#jersey boys reference I have no shame

[jooniperbonsai]

Penalty Shot (pjm) | Part 1

Pairing: professionalhockeyplayer!jimin x minorleagueplayer!reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 22,512

Release Date: December 24, 2024

Genre: Smut, holiday romance fluff, angst, hockeyau, holidayau, comedy, slight rivals to lovers

Summary: He's the worst hockey player on the worst team in the national league, with an awful attitude to go with it. You're the best player in the local chapter, but turned down your chance to go pro. After a scandal benches him for part of the season, he recruits your help to get him ice ready by the New Year.

Warnings: mentions of threesome, Jimin is bi, probably inaccurate ideas about hockey, Jimin is an asshole, swearing, misogyny in sports, slightly homophobic comments, hometown trauma, arranged marriage, corny Christmas references, holiday party stress, mentioned death of minor characters, teen pregnancy, abortion and discussions of abortion processes, emotions, and characteristics of shame angst, misunderstandings, Y/N is a self sacrificial person, fighting and threatening violence, alcohol, sexual innuendos, omg look it's Shinee's Minho as the role of bff, mention of random kpop artists on y/ns team, groping, oral (f receiving), hand jobs, unprotected sex, creampie, rivals but not, friends but not? Who knows, Christmas is all around and the cheer is in the air idk

a/n: It's here! I mean, kind of! Here's part 1 of what has become a monster of a fanfic. I just have 1. Learned so much about hockey it's ridiculous, and I feel like I need more time with these characters. To all who celebrate, Merry Christmas. I hope everyone enjoys this fic. Be easy on me with the proofing errors. I rushed the proof a bit to get it out on time.

“That’s it, babygirl; Cum on my cock. That’s it. Fuckkk.”

“No no no, what did I say? Did I say you could ride me? No. On your knees. Mouth open. Just your mouth, not your hands. Be a good boy or you won’t get my cum. There we go. Open. I said open. Do you want my cock or not? There we go. Ah-ah, swallow. That’s a good boy.”

“Fuck, Jimin, my turn, please please please.” 

“What did I say about begging? There’s plenty to go around.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Close the damn laptop. I’ve seen enough.” 

The sharp, wet slapping sounds and deep, guttural moans echoing through the conference room cuts off as the laptop is snapped shut. As if rehearsed, all bodies in the room turn toward the subject of the scandal, expectedly awaiting a very different response from the one they’re given.

“What? Everyone has sex, it’s not new,”  Jimin says. 

“Yes, everyone has sex. But not everyone is filming a sex tape, much less an orgy, and putting it out onto the internet,” Sophia, the public relations manager says. 

“I didn’t put it on the internet. I’m not that stupid. And, it was a threesome, not an orgy.”

“Well, clearly you are stupid, if you thought attending, much less filming, your not-so-private sexual exploits wouldn’t come back to haunt you. And yet, shocker, they have, and we are swiftly becoming the top headline in every tabloid magazine on the planet. You seriously thought none of these participants would want to brag about how they bedded the bad boy of the UHL?” 

“Park, you finished off last season being one of the most famous people in the Universal Hockey League, and not in a good way. Need I remind you that we just spent the whole summer trying to implement a marketing campaign to improve sales of your jerseys since manufacturers don’t even want to make them? That after ‘Park the Park’ became a trending hashtag on every social media site, you suddenly caught attention as the ‘Hottest But Worst Player in Professional Sports’?” Coach sighs heavily into his hands, clenching his fists as if he needs to punch something. 

It’s very much the Coach way. It’s not unheard of for him to be taking swings at the punching bag during gym training days. Clearly this is how he releases steam. 

Only the problem is, the steam is channeled directly at Jimin. 

“I thought any press is considered good press.” 

Sophia snorts and rolls her eyes. “That is a load of bullshit that PR reps say to make shitheads like you feel better. But I’m not here to soothe your ego. I think it’s been stroked enough, based on what we all just saw.” She clears her throat, shaking her head. “The point is, JImin, you’ve cost this team a lot, and at this point, I can’t advise the staff enough to let you go. You’ve caused fights on the ice that almost turned lethal, you have the worst stats, and the highest lien we’ve had to take out after you damaged the rink in LA and caused them to end their season early. In any other job, you’d be fired by now.” 

Sophia scoops her laptop up off the table and places it in her bag. She stands, hastily collecting her other things. Her assistant-slash-lackey, some nameless, anxious young woman, follows suit, clattering her impressive collection of color-coded pens across the conference table. She bows in apology, shakily attempting to collect her things. No one, including Sophia, moves to help. 

“I have to go, because I need to figure out some way to spin this story now that we are receiving hundreds of requests for interviews, quotes, and extra footage.” She fake gags, as if Jimin and the debauching act on the screen is repulsive to her. “Stay off social media. Do not make a single claim unless advised by your lawyers. We are petitioning the website to take the video down. I know it’s out there forever, but I think if we act fast we can reduce views and hopefully end its virality quickly. Once I hear back from the firm I’ll send you an update.” 

The door shuts behind them slowly, but once the final click ensures that no one outside can hear what’s being discussed, Jimin turns to see the deep set frown of Coach and Assistant Coach Jay sharply aimed toward him. 

“Do you. Have. Any fucking idea. How bad this looks?” Coach’s voice is clipped, fury piercing through his staccatoed breath. Gone is the negotiator, the collected cool that he’d worn while Sophia was here. Instead is the same anger and resentment that Jimin has gotten used to experiencing in the locker room before and after every game, as well as his many meetings as of late. 

“It only looks bad because people take shit way too seriously. If this was a threesome with two women, I’m sure it wouldn’t be blowing up right now. But add a man into the mix and all the homophobes come with their torches and pitchforks. This’ll all blow over in a few weeks, or days even depending on what new scandal the tabloids decide will get the most clicks. Really, Coach, it’ll be okay.” 

A vein protrudes from Coach’s neck, and he huffs a heavy sigh. “You’re missing the point, Park. It’s bad because it’s gay or bisexual or pansexual or whatever the hell your generation is calling things now. But that’s only part of it. All those celebrity gossip pages have been reporting on you for months as is, detailing your explicit sexual appetite and partying with celebrities. You’ve built a reputation for yourself as a playboy, and they’re eating that shit up. And maybe that would all be fine and fun and you could be the next Travis Kelce of the world toting around your celebrity fuck buddies, but there’s one thing Kelce’s got that you don’t.” 

“…Taylor Swift? Whiteness? A mustache?” 

“No you dumbass, talent. Travis Kelce is good at his sport, Jimin, and you fucking suck at yours.” Jay interjects. He reaches into his padfolio, pulling out a complex spreadsheet. “We’ve pulled the totals of all the stats. In the Universal Hockey League, you have the lowest stats out of every active player. Minor players are doing better than you. A hell of a lot better.” 

Jimin reaches out and takes the page, scanning it, brows furrowed. “Okay, so I need to clean up my game a little bit. I don’t see how those two things are connected.” 

“Then let me explain it to you, son.” Coach leans back in his chair, revealing the lower portion of his suit coat, stained from the bit of pasta sauce that dribbled down during his lunch. Jimin finds himself staring at it for so long that it takes Coach three tries before his attempts at calling Jimin’s attention actually works. 

“Focus, Park.” 

“Sorry,” he responds reflexively. 

“Basically, what Sophia said in the meeting is true. I have been advised by her as the official Public Relations Director to fire you. You’ve caused significant risk in various ways. And what I didn’t tell her is that the manager of the Bells and team owner both called me this morning worrying about the integrity of the team. Your little bullshit behaviors have been adding up. Not only are you impossible to market to Bells fans, you’re untradeable and undesirable to any other team. No one wants the Scarlet A you’ve tainted the team with.” 

Jimin raises an eyebrow. He didn’t know Coach was so familiar with classic literature.

“The point is, investors are backing out. Brand deals are falling through. The capital gains of our team are dwindling because we have a shitty player with an even shittier attitude.” 

It feels like a brick has been launched at Jimin’s chest. A hot, crumpling feeling washes over him, and the very cool and collected nature he’s kept fresh this whole meeting has now taken the backseat. 

“I don’t know what happened to you, Park, but you weren’t always this way. When I scouted you and signed you onto the Bells, you were just this young kid with a dream. You loved the game more than you loved the fame. I miss that guy. That’s the one who I wanted. I wanted the fresh energy of early morning practices led by a player with eagerness and potential. And you were that for a while. 

“But all I’ve seen in the last two seasons is someone who cares about hair gel and being an A-lister for afterparties. When you’re supposed to be driving the net, you’re getting flanked. You can’t control your mouth so you start chirpin’ and hand every opposing team at least one power play, usually in the third period and leaving your team to handle the mess you created as you sit in the box.”

Heat floods Jimin’s cheeks. “Am I supposed to just let all those guys walk all over me? I’m one of the shorter players in the league, and they love to talk shit.” 

“Of course they love to talk shit when you’re such an easy target! It's a practical strategy! If you target the hothead, they’ll take themselves out of the game! They don’t even need to be good to do that!” 

“Isn’t that allegedly your strategy anyway?” Jay says, raising an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem like a very good one.” 

“Shut up, Jay,” Jimin retorts, blowing air sharply out of his nose. 

“Don’t you two get started on me now,” Coach says, snapping his fingers. Jimin refocuses his gaze. 

“So, what does that mean for me then? Am I fired? Just like that?” He folds his arms over his chest defensively.

Coach rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know, son. It depends on what you want from this.”

This shocks Jimin. Is he seriously being asked if he wants to be fired? Isn’t the answer obvious? He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by Coach. 

“What I mean, is that now is a good time to think about your goals. Do you just want to be a celebrity or do you want to be a player? A good one, one who makes his team proud.” 

His chest twists with sadness. For nearly ten years, Jimin has been with the Bells. He’d been scouted by Coach himself at the age of 19, having just completed high school and graduating from his own league. During the try-out period, he’d been one of the best, and after a summer of ups and downs, he was offered a contract to be the rookie starter of the season.

 “I want to play. You know that. You know how much this means to me!” His voice trembles as the pain in his chest spring tears into his eyes. 

Coach gives him a sympathetic smile, nodding. “I do. At least, I used to. But now, I need you to prove it to me. To all of us. Which is why I think this break will be good for you to do so.” 

He knits his eyebrows, counting how many days of break he’ll have over the holidays. Then he nods. “Sure. It’s not much, I know, since we have a game between Christmas and the New Year, and one next week, but I’ll come to the arena every day, morning ‘til night. I’ll do explosion drills and I’ll rework my stickhandling. Shit, I’ll even do one better. I know we’ve been struggling to get the puck out of our zone, so I’ll focus on drills that shift us into neutral position. I know Zelensky was complaining about that last game and–”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down kid. I’m glad to hear you’re taking this matter seriously, but it’s not going to correct itself in a matter of days. It’s going to have to be a change in attitude. You need to learn how to not let every little thing trigger you on and off the ice. That’s going to take some time. Therapy, maybe.” 

“I’ll get a therapist. Right after this, I’ll call my friend Yoongi who can recommend me to someone and…” But already they’ve moved on, Jimin’s promise hanging in the air. 

Coach opens the folder he has in front of him before digging into the pocket of his jacket to fish around for something. He produces a glasses case, and then pulls out his reading glasses, placing them on the bridge of his nose. “Let’s see here. What are you thinking, Jay?” 

Jay careens his body to glance over at the schedule Coach has unfolded and laid before them. “Well, you already know what I think.” 

Jimin and Jay haven’t always had such a sour relationship. They were friends once, before Jay was hired as the Assistant Coach. Before there was a significant power imbalance between them. Most days, they can get by without making snarky remarks. Some days, Jimin even likes the guy still. Jay is a good AC. He looks at problems with a square eye, knows usually before anyone else what strategy the opposing team is laying out. He protects and vouches for all his players in press meetings, including Jimin. But when he doesn’t have to be doing his job, Jay is ready to cut down anyone and everyone who gets in his way of going home early. 

Jimin sighs, looking around the conference room. A framed poster from the 2000 season Choice Cup championship stares back at him. It’s faded, but he can see the beaming face of his favorite player: Lee Wonhyuk. 

Wonhyuk is seen as a hockey legend, having more hat tricks than anyone in Bells’ history. Always a balanced player, he led his team to the 2000 Choice Cup Playoffs. Jimin was just a kid then, but that was what started his love for hockey. 

“Hmm, well, then I think this is going to be the only option. Park, you’re suspended until late January.”

Jimin freezes. “What?”

“Suspension. I don’t want to see you on the bench in your jersey until the 23rd.” Coach marks the calendar with a thick black marker and nods. “That’ll give you enough time to start getting your shit together and maybe we will have cleared the air from this scandal long enough to recover some of our team’s reputation.”

Coach stands, gathering his folder and heading toward the door. 

“B-but I said I was going to fix this! Did you not hear me promise I’d get a therapist?” 

“We heard you, Jimin. That doesn’t suddenly erase everything you’ve done. How can we even be sure you’ll take it seriously? It doesn’t seem like you’ve taken much of your career seriously for a while now. You’re just lucky you’re not being fired,” Jay knocks his knuckles on the table, almost like a gavel from a judge. 

“Don’t take this thing too much to heart, kid. A suspension is kind of like a break. A vacation even! Go enjoy Christmas with your folks and enjoy some eggnog. Watch one of those ridiculous Hallmark movies about the magic of Christmas making some uptight lawyer into a farm girl because of the hot ranch hand or whatever it is. Take a crash course in anger management, I don’t know. Either way, stay away from the team or else you might not be part of it for much longer.” Coach idles in the open doorway, wafting his hand for Jimin to leave. “Either way, let’s go, we need to go. Our time is up with the conference room and I gotta get home to the Mrs. to help make enough cookies to feed an army.” 

Jimin deflates, grabbing his bag and shuffling out of the building and into the mild winter air swirling around him. 

Christmas with his folks sounds like a nightmare. He hasn’t talked to them since the scandal leaked, despite the worried calls from his mother and the less-than-enthused follow-ups from his father who began calling on behalf of his mother. 

He wasn’t planning on going home for the holidays. The excuse of his work schedule would keep him away another year, and he also suspects that the invite to attend Christmas is one that has no real urgency behind it. He hasn’t been home since his first year going pro. He was just a kid then, trying to balance this new life with the one he left and heal a broken heart. He had hopped on a plane home, only to have to turn around just after the Christmas dinner was finished. The entire flight he was nauseated from overeating. 

The idea of coming home now, while being the biggest loser in the UHL just sounds like another way to rub salt in his wounds. 

He drives home, calling Yoongi and getting a number for a therapist, only to realize that they would be closed until the new year. Of course they will. He turns the key to his apartment, he can’t help but feel like the place looks completely different even though it’s exactly as he left it a handful of hours ago: blinds drawn, warm-lit sconces on his display shelves in his living room giving everything a soft glow. Everything is pristine. Jimin values tidiness and control of his home. Of his life.

Which is why standing here with nothing to guide him for the next 30 days suddenly feels paralyzing. How is he supposed to become another person in a month? He’s not allowed at the arena for practice, and god, he knows everyone will recognize him at the next closest community one, though who knows if he’ll even be allowed in after how “inappropriate” his type of fame now is. 

And it’s too warm here to skate outdoors. He checks the weather app on his phone. No snow is forecasted for the next two weeks. It’s looking to be a warm Christmas this year. Meanwhile, he knows from the location settings that his hometown he’s saved into his favorites is reporting frigid temperatures and at least a foot of snow by the end of the week. Which means the pond he spent so many winters on with his father learning the rules of hockey and practicing on will be frozen solid. A safe place to anonymously practice. 

“Fuck.” He knows what he has to do. And as the phone rings one full time before an answer, Jimin tries not to feel the heat that floods to his cheeks in humiliation. “Hi, Mom. It’s me.” 

“Okay, now drive through! Tighter, tighter! That’s it Y/N! Go! Go! GO!” 

You weave through the blur of jerseys, somehow avoiding a tripping maneuver that would have had you crashing head-first into the wall. Well, barely. Maybe you’d be easier to trip if you hadn’t calculated their positioning early enough in the quarter. 

You drive forward, just as you’re told, scanning. Where’s the weakest link in the defensive lineup? Ah, there he is. Number 55. The taller one who has already spent half of the game tailing you as if he’s an offensive player. The one that said shit on socials about your pussy being so tight because of how much you enjoyed being anal. 

As if that made any sense. Encountering an entitled, hot-headed loser in the minor leagues is about as unique as a tiny, crusty white dog being named Bella. They exist in abundance. Lucky for you, these are always the worst players on the team, and it became immediately obvious to you who was going to be your target for the rest of the game. 

As you redirect your position toward his direction, 55 seems to have plenty to say. 

“Hey Baby, why don’t you leave the big game to the big boys?” he coos, clumsily regripping his stick as he glides toward you. 

“Mm, if this is a game for the big boys, then why are you here?” you say with a smile, cutting the puck around his right skate before tapping your stick against his. It clatters to the ground. 

“You fucking bitch!” he yells, but you’re already well past him, leaving just the rookie goalie between you and the goal. 

He tightens up when he sees you barreling toward him, the puck guarded tightly behind your stick as you weave it, turning slightly to your side to make it seem like you’re going in for a slapshot on the left side of the goal post. 

Naturally, the goalie floats to the left, creating a huge gap on the right side. 

Suddenly, you pivot, shooting the puck to the right, where your teammate, Minho, has stationed himself perfectly to receive and slide the puck neatly into the net. 

Easy. As the buzzer sounds at the end of the game, you high five Minho, solidifying the hottest win streak the Griffins have had to date. The teams line up, a slur of “good games” parroting from the mouths of each team member as you go down the line tapping sticks. That is until you reach 55, whose expression has soured significantly. 

“Fuckin’ slut,” he mutters under his breath. You pause, turning to him. 

“But I thought my pussy was so tight since I’m so anal? Now I’m a slut? Wow, I really got around fast,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “Leave it to the worst player on the team to have the most unoriginal, misogynistic insults. Maybe if you practiced holding your stick properly instead of trying to craft an insult, you would have one less thing to suck at. I’m sure not knowing how to handle your stick isn’t just a problem on the ice either. Yikes.” 

You feel a nudge on your back, knowing your team captain, Christopher, is bringing up the rear. 

“Easy there, Y/N, don’t make the guy pop a blood vessel when the season’s barely started,” he says and you chuckle. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t tolerate the sexist machismo you’re carting around. You’re lucky you didn’t lose some teeth this game. If I hear you chirping more bullshit on the ice next time, I’ll personally make sure you have a dentist on speed dial, we clear?” 

Christopher smiles with shiny white teeth, making his threat all the more menacing despite his usual golden retriever energy. 

55 deflates, giving you one more loathsome glare before spinning on the ice and skating away. 

“Bang, Y/N, hustle! We have a party to get to!” Your coach, Bee, curls one gloved finger in, her impatience apparent on her face as she waits at the end of the rink. 

You and Christopher shrug at each other before racing across the ice, the high of the victory still swirling in your head. 

“Oh, bullshit! You know for a fact that if given the chance he would rather be cameoing in some D list movie in LA than getting his shit together. I get that he was your idol, Chris, but times have changed.” 

Jihyo takes a swig of her beer, jabbing a tipsy finger in Christopher’s direction. 

“So he’s gotten a little big-headed with his team. It happens to the best of us. Jimin still remains a hometown hero and we should be grateful he put us on the map!” 

“What map? No one has come here to scout talent since Y/N was being considered for the UHL. I still don’t get why you turned that down. Fucking moron.” Wonpil scoffs as he bites down into his pizza, effectively silencing Christopher, and well, the rest of the room. 

“Ah yes, the awkward silence about me missing out on my once chance,” you snort, glancing around the room as the remaining members of your team devour the last of the team holiday dinner. Bee left not long after the party started, getting some phone call that appeared urgent. Slowly, your families and friends made their way home, leaving only a handful of you behind in the old bar. 

Taeyon, one of the servers you’ve known forever, smirks at you as you gather some plates together to make cleanup easier. 

“Why did you turn it down?” Soobin, the youngest and shyest member of the team asks. 

Everyone in the room turns to you. Everyone in the room besides Soobin knows why. 

“Uh, well, a lot was going on in my life at the time. I had a scholarship to go to college, but then I’d heard that some coaches were coming to scout for the UHL during the summer so I deferred the fall semester, just in case. I was up for consideration and offered a spot with the Bells, but um…I was…sick. And he only had room for one person on his team. While he’d told me I was his first pick, I don’t know, I was…sick, and the other player deserved it. He had a future in it, a need to get out of this place more than I can say I had. So I declined the offer and made plans to use my scholarship and go to school.” 

“I didn’t know you went to college,” Soobin says, eyes wide. 

“She didn’t. Finish the story, Y/N.” Minho says before shoving a tree shaped cookie into his mouth. 

You click your tongue. “Honestly. It was no big deal. It turns out my deferment voided my scholarship, so I didn’t go.” 

“So you gave up on both the major leagues and college? Who’s the other player?” 

You wince at the question, knowing the storm that Soobin has just unknowingly unleashed. 

“What do you mean who’s the other player? Who do you think? She’s talking about Park Jimin, dumbass. He’s the only pro hockey player from here.” Christopher says, delivering a light punch to the maknae. 

“Oh, right,” Soobin says, blushing in embarrassment. 

“And look at what he did. He’s fucking up his chance in this after everything Y/N went through. He knows how to rub it in.” Wonpil downs the rest of his beer. “Honestly, Y/N. If I were you, I’d want to beat that guy to a pulp for being such a loser when you were the one who was rooting for him the most, it seems. Bastard. Good thing he doesn’t come around here much.” 

“Yeah, ha, well. He’s probably off somewhere warm and sunny and not thinking about anyone but himself anyway. It’s for the best, probably.” 

“I never knew you were sick,” Minho says later that evening as you two gather the empty bottles of soju and beer and place them on the counter for the barkeeper to collect. “Bummer that was aligning at the same time that you were about to make it big.” 

“Yeah, it was. Um, hey, my mom wants to know if you’re going to the caroling party,” you say, hoping to change the subject. 

“Oh, uh, no sorry I can’t make it. I have a date.” 

“A victory and a hot date? Well, Minho, look at you! Looks like you’re growing up.” 

He rolls his eyes, chucking a wadded up napkin at you. “Shut up. She’s nice. We are going to that Thai place downtown.” 

“Well, it sounds like we need to get you out of here so you can get your ass downtown. Are you even going to be hungry? You ate like, a half a package of those cookies by yourself.” 

“I’m a growing boy! I need my calories! And yes, I’ll be fine, Mom. And I’ll remember to wear my coat and hat too.” 

“Well, good. It’s supposed to be sub zero tonight. Not the night to be outside without the proper gear.” 

You grab your purse, doing one last run of the room before you shove Minho out the door to prepare for his date.

“Fuck, I thought you said it wasn’t too cold, Mom!” Jimin climbs into the passenger seat of his mother’s car, his luggage practically owning the backseat. 

“It isn’t! It’s just a cold snap! I thought you’d be used to it from spending so much time in the cold.” She clicks the turn signal, pulling them away from the curb while Jimin fidgets with the heat settings. A thin stream of hot air puffs out of the ancient sedan. 

