’t recall me stuttering. You have been sacrificing your sleep because you didn’t want to ask me to do a little more work.” He leans in to me, as if he is mocking me and I scoff.

“Not true.” My words mumble, subconsciously knowing he is right.

“Whatever, look it has gone six now, c’mon. We can work on this later on.” He shuffles papers together and stuffs them into his bag, lacking organisation which makes me stare at his back with a slightly shocked expression.

I follow his actions, however, and with a heavy sigh I put all my work in a pile, putting the sheets in between two books to keep them straight.

“You want to hang out later or something?” He slings his backpack over his shoulder and looks back at me.

“Hang out, me and you somewhere. I would recommend my place but Nick is there with Chris and Madi.”

“I know a place we could go if you want? I haven’t been there in a while so I don’t know how overgrown it is.”

“Wait wait. Did you say overgrown, what kind of fucking place is this.” Matt waits for me to catch-up to him and I walk slightly faster so he doesn’t have to wait so long.

“Amery Grove? There is a line of old houses at the back that people kind of forgot about, maybe like twenty years ago? I’m not sure.” Matt gaze falls to me as I start to ramble, simply listening to my words.

“Well, anyway, about two years ago a few of my friends and I decided to fix a few of them up during the summer. We didn’t decorate or anything but we cleaned old furniture and threw out what we didn’t need. While it wasn’t the prettiest, we hung out there a lot.”

“So, you just went to abandoned buildings and fixed them?” He keeps walking and opens doors in front of me as I keep talking. When he does, I quickly walk through them and turn to face Matt, proceeding to talk with my hands.

“Yeah, it was fun, even if our skills were mediocre, it made for good hangouts and a few parties.”

“You go to parties?” He gives me a side eye and I roll my eyes in response.

“Not as much anymore, I went when I had more friends to talk to and less schoolwork on my back. Maybe at some point…”

-

“Cmon you are slow” I drag out my words and groan as I get more excited, wanting to jump up and down to reduce the amount of energy but instead I shake my hands around.

“Jesus Alyia, I’m just putting our bags in here, I’m not carrying all of this across the Grove.” He arranges the bags in the back seats like some real-life game of Tetris. After another minute or so he finally shuts the car door and locks it.

“Okay I’m done, let’s go.” He puts his keys back by his belt and returns to my side.

“I haven’t been here in a while, so no promises on how clean it’ll be.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” He smiles at me briefly before focusing on walking through some reasonably tall grass.

The trail I normally use is more overgrown than what I used to walk through so as we walk, we use old trees to climb past different areas and our feet to stamp on brambles and stinging nettles. It is pitch-black outside by this point so we are using our phone’s flashlights to guide our way through the trail. Leaves hang down from nearby trees and I start to wish I brought my jacket with me.

I place my feet onto a tree stump and try to climb over a fallen branch, but when my weight switches feet, I slip on some moss and fall backwards from the stump. My phone drops from my hand and the flashlight goes into my eyes, making me close them. I place my hands back to support myself for when I hit the floor but I never do. Instead, a tight grip snakes around to the side my waist and upper back, slowly pushing my body back to stand straight.

“Woah woah, are you alright…” I open my eyes to see Matt looking down at me with concerned eyes. I can barely make it out since he dropped his phone and its flashlight instantly to catch me. His chain dangles above my face and once I stand up properly, he uses one of his hands to push his hair back, keeping the other on my waist.

“Uh huh…” I regain my focus and brush myself off and pick up our phones from the damp grass. “Thanks”

“Of course,” He takes his phone back, brushing off the debris, continuing to walk ahead of me and over the branch I just slipped on. “You need to be more careful, sweetheart.”

It’s that fucking nickname again.

-

“Here we are!” I run ahead of Matt and smile bright at the few houses on a quiet lit up street.

“Its still the same…” I smile to myself, remembering how I used to run around here.

“Yeah? I think it looks fucking awesome.” He circles around me looking at the few houses, clearly seeing a difference between the ones I fixed up and the ones I left.