“I usually have tons of padding on me and am moving so much I’m sweating. That’s different from whatever tundra this is.” The heat finally kicks in. “Where’s the Kia I got you for Christmas last year? Don’t tell me you traded it in for the cash or something.” 

His mother scoffs, merging into the freeway. “No, we didn’t trade it in. It’s in the driveway. You can drive it while you’re here.” 

“Why aren’t you driving it?” Her annoyance is annoying him. 

“Because it’s too complicated. Touch screen and Bluetooth and heated seats and cameras. I don’t need that. I just need to go from one place to another place!” 

The old car roars as if it is in agreement. Jimin rolls his eyes. 

“You could have told me you wanted something simpler. I would have at least gotten you a car from this decade. This piece of junk’s falling apart.” 

“It does what I need it to. It’s fine. I didn’t ask for a car anyway.” The lights of the bigger city begin to fade. With a metropolitan city so close to where he grew up, it’s shocking how much Jimin’s mother is clinging to the outdated ideas of small town life.

The strained conversation dies out as his mother turns up the volume of the radio. As the final commercial clears the airwaves, the car is flooded with Christmas carols. 

“It’s good to have you home, my little star.” 

Jimin’s chest wrenches with guilt as he hears the term of endearment. His mother always called him that when he was a child. For a long time, he really lived up to it. Lately though…

I’m more like a fallen star. A star on its way to burning out. 

He lets the music do the talking for the remainder of the drive, and as his hometown comes into view, he’s surprised by how little has changed in the time he’s been gone. Everything is just more worn, older than it used to look. The faded sign of the main grocery store still has the same design. 

The bar where Jimin drank his first beer is still open, and he watches as two people leave through the door, a tall, handsome guy who is laughing and smiling while a woman with her hood up hits him with her purse, also laughing. 

For some reason, his stomach churns at the sight. God, what a miserable place to be stuck in. How can anyone still want to live here? How can anyone smile about the idea of being outside in that frigid air? 

He grumbles to himself and folds his arms, hoping to trap some of the heat back in his body while his mother drives confidently to the sounds of jingling bells. 

In the near decade since Jimin has last been home (he doesn’t count the quick stop-ins during longer layovers at the airport or his grandfather’s funeral), his childhood home has gone through enough renovations to disorient him but still create the same pang of nostalgia.

He goes to hang his coat up in the front hall closet and finds that there no longer is one. Instead, it’s an inset wall with a set of drawers tucked away. His parents have a new dog, Bada, who isn’t even all that new. He’s five now, a full fledged member of the family. Bada growls when Jimin walks through the door, but barely lifts his head off the couch cushion to do so before falling back asleep. 

“Are you hungry?” his mother asks as Jimin pads into the kitchen. 

“I ate on the plane,” he replies. His mother turns to him, her face twisted in disgust. 

“Ugh, that’s not food they serve on those things. It’s cardboard! Here, come sit down; I have some rice and mackerel from lunch leftover. And soup. You’re so skinny. It’s time we plump you up.” 

“I’m not skinny. I have a very specific diet and exercise regimen in order to stay light and fast on my feet while on the ice.” 

But his mother has already left to duck into the kitchen, the sounds of the rice cooker turning on making Jimin wonder if she really had leftovers at all. 

When she reappears about twenty minutes later, she comes with an entire filet of hot fish, black beans, radish kimchi, a mountain of rice, some clear broth soup, and cut up pears. 

“Eat! Eat my son!” she orders, and Jimin obeys, his full stomach betraying him over the promise of home cooked food. 

He is about to ask his mother where his father is when he hears the door open, his father bundled up tight with a dusting of snow on his coat. 

“Storm blew in earlier than I thought.” 

“Oh, honey. Come sit. Give me your coat, I'll hang it to dry.” 

With a grunt from his father, he settles next to where his mother was sitting before, casting his eyes across the table. 

“So you finally made it home to see your parents, huh? When’s the last time we saw you in person again?” 

“Uh, I think last summer. When you guys came to visit.” 

A year and a half. That was the last time they’d been partially together as a family. His brother comes home much more frequently, though this Christmas he’s in Hawaii with his girlfriend. 

Lucky bastard. 

“Well, it’s good to see you. How was the flight?” 

“Fine,” Jimin responds awkwardly. 

He and his father haven’t been close since he moved, and he’s gotten used to vague and scripted questions his father often asks. 

His father nods, slurping his soup from his bowl. 

“So did they fire you for being a porn star or is something else bringing you home.” 

His cheeks flood with heat. Of course his father would bring this up. 

“Um no, just suspended for a bit. And I'm not a porn star.” 

His father shrugs and continues eating. “Hey if it’s what you want to do I’m not here to judge. Just wondering what brought you back home after years of trying to convince you. Your mother was so happy to hear from you that she deep cleaned the house.”

A heavy weight of guilt settles in Jimin’s gut. He’s been gone for so long. And while he knows his parents will never wish for anything to be different for him and his career—well, up to this point— the fact still remains that Jimin has been distant and detached since he moved away. He looks over to the curio cabinet that has been filled with his sports memorabilia. A photo of Jimin when he was on his first team, the bulldogs, sits in the back, Jimin’s two front teeth missing as he gives a gummy smile to the camera. 

“It looks great, Eomma,” Jimin says to his mother when she returns, not even blinking an eye to the fact that his father took her spot. 

“Well, thank you. Now eat up, before it gets cold.” 

As the dinner carries on, Jimin learns that his mother has agreed to go to some neighborhood caroling event tonight. 

“Do you even know who is hosting it?” he asks when his mother fails to name anyone associated with the event besides her friend. 

“I’m sure she told me her name but I’ve forgotten. Names are hard to remember when your friend of a friend invites you. Even harder to say no.” 

“But isn’t there a storm happening?” He glances out the window, confirming the heavier sheet of snow blowing around outside. 

“Sure, but that’s no problem. It’ll make it more festive. Walking in a winter wonderland and all that.” 

“We’re already in one. There’s like, a foot of snow out there.” 

Jimin looks to his father, who has since abandoned the conversation for a sudoku puzzle. 

“Well, I need the exercise. If you’re so concerned, you can always come.” 

No. Absolutely not. The idea of caroling in a blizzard sounds like the bottom of the list of his favorite things. That’s just above dying. 

But as he watches his mother bundle up for the snow and move to grab the keys to her dying sedan, something prompts him to snag the keys for the Kia off the hook, and after a few minutes of painfully shoving his body into his former winter wear his mother kept all those years, he walks out into the snow, insisting to his mother that he drive. 

“Hot chocolate has arrived!” you sing, carrying a large steaming carton to the drove of community members who have shown up to bring “Christmas cheer to all”, as your mother has claimed. 

It’s freezing. You have heat packs shoved into just about every nook and cranny of your body. Even as you pour the warm, sweet liquid into cups to be passed around, you have to fight the urge to shiver. 

“Don’t worry, everyone! Once we get our bodies singing and moving, we’ll be warm in no time!” 

“I thought you said there would be a heat shelter we can go to!” someone says among the crowd. 

“Well, not exactly. It’ll be my house! I have my husband getting the snacks prepared now. And a warm, crackling fireplace. So let’s get this carolfest started!” Your mother beams, unfazed by the sour mood that has fallen upon the group.

With a deflated woo, the carolers set off on foot from the parking lot. 

You have been specifically instructed to wait ten minutes past start time in case anyone else shows up. But given how fast the clouds have rolled in to dump more snow on you, you don’t foresee anyone else coming. 

Still, you abide by your mother’s wishes, pulling your hood over your hat and rewrapping your scarf over your nose, hoping that will encourage less heat to escape. 

Just as your timer buzzes for you to ditch the greeter position and catch up to the crowd, you see a Kia pull into the parking lot, two people shuffling out toward you. 

“Did I miss it? Is it over?!” the woman says, panicked. 

“No, no, they just got started. They’re just down here.” You pull out your mother’s hand-drawn map she passed out to all participants at the start, and point to the one block your mother marked with a star for newcomers. “We will be able to catch up to them easily.” 

“Ah, thank you! Thank you! My son is visiting from out of town, so I was a little late.” 

“It’s no issue, really, this is a volunteer activity. I’m just glad you made it in this snowstorm. Would either of you like some hot cocoa? Or hand warmers? I have some extra.” 

“Oh, you’re so sweet. Nothing for me, really, but maybe my son would like some.” The woman pivots her body toward her son, who is still idling by the car, bundled up from head to toe and appears to be staring at you. “Jimin! Come here!” 

The second you hear the name, you freeze. 

No. There’s no way he’s here. Because he never comes home for Christmas. He’s always playing hockey around the holidays. But then you remember. He’s suspended. So where would he be able to hide and wait for his scandal to blow over. Where else could he hide but here?

Slowly, the bundle moves, shuffling his way toward you. You’re prepared for an awkward conversation, for some unenthused hey to leave his lips, but instead he says nothing, just looks at his mother. 

“What?” he asks. His voice is velvety and soft, just like you remember. Even annoyed, it’s a powerless annoyance, one without much heft to sting. 

“Hand warmers. Hot cocoa.” His mother gestures, forcing his gaze to follow her hands and over to you. 

“No thanks,” he says flatly. When his eyes meet yours, they’re empty, and something about how impersonal it is sours your stomach.

Jimin’s mother sighs before turning to you and smiling. “Is this the way we go?” she asks. You cock your head, confused. 

Before you can ask what she’s talking about, Jimin interjects. “Yes, Eomma, it’s this way. Come on. Let’s get this holiday bullshit over with.” 

His mother trudges forward and for a moment you’re too shocked to move. You stand there as the snow continues to float down onto your coat and bare hands, until Jimin speaks again. 

“Uh, hey. You comin’ or…?” 

You blink up at him, still seeing no recognition in his face, no anger, nothing. 

“Oh, uh yeah,” you say, quickly depositing the leftover hot z cocoa and maps into your car and matching your pace to Jimin’s. “So, um, how have you been?” 

You don’t risk looking at him, insteading focusing on placing your feet carefully into the snow. 

“Fuck, it’s cold,” he says, not quite answering your question. 

“Oh. Yeah, it is.” You pull a heat warmer out of your pocket. “Here, take this.” 

He eyes it for a moment, then relents, taking the heat pack from your warm palm. “Thanks.” 

The crunch of snow under you sounds loud, an occasional crack as you step on a patch of ice fills the silence. 

“So, you’re home for the holidays?” you ask lightly. 

He snorts. “Something like that. Although you’ve probably heard everything on the news already.” 

“Something like that,” you parrot, turning the corner of the parking lot to head down the side street you know the carolers will be on. Mrs. Park has outpaced the both of you, already joining the cluster of people on the far end of the block. 

“Are you home for the holidays too?” he asks and you frown, clearing your throat. 

“Oh, um, not really. I live here. Well not here, here, but in town.” 

“Right. Hm. Well…cool. And you grew up here?” 

You stop dead in your tracks, turning toward him. 

“What?” he asks, facing you. His plump lips look even more rosy in the cold, and his nose has gotten red to match. 

“Don’t do this. Don’t pretend you don’t know me.” 

His eyes flick across your face and he furrows his brow. “Why?.” 

“What do you mean why? You know damn well why.” 

He kicks at the snow under his foot. “Well, I mean we were good at pretending we didn’t know each other for so long, Y/N,” he says sharply. “So you’ll have to forgive me if that’s an old habit.”

Your heart sinks, and you shove your tongue into your cheek. “Right. Forget the fact that you were the one who initiated it. But the truth is that I do know you, Jimin. Your mom seems nice, by the way.” 

His head snaps up and he glares at you. “Are we just going to pick up on the same argument from a decade ago? I might have initiated but you’re the one who shut me out and never let me know what was going on. I think then, maybe it makes sense to say I don’t know you. And you may have read everything the tabloids have said about me, but let’s make one thing clear. You don’t know me, anymore, Y/N. You know nothing about me at all. So don’t start acting like you do.” 

His voice is cold, this time a true seething annoyance and anger leaking out of his words. 

You blow air through your lips. “Wow, yeah I guess I don’t. The Jimin I used to know wouldn’t jump down my throat the second that I ask him if he’s home for the holidays. Some hot headed macho temper you’ve got there.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Y/N.” 

He begins to stomp off toward the crowd, but clearly thinks better of it as he waits for you to catch up. 

“Temper tantrum over?” you say sarcastically, and he grumbles under his breath. “What was that?” 

“I said it wasn’t a temper tantrum. You’d be pissed too if your hockey career was pulled away from you because someone couldn’t keep shit to themselves.” 

Your mouth drops open, and while your stomach churns, all you can do is laugh, your laughter forcing you to misstep in the snow and land right on your ass, which only leads to more laughter. 

“What is wrong with you?” Jimin says, his eyes cast down on you judgingly. 

“Oof, man, I haven’t had a laugh like that in forever. A good joke coming from you of all people.” 

You pull yourself up from the snow, ignoring his outstretched hand in front of you. 

“I don’t think it’s all that funny.” 

“Yeah, well, you really should learn to lighten up,” you say, dusting the clods of snow from your legs. ”And work on that temper of yours.” 

“You sound like my coach,” he says, lifting his eyebrow. “Did he send you to watch me?” 

You squint your eyes at him. “Huh?”

“Forget it. Let’s get this shit over with so I can go dethaw in the comfort of my own home.” 

“Oh yes, heaven forbid Mr. Heatmeiser is out in the snow for any longer.”

Jimin is pretty sure that he’s a lost cause when it comes to redeeming himself as a somewhat decent person. 

He’s not sure what compelled him to lie and pretend he didn’t know you. Maybe it’s because when he stepped out of the Kia and he realized it was you, his throat dried up. Over the last decade, he’s distracted himself from thoughts about you and what happened when he left home. How much it destroyed him when you stood in front of him during one of the last days of warm weather and called it all off. 

He was so in love with you. So in love even though you were his biggest competition. Someone who had just as much of a chance at going pro as him. Maybe even more so. And while your town was too big to know everyone, but too small to not recognize people, Jimin had always known you. Had watched you on the rink practicing for your figure lessons while he waited for junior hockey practice. And how slowly your movements became less dainty and more powerful, less whimsical and more fierce as you dashed around the ice to be faster than everyone else. 

One day you were tossed into hockey with him, but as you both grew older and your bodies shaped themselves around different figures of puberty, it led to the eventual discontinuation of co-eds. 

His mother wouldn’t remember you. Because Jimin never told his strict parents that he was breaking the rules and went to your home games when his schedule allowed it in high school. That in the spring of his senior year, he finally got the guts to ask you out after he heard you’d broken up with your shitty boyfriend. That nearly every night after the first date he spent sneaking in through your bedroom window or driving you around in his car with the windows down. 

When he said he was going to practice, you always were in the parking lot waiting for him, your skates and gear ready for you two to practice drills and place bets on who could win in a shoot-out, only for him to buy you a blue raspberry slushie an hour later as you glowed from your victory, poking your stained tongue out at him to tease him. 

He loved that flavor when he tasted it on you. How many of those sweet kisses had turned hot and filthy, leading to your little whimpers and cute little sighs as he thrust into you in his back seat when everyone had left for the night? 

You told him you hadn’t told anyone you were together either. Not because your family wouldn’t understand, but because if word got out in this town, the chances of someone telling Jimin’s parents would mean the end of your relationship. It was easy, you said, to let things be private and just for you. 

Which is why the breakup felt like an unexpected death sentence when it happened. You’d both been scouted by Coach, and Jimin was certain you were going to be the one signed to the Bells. 

But then you’d both gone to a grad party for a classmate in August. And much like every other social event, you’d agreed to not be too friendly together, to not rock the boat of parental expectations or be a part of the town gossip. So you went to the party with your separate friend groups, danced around each other but never with each other. When one of the girls drunkenly stuck her tongue down Jimin’s throat, you watched without jealousy. And when Jimin begged on the walk to his car for you to forgive him, you’d laughed and said easily that there was nothing to forgive because he didn’t consent to the kiss.

But after that night, after you showered him with plenty of kisses in many places he did consent to and closed the door to his car, everything shifted. 

Suddenly, you were absent from try-outs and had texted Jimin saying you were sick. When he offered to come over, you replied that he needed to stay away for a bit. He’d tried to talk to you, but you often left his texts on read. After two weeks of pseudo ghosting, he had finally had enough.  

This wasn’t what you did. Something was clearly wrong. And after hearing that day that he’d officially been selected to contract with the Bells, he needed answers. He drove over to your house and snuck into your bedroom when your light was on. 

You were sitting on your bed, hair neat and dressed comfortably, with no signs of ailment despite what you’d said before. 

“So you’re feeling better I see. You don’t look very sick,” he said, bewildered at how normal you seemed. 

“It wasn’t that kind of sickness,” you’d replied, teeth gritted as you turned down the volume of your TV. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie to me?” His anger had started building, lifting the volume of his voice to above the whisper-level policy that you’d both implemented. 

“Shhh, my parents will hear you.” 

“Fuck it! Let them hear me! It’s stupid to keep this shit a secret anymore!” 

Your jaw had dropped. You had looked at him with venom. “I was only keeping it a secret for you!” 

“Why? Why then was that a secret you could keep between us but you couldn’t even tell me what’s been going on! Are you mad about the party? About that kiss?” 

By that point, both of you were talking loudly, and Jimin had heard your parents call up to ask you who was in your room. 

“Don’t worry about it!” you called back, returning to your argument. “I can’t believe you think I’m mad about that when I told you it was fine!” 

“What do you expect me to think when that’s the last time I saw you? The last time things were normal between us, Y/N?” 

“Nothing between us has ever been normal, Jimin.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“We’re rivals. Competition for each other. You really think that this would hold up if either of us went pro? How would that work? The sore loser just carts themselves behind the other and sits on the sidelines despite their dream being crushed?”

“What? Baby, that’s crazy. Is that how you would feel if I was signed?” 

“Maybe, but maybe you’d feel that way.” 

“Y/N, I wouldn’t. I would be so happy for you. And maybe I would still have my chance too. To get signed for another team or–” 

“And then be on opposite schedules in different places? Really? You think that would work out?”

“It could! Why are you being this way? Did you fake being sick because you’ve been rotting in here thinking about things that haven’t even happened yet?” 

You shook your head. “No, I was sick but it’s whatever now. Anyway, I know you were signed today. Coach called me.” 

An early fall breeze blew through the open window, settling the heat between you. 

“I haven’t signed yet,” he said quietly.

“You will.” 

“Maybe I won’t!” 

“Oh be serious for one fucking second, Jimin. All summer you’ve talked about this. This is your dream. This has always been your dream.” 

“Yeah well that was before you! Before this.” 

“What is this?” 

“Love! I’m in love with you. I want to spend every day of my life with you, don’t you know that? Since we were kids on the ice, when you were a failed ice skater because you were too gruff. Don’t you love me?” 

Tears had welled up in your eyes, but you didn’t move from your bed. 

“You can’t give up on hockey Jimin.” 

“I’m not going to, Y/N. Now tell me, do you love me, too?” 

He sat down on the edge of your bed, looking over at you sadly. He wanted so badly to hold you, to wipe away your tears, but he knew if he moved any closer, you’d be sure to kick him out. He sat anxiously as you silently looked at him, more tears spilling forward. 

“You need to leave.”

“Then tell me you don’t love me. If you say that, I’ll climb through that window and I promise I will never bother you again.” 

“Stop it. Please, just go home.” 

“What is wrong? What happened? I don’t understand. We were fine. Please, tell me.” 

The desperation in Jimin’s voice cracked him open, tears falling down his face too. 

“It’s over, Jimin. I’m breaking up with you.” You didn’t look him in the eye as you said it. Instead your eyes were fixed on your shelf above your dresser, decorated with trophies, team photos, and medals from your years of hockey. Noticeably gone from that shelf was the stuffed purple whale he’d gotten you from an arcade that summer. 

When he looked around, that’s when he noticed every trace of him was gone from your bedroom. The little things you’d put there as symbols of your relationship like postcards he’d written love letters to you on the back of, a small picture you kept by your bedside of your reflections in the water, and the dried flowers from the field off the highway he’d picked for you the day his car stalled on your way into the city. Almost like every trace of him was gone.

“Y/N? I’m coming in.” The sound of your father opening your door pulled Jimin off your bed, wiping his tears as he turned toward the window. 

When your father saw him –and as Jimin assumed, you– he cleared his throat. “I think it’s time for you to go, son.” 

With one glance back, Jimin looked at you, pleading for you to return his gaze. And as he for the first and last time walked out of your bedroom door, you looked up at him. Your eyes were filled with an agonizing sadness. One that answered every question he asked that night. You loved him. But that somehow, didn’t mean anything. 

Now, as he stands in the deep snow looking out across the frozen pond in his parents’ backyard, Jimin can taste the memory on his tongue. Not just of you, even though since he’s gotten home from caroling with his mother he’s been obsessively replaying the memories he thought he put to rest. But he also is remembering his first time skating on the pond. 

Back then, it felt like it stretched on for miles, but back then Jimin was also about half his height and terrified the ice was too thin. Over time, he’s learned how to get a better idea of the ice’s thickness and safety, but even if he fell in, the water in the pond is only 4 feet deep. 

Carefully, he takes the shovel to the surface, trying to scrape away at the layer of snow that has caked over the ice. He knows by tomorrow the snow will just be another layer of thicker ice to reinforce itself, but he can’t wait. 

After shoveling, he returns to the bank and props himself on the old log bench his father put on the edge of the water, replacing his boots with his skates. It feels so natural and right to lace himself back into them, though the missing bulk and weight of his padding feels out of balance. Still, he pulls himself up, shuffling over to the pond and shifting his weight forward to feel it out. 

It takes a moment to get used to the rougher ice. It reminds him of the time the zamboni driver was on paternity leave and the roughed up edges from practice after practice made it harder to glide across. Yet this is the pond he first learned to skate on. He knows its bends, how to steady himself among it. And once he feels the ice glide easier under him, it feels like a giant weight has been lifted off his shoulders. 

“Do you think they’ll want wreath cookies or tea cakes? Or those ones with the snowmen cutouts! Ooh, we should get those while we’re here, too, just in case.” 

Your mother has been leading you down aisle after aisle of the grocery store, nervously questioning every decision she’s made for her Christmas party. After the lackluster turnout post- caroling, she decided she wanted to try again, and for some reason has decided that the selection of cookies was the reason for low turnout, not the record-breaking snowstorm occurring during it. 

Unlike yesterday, when you were forced to carol alone, you managed to lie to Minho about needing to get a few things from the store and wanting to hear about his date, waiting until he got in the car to inform him that you would be meeting your mother at the store. 

You sigh as you turn the heavy cart around, back in the direction of the dairy section from where you just came. “They’ll be back here. I’ll go get them.” 

But her attention is focused more on the list in front of her, so you wheel the heavy load through the masses of shoppers, Minho grumbling behind you about how much he hates you. 

“Listen, now that we’re away from my mother, you can give me all the juicy details. How was the Thai food? How was downtown? Did you kiss?”

“I don’t think you deserve to know,” he pouts, pretending to stall at the discounted advent calendars.

“Look, I have stuff to tell you too, so let this be an equal exchange of tea.” 

“Y/N, I don’t want to hear about whatever some loser said to you on a dating app about hat trick record holders.” 

You arrive at the section with the pre-cut cookie dough. Minho snags two boxes and holds them up, trying to make you pick between the Rudolphs and the Christmas trees. After a second deliberating, he puts both in the cart, knowing your mother will be pleased with his decision making. 

“It’s not about dating apps. It’s about Park Ji-”

“Hi!” A bright voice chirps close by, and you jump, focusing on the source. You whirl around to see Mrs. Park waving with a tree shaped butter mold in her hands. Standing behind her at the handle of the cart is Jimin. 

“Oh, hi Mrs.Park,” you say, your voice strained. “How are you?”

Mrs. Park smiles at the question. “Good! Please tell your mom I had a fun time yesterday. Lots of good singing! Especially you. Are you a professional?” 

Minho snorts behind you, causing you to elbow him in the stomach. 

“No no. I’m really not good. I’m not a professional by any means.” 

“Oh, I see. Well, what do you do for work then? Is this your husband? He’s very handsome.”

Your eyes widen in horror as you realize she’s talking about Minho. 

You try not to look at Jimin, but you do, and he still wears the same blank expression from yesterday, only his jaw is set and the tips of his ears are red. He looks back and forth between you and Minho, almost like he’s trying to imagine you two together. 

“Oh, you’re really sweet, but, no. I’m not her husband. Neither of us are married.” Minho pipes up, his hand gently rubbing up and down your back. Somehow, you know he has pieced what you were about to say together, and the comfort of his touch makes you feel a little less like running at full speed out of the store. 

Jimin’s blank expression has turned into a glare. 

You clear your throat, not only drawing his gaze up to you but also his mother’s. 

“I, um, I own the ice arena. So I am usually there, sorting out bills and repairs. Or driving the zamboni. When I have downtime I play offense in our hockey league.” 

This seems to draw Jimin’s attention. “You own the arena?” 

“Yeah, the Lee family who owned it? Both of them passed away a few years ago. None of their children wanted it, so I bought it from them about two years ago.” 

Jimin frowned. “Oh no, that’s so sad. They always gave me extra time to practice and always had those licorice laces at the food counter. Remember the time we–”

His mouth snaps shut as he realizes his mistake. His eyes flash to his mother, who is looking between the two of you. “Oh! Then you must know each other!” she says ecstatically. 

You raise your eyebrows at Jimin expectantly. What narrative is he going to choose?

“Yes, Eomma. Y/N and I went to high school together. And we saw each other a lot.”

“Yeah, something like that,” you say, quietly challenging him even now to say the whole truth. He responds with a shake of his head. His mother doesn’t notice. 

“Oh, how nice! Such a shame my son never mentioned knowing you before. He could be the one shopping with you now if he had gotten you sooner instead of your husband! But, my son was always so focused on sports. Do you know the UHL? He’s on a team there!” 

Something twinges in you at the mention of the truth. You know Jimin never mentioned you, as that was part of your arrangement. But the thing his mother says about getting you sooner really throws you. 

“She knows, Eomma. She of all people will know about the UHL. She had tried out during the same trials as me.” 

“Is that so? Well, a pity that he beat you then. He’s always been so talented. I guess fate really made things work out for both of you then.” 

You find yourself folding your lips into a thin line, trying to avoid spilling the details about her son’s talent. But just as you wrap your hands around the cart rails until your knuckles pop, you feel MInho reach over you, loosening the cart from your grasp. 

“Hey, uh, you know, your mom is probably looking for us,” he says, introducing the bait that you can take to escape the increasingly painful conversation. 

As if summoned, your mother appears, rambling on about how long it has taken before she recognizes who is standing in front of her.

“Oh, well hello there! It’s great to see you again. Thank you for attending yesterday, it was wonderful having you. Too bad you missed the post-caroling cookies!” 

You sigh, knowing that your mother is sounding passive aggressive to anyone within earshot. 

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry we couldn’t attend. My son had just flown in earlier in the day, so we went home after so he could rest.” 

Your mother’s smile falls a little, no doubt from the guilt. 

“Of course! Well, no harm done. In fact, I’m having a soirée on Christmas Eve, and you should attend! Bring the whole family!” 

You glance back at Minho, whose mouth is pursed to hold back a laugh, much like yours. A soirée. Sure.

“I don’t know Eomma, we still have–” 

“It sounds amazing!” Mrs. Park interrupts, shooting a harsh look at her son. “We would love to attend, thank you.” 

“Perfect, I’ll email you the details then. Well, we should get going. These cookies won’t bake themselves!” 

As you peel yourself away from the Parks, you take a deep breath. 

“Well,” Minho says, “I don’t think I need to hear your story anymore.” 

“Well, there’s something more I need to tell you, but not here.” 

When you first met Jimin, you were seven, though you don’t remember him. While he once claimed he’s known you for forever, it wasn’t until you were both teenagers before you actually remembered him. 

In high school, you’d laid low, avoiding just about every social event that you possibly could. Your focus was on academics and the ice, with 5am wake times to get to the arena to practice, and late nights doing extra cram school sessions to keep your grades in shape despite your busy schedule. You had friends, but they were ones who lived in different cities, most of them commuting to your traveling team. Because co-ed hockey wasn’t an option and your high school had only invested in boys’ leagues, Park Jimin wasn’t someone on your radar. 

Until you’d learned that you were on his. 

It started in the early spring. Rumor had it that major league coaches were scouting for new recruits. Of all genders. There was a special trial process, and the trials would happen during the summer, with a potential for newly contracted players to begin their rookie season as soon as the fall. 

You’d tried not to get too excited. With an early decision college acceptance under your belt, your future was already looking bright. There was even an athletic scholarship attached. You could play on the women's team. But the potential of playing for the UHL, to be scouted and live out your dream to play hockey professionally was still filling your stomach with butterflies. 

So you kept yourself chill until the rumor became official, and marched into the arena you knew so well with your head high, ready to take on the other recruits. 

It was then that you and Jimin officially met. 

He was a bit scrawny looking then, his mop of black hair almost shadowing his face. It was hard to believe that this kid was the one you knew to be the MVP of the boy’s hockey team at your school. 

But once you saw him move, you understood why. Jimin had the form and movement almost of a dancer, with his build keeping him strong but light on his feet to race forward and snake around even the most complex of defense measures. He instinctively knew how to bend his body and stick away from a targeted maneuver, and cut swiftly enough to throw off the goalie and score. He would have made a great figure skater. 

You, however, were different. From the start, the grace of figure skating wasn’t with you, with your skates sloppily digging into the ice so you could chase after the object of your affection. A little brutish, you were also cunning, and the strategy of hockey and the game board that laid before you made it all the more satisfying. Your patience and ability to unfold a game play before it fully manifested often led to your team’s win. 

It also made playing against Jimin all the more intriguing. 

Because during each scrimmage, shoot-out, and obstacle you faced for the try-outs, Jimin was often neck-in-neck with you, somehow knowing your own plan of attack, and sliding the puck out of your hold as if he was plucking a feather from a pillow. It appeared so effortless, like he’d studied you for so long and knew your every movement. When he would shrug and give you an angelic smile during his wins over you, it made you all the more angry. 

One day after a scrimmage, you were stressed and hormonal and pissed. Some of the other players had gotten under your skin, shit-talking you for being the only woman on the team. 

“You sure you aren’t on some steroids or some shit? Performance enhancement can happen to everyone.” 

“I’m sure your daddy taught you quite a bit when you played on your little ponds, sweetheart. But this is the big leagues. There’s guys out there three times your size who will ruin that pretty little face.” 

“Are you sure you’re cut out for this? The position of Puck Bunny is open. If you want to experience hockey with the pros, might as well be safely bouncing on my cock to do so.” 

The sexism was rampant in hockey, and you knew it. But that was a day where it was too much. With graduation on the near horizon, just breaking up with your boyfriend, and the scouting day schedule being released soon, your nerves were as tired as your body. 

When Jimin found you crying in your car outside of the arena, he’d gently knocked on your window, a light smile warming his face as he held up a protein shake and a Kit Kat. 

You’d let him in, and from there, your whole world shifted. 

The days grew longer, the sun warming parts of your life you’d forgotten winter took away. Jimin was there to listen, to sit and strategize plays with you, to eat Subway sandwiches after practice and walk you to your car after school. 

“Hey, so, there’s this movie coming out. It’s a documentary, actually, about my favorite player, Lee Wonhyuk? Would you, uh, like to see it with me?” 

You knew that was his favorite player. He mentioned Wonhyuk nearly every day, and wore his jersey when he wasn’t in his own padding. You also had learned other things about Jimin during this time, like how the tips of his ears would turn red when he was embarrassed, and that his parents had a no dating policy because he was supposed to have an arranged marriage some day. He dreamed of leaving the town you both grew up in, wanting more for himself and hoping the distance from his family would allow for him to be more himself than simply fulfilling the dreams of his parents. 

He wanted it so badly he repeated it like a mantra to you often, it sometimes sounding like a plea to the heavens as tears fell from his eyes. 

He had a tooth that was a little crooked, and sometimes when he was tired, his voice would lisp a little. When he laughed, it was often with his full body, a cute giggle that scrunched up his face and folded him nearly in half with joy. He was allergic to cats but loved them. He had a brother. He learned to skate on the pond in his backyard. 

But he never bragged. Never let his anger get him on the ice. Was respectful to you and held open doors or carried your equipment bag when your shoulder hurt. 

So of course you said yes to the date. Of course you let him tuck your hair behind your ear and kiss you in the warm night, his breathy finally he sighed when your lips broke apart ensuring you’d made the right call about him. 

“So you were seeing each other in secret,” Minho says, drinking his Americano smoothly, like it isn’t a pile of caffeinated sludge. 

“Yes,” you respond, the cinnamon on top of your gingerbread latte making you cough slightly. 

The café’s window is foggy, but you can still make out the figures of bustling shoppers. For the sake of discretion, you agreed to Minho’s suggestion to go into the big city for “decent coffee and the ability to be strangers in a larger public”. 

He was right. Everyone is either deep in their own discussions or blocking out the world with headphones as they work on their laptops. The soft jazz Christmas music makes it feel safer to speak your secrets into the air. 

“Well, then what happened? What led to you breaking up? It sounds like you two were in love.” 

“We were…I think” you say, correcting yourself immediately after. 

“You think?” 

“Can you be in love when you’re nineteen?” 

“Uh, yes? Nineteen is young, but have you seen the teens these days? I think they have emotional maturity.” 

“Well, I didn’t, I guess. Because that summer was so intense. We graduated, but we were already together. And then we were hanging out with our own friend groups and trying to balance things. But we saw each other just about every day. And then it was almost like an obsession. We were unable to go a singular day without each other. He would sneak into my room to be with me at night and then leave before either of us had to get up to go to practice. We didn’t want to get caught, so we would makeout behind the movie theater in his car or drive to a more secluded part of the woods so we could…you know.” 

“Have sex? Come on, Y/N, don’t get all shy on me now when I know you were eating up the details about me taking my date the other night and eating her out while she–” 

“Shh!” You look around, but if anything, your shushing is the thing that drew attention. 

“You’re such a prude,” Minho laughs. “Anyway, go on. So you would sneak around, make love, and spend every hour with each other possible. Sounds like you were being nineteen.” 

“Well, it was intense. And once the coaches came it was rigorous and terrifying. Jimin was getting better and stronger, but I was constantly getting slower and I felt weaker. At first I thought I was just tired, like I’d overworked myself, but then I was getting more anxious and nauseous. So I just assumed that it was nerves. But I was playing pretty good and I was drawing attention from the coaches in a great way. Well, one in particular. The coach for the Bells. He was the only one who seemed to be interested in signing a woman.” 

“Well, yeah, because we live in a hellish and misogynistic society and you kick ass!” Minho says enthusiastically, pounding his hand onto the table. 

A woman carrying her tiny Pomerainian in her purse whips her head over. “Do you mind? Snowball is trying to get her beauty sleep.” 

“Sorry,” you both say in unison. 

“Anyway, yeah, I was so excited about the opportunity. And so was Jimin. He kept going on and on about playing on the same team as his idol. But Coach approached me one day after practice and told me that despite there being another three weeks in the trial period, he’d already made his decision. He wanted to sign me on for the fall season. And he would see through the process to be fair, but he had already contacted the legal team to begin drawing up my contract.

“And I had to keep it a secret. While it’s kind of known that coaches do this, they usually keep it to themselves. But Coach said that he hadn’t seen the strategy his team needed in their play execution for quite some time and I would be a huge asset to the team. I’d asked about Jimin, too, out of curiosity but he kind of skirted around the details, saying that there would only be one recruit for the team from this area.” 

“Oh my god, that’s incredible! So why didn’t you go through with it? What did Jimin say when you told him?” 

“I didn’t,” you shake your head, fiddling with the cupsleeve of your latte. “I couldn’t. Not only was I sworn to secrecy basically, but how was I supposed to tell the person who adored the Bells that he wasn’t going to play for them? How could I crush his dreams like that? He needed this. Not only because he wanted it, but he was good at it. As much as I hated to admit my shitty opponents were right, I physically was going to be one third of the size of my competitors sometimes and there is a danger in hockey.” 

“Okay, but it’s not like Jimin is some massive dude.” 

“No, but you’ve seen how graceful he is. He slips out of the hold of the other team fairly easily. I’ve only seen him get body checked recently, when he got whatever that temper is he now is known for. He wasn’t like that at all when we were younger.” 

“Did he find out? Is that how things ended?” 

You shook your head. “I never told Jimin about this meeting. Maybe he knows now and that’s why he’s always pissed whenever he sees me, I don’t know. But there’s multiple reasons why I didn’t sign on, and yes there’s that part I just told you about, but there was more to it than that.” 

Minho sips his coffee, gesturing for you to continue. 

“So, as the week went on, my stomach was hurting more and more. And with all the stress and nerves but all the crazy workouts, I’d been skipping my period for a few months. Jimin and I had been safe for the most part, but not always. Sometimes we were too hot and heavy and we’d do the pull-out method instead. But I didn’t ever make the connection. A lot of the time, female athletes who are super physically conditioned have lighter or missed periods. It had happened before, but that was before I was sexually active. Stress, too, can sometimes make you miss periods. So one night Jimin and I went out to this party. Nothing really important happened but some girl threw herself at Jimin and he was worried I’d be upset. I wasn’t, but all-too conveniently I was super sick the next day. I missed practice. And that’s when I started putting the dots together and bought a test that was clearly positive.” 

“Oh my god, Y/N. What?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckled, taking a deeper sip of your drink. “Pregnant. And for a little while actually. When I got into the clinic and they took the blood tests and ultrasound, they suspected I was about 8 weeks along. Which means I had been drinking, getting body checked, and all sorts of shit during that time. But, they said it was still viable.” 

“Did you want it to be viable? I mean, how did you feel? Scared, I can imagine.” 

Your lips curve into a soft smile. “I don’t think I really gave myself much time to decide how I felt besides that I was terrified and that this was happening at the worst possible time. I asked for an abortion right then and there. So they sent me home with the pills, and I just waited. It takes a few days, and god, honestly it was awful to experience alone. I didn’t tell anyone, because if I told my parents I was afraid they would ask whose it was, and I didn’t want that to get back to Jimin’s parents. So, I just spent about a week at home, saying I had a really heavy period this time, experiencing heavy cramps and crying and letting it pass. The following week I had to go back in and make sure it worked, but in that time I just laid low and didn’t talk to anyone. 

“My parents didn’t suspect much, but Jimin was freaking out, thinking I had some infectious disease and threatening to come over every five minutes with soup or a Hazmat suit. I didn’t want him to be there, though. If he knew I was pregnant, I knew it would throw him off. He’d be worried about me even more and start thinking about us having babies together and getting old and staying in this town.” 

“I can understand why you didn’t tell him, I do. But I do wonder what’s so wrong about letting him think about those things too.” Minho reaches his hand out gently, stroking his fingers on the back of your hand. “I’m not saying what you did is wrong in any way, Y/N. It’s your body and always your choice matters the most. But based on how you described him to me before, do you think he would have thrown it all away or tried to make you keep the baby? Do you think that your decision and his wouldn’t be aligned in that way?” 

You think for a minute. “No, I think he would have been on my side. He was really adamant on letting me be independent and pursuing what was best for myself. I just couldn't give him the option at the time. I was too focused on making sure things went right for him.” 

Minho smiles softly and nods. “I just hate that you went through that alone.” 

“I do too. But I’m glad I can finally talk about it. I did end up telling my parents, about a year or so later, that I had an abortion. I didn’t say whose it was, but my mom cried for like three days because she was so sad for me that I went through it alone.” 

“Is that why you turned down the offer, then? Were you okay after?” Minho furrows his brow with concern. 

“Oh, I was fine after about two weeks. I felt completely back to normal. And it wasn’t really that reason that I turned the offer down. I mean, it was a part of it, obviously, but mostly when I was having the abortion and was alone at home I was thinking about how fucked up life is. I was a normal teenager and then shit I was pregnant. I was in love with someone but oh god we were almost parents. We were breaking rules despite being adults. We were living in secret and baby or no baby, life was going to change for us and soon. If I was signed to the Bells, I would be leaving home, but what about Jimin? Would he come with me, stay back? Would he get other offers and we’d play on opposing teams? If I said no and he said yes, would he seriously be okay coming back and seeing me or trying to figure things out while I was away at school? 

“Keep in mind, at that time, I didn’t realize my deferment was me rescinding my scholarship. I just suddenly felt like the world was so, so big and the tiny, romantic solitude we’d coveted was not going to work out. So I made up my mind. I turned down the offer for the Bells. I told Coach the world wasn’t ready for a woman in professional hockey and told him about Jimin and his drive and passion and dreams. I told him to sign him instead. Or at least I hoped I told him. I was really laying it on thick,” you laugh. 

“And then you broke things off with Jimin,” Minho finishes. You frown softly. 

“Yeah. And it was awful. He begged me not to. He didn’t know where all this was coming from. He told me he’d only leave if I told him I didn’t love him, but I couldn’t do that. Eventually my dad busted into my room and sent him away. And that was it. That was the last time we talked or saw each other.” 

“Until now.” 

“Until now,” you confirm. 

‘Well fuck, Y/N, that’s one hell of a story.”

“I’ll say.” 

Your head pivots to the Pomeranian lady, who is turned toward you and Minho, sipping her coffee indulgently. 

“You were eavesdropping that entire time?” you ask. 

“Well, it’s not like you were being discreet. Either way, honey, these kinds of places absorb everyone’s biggest secrets. That’s what makes the coffee so good.” 

When Minho dropped you off at your house, you felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your chest. After years of holding onto something that wasn’t necessarily shameful but still heavy, someone else knowing the full story was relieving. 

However, one question he asked before leaving has been popping around in your head, taking up a residence that you weren’t quite expecting, even as you unlock the doors to the ice arena the next morning.

“Are you going to tell him?” 

Had Jimin not been only mere miles away from you at this very moment, you would say no. There’s no point in bringing up the past if it’s never around to haunt you. But it seems like Jimin is determined to make your small town feel even smaller. 

When he walks through the doors behind Bee, you can’t help but feel like you manifested him. 

“So, Y/N, here’s the deal.” Bee always tells you news this way. A deal, a situation. This is her way of telling you she’s made a decision and you’re probably not going to like it.

“I got a call the other day from the Head Coach of the Bells. I don’t know how, probably Jay gave it to him since he’s the AC but whatever.” Bee suddenly admitting that her long distance boyfriend, Jay–the Jay she has baby talked to multiple times after a game loss– is the Assistant Coach for the Bells is shocking. But not as shocking as what next comes out of her mouth. “He wants us to rehab Park. Drill him, get him back to his roots and all that shit. He’s hoping some time on a familiar rink will help him shape up. So starting today, he’s going to be training with you.” 

You blink silently at Bee, wishing you could communicate “I want to strangle you” through the pattern. 

“What?” Jimin says incredulously. “I thought I was just going to be training with the space, not with her specifically.” 

Bee cocks her head at Jimin. “You got a problem training with women, Park? Because if so, I would be happy to call Jay and let him know you’re not complying.” She smiles viciously. 

Jimin sighs in resignation. “No, ma’am.” 

“Bee,” you say. “That’s not fair. If he doesn’t want to train with us, he doesn’t have to. I have some opening slots since the junior teams and figure skating lessons are on hold until after the new year. He can just come do drills during those times if he wants to.” 

Bee flicks her gaze between you and Jimin, raising an eyebrow. “What’s with you, Y/N? You’ve never disagreed with my plans before. Are you guys ex lovers or something?” 

You suck in a breath, ready to deny the accusation, but Jimin beats you to it. 

“Yeah, actually. We dated in high school.” He says it calmly, with no malice or venom. It actually shocks you a bit. 

“Oh. Well...do you think you two can make it through the holidays without killing each other?” 

Jimin laughs lightly. “I don’t know, you’ve seen her slapshots. I think you know how lethal she can be.” 

Bee smirks, nodding. “Fair.” 

You knit your brows together. Jimin making light jokes to Bee? What reality do you live in? 

“So, Y/N? Can you not enact Kill Jimin at this time?” 

Despite yourself, you find yourself smiling, allowing a light laugh to fall from your lips. 

“Yes, I promise I won’t kill Jimin.” 

Practicing with you feels like a weird dream Jimin is walking through. Familiar because the arena looks about the exact same as it did back when you were teenagers. Only now, you are both older, and when Jimin gets a good look at you without a giant winter parka over your body, he can’t help but notice how good you look. 

Your body has filled in, with wider hips and strong legs that lunge forward with ease, carrying you as you slam the puck into the goal post, chiming in the air before it pivots in. Your ass has gotten bigger, too, and it looks perfect in your leggings you’ve chosen to wear for practice. He can’t see much of your arms due to the bulky hoodie you’ve chosen, but he can tell by the way you bodycheck one of your teammates that they are far from weak. 

It’s almost enough to get him hard. Until he hears you laugh, and then he remembers how long it’s been since he’s experienced your laughter, and the empty ache of his past drags his sulky mood back up. 

Being home sucks. Seeing his parents is great, but he’s been coddled since he got here, being sent off with homemade lunches from his mother and warnings from his father not to stay out too late. He’s almost thirty and he feels sixteen. This morning his mother woke up even before him just so she could corner him in the kitchen and ask if he’d reviewed any of the potential matches she sent him so he can also go on a date while he’s home. 

He’d said not yet, but what he wanted to say was “No, Eomma, because marriage couldn’t be the furthest thing from my mind right now when my career is dying in front of me.” 

Now, witnessing you be still so much of yourself after nearly ten years, Jimin can’t help but feel even worse about himself. 

“Park, you’re up.” Coach Bee whistles for Jimin to begin his drill, handling the puck quicking between a set of cones. It’s a familiar drill he’s done hundreds of times with the UHL, but this time there’s a twist: he must avoid the agitator, a player who will skate behind him tightly, not only trying to intercept the puck, but also piss him off. 