“Really?”

“Really. Y’know…maybe one day we could fix one up?” I turn my head a little too quickly to face him, who was already smiling at me.

“You wanna? Like, for real?” He simply nods to me before walking off to look at one of the houses closest to us.

I run to catch up to him again and I grab his wrist to show him inside one of the houses. The inside walls occasionally spotted with carvings of names and dates, ripping through worn out wallpaper. Unfinished projects left abandoned, mostly within the kitchen. I pick up an old and now rusted hammer and spin it around in my hands, recalling the last use of it going towards a leg of an old chair that lay on its side next to it. A bittersweet smile covers my face the more I venture the house, with Matt always following right behind, dragging his fingers across old cabinets and cupboards.

“you guys did so much work in here…” He picks up old projects that remain unfinished and analyze them one by one, awe showing within his eyes. “Why did you ever stop this?”

“We stopped being as close I guess...nothing personal to one another, just different schools and points in our lives. I still have contact but no one really talks as much anymore.” I quiet my voice and sit down on one of the chairs and put down the hammer.

“None of us ever took that personally, we just drifted. Miss it all like hell though.”

Matt stays quiet for a moment, just looking at me with slight pity.

“That’s a shame, especially since nothing even happened that you could’ve changed.” The distance between us closes as I stand up again but I simply keep walking towards the bottom of the stairs before I slowly walk up them.

Matt pov:

I follow her up the stairs, stepping where she did in case any areas are weak enough to break, but once I put that focus into the decor upstairs, I stand still. The upstairs was so much nicer, covered in intact wallpaper and furniture that made it seem like someone actually lived there. More carvings were decorating the walls and less tools were on the floors. I take in more of what’s around me, admiring the hard work.

Hearing the stories about her old friends make me smile but also makes me wonder why she is more closed off to people now.

We start to wonder around the different areas that she decorated and I admire the craftsmanship and efforts they put in to it.

“We can chill up here if you want?” Alyia points to a balcony that is guarded by a wooden fence, a few old chairs are stacked up and leant against the glass door and I walk through.

“Can I ask why you took me here, not that I hate it or anything. Just…if this place reminds you of your friends, why bring me here.” Alyia’s face falters slightly and I feel bad for bringing them up.

“This place has many memories but I feel stuck whenever I come here, and I love this place. I don’t want to come back here and feel self-pity when I see those carvings on the walls.”

“I meant it by the way.”

“Meant what Matt?” I look up at her before looking over the edge and down onto the weakly lit street.

“Fixing a place up with you, could be fun.” I smile at her before looking back over the edge and laying my arms on the wooden fence, trying not to apply a lot of weight onto it.

“I have no idea if any of the lighting still works properly, a few faulty lights here and there but nothing major enough to set anything up properl-“

“So? We have already walked through here in the dark easily enough, besides we don’t have to come here only at night.”

I turn back to look inside the house but my vision is slightly impaired from looking at the street lights too long. I change my point of view and glance down to my phone to check the time.

9:24pm

“Shit, it’s kind of late, do you parents want you back at a certain time?” I message Chris and Nick an apology after seeing the copious number of texts and missed calls.

“Uhm no, I can be back whenever” She trails off and I remember the phone call she had at my place.

“Oh…is she not home again?” I receive a small nod in return.

“You can stay over if you want to?”

“No, it’s okay I have things to do anyway…” She avoids eye-contact with me but I try not to question anything

“Alright then, should we head back, I’m being attacked by Nick so much” I see her smile as I finish speaking and just stands up and starts to walk back to the stairs.

-

“Just here, okay?” I turn the wheel and look through my window for any parking on the edge of the road.

“Yeah, this is perfect, thanks again” She thanks me for the millionth time tonight.

“Kid, I’ve already said it’s okay to drive you places.” I finish parking which makes the car tilt slightly as it reaches over the curb.

“Goodnight Matt.”

“Yeah, goodnight.”

The drive back to my place was quite bleak, even when I turned aux on, none of the songs fit the mood I was in. Whatever that mood was. I just focused on the road ahead and the way the lights shone through my windshield and lit up areas in my car like a mini disco. I sigh when I hit another red light and pull the cable from my phone and I resort to the radio music. It immediately blares and I turn it down quickly to a volume quiet enough for some background audio.

I should hate you – Gracie Abrams

It was already half way through the song but I let it play none-the-less, letting the calm guitar fill the car. The quiet and soft vocals relaxed me and I was able to take a deep breath that didn’t result from frustration.

I notice the song fading out just as I pull into the road that I live on so I turn the radio off completely as to not ruin my mood, but as soon as I step inside it gets dampened anyway.

“Oh my God, Matt. Where were you!” I drop my keys into a small bowl and I instantly get bombarded by Nick’s concerned voice.

“Out.”

“Out? Is that all you have to say. You said you were revising the project until six and then you would be home. It is nearly half ten and this is the first we have heard from you!” he starts to exclaim and honestly, I can’t blame him for the way he is acting

“I went somewhere with Alyia…that’s all. I guess we lost track of time.” I mumble quietly, knowing I’m in the wrong but I’m not going to apologize for having a good time.

“I’m not saying you can’t hang out with people, just let us know, okay? It could be three am for all I care but as long as I have some form of communication. You had us worried…” Nick takes a deep breath and looks down to the floor.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve said something…Where is Chris?” I try and change the subject to lessen the amount I get yelled at.

“He’s asleep upstairs, he wanted to wait for you but he was exhausted after hockey so I refused to let him.”

I look up to Nick and give him a tight-lipped smile, feeling guilt twinge inside briefly.

“You better go have a shower or something, you’re covered in dirt, Matt.”

“Yeah, I will…sorry again.” Nick simply hugs me tight.

“It’s alright, just don’t let me stay up again.” He punches my arm lightly and we smile at each other.

© ENDEREIES 2024

@melliflws @axolotllover225 @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @sturniolosmind @worldlxvlys @patscorner @breeloveschris @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07

[blackdigitalrose]

Thurs - TROPICAL-ROUGE! PRETTY CURE -EP 7 - 9

I'm not looking forward to this one, it's the wacky designs, bright colours... just the feeling that this series is going to be goofy over serious but perhaps looks can be deceiving and this series will have more layers to it?

EP 7

An underwater fridge...I have so many questions on how the heck that would even work and then to store biscuits in? Can't do bread but cookies are fine (っ- ‸ - ς) A bit late to the party but I take it, Kururun is supposed to be the actual fairy mascot of this series?

She's a walking library motivational.

Good grief, aren't these two a perfect match for each other.

This Aqua Pot is just like the Heart Cure watch, being a jack of all trades like item, Kururun even moved into it at the end.

EP 8

Asuka getting all the layers and mysteries. That is a good line though! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

So... at what point do they or Asuka decide not to be President and that it should have been Manatsu all along? And some how the others are all ok with Laura's behaviour/attitude? The spite is still there though for Asuka and Laura, question is how long for?

There's four of them, how did none of them think to hold down her tail? There's still time for it to be a thing. Stopping mid-battle for a mini lunch break because they never had a chance before; slotted in a lot better than how they did in Delicious Party.

EP 9

The amount of rando's this school gets, you'd think they'd consider some security... (yes, I know that's the plot device actress for the ep)

As you so conveniently do...

Now that's pointless, (although understandable at that age, all you want to do is fit in and not be seen as weird) but the reality, people will like or dislike you and if they dislike you, they will find a list of ways to do so, regardless of what you do or like.

That's one heck of a makeover, makes her look older to.

They did it again...are they going to do this every ep when they transform and before they announce the team name? o.O? It was Eat well! Sleep well! in the last ep. And are these colours suppose to be representing something or just teaching the kids colours?