Naturally, you’re the agitator. 

“Before we do this, no low blows,” he says as you glide up to him. “Treat me with the same knowledge any other player would have. Nothing too personal.” 

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t going to, but sure,” you say softly. 

When Coach Bee blows her whistle, he begins, curving his body along the cones, with you right behind him. 

“Pussy,” you say, which catches Jimin off guard immediately, throwing him into a laughing fit and knocking a bunch of cones down.” 

Coach blows her whistle. “Reset! Come on Park, Y/N, be serious.” 

“I am being serious!” you shout back, but Jimin is still laughing hard. 

“Oh come on! Pussy? You’re kidding me!” Jimin wheezes. Your lips twitch. 

“Okay, fine, I haven’t gone into my zone yet. Give me a break.” 

“I know you can be mean,” he says. Your face falls. 

“I don’t want to be mean.” 

“Well that’s your job right now isn’t it? To agitate me? So just suck it up and do it. Or are you a pussy?” He raises an eyebrow. You clench your jaw. 

This is how he knows he’s got you. All it ever used to take was a little bit of a challenge to rile you up. And Jimin knows just what buttons to push. 

“Reset your shit and let’s go,” you say. 

He smirks. 

This time when Coach Bee blows her whistle, you’re practically on top of Jimin, careening your body so your stick is just millimeters away from his. 

“You know, you used to be hard to crack. What’s wrong? All that fame get to your head? Or was it the fake orgasms you gave that girl in your little sex tape?” 

“Oh, baby, you of all people should know those orgasms were real.” 

“Hmm, I don’t know. You were going awfully hard on the poor girl with your needle dicking. Does being shitty at hockey now amount to being shitty at sex these days?” You smack his hockey stick, causing it to rattle uneasily in Jimin’s grasp. 

He chokes up on the handle, reshaping the curve of his arm so the puck tucks behind the stick when you go in for another slap. 

“Aw you’re asking about sex? Has no one fucked you since me or are you just having awful sex?” he retorts. You scoff. With a twist, Jimin begins the second set of cones, this time with a more fluid movement that feels natural to his body. 

“So interested in my pussy, aren’t you. If you were maybe more attentive to the other people you fuck, you wouldn’t be the worst player in the major league.” 

“As opposed to what? The best player in the minor league? I’m not the one stuck at home.” 

He feels your skate sliding between his legs, the force of your body checking, almost knocking him to the ground. He steadies, glaring at you as you coast behind him gracefully. 

“Oops, sorry. Did I almost trip you?” 

“You always played dirty,” he spits. “Come on, babygirl, give me your worst.” 

You roll your eyes and fall into position as he passes the puck back and forth between his stick. 

“Being awfully quiet back there. What’s wrong, big boys got your ego down?” 

“Hardly. I think you’ve got enough ego for the whole fucking town.” 

“And how did I get it, hmm? It didn’t come from sucking, Y/N, it came from talent. Something you didn’t try hard enough for.” 

“And you did? I’m sure Coach really loves to tell you all about your talent.” 

“He does, he said I had drive and passion and that’s why I needed to come back here. To show how far I’ve come from this shithole. How skilled I am and how much I deserve to be there instead of here.” 

“Well lucky for you to have been the top contender.” Your voice drips with anger, and Jimin peers back to see your eyes piercing through him. You drop your stick, shifting to Coach Bee. 

“Bee, I’m done. Send in someone else to agitate.” You skate off the ice, whispering angrily to her as you jab your finger in Jimin’s direction. She nods, blowing her whistle. 

“Alright, reset! Let’s get this show on the road. Wonpil, you’re with Jimin. Minho, go take goalie position. Hustle! It’s Christmas Eve, we all want to get home!” 

Everyone resets, and the player named Wonpil pulls up behind Jimin. As the fellow players begin their drills, Wonpil immediately jumps in where you left off. 

“God, I can’t believe they let an asshole like you in here,” he says, leering over Jimin’s shoulder. 

Jimin snorts, focusing on his positioning. 

“Seriously, you’re the scum of the entire UHL and you really think you’re the shit? Embarrassing.” 

“Well, at least I have a contract. How's a dinky rink going for you, bud?” 

“You know you only have that contract because Y/N turned it down, right?” 

Jimin grips his stick harder. “Nice lie, you almost got me with it.”

Wonpil laughs, empty and cruel. “Oh you don’t know do you? Your coach scouted her for the Bells. She only turned it down because she was sick and felt bad for you.” 

“You’re lying,” Jimin said, teeth gritting. 

“Sure I am. Keep telling yourself that. But facts are facts, Jimin. You playing like a piece of shit is a disgrace to not just yourself, but everything she built for you too.” 

“Stop. Lying.” Heat flares through Jimin’s body, and he pivots on the ice, slamming his body into Wonpil. 

“Oh, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Wonpil says, teeth sharp as he smiles at Jimin. “Someone really needs to put you in your place, and I’m more than happy to do it.” 

Jimin grabs Wonpil’s shoulders, jerking him into the barrier. “Go for it, bud. Show me how cool you think you are.” 

Wonpil jerks his arm up to bring his elbow down onto Jimin's face, but something stops him. A hand squeezes his forearm, and as Jimin follows the limb, he sees you.

“Stop it, Wonpil. That’s enough.” Your voice is soft but ragged, and Jimin realizes you’ve been crying.

Somewhere in the background, the whistle is screaming through the arena, and the entire team of the Griffins are streaming forward to break up the fight. But it’s your touch, your voice that seems to break Jimin from his fury. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, but the question confuses you, and you stand there staring at him, your body only looped through one arm of the hoodie, your skates untied. 

You don’t answer, instead skating back off the rink, grabbing your equipment bag and disappearing behind a door marked for employees. 

Jimin doesn’t see you until closing time. While practice ended hours ago, he stayed, doing drills, eating a hot dog from concessions, and most of all, waiting for you. 

Your hair is messy, eyes puffy and red, but when your eyes land on Jimin, you don’t look fazed by his presence. 

“I saw you on the security camera,” you say softly. 

“Ah,” he responds. Your arms are crossed, the long sleeves of your shirt confirming the muscle definition he suspected before. 

“I assume you wanted to talk to me?” you ask. 

Jimin clears his throat, nodding awkwardly. “Um, yeah. Your teammate, Wonpil. What’s his deal?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Does he have it out for me or something?” 

You shrug. “I’m not sure what you mean. Besides you trying to beat the shit out of him. Did something happen?” 

“Well, I didn’t try to beat the shit out of him for nothing. The guy has a screw loose or something. He was saying all sorts of shit.” 

“Didn’t you tell me that this is what the agitator does? Of course he’s going to say shit. Come on, follow me. I need to lock up.” You lead him through the various lobbies and areas around the arena, checking bathrooms and corners for anyone who might be loitering. Jimin saw the last people leave about an hour ago, but he doesn’t say so. 

“Yeah, but this was crazy stuff.” You duck your head into the women’s bathroom. 

“Mhm.” 

“He said that the only reason I’m contracted with the Bells is because you turned it down. Isn’t that nuts?” 

You freeze, your hand on the key that turns off the lights to the south side of the arena. 

“Oh.”

Jimin watches you. Your voice sounds shaken, and when you turn to him, you don’t meet his gaze. 

“Y/N,” Jimin says. 

“Yeah.” 

“Look at me.” You obey. “Is that true? Did you get a contract for the Bells?” 

“I did,” you say. 

Jimin’s chest clenches but he forces a deep breath through it anyway. 

“And did you turn it down so I could go?” 

“Yes,” you say. Tears well up in your eyes. Jimin blinks in disbelief. 

“Why? Why the fuck would you do that? It was your dream and you just threw it away!” Anger pulses through him again, making him flushed and hot. “Why didn’t you tell me? What the fuck, Y/N?” 

“You wanted it more than I did, Jimin! You needed it more than me. What was I supposed to do? Leave you behind?”

“You were supposed to tell me! You were supposed to be honest so I could figure things out for myself! If I wasn’t the first pick, I deserved to know! Now I know I was the pity pick? All this time I was thinking I was chosen because I was wanted, but I wasn’t even good enough for that?” 

He rubs his eyes with his hands, trying to stamp out the burning he feels in them. Despite himself, his throat tightens, and the hot lick of tears begins to fall in mirror to your face. 

“Of course you were good enough! Why else would you have been contracted! He saw in you what I saw!” you yell, a ragged cry leaving your chest. 

“So that’s why you dumped me all those years ago? Was it guilt for what you did?”

“No! No, it was because I couldn’t be the one dragging you down, Jimin. You spent that whole summer telling me how badly you needed to escape. You talked about your dreams, everything. If I went and played for the Bells, would you have been happy for me? Would you have been okay with letting your dream go?” 

“Of course I wouldn’t Y/N! Because you were my dream. You never seemed to get that! All along you were playing with my future like I was your puppet on strings. Did I live up to your expectations? Hm? Is watching me fuck strangers in a threesome that has since ruined my life been a dream for you? Has watching me become the loser that I am been satisfying for your sick idea of reality?” 

“No, it isn’t. It’s been sad, Jimin. It has been absolutely awful to watch! And keep in mind, there’s no way for me to be a puppeteer if I’m not around to pull the strings. You became who you are now by your own hand. Not mine. Yeah, it was wrong of me not to tell you, I know that now. I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to you. But I’m not responsible for your career failing. That’s all you.” 

You turn the key to the set of lights, shutting the arena down into darkness. 

“Now, excuse me. I have a Christmas Eve party to get to.”

You manage to get the swelling of your eyelids to go down with some cold spoons your mother shoves into the freezer when she sees you arrive at the party. 

You know you’ll have to face Jimin again tonight, but some resolve has washed over you in the time since you left the arena earlier this afternoon. You’ve had time for a shower, and thrown on some makeup so no one can ask you why you’ve been crying. 

With Minho here, things are feeling a little less stifling, as he instinctively knows how to assemble a killer charcuterie board while also wearing a dashing smile on his face when your aunts ask him if he’s single. He’s good for the distraction, giving you more time to mentally prepare for when Jimin walks through the door with his parents, wearing a white button-up shirt and open suitcoat. 

He looks good. Put together, unlike earlier when he and you were crying and screaming at each other. Composed in only the way a celebrity with PR training could. 

“Oh, hello Y/N!” his mother says as you greet them at the door, taking her pea coat into your hands. 

“Hello, thank you for coming. My mom will be happy you’re here.” 

“Thank you, dear. It’s our pleasure to be here. Jimin, help Y/N with our coats while we go put the tapenade on the table.” 

Mechanically, he obliges, taking his and his father’s snow-dusted coats and following you to the spare bedroom down the hall that has become the coat room. 

“You look nice,” he says, nodding in your direction. You chose to wear a sparkly black dress with shooting stars on it. It was one of the few things in your closet you could deem festive enough without being tacky. The only downside is that it’s shrunk in the wash, making your breasts spill over and your ass practically falls out the back when it rides up. 

“Thank you,” you say, trying not to notice too much that his eyes are glued to your chest. You feel a light jolt of warmth in your stomach. “You do too.” 

Jimin flushes, looking down shyly. “Thanks.” 

Without much effort, you turn toward the door, falling back into the warmth of the party. Your mother clinks her glass, drawing the attention of others. 

“Thank you all for attending this party at the last minute,” your mother beams, clearly pleased with the turnout. 

“That being said, we have lots of games at the ready, song sheets with lyrics, and plenty of eggnog and mistletoe to help you feel some holiday cheer.” She looks at you and winks. “So, enjoy! And cheers!” 

The partygoers cheer, and some swingy, festive rendition of “Deck the Halls” kicks on. You retreat to the designated bar table, where Minho is pouring a heavy glass of something. 

“What’s ailing you?” he asks. 

“Jimin,” you scoff, gesturing for him to pour you a shot of vodka. He goes to top it with cranberry juice, but you shake your head. 

“You sure you want to get wasted?” 

“Absolutely. I can’t imagine getting through any of this sober,” you grimace. Minho laughs. 

“Fair point. Cheers.” 

You clink your shot glasses, downing the alcohol quickly. The burn pulls down through your chest, warming you instantly. 

For the next two hours, you and Minho take turns pouring each other drinks before jumping into games like Christmas Pictionary, where your father draws the worst reindeer you’ve ever seen in your life, looking more like a group of sausages on a grill. 

Jimin hovers around, refusing to partake in the fun, and his Grinchy attitude is still weighing on you too. 

When your mother passes out her caroling sheets and your father shoves someone over to the piano, you find yourself stuffed into the corner with him. 

“Having fun yet?” you ask, the alcohol giving you the guts to feel daring enough to speak to him. 

“Is this supposed to be?”

You frown. “God, you’re such a grump. You better be careful, or you’ll be visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future tonight.” 

“I’d say that I’m already experiencing it,” he says, gesturing toward you. “You get to be all three it would seem.” 

You roll your eyes, putting some distance between the two of you. 

At some point, you’re stuck together again. This time near the snack table and you try to pad your stomach with something other than alcohol. As you load your plate with salami roses and lots of different cheeses and vegetables, Jimin reaches over you, grabbing the bag of potato chips and depositing some of his plate. 

“Here,” he says, when he sees you struggle to balance your stash, and he carries it into the kitchen so you can eat against the counter in peace. 

“Um, thank you,” you say, and pop a tomato into your mouth. 

“About earlier,” he says. Something in his voice sounds less tense than before, and it prompts you to look at him, taking in the softness of his face. 

“Yeah?”

“I was being an asshole,” he finishes. “I’m sorry. I just…it was a shock is all. And a bit disappointing.” 

“It’s okay to be upset,” you say, dusting your hands off on a napkin. “And I’m sorry, too. It wasn’t right of me. I know it’s not an excuse, but I was really young at the time and I was scared.” 

“I was scared too,” Jimin says, lifting his eyes to look at you. “God, leaving here was terrifying.” 

The room is warm from all the crockpots still heating the various delights your parents have encouraged others to serve. Jimin’s face is rosy, and he looks almost like a teenager again.

You nod. “I can only imagine. A new place to start from scratch. Trying to get a hang of everything and be independent. You were practically a kid.” 

“I was,” he smirks. “We both were.” 

“Yeah,” you smile. 

“I do have another question, if that’s okay,” he says quietly. 

“Sure.” You bite down on a piece of cheese, chewing softly.

“When you broke up with me, you said something about how if you got the contract you were worried that I would be miserable. Was that why you did it? Didn’t take it.” 

You sigh. “It was more complicated than that.” 

“How so?” 

In the living room someone whoops as the partygoers sing along to “Jingle Bell Rock”. 

“Not here, let’s go somewhere more private.” 

He follows you into the guest room where you left your coats earlier. The room feels colder than the rest of the house, since the door has been closed despite the groups of people warming the living room. 

You sit. Jimin sits, too, though on the far side of the bed. 

“Well, I guess that me worrying about you was part of it. But I think looking back, I was also worried about myself. We had such a hot and heavy summer and this contract felt like a huge question mark over both of our futures. And we’d never talked about it. While I was at home, I just kept twirling the idea of how things would work out over and over in my head.” 

“Did you skip trials because of it? I had no idea you were so anxious. When I saw you and you didn’t look sick, I thought you’d lied. I never considered that you would have made yourself sick with all of that.” 

“Um, well that wasn’t fully it.” His composure takes you by surprise. “The week of the party. The one you assumed I got mad at you for? I was kept after practice by your coach. He said that while the try-outs weren’t done, he had made his choice. He picked me. And I had to keep it a secret from everyone. Including you.” 

Jimin folds his lips into a line. “Ah, I see.” 

“But, I also had been feeling really shitty. Nausea, heightened anxiety, stress related stuff. Missing periods and stuff, which I know I told you some about. But the day after the party, I felt really bad. And then I finally realized what was wrong. Um…I was pregnant.” 

Jimin’s eyes flare wide. “What?” 

“Yeah. Turns out a lot of my symptoms were signs of pregnancy. And you and I weren’t exactly careful a lot of the time.” 

Heat floods to Jimin’s face, and you watch as his ears turn pink. “No, we weren’t.” 

“I knew I couldn’t have a baby. I wasn’t really thinking what you would want in that but–” 

“What I would have wanted doesn’t matter.” 

You smile, some warmth spreading to your chest over your instinct being right. “Well, thanks. I got an abortion. And then I turned down the contract. I was going to go to school but I guess my deferment resulted in me losing my scholarship.” 

Jimin stares at you, unmoving. 

“You okay? I’m not shocking you too much?” 

“It’s not that it’s just. Holy shit, Y/N.”

“People keep saying that,” you chuckle. 

“Because it’s a holy shit situation. Were you okay? Did your parents take you?” 

“No, I just did it alone.” 

“Fuck, god. And I was just off dicking around on a rink while you were going through that”

“Which is what I wanted you to be doing, Jimin. I didn’t want you worrying about me. You had to focus!” 

Jimin rolls his eyes. “God, you are ridiculous. You were all alone having an abortion by yourself, going through that pain by yourself. Something of which I caused and you were still thinking about me instead of yourself?” 

Your mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. You never thought of it like that. 

“I’m not mad you didn’t tell me, just so you know. I don’t think I really have a right to be mad because it’s not my body that had to go through it. I just…I would have wanted to be there for you through it. More than anything. You were my world, Y/N.” 

“But I couldn’t be. I needed you to be your own world. I needed you to go make something of yourself that wasn’t just because of me.” 

He snorts. “But it was because of you that I made something of myself. I got contracted because of you. I played hard to not think about you. I kept myself busy for nearly a decade with my career so I could forget about you.” 

“Well, did you get close?” you ask carefully. The alcohol has made your head feel a little fuzzy, but the conversation has sobered you up. 

He picks up a throw pillow and tosses it at you. You laugh. “No, of course I didn’t. It’s you, for fuck’s sake. You were my every wet dream of my teenage years, do you think I would just forget you like that?”

“Well, you tried to pretend you didn’t remember me.” 

“God,” he runs a hand over his face. “I think I was just shocked, honestly. I thought you would have left here. Gone away to college and got your sports physiology degree and I would run into you one day in LA after a bad injury and I could convince you to fall in love with me again.” 

You scoff. “Oh is that the dream?” 

“Well it was. I really didn’t think I’d see you ever again, actually.” 

“I hope it’s not too much of a disappointment.” 

“Well, we’ll see…it wasn’t because you were pregnant that you broke up with me, was it?”

“Oh my god, no. You’re obsessed with this like there’s a singular reason but there wasn’t. It was a culmination of everything. Besides, I’d had the abortion during the time I was home. When you showed up, I had just gotten clearance from my doctor that it was a success.” 

Jimin frowns. “Were you sad about it? The abortion? Not that you had to be.” 

“I was sad that I was alone. I was sad that I felt like I couldn’t tell you. I was worried that if I did, I would be the reason for you not getting contracted. It was a lot of worrying for you. But also for myself. I worried I wouldn’t be okay. And I worried I would regret it somehow, that I would wake up one day wondering what could have been.” 

“Did you?”

You look down at your hands. “No, I mean, not really. I have since, I guess, but it’s less wondering what life would have been like without an abortion and more what life would have been like if I didn’t call everything off. That decision hurt me. And it never felt completely right. But my fear of things ending kind of ruled over me. I was so in love with you that I couldn’t imagine a lifetime where things would work out. Not when you had an arranged marriage you’d someday have to fulfill, or one of us would go pro and have to figure out how to make both our dreams work.” 

Jimin nods. “Well, thank you for telling me. I’m glad you made the decision that was best for you at the time. It gives me some closure.” He scoots closer to you before reaching over and squeezing your hand. “And I hope that if you ever go through something like that again, you have someone by your side so you feel less alone.” 

“Thank you,” you say. 

The warmth of his hand comforts you both as you sit in the room. Your mother squeals in the other room, shouting at your father for allegedly grabbing her ass. 

“Come on, babe! It’s Christmas!” he replies. 

You and Jimin burst into laughter. 

“You know,” Jimin says behind gasps of air. “I don’t think I hate being here as much as I thought I would. Sure, it sucks being under my parents’ roof again, but god, the sound of a holiday party is a welcome change from a bunch of locker room groans.” 

“You smell better too,” you add. You sniff the air between you too. “I always liked that cologne on you.” 

He smirks. “Remember when I ran out and you drove your car, broken A/C and all, into the city to get me a replacement?” 

You groan. “God, my car was truly an oven that day. When I finally got home I thought I was melting like an ice cream cone.”

“I remember that.” 

“I have a question for you now,” you say. Jimin blinks a bit, taken aback by your abruptness. 

“Oh, sure.” 

“Why are you home? Why didn’t you stay at your place and just see your celebrity friends? Why come back here which is clearly full of bad memories and feelings and experience all of this?” You gesture around you. 

He takes a sharp breath. “Well, it felt like something that I had to do. First of all, I’ve been instructed by our PR team not to be seen out with any of my celebrity friends. I’m not supposed to be seen anywhere near Bells Arena, so practicing locally was out. And with it being too warm there to skate on a natural body of water, it seemed like home was the only option.”

“That sucks,” you blurt. “I mean–”

Jimin laughs. “Yeah, it does suck. But home isn’t the worst place to be, and I feel like there hasn’t been a lot tying me to anything lately. The last few years have been rough. Threesome notwithstanding, but my life hasn’t been exactly private for a while. And I guess that kind of presses you to become someone else.” 

“Like a prick?” 

“Am I really that much of an asshole?”

“Uh, yeah. You lost your drive because you’re too busy chirping on the ice and not focusing on the game.” 

“You’re sounding like Coach again.” 

“Well, he had a good point. Do you have your gear with you by chance?”

“It’s in the car, why?”

“Go grab it and meet me out back.” 

“Why?”

“Just do it,” you roll your eyes and stand up, smoothing your dress. When you turn to face Jimin, his gaze moves from your ass. 

You pretend not to notice. 

“You have a rink in your backyard?”

“Yep, Dad built it back when we were trying out for the pros, thinking that during my break times I could come home and practice.”

Now knowing the truth, Jimin can’t help but feel an ache in his chest for you and the dream you left behind. 

“It’s incredible. But are you sure that you’re not too drunk to skate?” 

You balk at the question, laughing. “You think I haven’t skated absolutely wasted? Come on now.” Fair point. “Besides,” you add, “I feel fine now. The fresh air is nice.” 

You’ve traded your tiny little dress he was admiring in the bedroom for a more sensible outfit. “Now, lace up your skates, Park. Let’s get to drills.” 

An hour later, Jimin is sweating through his button down. He didn’t have an extra outfit with him in the Kia, just his skates, so he’s been sweltering in the stiff button down. A little perspiration is beading your forehead, but you still have a healthy glow to you, and are not nearly as out of breath as he is.

“You’ve gotten sloppy with your passing,” you say nonchalantly. 

A lick of heat prompts Jimin to argue, but he shoves it down. He’s supposed to be working on that, after all. 

“Just a tiny bit,” he says. 

“You’ve got a long way to go if you’re going to be ready to hit the ice in less than a month.”

He pouts a bit, despite himself. 