Typical Precure villain behaviour but unusual for them to announce it the ep before and not just have it show it up, name and all in its own debut ep, it makes it feel like they are going to be something special this way. (But I doubt that'll be the case.)

I would say Asuka seems to be treated the best, Minori seems all but forgotten about unless they need a big brain moment, Sanyo is there with a mystery on how her shield even blocks anything as a massive X and tends to do little else and Manatsu has fallen into the annoying trap hole but has been declared so much earlier then usual; the we've just been dragged along and follow Manatsu's lead ¬.¬ (it is such an annoying and infuriating trope)

[fragileizy]

family and i just played a game that took about thirty minutes.

here's the deal: my dad and i really want to get into snorkeling. my dad used to have a scuba license way back in the day but he hasn't been able to go scuba-ing since we moved to the states, which at this point is a very long time ago. he misses scuba-ing. but my mom would rather kill me than let me attempt to get a scuba license, and would rather kill him than allow him to regain his scuba license, because she's afraid that we will both drown, so that whole world is completely off limits to us (for now.) so we're going to snorkel instead. fun. soft. easy. a kit on amazon costs $35 a pop, which is pretty cheap comparatively. it's a first-time hobby, so we don't need anything fancy, and the kit comes with two flippers (duck feet), one snorkel tube, and one mask each.

my dad buys two, one for me and one for him. one size small (for me) because i have small feet, one size medium (for him) because he is a grown man.

my dad, for whatever reason, misclicks and orders two orders of the exact same thing.

four packages arrive at our house a few days later. he's aware that he needs to return two of these packages because we don't need four snorkel gears.

now, the game begins: how do you ensure that you open one small and one medium, without having to unnecessarily open an extra bag?

my dad takes a chance, and opens one at random: a small, for me, leaving three packages behind. 66.6% chance of getting a medium when he opens another package, a 33.3% of getting another small. but this family has a curse. 33.3% of getting something wrong always indicates that he has a 100% chance of getting it wrong. it's just always like this. (i unfortunately used all of our luck at a hotel resort bingo in the summer 2009, where i proceeded to win every single bingo game that night for four hours straight. i was then banned from participating in that hotel's bingo night ever again, as they were convinced— somehow, someway— that an 11 year old Child was cheating. at bingo.)

this is our predicament.

three giant plastic bags line our dining table. in one corner, a seniored more-salt-than-pepper-haired man, chewing on a cuticle (bad habit of his), looking over his glasses, attempting to figure out which one to open. in the other corner, me, tapping my nails on the wooden table (bad habit of mine, always stimming, annoying everyone around me with how much noise i make), trying to decipher the hieroglyphics both usps and amazon stamp across the surface of each package.

the game, of course, is not this serious; amazon won't kill us if we try to return a package that we've resealed. but it's a game. and my dad likes probability. he's always said he'd love to blackjack and poker if it wasn't so upsetting that you actually have to lose money in the process. i like probability, too, and why not make something as mundane as easy into something so difficult?

my dad and i, on opposite corners of the dining table.

"shouldn't each package have a transit ID?" i ask. "look at the order on amazon and we can match the number to the serial code."

an idea. a good one. my dad is rushing for his phone. it's under my mother's account on amazon; she pulls up the receipt. a number. a path. we grab the bags and search for this tracking number. there are no less than four individual serial codes on each tag, all in an attempt to dissuade us.

none of them match any of the tracking IDs. i'm grateful, even for a moment, to not be a bar-scanner machine at the amazon facility. i would be fired immediately.

my mom looks a little unimpressed with our lack of motion. it's been thirteen minutes. she's given up on trying to convince us to just open it, because she's seen the sparkle of good fun shining in our eyes. "theoretically, your dad's kit should be heavier because his flippers should be a size bigger so there's more plastic. we should go get the bathroom scale."

"it would, yeah. but the difference wouldn't be in kilograms," my dad tells her. "it would be grams. the bathroom scale isn't precise enough."

"the kitchen scale is in grams," i offer.

"the kitchen scale is too small for this," he counters. "we can't weigh these."

so, how do we win?

the solution, in theory, is simple: ask someone who wasn't born into the family name to open the second bag, meaning that the family curse isn't used to open it.

we both turn to my mom. pleading. asking for help. a family curse is one you can't break just because it's inconvenient, after all.

my mom looks. the packages are identical. she stares. the bags do not move, and offer no solace. she picks up the unwrapped kit that we already know is mine, and tests the weight in her hands. she moves to the next, scrutinizing, in the same way i've always seen her calculate something imaginary to me while she weighs her options on potatoes and cherry-tomatoes at the grocery store.

then, she settles: "this one weighs more."

we scramble to tear the plastic off, a pack of wolves descending on prey, something akin to the fervor of a delicious black-friday sale picked apart for scraps. the plastic bag is ripped, out the kit goes, and we search the surface for the size number on the front of the nylon mesh that incases the flippers, horrified for a brief moment that we might be wrong. our fingers trace the surface, fingertips against the plastic cover as if searching for braille.

medium, the bag states. bold letters, made tiny along the surface, but clear enough to read.

my mom has gotten it right.

all is right in the world. my father and i can sleep easy. it is time for rest. and to return the other two back to amazon and make sure my dad doesn't miss-click again. the family curse still stays, but we have mitigated around it for now.

[synonymouswithanonymous]

lol repost! And question answered!

ask: he's a taurus and she's a cancer. Talk about trying to use anything to fit their agenda. Lol literally, literally every thing on Google says they are an ideal match. I just randomly googled it bc someone asked if I thought there was any merit to some persons claims. So google provided me with the answer. No matter what they're a "perfect match" "ideal match" and "for life" or "life long partners". "Once Taurus declares he's in it, he's all in for life, especially when paired with cancer". So hey that's cool. 😊😊 I don't go much in for astrology but anyway that's my answer to the question I was asked. They didn't want their name out so I just decided to answer it here without their full question. 😊😊 but also he's born in the year of the dog, so it says he'd be loyal. So good luck to the happy couple.

"Chinese astrology for them says: Dogs and Pigs make an excellent couple and can love each other more than other Chinese zodiac signs. Pigs come to the rescue if Dogs become gloomy or grumpy by cracking a good joke. Thus Pig Dog Compatibility is great. If anyone mistreats the Pig, the Dog partner would not hesitate to retaliate."

Also apparently unless you know the EXACT time someone was born, like 2pm and the full date you can't accurately chart anyone. In western astrology don't know about Chinese. So without that information I can't even ask a site to do it for me. Bc I don't have access to those birth/medical records (And rightly so, records are private) . 😊 I hope I answered your question.

That was my first question! any others I will just answer the question without the text, so long as you say 'don't put my name' on there'. I'm guessing bc of harassment maybe? Whatever the reason is cool by me. 😊😊 or if you want your handle out there let me know!

Edited to add this quote I forgot about the birth times.

Do you need exact time of birth for astrology?

"But keep in mind that the birth chart is an extremely sensitive diagram that requires accurate data. In fact, the birth chart shifts radically every four minutes (more on that later), which is why it's critical to have a precise time of birth — approximates or estimates can (and will) skew the results." 😊😊😊

Anyways good luck again to the "ideal match."😃😊😊

LOL

"Her fans wouldn't be so serious about pushing they are Happy."

The very few positive posts pales in comparison to the hundreds and hundreds of posts spewing negativity and hate. Who are these people trying to convince? Themselves? How are a few posts about a happy couple "pushing" an opinion. It seems like people are just daily, repeating the same old "she's evil" and he "looks bad" posts. I wonder who really has an agenda? Lol imo he looks great and so does she, he looks better than he used to look (2020-2022).

So let me get this straight, this is an actor none of us know personally. None of us know his mind, and some are stuck on what he said about privacy awhile back. But none of us get to determine what privacy means to him. No one but him has control over what privacy means to him, same for her.