“Oh come on, you used to love the challenge of beating me on the rink. Did time change that much?” 

“Well, there was a pretty good incentive for winning. Like seeing you naked.” 

“Is not being kicked off your dream team not enough incentive?”

“I mean I’m a guy, Y/N. Of course my career is important, but I’m just saying, sex was always my best motivator. And if I remember correctly, yours too.”

You look away from him for a moment, thinking. 

“Well, then, fine, let’s give you an incentive then. If you beat me in a shootout, I’ll let you see my ass.” 

Jimin stalls. “What?” 

“I know you’ve been checking me out like, all day. It’s obvious. So, you beat me in a shootout, I’ll show it to you.” 

Jimin chuckles. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Y/N, I’ve seen your ass. And while I’m absolutely sure it’s even better than I imagined, I hardly consider that a motivator.”

“Fine, then what do you propose? What is it that you would like to do?”

Heat pools into his stomach. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Jimin can’t ignore the intense attraction he still has for you. It’s like 10 years hasn’t changed much about his body chemistry. 

He skates up to you, putting his hand on your waist, testing the limits of what in his desires he truly is allowed to ask for. As his hand works up your side toward your breast, you let out a small gasp. And that’s when he sees it in your eyes: arousal. Unmistakable, just as easy for him to spot as it was all those years ago.

“Do you remember that time we went to the beach? And you got vanilla ice cream all over your bikini because it melted before you could even eat it?”

You cocked your head to the side. “Yeah?”

“And so I licked every inch of you? That’s what I want.” 

“Jimin!” you gasp, but as his other hand loops around your back, you don’t fight his touch.

“You tasted so sweet,” he whispers, his mouth hovering over your neck. 

“Stop.” But it’s a weak gesture, mechanical. 

“You fucking loved it, didn’t you?” 

Your heart beats a little faster. “I did.” 

“What else did you like, hm? When I fucked you that summer.” 

Jimin’s voice lowers, a deeper, seductive tone replacing his usual, cheerful one. It’s the same one he used to use on you, and the pressure building in your core tells you that it’s having the same effect. A hand finds its way to the curve of your ass, and you melt into his body.

“Jimin,” you rasp. 

“Yeah?” 

“Fuck.” 

“Tell me,” he whispers. “What used to make you come so hard that I had you screaming?” 

“God.” 

“Do you think about that as much as I do? Do you think about the little whimpers you made when you came all over my lap that day? Do you think about how hard my cock was for you? How desperate you were for it after I told you you’d have to wait?” 

“You’re such an asshole,” you heave. 

“I know. But if I win, I want you under me again. I want to lick every inch of you until all you can think about is me.” 

He pulls away, ignoring the hardening of his cock, rasping a deep breath. You blink at him, confused, before taking in his form as he sails the puck into the net. 

“That’s one, babygirl. Now show me what you’re made of.” 

Sex, it turns out, is Jimin’s greatest motivator. Which is why after he wins in the shootout up to ten, you end up naked in the guest bedroom. 

“Your nipples are so hard,” he says, sucking one into your mouth. “That’s how I always knew how needy you were. How badly you needed to be fucked.” 

A moan escapes you. He squeezes your thigh again, his other hand roaming up your side. 

“You were always so sensitive there. I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed.”

Your hands lurch forward, digging into the open ends of his jacket, pulling him closer. 

“When was the last time someone fucked you good, Y/N?” he asks, and your brain searches through your list of ex lovers, turning up empty handed 

“I don’t know,” you groan, hissing when you feel his other hand land on your breast. 

He clicks his tongue. “You poor thing. Tell me, what do you need, hmm?” 

“I don’t know,” you say again. Your thoughts are jumbled, how you got here, stripped naked while he still hovers over you fully clothed, your focus faltering as you clench your thighs. Jimin pulls away, grinning down at you. . 

“I bet you’re just as sweet as I remember,” he says. “I bet you still get so wet that when you get fucked the nastiest little sounds come out of you.” 

“Fuck, Jimin, god.” 

“I told you I would like every inch of you. Do you think I was joking?” 

“We can’t,” you say, your eyes flitting to the door. 

“Does the door lock?” he asks. 

“Yes, but–”

“Then lock the fucking door and come sit on my face.” 

Heaven. Jimin has died and gone to heaven. As he laps at your clit again, he can’t believe this is really happening. 

“Fuck, harder,” you order, and he finds himself grinning, sucking your bud into his mouth hard. Your legs immediately squeeze around his face, and he reaches up, forcing your thighs down harder, pressing himself deeper into you. 

You really shouldn’t be doing this. He has no idea how long you’ve both been away, but all he knows is that they’ve finished singing the entire “12 Days of Christmas” and someone has been getting your friend Minho to do a rendition of “Santa Baby” that hopefully everyone is too drunk to remember. But he can’t help himself. Couldn’t help the electric feeling when he squeezed your hand, couldn’t ignore how your tits spilling out of your dress had him rock hard the second you gave him a knowing look. 

And now, knowing what Jimin knows about you, about your past and why things ended, he can’t be mad. While yes, he’s frustrated by your positioning of him as the priority in your life, even seemingly now, he isn’t mad. And whatever happens after tonight, he hopes you’ll both be able to talk about it so you can reframe the future. 

Until then, he really, really wants you to come on his face. 

His fingers leave your thighs. You lift off of his face, gasping as you look down at him. 

“Do you have a death wish?” 

“Yes, now smother me with your pussy.” 

You roll your eyes, lowering yourself back down onto him. He laps at you again, this time flicking your clit with his fingers before rubbing them through your slick folds. “Fucking missed this pussy. Do you know how many times I think about this? How much cum have I spilled thinking about this?” 

“God, you’re such a perv,” you say. But he can hear the lightness in your voice, knowing that despite the slight embarrassment, you’re also flattered. 

“How tight is it, hmm? Do you ever fuck your toys thinking about me?” 

“Not often,” you tease before you wail as he bites your ass. 

“Liar.” 

“Ugh, fine. I think about your cock a lot, okay?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes, now are you going to make me come or not?” 

“You know, I could, but now I can’t stop thinking about you thinking about my cock and fuck, I’m so hard.” 

Jimin feels you leaning forward, your hand roving down his toned chest until you reach the tent in his pants. 

“Please, babygirl, don’t tease me too much,” he warns and you chuckle, tugging at the zipper and clasp and reaching into his pants. 

Your hand dips into his briefs, tugging the elastic and pants down his hips to free his throbbing cock. 

“Fuck,” you say, sliding your hand up and down his leaking shaft. “Were you always this big?” 

Jimin groans, sliding a finger into you. You moan. “Shit.” 

“You used to take this cock like such a good girl,” he says, sliding a second finger in. “Though I’m not sure how with such a tight little cunt you have. I think I need to fuck it open.” 

“Oh.” 

“You like that, baby? My fingers fucking you open so you can take my cock? You’re so wet, god, listen to you.” 

The room fills with the wet sounds of his fingers fucking into you, his tongue returning to your clit and sucking hard. 

“Shit, shit, we need to change positions or I’m going to collapse on your face.” 

He obliges, pulling his fingers out so you can lie on your back. You watch as he sucks your juices from his fingers, your mouth slightly parting as he moans. 

“So sweet.” 

“Fuck,” you say suddenly, your eyes once more turning toward the door. “We gotta hurry. Once we get to the cookie shots, it’s only a matter of time before my dad makes us do round two of competitive games, and they’ll be looking for me.” 

 “Aw, but I was just getting started,” he whines.

You roll your eyes. “You can fulfill your fantasy later. Skip the foreplay and fuck me already.” 

“I don’t know if you’re warmed up enough for that–”

“Jimin, I promise you the second I feel your cock slide into me, I will be ten seconds from cumming because of how good it feels. Now you can take your time with me later, but if you don’t fuck me right now, I might lose my goddamn mind.”

He feels precum dribble from the tip, and he looks at you. “Shit, okay. Well, um, I don’t have a condom.” 

“IUD. I’m clean. Please,” Your voice cants into a whine, which makes Jimin feel delirious. 

“Okay, lie back down baby, I’ll take care of you.” 

Despite your desperation, he moves slowly, sucking your nipples back his mouth, giving a little bite to one that makes you whimper. 

“Please, Jimin,” you beg again. He reaches down, taking his cock in his hand and rubbing it through your slick entrance. As the head of his cock dips in, your eyes meet his, and a sigh leaves your throat. 

“Yes,” you say when he seats himself to the hilt. You pulse around him, and Jimin hisses at the tightness. 

“Shit, watch it babygirl or I’ll come right now.” 

“Just feels, so good, fuck,” you pant, your body convulsing around him once more. 

He pulls out slightly and thrusts back in, his cock tapping your cervix. Your whole body quakes and you moan loudly. 

“Shh, do you want to get caught?” 

“Kiss me, then,” you say and Jimin being the fool that he is, he does. 

Your lips meet, and you taste like a peppermint candy cane. He licks along your lip, trying to get more of the taste in his mouth. Your lips part, welcoming in, his tongue tangling with yours as he thrusts fully into you. 

You moan into his mouth, silencing yourself as his pace increases, sharp snaps of his hips making you curl and clench around him, your wetness coating his pelvis and balls as it drips down your thighs. 

On a particularly hard thrust, you come, your body shivering and pussy spasming around him. Your nails dig into his back as you seat him deeper into you, riding out the aftershocks. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper. 

“Mm, feel good baby?” 

“Yes. You’re so big; It feels so good.” 

He kisses your nose.”Well, I want to make you come one more time before I do, so hold on.”

He rolls you over, propping you up on your knees. 

“When I saw you earlier at practice in those leggings, I was imagining this moment. My cock deep in you while I watch your ass bounce on me. Do you think you can show me that, Y/N?”

You moan a yes, thrusting yourself back onto him as he pounds into you. The flesh of your ass bounces against him, and Jimin is hypnotized by it, his hands repeatedly slapping to spank your cheeks as you fuck yourself on him. With each slap, you clench harder, and as he places his hands firmly on your hips and bucks into you with speed and precision, it’s only a matter of time before you’re face down in the pile of coats, moaning freely as he thrusts into you. With one final gasp, you come, legs shaking violently as you succumb to your orgasm. Jimin follows behind, is cock pumping a heavy load of cum into you. You sigh satisfied, holding your hand under yourself to catch it while Jimin watches it leak out. 

“Jesus, Y/N. That’s so hot.” 

“Well, hot and practical. I’m not spilling your cum onto all my guests’ clothes. Now go get tissue from that bathroom over there. I need to clean up.” 

Despite Jimin fucking you within an inch of your life, you manage to make your reappearance with your guests fairly easy, a glass of some concoction your mother has named Jingle Juice in hand. 

“So,” Minho whispers after your father divides up the room into teams. “Are you creaming of a white Christmas with Jimin?” 

“Ew, Minho! No! That’s disgusting!” You slap him on the arm. “How did you know?” 

“Well, first I saw you two go out back and grope each other on the ice. And then you practically ran into the guest bedroom. After about thirty minutes of not seeing you, I figured I’d come check. But then I heard you and that confirmed my suspicions.” 

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Were we loud? Oh god, does everyone know?” 

“I think everyone was too busy drinking or eating or singing to notice. But to answer your question, my god, Y/N, you’re so loud. He should put a muzzle on your or something.” 

“Shut up. Besides, this is no big deal. A little Christmas stress relief. A one time thing.” 

“Sure it is. Well may Santa bring you more stress relief very soon because you’re glowing from the orgasm he gave you.” 

“Two.”  

“Huh?” 

“Two orgasms. With the promise of a third later if I meet up with him."

Minho looks at you uneasy. “I want to be happy for you, but I’m honestly not sure what to think. I thought you hated him. Or at least wouldn’t fuck him at your parents’ house.” 

Heat floods your cheeks as the reality of your decision begins to set in. 

“Yeah, uh, I don’t know.”

Minho takes a final sip of his drink, grimacing as he sets it down. “Well Merry Christmas to you, Y/N. Maybe you can fuck him into a better attitude while you’re at it. Because you’ve only got a few weeks before his suspension ends and if he isn’t ready by then, he can kiss his professional career goodbye.” 

“I think he can do it. We have plenty of time.”

“I hope you’re right. Not to ruin your post-fuck glow, but be careful. People don’t change overnight. While I’m glad you two had a fun little reunion romp, there’s still a lot of work to be done with Park Jimin.” 

©2024 by jooniperbonsai

[yallthemwitches]

A Thing

Some jealous oblivious idiots For @jilytoberfest Day 11, prompt 🎶“Uncovering feelings unfound”🎶 - Out of the Blue by Katie Pruitt

AO3 Link Here

“So there would be no hard feelings if I went after Potter right?”

Lily offered her best smile to Sierra Marrow. “Why would there be?���

“I mean it's no secret you two have some sort of thing going on—“

“I don’t know what you mean by that.” Lily’s brow furrowed. She actually didn’t, if anything there was a distinct lack of thing going on between her and James. Ever since the end of fifth year he had stopped trailing her like a little puppy and this year…. well…

If she was going to be honest, this year was going brilliant. Her and James had started somewhat of a rapport, fueled by a mutual annoyance for the current standing head boy and the fact that both had the same study period in the library. It was actually good, great even to be able to talk to him in a capacity other than telling him off, finding herself laughing more and more often at his jokes and getting invested in his pranks.

But it wasn’t a thing. At least, not in the definition Sierra was referring to. 

“Don’t worry—you should go for it. He’d be mental to say no.”

She had meant at least half of it. He would be mental to say no—-Sierra was one of the most sought after dates in the school, able to snag a new boyfriend seconds after dropping the last. It was no secret that Potter also happened to be one of the most eligible catches roaming the halls, their coupling would be the gossip of the year. 

Lily passed a glance to the other side of the room. James sat leaning back, mid laugh at whatever boisterous conversation was going on between him and his mates. His tie was loose and hanging off to the side, shirt undone two buttons more than dress code allowed. Turning to the side, he caught her stare and offered a coy wave. 

She felt thankful that Sierra’s back was turned to him, otherwise she would easily understand why a blush was beginning to form on her cheeks. Idiot.

Sierra flashed her a grin, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Thanks girl—sorry to make it weird!”

She tried to direct her gaze back at her, but James hadn’t turned away. His eyes flicked between her and Sierra, eyebrows raised in question. Responding with a furrowed brow, James just smirked, and she swore his eyes twinkled. She pried herself back to the conversation.

“Not weird at all.”

********

“What do you think Black does to get all this firewhiskey into the school? Reckon he shags Mme. Rosmerta—-“ Marlene handed Lily a cup full of caramel colored liquid, and she let it burn a path down her throat. 

“Probably something we don’t want to know.” She felt bad that she wasn’t giving Marlene her full attention, but the party had suddenly become much more of a drag than she had imagined.

She knew even an idiot could tell she was staring, but the firewhiskey kept her shame at bay. Across the room Sierra sat against the back of a loveseat, giggling as James recounted something with various animated gestures. She was laying it on thick, tilting her head and pouting whenever James turned to talk to a passerby, batting her eyelashes when he continued their conversation, licking her lips after each sip of a drink. At a certain point, she reached out and fingered the front of his quidditch jersey, no doubt coming up with some silly reason to justify it. James did nothing, continuing on like it was the most normal action in the world.

Lily felt her stomach bottom out. She wanted to look away, urged herself with all her power to do so, yet couldn’t. The feeling of firewhiskey was starting to resemble the burn of bile in her throat. It was bad enough watching Sierra flirt with any bloke, but for it to be James and for him to entertain it?

The familiar sense of being watched pulled her from her torment. James looked past Sierra for a moment, catching her eye and giving a soft smile. Somehow it made everything worse.

He leaned down to say something to her, starting to take a step back to depart, but Sierra made a stronger grip on his jersey, lips pouting to astronomical levels. He tried again, reaching for her hands to release him, but she swooped in, planting a kiss squarely on his jaw.

Lily’s body reacted on its own, trudging out the portrait hole before the tears even began to fall. Outside in the darkness of the corridor, she clambored towards the nearest turret, not even bothering to light her path. 

She knew she was acting like a child, but she couldn’t help it. She sat on the stoop of the turret and pulled her knees to her chest, allowing her sobs to be muffled by her own embrace. She was being silly—she had said yes to allowing Sierra to act that way. She had said there wasn’t anything between them. 

But of course there was. Why else was she crying in the bloody corridor?

There was a scuffle of feet, and she half expected to look up and see James and Sierra coming to further her misery. Instead,  two black boots  planted themselves at her side.

“Bad night?” Sirius bent down, sitting shoulder to shoulder with her. 

She made a noise between a scoff and a laugh, but he waited for a response.

“You don’t have to stay here, Black. I’m just—-“

What was she doing? Feeling sorry for herself? Wasting tears on a prat who didn’t fancy her anymore? A healthy mixture of both?

Sirius pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders. She tried to wipe her face, but tears replenished themselves on her cheeks with every swipe. 

“This would all be over if you told him.” It was the softest she had ever heard his voice before. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about. We are just mates.” The break in her voice rendered her words unconvincing.

“Yeah, ok Evans. Because this is complete mate-like behavior.”

Sirius stood back up, stretching his arms over his head. Despite telling him he could leave, she really wished he would sit with her a bit longer. 

“Well—“ Sirius began, starting to back step his way out of the turret. “Not that mates would need the information—but if you had stayed a little longer you would have seen James tell off Marrow.”

Lily’s head snapped up. Maybe the firewhiskey was finally settling, but she was feeling a lot warmer.Sirius smirked as he backed away. 

“Again—not like mates should be interested.”

[yuyuswrld]

O Captain, My Captain || 1

series intro here, or read chapter 2

characters: reiner x reader (this chapter), various aot boys x reader.

notes: this is an 18+ series, please don’t interact if you’re a minor! reader is referred to with she/they pronouns.

content warnings: explicit smut, fingering, reiner eating pussy like a god!!, alcohol consumption, degradation, mild slut shaming (?), mentions of marijuana at the end

“Has he always been a bitch?” You question Marco, inhaling bites of your ramen. He shrugs, “We’ve both been on the team since freshman year and I’ve never had a problem with him. Maybe you’re the problem?” He meets with dead silence as you stare up at him from your bowl.

“Funny, Bott. I’m just not looking forward to spending so much time with him, if he behaves like that, anyway.” Exasperation visible, you slump in your chair to think. “It’s not like he’s on the sidelines. He’s the damn captain, which means I have to talk to him a lot.”

Marco shrugs. “You’re being dramatic. He’s a pain sometimes, but he’s not that bad. Just try to be nice to him, please. Eren won’t get any nicer if you’re mean. Plus,” He stops to take a bite of his food, “we don’t have the time for fighting. We’re expected to go to nationals this year, and that’s not happening if you two scare each other off.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Bott. I’ll see you at practice later.” Uncrossing your arms and brushing off your legs as you get up from your seat. Okay, sure, Eren has yet to be anything except slightly dismissive and maybe just a little shit. He hasn’t actually done anything to you. You toss your bag over your shoulder before thanking Marco for the meal and dismissing yourself.

As the time for practice draws closer, you collect your thoughts as you stand outside the cold metal doors of the university’s second largest gym. Sure, you went to a school notorious for its D-1 volleyball, but the gym’s size was excessive. The high rise bleachers felt as if they would swallow you alive and the walls would collapse in. They had before. You remember the bile pool in your throat as the sports cameras flashes ate at your failure and spat you back out. Like a gazelle running from its predator, your body craves to run away from the glorified arena ahead of you.

“The fuck are you standing in the doorway for? Are you going in, or what?” Is it wrong to want to choose violence? Couldn’t he just say excuse me or ask if something’s wrong like a normal person?

Ugh, you should choose peace and not mess up a good opportunity. Just think about the money and all the nice things you can buy.

“I’m obviously just trying to get in your way.” You push the door open and walk into the gymnasium, not bothering with holding it open for Eren. In fact– hopefully it hits him! 

You hear the door fly open again behind you and a bag hits the ground with a loud thud. Eyes landing on the congregation of men in jerseys surrounding a smaller man, you beeline over to them. As you near, the smaller man, who you assume to be Coach Levi, locks his gaze with you. Is he… angry? Concerned? It’s impossible to determine what he’s thinking as he continues to stare.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Your jaw drops. You’ve met more people in your life than you can count and never did a single person start a conversation in such a way.

“Not as far as I’m aware of…?”

“Okay, if you do what Hanna did, I will rip that baby out of your-”

A blond kid speaks up, “Um, Coach, you probably shouldn’t be threatening them on the first day. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to do that when we really need someone to organize our itinerary and keep practice stats. We’re nothing if we don’t have those numbers.”

“Fine, Arlelt. You and Braun stay here, explain how game statistics work and start having her do one-on-ones after. Performance evaluations for all of you.” You watch as Coach Levi’s eyes hover over Eren, who looks less than pleased. You’re not sure what’s going on there, but also can’t bring yourself to care. “Rest of you can go practice.”

As you glance over at the two boys who stayed, it throws you off that you’ve seen both of them before. The little blond one, you’re pretty sure his name is Armin. You’ve seen him walking around with Eren before, but he always looked so out of place in how gentle he is. You’re pretty sure you watched him bump into a trash can and apologize.

The other, however, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man with such a commanding presence. He’s well-built. You’re pretty sure even a Greek god couldn’t hold up in comparison. You scoff internally, ‘it’s always the fucking volleyball players.’ But there’s something that lingers on your tongue, a conversation revolving around him. Then it hits you, Petra’s gossipped about him before!

“There are some really cute guys on our volleyball team. Did you know that?”

“Not this again, Petra. We’re supposed to be doing our biology homework.”

“Bitch, please. Let me speak. Anyway, there’s this guy on the team, his name is Reiner and oh my god- that is one fine ass man. He’s built like a tank engine. Not only that,” she says, a little giggle follows. “I’ve only heard this from two girls. He says he doesn’t like to hook up a lot, but his head game is insane. Like cum in a minute insane.” 

You stare, “I’m pretty sure that’s impossible, Petra.”

“I don’t know! Hook up with him yourself and you can give me all the juicy details afterwards.” You can only sigh in response, disturbed by your best friend’s inability to study.

But, here he was in the flesh, all 6’2 farmers tan of him. You couldn’t possibly do something so scandalous on your first day, could you? You shake the thought out of your mind as Armin talks.

“Volleyball stats are relatively easy to get the hang of. You just need to watch pretty closely. Even if you do miss something, we record them and you’ll go back through with Eren to make sure everything is recorded properly. Then, you’ll want to convert the numbers of each hit, serve, and pass into percentages compared to how many times it occurred per set.”

Reiner laughs, just a small one, but lord it’s like music to your ears. “Armin, you’re dumping too much info on them at once. It’d probably just be best to just show them the ropes visually and they can go from there. C’mon, let’s have coach set up the camera and record the three-on-three’s that they’re doing now.  We’ll watch the game, I’ll have you watch me record it, and then we’ll go back over it while watching the tape later.”

You nod, feeling just a hint of warmth across your face. Is this even possible, to have a school-girl crush in university? Those days were supposed to be behind you, but you can’t help but have the smallest bit of a smile as you follow him and Armin to speak with Coach Levi.