Some think her friends are kiss ass narcissistic creepy people that are weird.  No evidence though, just their take/read on them by a "gut" feeling.

Some think his friends that like her are all weird ( line, her husband, magnus, Johannes, Fanny etc etc) and theyre toxic ass kissers that put pressure on him. No evidence though, just their take/read on them by a "gut" feeling.

Some think his mom is toxic, ass kissing, and putting pressure on him. No evidence though, just their take/read on her by their "gut" feeling. Edited: I'm just pointing out how I find this illogical. Using gut feelings as a legit argument for their opinions, bc some have really convinced themselves with this. It's good to check your gut when going into a room, or the vibe you get in person when you meet them in real life. But to take instagram, not in person contact that way, is irrational imo. Then there's the ones that just like to be haters to him, her or both. I mean hell, they tried to say ladybug on her hand video, was her flipping off his fans. Irrational.

If their gut is telling them everyone else is wrong or crepy, weird toxic, and etc then I'm going to question just how good their gut can gage reality. It doesn't make sense that a stranger would be more correct, than all the people that actually know her.

A few people think the GF is toxic and a manipulating woman bc she accidently posted a drunk video while she herself was drunk. Accidents happen. It was up and down real quick, those that kept posting the mistake are imo more disrespectful. But they wanted to get that "gotcha moment" to Lord it over her.

And that she didn't respect the privacy rules for him. That's the relationship rules they made up for FOR THEM based on something he said ages ago.😂😂😂😂 we can't read his mind, rules made up by "fans" don't apply. Sure disagree with it, but why is she getting a bitch edit for living her life the way she sees fit?

Seriously how's she's supposed to know she's breaking a strangers rules and guidelines for dating her OWN BF?  Surely she knows her own life better than them.

As if and he and his friends never posted drunk videos before? Or him hooked up to an IV drugged before? Or posted and deleted something he didn't mean to publish before, like his mail. Lol

I'm glad everyone else was born perfect and Never made a post by accident. I'm not perfect I don't expect others to be perfect.

Someone said the other day "you don't give a shit about him" well that's partly true bc although I like him, good actor and good looking, I wish him the best, trust his judgement when it comes to his life and love. But that doesn't mean I care for him in a real way bc he is a person I only know through social media and tv/films.  Never talked to him, never met him, never commented on his posts etc.  I know the character Ivar better than I would know him lol. You can't truly care for people you don't know. And you'll never convince me that you care for someone you don't know, more than their own family, friends, or GF.  She's just living her life, dating an actor as an actress herself, doing normal couple things. And they both look happy and adorable to me. 😊😊

"Haters will see you walk on water, and say it's bc you can't swim."

And apparently disagreeing politely (when directly addressed in comments after I reblogged a post) without insults and being nice is argumentative. I was called a "leech licker" "stan", and a "troll". I was "pushing an opinion". 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 at least I don't hurl personal insults like they did to me. And these are the people who claim to "hate bullies." 😂😂

Positive comment won't be posted, or very rarely, only one of mine ages ago. So much for welcoming all opinions, they blame it on tumblr. Used to be like, ok, tumblers at fault but now I've revised my opinion after the aforementioned behavior.

So I decided to post all of my opinions here. 😊😊

I doubt anyone will ever read this, but I don't expect it to be read either. Just want to say, what I want to say. 😁😁😁😁😁😁

[bypeau]

HEATH HATED THE way his skin prickled when zachary was near. it wasn't supposed to mean anything—just irritation, he told himself. but the way zachary smiled, the way their arms brushed at dinner, how heath kept catching himself staring. none of it felt normal. he wasn't gay. he'd never looked at a guy like that before. but zachary was different—too bright, too soft in a sharp kind of way. he didn't fit in here, and heath wasn't sure he did either. he tried to bury the feeling under silence and scowls, but it kept rising, louder each time. wanting zach wasn't just wrong—it was dangerous. and heath was starting to think he didn't care. "you seriously just said that out loud," he muttered, shaking his head. heath blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and a laugh. he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to hide the way his ears were burning. a crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth before he could stop it. "a bit is generous," he said, casting zachary a sidelong glance. "you stare like you're trying to solve a puzzle no one asked you to finish." he paused, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "not that i'm complaining. kinda nice, being someone's favorite mystery." heath wasn't used to feeling this off-balance over something as simple as a glance. maybe zachary's stare wasn't a problem to push away—maybe it was the only thing making this whole mess feel a little less unbearable. heath scratched the back of his neck, a rare, easy smile tugging at his lips. "yeah, well, maybe your cookies aren't the only thing surprising me lately," he said, voice low but lighter than before. he glanced at zachary, caught off guard by how much he wanted to keep looking. there was something in the way zachary's smile made heath's usual defenses wobble just a little. "don't get used to me saying nice things," heath added with a teasing edge, though his eyes betrayed more warmth than intended. "i'm not exactly known for it." heath smirked, the idea of matching aprons almost making him roll his eyes—almost. "alright, but only if you promise to keep me from setting the place on fire," he teased, the corner of his mouth twitching with a rare warmth. then his gaze grew serious, sharp even, as zachary's words sank in. "don't worry about me getting in trouble," heath said, voice low and steady. "if anyone tries to mess with you—at school or anywhere—i'll make sure they regret it. you're not alone in this, zachary. not now." there was no hesitation in his tone, only a quiet, fierce protectiveness that surprised even him.

HEATH DIDN'T NOTICE it all at once. it wasn't some lightning bolt or grand realization—it was slower than that, quieter. like warmth creeping into frozen limbs after a long winter. one day, zachary's laugh stopped being background noise and started sounding like something worth chasing. his presence, once just an obligation, became oddly comforting—like a familiar song heath didn't remember learning the words to. heath told himself he was just being kind. then curious. then cautious. but somewhere along the way, the lines blurred. the way zachary looked at him started to matter. the idea of someone else making zachary smile started to bother him. and that was when heath knew—whatever this was, it had shifted. it wasn't just confusion anymore. it was something tender. something dangerous. something real. "but you haven't done anything wrong, zachary," heath said, his voice low, almost reverent. "honestly... i'm not even sure you're capable of it." there was a quiet awe in the way the words left him, like he was only just realizing it himself. heath kissed him again before he could talk himself out of it. it was slower this time—less of a question, more of an answer. his hand cupped the side of zachary's face, fingertips brushing over soft skin, anchoring them both in the silence between words. the world fell quiet around them, save for the way heath's heart beat like a war drum in his chest. when he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, his forehead rested gently against zachary's. he kept his eyes closed for a second longer, like if he opened them too soon, the moment might vanish. "i don't regret it," heath said, his voice barely above a whisper, but steady. "not the first time. not now." he pulled back enough to see zachary's face, the pink in his cheeks, the way his lips were still parted like he was holding his breath. god, he looked terrified. and so was heath, if he was being honest. but it didn't change what was happening—whatever this was. "i didn't expect this," he continued, shaking his head slightly, like he couldn't quite believe himself. "hell, i don't even know what i'm doing. you've got me feeling things i don't know how to name, let alone explain." he gave a short, breathless laugh, his thumb still gently tracing over the edge of zachary's jaw. "but i know i like it. i like you." the words felt strange in his mouth—new, uncertain—but they were true. that was the scariest part. "i've spent most of my life doing what people expected of me. saying the right things, being the right kind of beaumont," heath said, voice growing quieter. "and then you showed up, all wide eyes and stupid sweaters, and somehow you make everything feel... different. lighter." he didn't say easier, because nothing about this felt easy. but zachary made it feel worth the risk. "so, no," he said, finally. "you're not forcing me into anything. i want this. i want you." and then, softer, with a half-smile he didn't even realize he was wearing: "just... maybe warn me next time before you say stuff like 'fiddlesticks' after kissing me. kinda kills the mood."