As you watch Reiner and Armin record the stats, your mind spins with utter confusion. You’re beyond lost, unsure how they’re even keeping up with the sheer amount of movement the players are doing. Dig? Write it down. Set? Write it down. You want to groan, or maybe even just go get dinner as you feel your stomach rumble.

As practice wraps up, your stomach rumbles in pain once again as it craves its next coddling. Reiner glances over from where you two stand, finishing up showing Coach Levi the statistics and getting a dismissive, “make sure it’s right,” instead of an appreciative response. He smiles at you, looking down.

“Gettin’ hungry?” He asks.

“Beyond hungry,” you say, shoulders dropping in defeat. “I’m being tortured. I haven’t eaten since noon. It’s 7 now! It’s criminal that you guys would starve me for so long.” You tease Reiner. He only responds by glancing at the gym door where most of the boys say their goodbyes before tapping out for the night.

“Y’know, I’ve heard I make a mean rice bowl.” 

It didn’t take much convincing for you to follow him back to his dorm room as practice winds down. Upon sitting across from each other at his make-shift dinner table, you learn Reiner is one of the middle blockers, coming at no surprise to you when taking in consideration to his stature. Although, you also learn he was from the countryside and this scholarship was his way out.

“Y’know, I always kinda dreamt of moving to the big city and being able to do what I love. But it’s crazy, man, I still can’t believe I’m here sometimes playing for the top university on the island.” 

Hearing the passion in his voice, you question if it’s right for you to intrude as a manager. Is it okay for you to be in charge of the livelihood of the men who’ve come so far and done so much for their passion? The men who could very well play on Paradis’ Olympic Team in the future? The concern is quickly shoved into your mental locker to be returned to as Reiner asks about watching a movie over some post-dinner snacks and beer. A much needed chance to relax after endless studying, you agree chipperly and move over to his plush couch.

As you two get halfway through Inglourious Basterds, you feel his arm wrap around you and his head turn in your direction. The alcohol running through your system has you heating up just from the skin contact. You blush as Petra’s words return to the forefront of your mind. You turn your head to face him, eyes interlocking with each other. His eyes signal a look of need, not want. You’re not sure if anyone’s ever looked at you like that before. Like a hunter who’ll starve without the meat of the deer he’s trailing.

“You’re so fucking hot” He mutters, you’re surprised a man of his stature can be so quiet. “I don’t think I’ll last with you as our manager.” Reiner closes the gap between the two of you. There’s a slight metallic tinge on his lips, but it’s addicting in the worst of ways and only deepens the experience. You two continue, allowing yourselves to sink into the couch, your body hitting the arm rest. His kiss moves from your lips to your neck, hands beginning to roam until they find purchase underneath your shirt. First, he plays with your bra before making his way under. Reiner moves his lips from your neck gently, almost like he’s scared of making a mistake. He helps you pull your shirt over your head and follows by removing your bra, his delicate touch unhooking the backing.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” you coo to him, lust-filled gazes connecting. “Please, I like it a bit rough, I swear.” He groans into the valley of your breasts.

“Don’t say that shit, I might break you.”

You can only laugh at his words, unfazed by the prospect, if not even more turned on by it. 

“Holy shit, please do,”

“In that case,” He says, voice lower as if weighing his options internally. “Don’t blame me if you limp to practice tomorrow.” Reiner helps you remove your pants before his fingers begin to dance over your body again. The touches are soft as they ghost the outline of your skin, your heart beating as you wait for him to soothe the ache between your legs. You attempt to rub them together for a semblance of friction but his arms find their way to keep them split. His gaze shifts up to you, eyes narrow as if disapproving of your behavior. Reiner’s face then begins to move lower, tongue licking a stripe up the inside of your thigh as his fingers begin to dance over your clit. He moves his face over to meet his fingers, tongue flattening against your clit, which draws a moan of approval from you. It seems evident that it spurs him on further as he begins to speed up his tongue, then switching to sucking your bud and having his fingers delve lower to your hole. Reiner holds eye contact with you as he begins to press one of his monstrous fingers inside of you. 

You can only make a noise of approval as he pushes it further in, approving of how well even one of them feels inside. It heightens your pleasure as he thrusts it forward, keeping his tongue dancing and sucking against your clit in a flurry of movements that have you questioning if Reiner is really a man and not a god in disguise. As he pushes a second large finger in, you cry out much louder than you should be in the dorms. You bite down on your lip to withhold any further noises, but Reiner puts a complete pause on what he’s doing.

“Keep moaning, baby. Let them hear how well you’re getting finger-fucked right now. This is what Armin wanted to be doing to you right now, did you know that?” He lets out a deep laugh, lips and face glistening in the dim lighting of his tv. “Bet you’d like that, though, huh?” His fingers move again and you gasp. “Yeah, you’d fucking love it if I bent you over and fingered you from behind to show off the entire team what a good little pocket pussy you are.”

That’s what tipped you over the edge. In fact, it’s probably disrespectful to feminism that you allow yourself to be finger-fucked while getting off to the disgusting words spewing out of the blond’s mouth. But social constructs be damned if this man didn’t stick his dick in you soon. You clench around his fingers as they continue to move, despite your cum gushing over his fingers.

“You’re fuckin’ nasty. But you’re still not ready for me.”

His face returns to its original spot, blowing hot air on it first as you wriggle at the stimulation. Reiner only adds another finger in response, allowing the three large digits to stretch you out before moving them once again. It feels as if you’re melting around his fingers as your back arches to the stretch. Despite slight discomfort, it’s overwhelmingly pleasurable to feel the expertise in his ways.

It’s not long after he adds another finger that you feel the coil in your stomach once again. As his tongue laps at your clit with a technique unknown to you, you’re about to unravel against his touch once again.

“‘M gonna cum,” you pant out desperately.

“Do it, cum on my fuckin’ tongue.” He replies approvingly, allowing you to take the time you need to ride out the rush to your body. For a second, you feel as if you’re floating in the way your back arches off the couch and your head spins in pure ecstasy. You glance over at Reiner, eyes fixated, as he removes his pants and reveals the thing you’ve been so curious to see. It matches his stature in almost every way, which makes you cringe at the thought of him fitting it in.

“You said you like it rough?” It’s a trap, that much you’re sure of. You glance back down to examine how large he is before you reconfirm, but before you know it, the condom has slipped on and he’s making his way back to you. He asserts his way on top, arms on either side of your head as he leans in to give you a quick kiss. It catches you a bit off guard, the earlier metallic taste has changed into the taste of your own cum and there’s a slight wince as you taste it. You can’t tell if this man is slightly depraved or hot as hell.

“I asked you a question. It’s not nice to ignore me.” 

A loud smack to your clit resounds as you let out a sharp, pleasure-filled gasp. 

“Yes, please,” you whine. It’s slightly pathetic, how you’re behaving for this man, but god be damned if anything were to impede your moment. 

He only grunts in response, lining himself up with your entrance. As he sinks in, you bite your lip to fight the stretch. You attempt to lie back and relax in his touch to allow him in, but he’s just so large. Reiner bottoms out, tip just ghosting against your cervix. He only grants you a few moments to adjust to his size before he’s pounding into you, your cries of pleasure nothing but music to his ears. The tip kissing your cervix is making your brain fuzz beyond anything you’ve felt before, and your walls hug him in intoxicating ways. Reiner grips both of your legs, bringing them onto his shoulders to push in further which earns you a grunt of approval from the larger man. 

He fucks you like he hates you. Every so often, his head falls back, and he lets out grunts of pleasure. His body moves like an artist painting their long-lost lover from only a distant memory, hips ferocious in their assault of your cunt. Reiner flips you over onto your hands and knees after an indiscernible amount of time, your sweat-covered body cringing at the chilly breeze it causes. His pace is still unrelenting from the back, cock feeling as if it’s touching every inch it can inside of you.

“Holy shit,” He cries out. “I’m gonna cum. I wish I could cum inside this pretty little pussy of yours.”

Without another word, except for your moan of approval, Reiner finishes and delicately slides out of you, removing the condom and disposing of it. He arrives back a couple minutes later, towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“So, round two?”

“I’m pretty sure you started my period just now.”

[boeingboingboing]

the 1st pic is the one i referred to in the previous post, about Metro feeling insecure or uneasy around other trains. BUT it is named "Jersey boys". And if ya search up NJ metro trains, they'll look similiar to the ones in the pic. I think both lines connect both cities together. Maybe he's got something agasint them or the other way round? HMMM.

2nd pic was named "Metro and Eddy" on the wiki. And- Eddy is a literal diner. Is he a train turned into diner? I've heard of the concept. Just a maybe cause it would be weird for a diner to be alive- I presume that's a way trains seek to earn themselves something after retirement? Something like the picture below..

The 3rd pic is "Subway station" according to wiki. It shows how crazy NY subways can get I suppose lol. I mean there's an Ice cream truck that looks like it got flinged into the air- alas I ain't American tho xD.

4th, 5th, 6th and 7th pics are all related to a train bar. This is actually something cool for me. I always wondered how would big vehicles, like trains, airliners/bombers/cargo aircraft, and ships go to bars or generally have a place to hang out and have fun. Yeah specially made places must be there + the place being operated by a vehicle same as those they are serving makes more sense lol. It's all wild to think about fr.

Last one is named "Tron beat" as per Wiki. No idea what they mean. Perhaps another dream? Or is it some really bad mishap that Metro went through? We can only guess sadly..

And that's it for my metro spam. I might sketch around some cause man they look cool and I absolutely adore Metro either way. A shame this movie was cancelled.

Metro concept art (4/4)

Another pics where we can suppose that Metro had a more darker vibe

And that will be all!! Praying for not being sued or something by Disney bc after all this is still their property

[enthusiastic-sarcastic]

One Entirely Haphazard Arrangement (Tim Murphy x Reader) [Pt. 1]

A/N: Ok so this is longggg overdue and I apologize for taking so damn long to post this. I think I said I would write this in early July but I just got so caught up in the story and turned it into a whole three part fic...oh yeah, and I sort of moved to college so that took away some of my time 😂 but it’s finally here! I sort of struggled with this one because I haven’t creatively written anything in so long but it was really fun to write and I'm looking forward to writing more in the future! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this silly little friends-to-lovers Tim fic! Parts 2 and 3 will be up within the next few days. Again, sorry if this is trashhh

Words: Roughly 3.9k

Warnings: cursing, stress/anxious habits, cringeee writing?, I guess a Jersey Boys reference if for some reason you resent the jukebox musical or Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons

You have always had this infuriating habit of excessively scratching at the back of your hand like a cat attacking a toy laced with catnip whenever you become particularly anxious about the current state of your life.

And working at your newly appointed job as co-director of the art department at the museum has certainly proven to be more than stressful enough over these last eight months.

Whether it has you tumbling out of bed before the sun rises to make sure that that damned office projector is working in time for a 6 o’ clock meeting that your boss decided to throw together at the last minute or facing certain embarrassment upon being woken up by the night-watch guard because of a silly intention to stay after for only a few more minutes to finish editing one of your interns’ research reports, you had completely sacrificed any regard for your own basic health at this point for the sake of your job and its lingering promise of a future promotion.

A promotion that could potentially be awaiting you at the other end of your boss’ door in just under half an hour.

A promotion that could finally lead to the publication of the passion project that you’ve been steadily working on since your early college days.

A promotion that has you relying on old habits again as you scratch at the back of your hand under your cluttered office desk and stare down the hands of the clock on the wall across from you like your life depends on it.

Tick. Tick. Ticking away among the plethora of familiar noises that make up the busy atmosphere of your department. Drowning out the occasional flutter of footsteps stumbling down the hallway or the quiet laughs of your coworkers walking out of yet another dreadful planning session or even the absurdly shrill screeching sound that the copier down the hall likes to make every single time someone dares to use it.

Swiftly swallowing up all signs of life that surround you as your throat starts to feel like it’s closing in on itself and your breathing turns into something that more closely resembles gasping.

You’re just too good to be true...

Can’t take my eyes off of you...

And then so suddenly, a voice breaks through the numbness that has almost paralyzed you and reality starts to bleed back into place—a beacon of hope.

You’d be like heaven to touch...

I wanna hold you so much...

It takes a while for you to place the source of the voice as the all-to-familiar sound of your Jersey Boys ringtone blaring out from your phone across the room, but once you finally bring yourself back into a state of complete clarity, you rush out of your chair and stumble towards the singing object, desperate for a distraction.

Without bothering to glance at the name flashing across the screen, you answer the call and bring the phone up to your ear, eager to listen to whatever will take your mind off of that ticking clock.

“Hello?”

“Uh—Hey (Y/N), it’s Tim…”

A smile instantly rises across your face as you recognize the voice of your cute neighbor, Tim Murphy.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something...I know how busy you’ve been with work lately”

“No—no, it’s fine...you’re fine,” You chime in awkwardly, attempting to reassure him as a familiar fuzzy feeling begins to spread across your entire body.

To say that you had practically fallen hopelessly in love with the paleontologist   ever since you accidentally attempted to break into his apartment at 3 a.m. in a half-asleep daze that led you to believe that you weren’t just one door off would be an understatement. That was an embarrassing introduction, to say the least.

“So...what’s up? Is everything alright?” You honestly hadn’t expected Tim to call you at this time of day...or really ever, seeing as how both of your work schedules are so chaotic that you only ever really interact with each other in the dead of the night, so this was a pleasant surprise.

“Yeah, yeah—everything’s great—It’s just...well, I don’t want to startle you or anything but when I got home from work, I found Stevie prancing around outside on my balcony again and—”

Your heart instantly drops into your stomach and you’re suddenly met with the urge to bang your head against a wall from the sudden embarrassment,

“Ah shit! I’m such a clumsy idiot! I probably left my bedroom window open again…”

“No, it’s okay! Don’t worry! Stuff like this happens to everyone. Stevie’s perfectly fine now! I actually just brought her inside my apartment. Poor thing was shivering so I gave her some food and that pretty much cheered her up instantly” Tim chuckles into the phone, causing your cheeks to flush a light shade of pink.

“Oh god, she’s gonna be so mad at me!” You groan as your head begins to feel like it’s spinning from all the guilt and nerves overwhelming you, “I’m so so sorry, Tim. Thanks for rescuing her from my clumsy antics”

“No need to apologize,” Tim laughs again, which doesn’t exactly help with your lightheadedness, “It’s the least I could do. I mean, especially after all those times you’ve looked after my house plants while I was away on a dig”

“You do have a point, Tim Murphy. What would you or your precious house plants ever do without me?” You tease lightly, attempting to calm your nerves, and pulling another angelic laugh from the other end of the phone.

“No, but in all seriousness,” You continue, “I’m going to make it up to you somehow...No ifs, ands, or buts, Murphy!

Tim groans playfully from the other end of the phone and you shake your head with a smirk before a sudden voice cuts through the uneasy silence of your office and the endearing moment abruptly ceases.

“Miss (L/N), Dr. Vaughn has requested that you head down to his office for that meeting now”

You let out another disgruntled sigh before nodding to the kind intern peeking his head through your office doorway,

“Ugh sorry to cut this short, Tim, but I have something kinda important to discuss with my boss right now and I really can’t afford to screw it up...” You trail off with a sigh, not wanting to end the call so soon.

“Oh...alright—yeah...that’s totally fine—I understand...” Tim rambles, sympathy laced within his voice,

“Good luck! I’m sure everything will go smoothly. I believe in you!”

You let out another nervous laugh, your cheeks now entirely red as you take in his words of encouragement, “Thanks for the kind words...and for taking care of Stevie! I’ll stop by to pick her up whenever I get out of this place”

You say your final goodbyes and end the call, shakily placing your phone back down onto your desk before finally making your way towards your boss’ office, scratching at the back of your hand again.

——————————————————————————————————

“I’m sorry...Are you serious?! This has to be some sort of sick joke…right?” You gawk at your boss, your body shaking in aggravation and utter disbelief.

However, he just simply smirks at you and shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly as his eyes switch between you and your...colleague.

“Dr. Vaughn, don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far?!” You groan in exasperation, shifting your eyes to take a look at your fellow co-director: the one coworker that just so happens to also be your ex.

Yes, your ex, Charles.

The one that abandoned you while you were away on a business trip, moving out of your shared apartment overnight all for his new blonde assistant...cliche and all.

The reason that you’ve worked so hard in this job for the past year of your life.

Not to win him back or follow through with some crude form of revenge—you weren’t at all that type of person.

But to gain back the sense of integrity that he had so swiftly stomped on and finally prove him wrong: to prove to yourself that you are, in fact, good enough.

“I don’t see anything inherently wrong with a little healthy competition, Miss (L/N)”

Your boss speaks up, calmly, the smirk across his face only widening as he looks up at you from his enormous office chair.

“I’m just not particularly fond of the idea that one of us ends up completely jobless by the end of this!”

“Oh please, (Y/N), calm down”

Charles finally speaks up from beside you, causing you to roll your eyes and dig your fingernails into your palms from the sheer rage that now seemed to be pulsating throughout your entire being,

“I’m sure whoever gets the short end of the stick in this...arrangement can always turn to the other for a raving recommendation letter after they track down and apply to whatever museum establishment that’s desperate enough to hire them after this”

The shared dark laughter that escapes the both of them at his sad attempt to reassure you only makes your stomach curl in disgust. How can he just be okay with all of this?

“Honestly, all you have to do is write an introductory speech that addresses the latest contemporary art exhibition for the museum’s annual winter gala next Saturday. That gives you both the same amount of time to prepare your material and secure dates for the event, so I think this whole competition sounds pretty fair to me”

“But Dr. Vaughn—“

Your boss abruptly cuts you off, again, “I will allow you both five minutes. Mr. Sterling, you’ll go first before introducing your fellow co-director to the stage, then Miss (L/N) will give her speech before calling me up to the stage. Whoever gives the best speech in reference to the new exhibition will be promoted to head director of this museum’s contemporary art department...and the other will unfortunately be let go from their current position”

You let out an aggravated sigh, which prompts Charles to smirk in your direction,

“And that’s final! Now, get the hell out of my office!”

——————————————————————————————————

The journey home couldn’t have been more painstakingly difficult.

First, you missed your usual train and had to wait a whole 45 minutes for the next one. Then, it began to rain as soon as you started walking down the street towards your apartment and just as your doorman graciously greeted your shaking figure as you scurried into the building, you remembered that the stack of paperwork that you had planned to finish up was locked away...in your desk...back at the museum.

And now, as you trudge down the hallway of your apartment floor, soaked head to toe from the rain, your heart begins to race as you make your way in front of Tim Murphy’s door and muster up the courage to knock.

It only takes a few minutes for the door to open, but once it finally does, you’re met with the sight of an adorable, half-asleep paleontologist that makes you feel like you could melt into the floor at any given moment.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming”

You chuckle halfheartedly at him, a tired smile making its way across your face regardless of the pounding sensation in your head and the ringing sounds in your ears. Tim always seems to have that effect on you.

“Sorry, I had a long day” You mutter, cheekily.

Tim hums amusedly before moving to the side to let you in,

“I was fully prepared to take Stevie in as my own, actually. I have an extra cat bed and everything. I’m sure she’d get along just fine with Lydia”

You enter the apartment and spot your beloved cat sleeping cozily under the breakfast table near the kitchen, curled up right next to Tim’s orange tabby.

You smile at the sight, taking your wet shoes off before plopping down onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter, exhausted.

“Honestly, you make a better parent than I could ever be” You chuckle, glancing towards Tim as he sets down a glass of water in front of you. His disheveled hair and slightly pouting mouth causes a blush to grow across your cheeks again as you’re reminded of something,

“Sorry if my late arrival woke you up”

He shakes his head at you, a sleepy smile spreading across his face,

“It’s okay, I wasn’t exactly...asleep. I had to finish up some last minute research in preparation for an excavation in Arizona next week”

Next week. Fuck.

You chug the water in front of you, abruptly, before placing the cup back down onto the counter and burying your face into your hands. Your mind spiraling with thoughts about the impending winter gala and him.

“So...I’m assuming that that conversation with your boss didn’t go over very well”

You groan in acknowledgement, before glancing back up at the attentive paleontologist,

“You could say that,” You laugh, sarcastically, “Hell, I may not even have a job by the time next week rolls around”

This seems to get Tim’s attention, because he leans closer to you from the other side of the kitchen counter and your breath hitches in your throat when you notice the way his biceps flex from underneath his sweatshirt.

“Well now you have to tell me what happened” He exclaims, with a tone of genuine curiosity.

You almost can’t formulate a response when you realize just how close your hands are from each other, so you muster out a weak cough and casually begin to play with the empty glass in front of you.

It’s just a hand, (Y/N). Just a nice, particularly soft-looking hand that just so happens to belong to your incredibly brilliant and handsome neighbor, Tim Murphy. Calm down.

“Well, my boss has always been one to enjoy watching people suffer before rewarding them” You sigh in frustration as you recall the last few hours of your day,

“I thought I was walking into his office to finally receive the promotion that I’ve been working day and night over for the last eight months,” You continue, running a finger across the rim of the glass repeatedly, as anxiety starts to rise within your chest again,

“And I suppose my suspicions were right” You chuckle, sadly, “but he ended up making the so-called promotion a competition between my ex and I”

You bite your lip in frustration, the wounds inflicted from the previous conversation still fresh on your mind.

“Wait—you’re not talking about…” Tim trails off in disbelief and you nod your head in confirmation.

Tim Murphy was well acquainted with the sheer emotional damage that Charles had put you through. In fact, after the break-up, it was Tim that so graciously convinced you to get the hell out of bed and resume the rest of your life after coming over to your apartment due to another mail mix-up. While you took a well-needed shower, Tim prepared a nice spaghetti dinner and put on some comedy show for the both of you to watch aimlessly as you attempted to catch up on what the rest of the world was doing after it had seemingly crashed all around you. That night definitely didn’t do anything to alleviate your growing feelings for him.

“Wow” His head tilts in slight surprise, “That’s so unfair!”

“Right! That’s exactly what I said to my boss but he wasn’t having any of it” You scoff as you recall the aggravating image of your boss’ smirking face.

“And now I have to work my ass off trying to write a decent introduction speech commemorating our latest exhibition for the winter gala. Oh! And I have to find a date to the stupid thing with only a weeks notice! Where in the world am I going to find a date to this event with only a weeks notice in this city!?”

You were starting to freak out now, pulling on some strands of damp hair that you had somehow managed to wrap entirely around your fingers as you tried to make sense of your unfortunate predicament.

“I could be your date.”

The words fall from Tim’s mouth so abruptly and effortlessly that it takes a few seconds for you to register their meaning.

“What?”

“Well...I think I still have a nice suit lying around here somewhere from my last work event. Plus, I’ve been to my fair share of museum galas, so it won’t be much of a hassle. I could be your date.”

“Tim, you really don’t have to do this! I mean—What about the excavation to Arizona? You can’t miss out on that! I would feel so bad if I made you miss out on that trip all because of this stupid arrangement” You’re blushing now at his offer and suddenly the wall next to his head is very captivating.

“When exactly is this winter gala anyways?”

“Saturday at 6 p.m.”

A smug, satisfied grin stretches across Tim’s face as he leans even closer to you and the redness across your cheeks grows when your eyes meet,

“I get back Friday night. It’ll be fine.”

You sigh in guilt, not wanting to overstep, “Are you absolutely certain about this? I guarantee you’ll be exhausted once you get back and I don’t wanna drag you into another tedious social event right after a week of strenuous excavation work”

“I mean if you want me to memorize some cue cards, I’m all for that...but I think I have enough experience under my belt from high school theatre group to properly wing it”

You chuckle at his lame attempt to humor you, but your resolve remains undeterred,

“And you’re 100% positive that you’re okay with staying by my side all night, in formal dress attire, chatting up a storm with just about any and most likely all of my colleagues over strictly art related stuff? It’s an exhausting experience.”

Tim shrugs his shoulders, the amused, stubborn grin never leaving his face,

“Like I said before, I go to museum galas all the time, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

You let out another exasperated sigh in defeat, standing up from your stool at the counter and walking towards the fridge to fill your glass again. A shiver runs down your spine and you want to blame the wet nature of your clothes but you know from the shakiness of your fingers carrying the glass and the heat radiating off your cheeks that it’s because of the close proximity between Tim’s face and yours just moments ago.

“Fine. You can be my date. But I seriously cannot thank you enough for what you’re doing for me, Tim Murphy. I really have done nothing but complain to you all evening and now you’re swooping in and saving my ass again. What—Do I have to sell you my soul this time to properly repay my debt?”

Tim chuckles, turning around to look at you again.

“Luckily for you, I’m feeling generous enough to let you keep your soul for just a little while longer. But seriously, don’t feel pressured to repay me.”

You open your mouth to protest but the words are silenced by the sound of thunder rumbling from just outside the apartment, shaking the floor beneath your feet.

“Shit! I completely forgot that it’s raining,” Tim gestures towards your clothes, his eyes wide with concern, “You must be freezing!”

You blush again as you glance down towards your damp clothes, “Oh no! It’s fine, I sort of forgot about it too...I’m not—”

You trail off when you realize that Tim is no longer standing right in front of you, only to hear the sound of him rummaging through his laundry machine.

You grin widely as you’re reminded of just how insistently kind and compassionate he can be.

He sort of stumbles back into the kitchen from a clumsy attempt at speed-walking, and before you realize it, he’s wrapping a warm bath towel around your shoulders and rubbing the material up and down your arms to help you dry off.

The grin on your face only widens and you lock your eyes onto the floor, hoping to hide the now stark red state of your blushing cheeks.

“Jeez, Tim, you really didn’t have to go through all that trouble, but thanks” You mumble, trying to keep yourself composed.

Tim only laughs in exasperation at your comment, “What kind of host would I be if I let you freeze to death?”

You glance back up at him, attempting to ignore the way that your breath hitches when you notice the close proximity of your faces again,

“Well...technically I forced you to invite me when I stupidly left my bedroom window open this morning…” You trail off when Tim gives you a pointed look, as if to say: You’re always welcome here, regardless of the circumstances.

Your gaze drops to the floor again as another rumble of thunder shakes the whole apartment, and the grin returns to your face when you make out the smallest detail of a mini brachiosaurus on the bath towel,

“Why am I not surprised that you have your own personalized dino bath towels, Tim Murphy”

He laughs bashfully and you glance up to take in the sight. His eyes meet yours and you smile back at each other for what feels like a lifetime, your heart pounding in your chest as the space between the two of you almost seems to get smaller and smaller until...you’re interrupted by the feeling of something fluffy brushing across your feet and the familiar purring sound of your cat, Stevie.

“I should probably go. You need your rest and I need to get started on the first draft of my speech. I gotta get a head start on that asshole, at the very least.”

Tim chuckles understandably and the towel leaves your shoulders, taking the warmth that had so swiftly flooded your body with it.

“Yeah, you’re probably right, I should go to bed and you should start writing a very important introduction speech at one in the morning”

Your eyes widen and Stevie lets out another loud purring noise, as if amused by your blatant clumsiness,

“What the fuck?! I swear it was just 11:30”

Tim only shrugs again in amusement and you promptly lean down to scoop up your cat from the ground in an attempt to hide the blush that seemed to now be permanently etched across your cheeks, desperate for a chance to leave before you could embarrass yourself any further.

“Thanks again, Tim...for everything! I guess I’ll see you next weekend...” You mumble out the words quickly, flashing Tim an awkward smile as you put your slightly damp shoes back onto your feet. 

“(Y/N)...”

“Oh right, and good luck with your Arizona excavation...I just know you’ll discover something truly spectacular this time!” You’re shuffling towards the front door now, silently praying that the sound of your heart pounding against your chest isn’t loud enough for Tim to hear.  

“Thanks, I’ll see-”

But you don't even let him finish before you promptly shut the door behind you, feeling equally elated as you do terrified about the week ahead of you and the absurdity of this entirely haphazard arrangement. 

[elysianslove]

when the stars align; oikawa tōru

requested by anon; ❝ hi bb :) can I request an Oikawa and reader story where they’re two petty/sarcastic best friends. Like they just have that understanding that their love is shown through petty comments or bickering lol but n e ways, the reader gets approached by a guy she doesn’t really like but isn’t thinking and says she’s seeing Oikawa and now they have to act like a couple but all they end up doing is bickering and Oikawa complaining. I hope that makes sense lol thxx <3 ❞

pairing; oikawa tōru x reader 

warnings; it’s the fake dating trope with oikawa tōru. that is a warning in itself

note; i screamed when i found this in my inbox this trope has a special place in my heart and the fact that oikawa was requested??? pls don’t let this flop :(

━ you’re not sure why you said it. you rack your mind for an excuse: you’ve known him too long, you spend majority of your time with him, you had just been texting him a moment earlier — that must’ve been why you’d sprouted that ridiculous excuse to rid yourself of spewing out a futile, useless rejection. there’s an array of mixed emotions on you as you watch the boy before you shrivel in disappointment, sighing in frustration.

“i’m sorry, i’m dating oikawa right now, actually,” you had said, like the liar the same boy you refer to has coerced you into becoming to fuel your endless sneaking out.

the guy before you, honestly nameless due to both your carelessness towards him and your uncomfortableness around him, shoves his hands into his pockets cooly, attempting to shrug it off. “well, you know where to find me in case it doesn’t work out,” he jokes, and you have to fight off the urge to cringe directly in his face at his words.

instead, you lightly smile, more similar to a grimace, and nod politely, before turning and heading in the complete opposite direction, despite the other way having been your initial route. your shaky hands fumble for your phone, and you pull it out, unlocking it and tapping on the messages app.

i did something stupid, you type out, and you’re unsure whether you’re grateful or thrown off by how quick oikawa responds.

not surprising. what did u do

the familiarity of his tone only calms you slightly, and before you can talk yourself out of it, already having thrown yourself too deep when you’d thought up the lie, you explain the situation briefly. instead of a text message response, his caller id flashes across your screen, and your breath hitches. regret begins flooding you, and carefully, you slide to answer.

“i don’t want to hold your hand!” you complain, smacking at his palm when it reaches for yours.

oikawa sighs amusingly, grabbing your wrist anyways and linking your fingers together. against all odds, and to your disappointment, you shiver at the feel of his hand in yours. it’s considerably larger, and despite the fact that this is farthest from the first time you’ve gripped his hand, your insides twist. his fingers are slender, and his palm and the pads of his fingers are soft. for all the years you’ve known oikawa, his hands constantly run cold, and you’ve hated it for multiple reasons. one being the way it gave him an ego boost of ‘cold hands only mean i have a warm heart.’ the second being his infuriating actions of constantly pressing his palms to your skin, specifically the back of your neck. but most importantly, it signifies just how little oikawa tends to care for himself at times, the way his hands shake when it gets too cold, when the world grows too small, the tips of his fingers a bruised blue and purple. and you hate it. even more so, you hate how much you hate it.

despite all this, his hand feels — nice in yours; it’s a comfortable contrast to your own warm hand. still, your frown remains on your face as you see the school gates appear before two of you, never daring to reveal any of your thoughts to him.

“if you didn’t want to hold my hand, you would’ve thought up a better lie,” oikawa argues, and you turn your head to glare at him. he diffuses it easily when his thumb brushes against the back of your hand, your words faltering momentarily. “could’ve had anyone! iwa, mattsun, makki— i know they woulda loved to do this with you.”

“you’re insufferable,” you huff, but your cheeks are painting red, visibly too. he’s right, you realize. he’s terribly right.

“but you still chose me,” he teases.

your hand in his twists until you’re bending his wrist at an awkward, painful angle, until he’s pinching at your arm to force you away. he’s right, but that doesn’t make it mean anything.

by now, you’ve spent more time glaring at oikawa threateningly and in warning than you have your entire friendship with him, and it’s honestly starting to give you a headache. after admitting your situation to the three other third years, and giving them maximum fifteen minutes to laugh until they ran out of breath, iwaizumi included, spend the next twenty minutes huddled up next to oikawa, your chair attached to his.

the guy, who had been persistent enough in asking you out that you’d resorted to this, decided to spend his lunch break in the same area as the five of you, leaving you unable to push away and bicker with oikawa the same way you would any other day. you pick at your food as you avoid his gaze, oikawa’s arm around your shoulder heavy, leaving a trail of sparks up your spine and along your arms. it makes you want to scream, loudly too.

makki and mattsun have resorted to making fun of the guy, whispering between themselves, but it’s still awfully loud enough that there’s no possible way he can’t hear. iwaizumi and oikawa have their attention on each other, discussing some upcoming practice match in the weekend.

and all you’re left with are your thoughts, your nagging, unbearable thoughts, about how pretty oikawa’s hand looks as it hangs by your shoulder, brushing against your arm with every small shift of his body. with shameful, red cheeks, you shut your eyes in frustration, and allow the regret to boil and build in your stomach.

the weeks pass steadily. outside of school, your relationship with oikawa remains unchanged, and although he’s just as touchy as he is with you with an audience, the source of affection continues to be — simply friendship. and whenever you catch any disappointment building because of that, you pinch yourself in reminder than none of it is real. the way he always has an arm around you, the way he fumbles with your fingers, the way he ties your hair back for you while you work on an essay during your break, the way he kisses your cheek, a show of respect for your boundaries, but as a way to reinforce that you’re his in front of anyone, or the way he lets you lift one leg over his own, just because.

and you’re left wondering that if it were real, would it be the same?

he sits before you now, cross legged on your bed, back straightened and mouth stuffed with popcorn, completely engrossed in the movie before him with his eyes wide open. the three other boys are spread across the room: makki laying on his stomach, chin perched on his hands by the edge of the bed, while mattsun and iwaizumi share the couch, drinks in their hands, all three just as enamored by the movie as oikawa. 

you had always been aware of just how pretty he is, and everyone around you has always ensured that you do. was it the way the light from the screen shone in his face, reflecting in his pretty brown eyes and shadowing some of his features? or was it the way he sat so comfortable in your bed, in nothing but sweatpants and a loose shirt because, of course, the four of them were bound to stay the night? was it the way his lips glistened with the water he gulped, or because of the way his tongue poked out to lick at the salt from the popcorn? 

or was it nothing in particular, or everything all at once?

sighing lowly, you shift and sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and heading towards the bedroom door. “i’m gonna grab some water; anyone want anything?” you announce.

none of them seem to hear you, too lost in the movie, but makki turns his head to the side slightly, eyes remaining on the screen, and replies, “no thank you.” it’s all you need to leave the room.

as you walk out, oikawa eyes you, then eyes the filled up water bottles next to where you had been sitting. his heart tightens in his chest.

two months into the fake relationship you’d established with oikawa, and it begins to feel natural. it no longer feels off putting to walk hand in hand with him to school, or to greet him with a grandiose hug and a kiss on the cheek, or to wear his jersey to games and cheer for him from the stands, or to constantly have his ankle looped with yours beneath the table where, despite this all being for show, nobody can really see.

outside of your fake relationship traditions are your friendship traditions, which include, but are not limited to, him walking you home. it’s always been mostly because your mother adores him, or because he prefers the food that’s at your home as opposed to his, or because your home is on the way to his anyways, but it’s a lot closer, so he always ends up staying longer than anticipated.

either way, it’s not unusual that he walks by your side as the moon illuminates your path. it is, however, not very like him to stay quiet the entire way. you can see the roof of your home growing in size as you near it, and he’s yet to say a word to you. it both weirds you out and worries you, and before you can convince yourself you were overreacting, you pause in your step, the gravel beneath you scratching and crunching as you turn to face him.

“alright, spit it out.”

his eyes meet yours, wide and confused. “what?”

you sigh. “something’s up, and you’re either gonna tell me now or i’ll force it out of you later,” you reply.

“i’m not—”

“oikawa.”

“stop it, i’m fine—“

“tōru.”

“i can’t do this anymore.”

your heart stills, and almost as if in understanding, in pity, so does the world around you. the wind no longer howls in agony, respecting your need for silence as the trees around you look on curiously. your brain processes a little slower than your mouth, and you’re asking him, “what are you talking about?” before you could think.

his gaze falls from yours again, and he takes a step back. “i can’t be with you anymore. or — fake being with you anymore,” he admits to you.

you’re not sure why, but you had imagined this scenario to be a lot less earth shattering than it is. maybe you’d grown to like faking it, because it slowly started to become the closest you could get to experiencing it realistically. you refuse to speak, and it isn’t because you’re angry at him. it’s because you genuinely are lost for words. it’s not even a real break up, but it still hurts just as bad, if not worse. it’s your own fault for believing that this, whatever this was, was as simple as it seemed.

“not unless— not unless i can really be with you.”

what?

“what?”

he breathes in steadily, and moves forward, closer, closer, closer to you. his hands rise to your cheeks, cupping them softly, flinching when your breath hitches. but you make no move to push him away, only stare up at him, in wonder, in confusion. he opens his mouth, preparing himself to speak. you expect a monologue, a speech, a declaration of his undying love for you, because it sounds just as dramatic as oikawa is. the moon above you holds its breath, waiting for the band to snap, for the words to spill and drown you. 

but then he kisses you. 

his hands urge you up and he meets you halfway, pressing his lips to yours. they’re soft, and he tastes like cherry, and it’s probably your chapstick if you were being honest with yourself. his mouth moves languidly against yours, as if he’s trying to drag out every moment, as if he wants to purposefully slow down time, begging and pleading for the world around him to stop. the kiss is sweet, gentle, and somehow, kissing him is exactly the way you’d imagined it would. it’s breathtaking, and dizzying, and overwhelming, and needy and it’s beautiful. 

when he pulls back, he doesn’t let go of you. his hands remain cupping your jaw, his mouth hovering over yours. his thumb brushes along your cheek momentarily as he gazes at you, admiring you, as if memorizing every inch and every detail of your features. 

“tōru, you idiot,” you sigh. the insult isn’t foreign to him, not even on your tongue, but he still looks taken aback, and even more so when you reach up and close the distance between you again. the world lives again, the moon celebrating within the clouds, the wind twisting in your hair, whispering and whistling cheerfully by your ear as the trees dance.

 it all comes together, and the stars finally align. 

end note; i’m so happy with this!!! i hope everyone enjoyed reading this as much as i loved writing it!!! <3

[clintbartonswife]

tender but tough

Pairings: Wade Wilson x Peter Parker Summary: Ever since Vanessa, Wade had been scorned from even a friendly shoulder touch even when he was in the suit. Peter realises this. Whumptober no.6: touch and go Notes: touch starved wade, college!peter parker, not as angsty, but the whump’s there. masterlist

Watching Wade Wilson was a pastime that Peter had come to love. 

Ever since meeting him a few weeks ago, he had been drawn to the man, watching from afar as he tried to work up the courage to speak to him once more.

Upon spying (Ned had called it stalking but he had quickly stated that he didn't seek the masked man out, instead only watching him when he naturally came across him in the city. The word was quickly changed to ‘pool spotting’, and Peter had grudgingly complied.) on Wade, he had managed to come to three conclusions.

Number one: Wade Wilson was a creature of habit. Despite his seemingly erratic movements, he would always buy food from the same three places - if he didn’t already have a pre-cooked meal in his hello kitty lunchbox. Peter had at first wondered if that meant that Wade had someone at home who cooked for him, but after a very loud conversation on a roof with someone called ‘yellow’ and ‘white’, knew for certain that he was “painfully alone and in desperate need of a quick fuck or someone to hold”. He especially loved his Mexican food, often returning to his favourite roof top with two bulging bags of of the stuff.

Number two: Wade kills, and he does it a concerning amount. Normally, whenever Peter was on his pool spotting expeditions and he saw him getting his katanas out (he had once heard him call them Bea and Arthur), he would swing by, web up the bad guy, and swing away while shouting some different iteration of ‘don’t kill him, please!’. He would later hear people talking about others Deadpool had killed once he had gone home, though the webbed ones were never touched. Peter prided himself on his very anti-killing stance, but something about Wade made him curious - enough to put his moral code on the backburner and instead feel the need to help him change for the better.

Number three, and arguably the most important: He had never seen anyone touch him. Sure, people had thrown punches, violently approached him, but never once had he seen anyone touch him with anything less than hate. This is what finally convinced Peter to approach him.

“Hey Webs”

Wade was sat with his legs overhanging the roof of the building, mask half pulled up over his face and a burrito halfway to his mouth. 

Peter took a deep breath before he spoke, settling his nerves, “Hi Wade.”

“Aaah, he speaks! How are you doing baby boy.”

Peter flushed at the nickname, face heating up under his mask, “Uhh -”

Wade let out a laugh, placing his burrito down and pulling his mask back over his face before turning to face him, “Well, he tries to speak.” Wade tilted his head to the side slightly, patting the surface next to him, waiting until Peter sat beside him, “I’ve been seeing you around a lot, but we haven’t really spoken since the last - no Yellow I’m not trying to guilt him - shut up White.”

Peter just looked at him.

“Sorry - it’s the boxes-” Deadpool said, with a strong jersey accent, waving his hands around his head animatedly, “You wouldn’t get that reference, shame. I love Margot Robbie.”

“Who?”

“Oh, Webs” Deadpool sighed, patting his masked cheek condescendingly, “The world of joy you’re missing out on.”

That’s another thing that Peter found out after hanging out around Deadpool for a few months - he would instigate touch, but shy away whenever Peter would go to return it, shrugging it off with a quick joke or pun.

-

It was on the third month of knowing Deadpool that Peter decided he would address it. The two of them had become extremely close, and Peter had found himself trusting the older man quicker than he ever had before. It was only one day at Stark tower during a quick drop-in visit to see Tony, that the billionaire had pointed out how quickly Peter had become comfortable with him.

“Webs, webs, webs. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you today?”

Peter smiled, sitting cross-legged beside Wade as he unloaded the two bags of Mexican food. “Just wanted to see your gorgeous face, as always.”

“Always a charmer - and a beautiful liar at that.”

“How do you know I’m beautiful? For all you know I could look like a troll under this mask and you’d never know.”

Wade’s mask warped as he raised his eyebrow, “With an ass that phat? Baby boy, you’re nothing short of an angel.”

He wouldn’t know why he had done this until many years after the fact, looking back in hindsight. Peter had let out a small laugh, and ripped his mask of with a grin, “Well damn Wade, someone would think that you’re sweet talking me.”

Wade went quiet - something Peter had never known him to be - and sat back heavily. At the silence, the younger man’s smile dropped slightly, turning more nervous, “Is this a case of ‘if you’ve got nothing nice to say don’t say anything at all’ type-a deal?”

“No.” the answer was so fast that Peter let a nervous laugh escape, “You’re - you look better than every wet dream I’ve had about you combined.”

Peter laughed loudly at that, relief making his head feel slightly woozy, raking his hands through his curly hair. 

“I’m not kidding - I mean I knew your body was good - but your face! ” Wade’s voice was higher than it normally was, disbelief clear in his tone, “You gotta body of a stripper and face of an angel, y’know that?”

“Wade-”

“And you blush pretty too, it’s like god took every one of my dirty fantasies -” Wade’s rant was cut off as Peter placed a hand on his shoulder, eyes widening at the soft touch, “Webs -?”

“Peter,” he smiled, moving his free hand to slowly start removing his mask, “My name’s Peter.”

Wade repeated it like a prayer, so distracted by the feel of the letters on his lips that he didn’t even move to stop the action. Peter let his finger brush against the textured skin of his cheek, Wade going completely still at the contact.

“Pete... what are you doing?”

He just smiled, moving his other hand to cup the other side of his cheek as he lifted the mask all of the way off. “Beautiful.” The one word seemed to strike Wade at his core, the man melting in to his hand before coming to his senses and pulling back slightly. 

“You are,” he insisted, “fuck anyone who says anything else.”

“Oooh, little spidey used the f-word.”

Peter shot him an unimpressed look, “Wade.”

The mercenary just huffed, seemingly losing the internal battle against himself and the boxes as he let himself relax in to Peter’s hands once more. The younger man just watched as Wade’s body seemed to completely loosen, as if he was crumbling right before his eyes. 

As if on delayed time, Wade’s eyes began to water, “I - I don’t know why-”

“It’s ok, Wade,” Peter said, instantly moving closer and enveloping him in a hug, taking the full weight as he relaxed completely into the hold, “It’s ok.”

Peter just held him as he felt the merc’s tears wetting the front of his suit, slowly moving his hand up and down Wade’s back. The rhythmic motion seemed to lull both of them into a comfortable silence, one which was only broken by the sharp sudden breaths of the man in his arms.

Wade had been quiet for too long, eventually pulling slightly back from the hug but taking great care to keep contact, “If you can make me this weak with a hug, I cant wait for when you finally take me home and bang me into next year.”

“Wade!”

Sniggering, Wade leaned back into the hold, burying his face in Peter’s neck, “Well if you’re offering, I’m sure gonna make the most of it, Webs.”

[tobheath]

killatrav-hq​:

My ass always sweats, so I unfortunately don’t have any advice or pointers for you. SWAS is real in the life of Travis Kelce. This year I’ve been in LA, Vegas, Hawaii… more than I care to admit. So I’ve been sweating my fucking ass off. LA isn’t nearly as bad compared to Texas. Where did you grow up? Does sunscreen not work for you? Obviously you have to give it some time to dry before getting in the water, but as long as you reapply and reapply, you should be okay. A/C has not been involved. I’ve ton a lot of partying lately, golfing, hanging with my girl… so yeah, not much at all. I kid. Damn, soccer?! Football is the way to go, love. I’m kidding, that’s awesome. But I know it fucking sucks to not make it to the biggest game of the season. There’s always next year, though! Try to think as positive as you can.