leave it to zachary auburn to go and get his heart all tangled up on heath beaumont. it wasn't a decision his head was in, given the fact that they were nearly about to be in-laws. the auburns and beaumonts couldn't have been more different, but that didn't matter much to zachary. sure, he felt awkward anytime mr. beaumont complained that the homosexuals were taking over the world or when mrs. beaumont looked at him with disgust . . . but he stomached it for his sister. zachary never imagined that at all the forced family dinners he'd start to develop a little crush on heath. it was wretched and wrong, but he couldn't help himself. even the cold winter air couldn't stop him from warming up to heath, no matter how much he wanted to fight it! "well . . . i can't help it! i don't think i've seen muscles that big before," zachary admitted. it just kept getting worse for him, as his rosy cheeks turned an even bright shade of red. "i . . . i mean if you're not offended, then yeah, i guess maybe i do have a bit of a staring problem," he went on. he'd never realized that heath had noticed him. truth be told, he didn't think many people noticed him until they wanted someone to pick on . . . but zachary was raised right and on the principle that the best revenge was kindness — even if he had spent plenty of nights in high school crying into his own pillow. heath didn't exactly need to know that! "no . . . i know you're genuine. i just was shocked, that's all. you got, like, really excited about my cookies. it was cute," the blonde boy clarified softly, a gentle smile on his pink lips. he couldn't explain why, but he got a tingle down the curve of his spine at the mere sight of the slight grin on heath's face. he'd never realized just how pretty his eyes were either . . . he could practically get lost in them if he let himself! "i mean . . . you don't have to, but i thought it'd be fun! i can even get you a matching apron," zachary went on. he chewed on his bottom lip as heath went on. "you really don't have to do that, heath . . . just spending time with you's enough for me. don't . . . don't get yourself in trouble on account of me."

zachary had read plenty of horror stories about getting involved with a straight guy online . . . and perhaps it should have warded him off, but there he was — setting up himself up for failure with his hopes held high. perhaps unbeknownst to heath, but zachary was sneaking his heart into his strong hands. leave it zachary to fall head over heels with the first boy who showed him attention, but truth be told, his infatuation with heath had started long ago — even if he didn't care to admit it. "well, if i do something wrong, i should be apologizing! i know you're probably not used to hearing that, but that's how the whole thing works," zachary replied, shaking his head. his heart skipped a beat as that hand rested atop his own. it was far from the fairytale beginning he'd hoped for, but it was perfect nonetheless. maybe he was getting too far ahead of himself — heath hadn't even so much as said that he liked him — but he couldn't help himself! their lips pressed together did the trick, had zachary thinking of first dates and christmas gifts exchanged and kisses stolen when they thought no one was looking. heath's hands felt so natural on his body, like they were handcrafted to send his whole nervous system into a frenzy. it was cruel, unfair, but most of all, thrilling. zachary had been waiting his whole life for a love that would knock him off his feet, and there it stood — tall, broad-shouldered . . . and his future brother-in-law. "you don't . . . regret it, do you?" zachary squeaked out, his eyes wide and cheeks red. he could be as meek as a mouse sometimes, but somehow he was even more timid. the thought of ruining his first romance before it ever even began terrified him. not that he blamed heath, not at all. he could understand it — he was far from the most popular person in oak falls, his parents would never approve, and they were about to be in-laws for crying out loud. "well, what if i told you i liked it? and that i wanted to do it again?" zachary finally managed to sputter out. "i don't . . . i don't know! i don't even know what you're doing to me! i mean, you really got my brain all cross-wired, heath! i mean, all i can think about is how soft your lips were and yours hands, don't get me started on them . . . oh, fiddlesticks!" the blonde boy lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, all thanks to heath. the winter wind couldn't compare to the heat that heath was bringing. "l-look, if it was bad or i-if you didn't like it, you can just say so. i won't be mad, just a little disappointed . . . but it sounds like you don't get a lot of a choice in your life as it is, a-and i'd hate to force you to do something you don't wanna do. but i'd really like to kiss you again, heath."