I feel your pain, dude, I really do. At least you got to sweat your ass off in some dope fucking places. Especially Hawaii! Texas is the worst in the summertime, wouldn’t wish that on anybody. I grew up in Jersey! Not too bad, but we had our fair share of summers where I contemplated shriveling up into a prune in the swimming pool to avoid facing the heat. Yeah, the reapplying’s where I fall short, especially if I’m catching waves. Have yet to find a convenient place to strap a tube of sunscreen, so I just take my chances. Oh, yeah, you’ve definitely been up to nothing. A shame they keep you locked up in the house all day. Kidding, kidding, sounds like you’ve been living it up. Love it for you. Yeah, or y’know, as the rest of the world refers to soccer... football. In which case I’d fully agree, definitely the way to go. Listen, I’m still reminiscing this past year’s Super Bowl — talk about a fuckin’ nail biter. I had quite a bit of money on you boys at the family Super Bowl party, so thanks for pulling out the win. Have you managed to come down from the high yet, however many months later? Ah, thanks. I appreciate it, man. Just taking it one day at a time.  

[cursestothemoon]

I Won’t Say I’m In Love

i.

Fred Weasley x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Read the summary here

Warnings: Language, suggestive themes

Word Count: 2569

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

(i found the picture on google, there is a name on it but other than that i am not sure who owns it. I do not.)

The leaves, newly fallen from the on coming of Autumn, crunched under the feet of hurrying students. Hogwarts had begun it’s new school year, witches and wizards were hurrying from boats and carts to get into the castle and catch up with friends. Just outside of the dining Hall was a sea of students, chattering with friends, everyone staying in clumps of like colors.

Gryffindors stayed with their own, as did Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs were the ones to intermingle the most, having friends in almost every house. Then there was the house of Salazar Slytherin, a proud bunch, robes of green tightly knit together leaving no room for outsiders or stragglers, not that the other houses (excluding Hufflepuff) thought highly enough of the green and silver house to make friends.

Y/n L/n, a proud member of Slytherin stood proud with her friends and housemates. Her chin was held high, a playful smirk painted delicately on her features as she listened to Blaise Zabini give a recount of his summer holiday. Blaise had always been a nice boy, his mother was a beautiful woman who was familiar with the front page of many high end wizarding fashion magazines. Then there was Lily Webberforth, another pureblood from a family of wealth, she was in Y/n’s year and a cherished friend.

“Father said he’d be purchasing a new peacock for the manor, though he couldn’t decide between albino or not.” Draco informed.

Draco Malfoy had wormed his way into the group during second year, a good kid...when he wanted to be, but absolutely snotty otherwise.

“Y/n, how about you wear my jersey for the first game of the season?” Adrian Pucey asked, arm slinging around Y/n’s shoulders making her internally cringe.

She was never a fan of being touched and Adrian seemed to be all for it when it came to her. They were in the same year and he’d been trying to convince Y/n to make it official since third year. She preferred to play with him rather than commit to him. It was easier that way, being able to differentiate her feelings from an early age, she knew she didn't particularly like him, but they had a few good nights and now she can’t shake him. He had become rougher over the years, harsh and controlling with an affinity for blackmail.

“No my clothes are just fine, Pucey, thanks.” She shrugged off his arm as Lily snickered at the exchange, finding joy in giving Adrian a look that told him ‘better luck next time’.

Adrian, not the biggest fan of rejection then turned to Lily in hopes of getting a jealous rise out of Y/n.

“What about you, Lils? You’ll wear my jersey won’t you?”

Lily shook her head, “I’m on the team with you, clear why you're not in Ravenclaw isn't it?”

Y/n laughed at the comment and moved to stand next to Lily, away from Adrian. Luckily, he got the message, for now, and left to find Marcus Flint.

“Have you seen the twins yet?” Lily asked, leaning closer to Y/n to make sure she wasn't overheard.

The girl gave her a questioning look before asking, “Why would I go looking for them?”

“Their hair’s come in nice, looking a bit shabby last year, remember?”

“Yeah, they’ve finally cut it?”

Lily shook her head, her eyes glowing with excitement, “Even better, it’s grown out a bit longer. Real nice looking, George looks rather well I’d say.”

“I always figured you had a thing for him.” Y/n laughed.

“Oh please, you and I both know that you love how much attention Fred gives you.”

Y/n tried to respond, really she did, but she was both out of words and interrupted by Lily again.

“Look, here they come.” Her voice was quite as she nudged her head in the direction behind Y/n.

Y/n turned slowly, in no rush to give Fred Weasley the satisfaction of having him know they were talking about him. When she did finally meet his eyes she couldn’t help but agree with Lily, his hair had grown out quite handsomely and he seemed to have reached an impossible height, well over the six feet he towered at in the previous year.

“Ladies.” They greeted simultaneously, Fred eyeing Y/n as they neared.

She gave a silent nod to them as Lily vocally greeted them with a reserved, “Hey.”

“News is that the first match of the season has our houses against each other. Shame isn’t it, Poppet? You can’t cheer for me.” Fred asked, arms crossing in front of his chest and lips stretching to a smirk.

Anyone could tell Fred was proud of his large frame, as a beater he worked hard for his toned arms, and thick biceps but his height was a complete natural gift bestowed upon him by the gods and he wouldn’t waste their generosity.

Y/n snorted, “Oh yeah, makes me feel empty inside when I can’t cheer for you, Weasley.”

“I know, no need to tell me. I fill you right up don’t I?”

The comment made her sneer at him, but she was unable to say anything back as her house was called into the Great Hall for the beginning of the year feast. Fred watched her leave as George poked fun at his inability to charm his way into her heart with innuendos and sarcasm.

It annoyed Fred, it was common knowledge that you had been with a few guys, some people even going as far as giving Y/n an undeserved title for it. Unfortunately, common knowledge happened to be a common rumor made by people who disliked her. Fred didn’t know this however and her constant rejection made him wonder, what did all those other guys have that he didn't?

Y/n and Fred had a back and forth relationship, neither being afraid to throw jabs at the other with the underlying tone of flirtiness yet both of them knowing the line not to cross. Fred thought she was ethereal, the way she seemed to glow as she walked through the halls had him weak in the knees. Her voice was buttery and soft, a velvety quality that seemed to grasp onto each of his heartstrings. Fred was head over heels for her and he hated it so he used sarcasm and a condescending tone to combat his feelings. Over time this developed into a false belief that he really didn’t like her, she was cunning, sly, and so easy to hate when he couldn’t love her.

--

Lily and Y/n sat in potions class, potion already brewed and completed as they gossiped in hushed tones and watchful eyes.

“So, anything new with Weasley?”

Y/n didn’t need a first name to know who her friend was referring to and she groaned.

“No, and there never will be.”

A loud groan emitted from Lily’s lips, “When are you gonna stop lying to yourself? I can see right through you.”

“There is no chance, no way that I’d ever fall for him.”

“You’d never fall for him or you’d never let yourself?”

The following silence was just as good of an answer as any, and Lily gave her a smug looking knowing she had won the argument.

Class ended shortly after that exchange, Y/n and Lily now having a free period chose to hang out in the room with the goblet of fire, watching as people put their names in. It was only last night that Fred and George had voiced their complaints quite loudly at the age restriction and Y/n was excited to rub it in Fred’s face that she was of age. Of course she wasn’t going to put her name in the goblet, she had better things to worry about than some tournament.

Lily and Y/n entered the hall at seemingly the wrong time, seeing as Fred and George had run through the doors leaving the girls in their dust. The whoops and hollers from bystanders made Y/n roll her eyes much to Lily’s amusement.

“How can you not be annoyed by their arrogance?” Y/n asked incredulously.

Her friend shrugged, “They are amusing.”

Y/n ignored the comment as they neared the twins.

“It’s not going to work.” She sing-songed loud enough for them to hear as she walked by.

Fred and George heard the comment and made a b-line for her and Lily. Fred plopped down behind Y/n, his face turning to meet her eyes, George doing the same to Lily.

“You don’t think that, do you Lily?” George asked Lily with a feigned look of childlike innocence.

“Come on, Poppet, have a little faith in me.” Fred said, a sarcastic look of pleading falling over his features.

For extra effect Fred jutted out his bottom lip making Y/n laugh at his ridiculousness, and oh how he loved to have her attention to himself.

“It’s incredibly dimwitted.” Y/n answered.

Lily nodded, “See that there?” She pointed to a white line around the goblet as she continued, “it’s an age line. Dumbledore drew it himself -”

“Meaning something as pathetically dimwitted as an aging potion isn’t going to get past it.” Y/n finished.

Fred tsked as he shook his head, “That’s why it’s so brilliant.”

“Because it’s so pathetically dimwitted.”

The twins stood up abruptly and Y/n’s eyes followed Fred’s figure. The way his jaw flexed as he drank the potion and his hair flopped when he jumped down from the bench with George made Y/n lose grasp on her emotions for just a moment.

He was good looking, she couldn’t deny it. Fred Weasley seemed to be built by the gods, his hair burned as that of Ares’, and his face chiseled to the likeness of Apollo. But Y/n had been there and done that with pretty boys, all of them were the same and wouldn’t give in to another one. She refused to let herself fall for him, afraid of the repercussions of really loving him.

The fire let out an angry growl that brought Y/n’s mind back to that room and what was happening, with good timing too as she then watched George and Fred get thrown a few feet in the air and land away from the age line. They sprouted long grey beards and got into a tussle on the floor.

The sight made Y/n giggle before she quickly regained her composure and acted as unbothered as possible making Lily roll her eyes. It would’ve been a fairly enjoyable time, regardless of what Y/n would’ve told Fred, but Adrian Pucey walking into the hall made her shrink in her chair as she grimaced.

“Go, don’t think he’s seen you yet.” Lily whispered, eyes trained on the other Slytherin.

Y/n nodded and hugged the walls as she made her way to the door, hopefully, unseen. She celebrated too early, and her face fell as she heard the unmistakable tone just as she made it through the doors.

“Running away from me?” Adrian called, his smirk evident in his words.

She stopped, turning to look at him as she spoke, “Don’t be so surprised. You ought to have realized by now your company isn’t wanted.”

“Come on Y/n, give us a chance. You know you want to.” He said coming closer to her.

“Really, Adrian, I don’t.”

Adrian reached out to pull her under his arm and forced her to walk with him, the act making her tense up but he didn’t seem to mind. He leaned closer to her ear, his breath hitting her skin making her incredibly uncomfortable.

“You’re mine, you know that don’t you? And no fucking ginger is going to get in my way.” He growled.

“You’re disgusting.” She spat, eyes burning with the anger of Hephaestus’ greatest fire.

Adrian laughed as he leaned closer to Y/n’s ear making her give an uncomfortable shiver, “Careful, darling, your feelings are showing.”

--

“Miss me, poppet?”

Fred Weasley’s voice was chipper and cheery as he greeted Y/n in their first class of the day. He had just woken up and it showed, his red hair looked as though it was hastily brushed through with his own fingers and his eyes still a bit puffy. He looked positively endearing as he took a seat at his table with George, just behind Lily and Y/n.

“Ridiculously.” Y/n mumbled, not looking up from her Herbology book.

“We’re only a few weeks in, what could you possibly be studying for?” Fred asked as he leaned over his desk to catch a glimpse at what you were looking at.

You glanced at him momentarily before looking back at your book, “Just giving myself an idea of what to expect.”

“Not a bad idea.” George said, considering doing it himself.

Fred gave him a funny look before turning his attention back to the girl in front of him, chin resting on his hand propped up by his elbow on the desk. She wasn’t paying attention to him, instead focusing on the book in front of her. She was slightly to the side allowing Fred the perfect view of her face without giving her the satisfaction of knowing he was staring at her.

Y/n’s hair fell in gentle waves down to kiss the top of her hips, she had fring that framed the length of her face and parted in the middle that was incredibly voluminous. Her eyes were focused with intense determination as she read, face relaxed as she was completely absorbed in what she was doing. Fred noticed early on that she rarely laughed, a genuine, eye crinkling, giggle but instead always had a look of unbothered casualness. He couldn’t understand this, not in the slightest, seeing as he was sure he had smile lines forming already.

He wanted to know more about the ethereal Slytherin, he craved it with everything in his being. Something about her drew him in, held him in place and refused to let him go.

Deep in thought, Fred failed to notice her eyes now looking at him with a curious glint and her hand coming out to poke him with her index finger.

“Alright, Weasley?” Her eyebrows were furrowed and Fred shrugged off the bubbly feeling he got in his gut.

He smirked, “Aw, do you care about my well being? Georgie hold me I may swoon.”

George laughed and shook his head at his brother, Lily joining in on the laughs as she watched Y/n’s face contort to one of distaste.

“Oi, Freddie’s got himself a girlfriend.” Lee Jordan, a close friend of Fred and George’s called from his table on the other side of the greenhouse.

Fred gave a short chuckle, his defenses coming up instantaneously as he tried to ignore the burning of his cheeks. And maybe if he hadn’t been so keen on putting down any and all rumors of him having feelings for Y/n he would’ve noticed the shy smile that graced Y/n’s lips as she turned her face away from the boys.

But alas, he didn't, and instead opened his mouth to shout over to Lee.

“My standards aren't that low, mate. I’d just as soon shag a goblin, Godric knows they’d be less bothersome.”

Taglist

@freddieweasleyswife​  @anywherebuthere​ 

[sixmapleleafs]

bedtime // frederik andersen

Summary: A special bedtime story for your four kids turns into a night of reminiscing and possibly an addition to the family...

The kids cheered in front of the TV as Freddie blocked yet another shot from the opposing team, he’d had an amazing game and the kids had been cheering him on from the couch since it was a school night. The microwave dinged behind you and you grabbed the now warm milk, pouring it into your daughters sippy cup, walking out of the kitchen into the family room in order to make your presence known.

“Ok kids” you said making them look at you, “time for bed” they all whined causing you to chuckle, “its a school night and it’s already past your bedtimes”.

“But mommy, daddy’s not home yet” your seven year old son says.

“I know Ethan but he will be home soon and I’ll make sure he tucks you in when he is, ok?” He nodded his head pulling himself up and running past you as you picked up your three year old daughter, handing her the sippy cup.

“Can we have a bedtime story, mamma?” She asks you.

“Yeah! In you and daddy’s bed!” Your five year old son, Nathan, shouts excitedly as he jumps up from his spot on the couch.

“Yeah! Yeah!” Your daughter says from your arms as she claps her hands as best as she could.

“Of course baby, get Ethan and Harry to help you pick one” you say nodding towards your oldest son who was still watching the post game stuff that was playing on the TV. Harry looked up at you and nodded when you gave him a look silently asking him to help his youngest brother. He was just like Freddie in almost every way, a gentle giant and already an amazing goalie at only age 9, he was also a giant mommas boy and you’d found him playing dress up with his little sister or partaking in her tea parties many times.

You headed upstairs with your daughter in your arms making your way straight to your room since she was already in her pyjamas. The boys come running in, Nathan has a large book in his hands that you don’t recognise from their bookshelves.

“What have you got there baby?” You ask him as they all climb into the bed. You grab the blanket that was folded at the end of the bed, getting ready to pull it up over all of you as you get comfortable in between the four of them, so they can snuggle into your side.

“We found it earlier and we didn’t know what it was” Harry explains as he takes the book from his brother and hands it to you. That’s when you see it. It was your wedding album. You hadn’t looked at it in years. You ran your fingers over the gold lettering that spelt out Frederik and Y/n.

“It’s daddy and I’s wedding album” you tell them as they look at you confused.

“What’s a wedding album?” Nathan says looking at you with his big brown eyes.

“Well in this book is all the photos from the day we got married, from start to finish, it’s all in here” you told him and a giant smile broke out onto his face.

“I want to see your wedding mommy, can we look through it?” Haley says from beside her oldest brother and you smile brightly looking over at her.

“Of course, if that’s ok with the boys?” They all nod and smile as they snuggle closer together on either side of you.

You opened the book, waving your hand as dust flew into the air, you hadn’t realised it had been so long since you last opened it. The first four pages were covered in signatures and messages from everyone who came to the wedding. You smiled as you read a few of them quickly. You turned the page and the words the groom were written in the same gold lettering as the front of the book.

The next few pages had photos of Freddie and his groomsmen, there were loads of shots the photographer had taken of Freddie getting ready in his suit and styling his hair. The next page had pictures of Freddie and his family, a few with his dad and his brother then one with all the men from his extended family. There were a few of Freddie and the boys all together in their suits, then one of just Freddie and Auston, who was the best man of course. The kids immediately burst into laughter when they saw the picture.

“Look at uncle Auston’s moustache” Ethan said in between laughs and you laughed along with them, remembering how Auston proudly wore that moustache everyday with no shame. You had no idea why he had decided to get rid of it to be honest.

“He was daddy’s best man, in fact mommy and daddy introduced him to Aunty Elise that day and now they’re married” you told them, referring to how you had introduced them at the wedding and they’d immediately hit it off.

“And we’re getting another cousin soon” Harry said making you chuckle.

“Mhm any day now there will be a third baby Matthews” you told him as he smiled before returning his attention back to the book in front of you. “Doesn’t daddy look handsome?”

The kids all nodded in agreement and Harry joked about how he looked like he was the prince of Denmark making you all laugh. It was a common joke in your family that Freddie looked more like royalty that the actual royal family. You turned the page, the bride was written in gold in the middle of the page and you smiled as you remembered the day and how you felt getting ready to marry your best friend.

“Are these pictures of you mamma?” Haley said and you nodded, turning the page.

The first photo was of you getting your hair curled as you sat surrounded by your mother and grandmother, both of them smiling with tears in their eyes as they looked at you. It was a beautiful shot and you were thankful that the photographer had managed to catch that moment.

The next one showed you stood in the middle of all your bridesmaids, standing in your matching robes and styled hair with your make up done perfectly.

“There’s all your aunties with mommy whilst we were getting ready” you told them as they looked intently at the photos on the page. “And there’s grandma and great nana” you said pointing at the photo.

You turned the page, showing them the photos of you with Freddie’s mom and sister and they all immediately pointed and asked if that was mormor and you nodded. Next there were pictures of you in your dress looking in the mirror as you teared up.

“Why were you crying mommy?” Nathan asked you looking concerned.

“Because I was really happy baby” you explained and he nodded, his face relaxing as he looked away again. “Look there’s grandpa, that was the first time he ever saw me in my dress” you said as you pointed at the next picture.

“He’s crying like you” Haley pointed out and you chuckled, “was he really happy too?” She asked and you nodded. You turned the page again.

“What’s a first look?” Harry asked reading from the page.

“It’s when the bride and groom get to see each other for the first time on the wedding day, it’s just them and they get to share a moment together before the wedding begins” you explain, “sometimes they give each other gifts but daddy and I decided to write letters to each other and read them before we saw each other”.

The next pictures revealed exactly what you had just described, you and Freddie stood back to back reading the letters. The photographer had captured a shot of each of you smiling, then tearing up, then reaching down to your side to grab each other’s hand.

You remembered how Freddie had spun you around to face him, taking in every inch of you in your dress. His eyes had filled with tears and he’d crouched down covering his face with his hand as his emotions took over him. It was one of the rare occasions where you had seen him cry, since that day he’d only really cried like that when each of your kids were born. You remembered how you had reached out to rub his shoulder giggling even though your own tears were threatening to spill over. He’d stood up and immediately wrapped his arms around you, telling you he loved you and he was the luckiest man alive. The photographer had captured every moment.

“Now daddy’s crying” Ethan said with a laugh, snapping you out of the memory.

“Daddy never cries” Nathan pointed out and you nodded.

“It was a very emotional day baby, everyone cried even daddy” you explained smiling softly at your son, suddenly feeling extremely grateful for your family in that moment.

“You look so pretty mamma” Haley said running her small figures delicately over the photo of you in your dress.

“She looked like a princess” you heard Freddie’s voice from the doorway, he was wearing his game day suit and leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom.

“Daddy!” Haley squealed as she climbed down from your bed and ran into her fathers arms, he immediately lifted her up and she wrapped her small arms around his neck, the sight made your heart melt as he carried her back over to the bed.

“Congrats on the win dad, you played really good” Harry said.

“Thanks bud, did you guys watch the whole game?” He asked as Nathan moved from the spot beside you where the two of them had previously been and Freddie scooped him up in his other arm. He sat down beside you, the kids getting comfortable in his lap as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips.

“We all wore our jerseys too daddy” Haley said bringing her fathers attention back to her, she’d had him wrapped around her finger since the day she was born, in fact since the day you found out you were having a girl and Freddie had immediately started painting the nursery pink and buying her little outfits. Freddie chuckled as he kissed her forehead.

“How long were you stood there?” You asked him.

“Since you called me handsome” he said with a smirk and you rolled your eyes, not being able to stop the smile from spreading across your face. You continued looking through the album until you got to the last page and noticed the kids were struggling to keep their eyes open. It was well past all of their bedtimes and you looked up at Freddie to find him already looking at you smiling softly.

“C’mon lets get them in bed” you said but he didn’t budge, instead he leaned down to kiss you softly.

“I love you” he said and you smiled bringing him into another soft kiss.

“I love you too” he kissed your forehead before you were burst out of your little love bubble by Harry.

“Ewwwwww” he said making you giggle and blush a little bit, you didn’t think he had been paying attention to the two of you.

“Come on big man, it’s time for bed” you said as you carefully moved Ethan so he was standing, he was seconds away from falling asleep but he followed his brother down the hallway anyway.

Freddie picked up the younger two and carried them to their beds. You followed Harry and Ethan to their bedrooms, tucking Ethan into his bed and kissing his head softly as he mumbled a goodnight and love you. You moved next door to Harry’s room where he was already tucked into bed waiting for you to say goodnight as he did every night, you kissed his forehead and said goodnight before closing the door quietly. You walked down the hall to Nathan’s room where he was already snoring softly, you kissed his forehead gently so you wouldn’t wake him then headed to Haley’s room.

“I love you daddy” you heard her say in her tiny voice, you peaked your head around the door to see Freddie’s large frame knelt beside her bed, her small hand was in his giant one and she had her Carlton the bear stuffed animal under her arm.

“I love you too princess” he said placing a small kiss to her forehead.

“Goodnight mamma” she said causing Freddie to look over at you, a content smile on his face. He looked truly relaxed. Like this was where he was meant to be.

“Goodnight baby” you said as Freddie stood up, switching the nightlight beside her bed on as he did so.

You made your way into your en suite bathroom, Freddie not far behind you. You both brushed your teeth in a comfortable silence before he headed towards his closet to get changed into something he could sleep in.

When you finally made it under the covers you were hit by how exhausted you really were, you closed your eyes and were just about to fall asleep when you felt Freddie’s strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. You looked up at him sleepily and he pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss.

“Thank you” he said quietly and you looked at him confused.

“For what?”

“For giving me all of this, our family. I love you so much and I never want you to feel like you aren’t appreciated because you are, baby, you really are” he said before you pulled him down for another kiss, suddenly not feeling so tired anymore. The kiss quickly got heated and Freddie was in top of you in no time. Let’s just say your family of six was about to become seven...

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 36)

When the darkness falls over the quiet, enclosed suburb, turns quiet. The clinking from the construction site stops, the volume of the residents’ voices is turned down, there’s no sound of cars or gunshots. Instead, on the other side of the wall, as soon as the sun has set, the cicadas begin to sing. Their clicking and chirping noises, their mating call, is powerful enough to overpower the rattling, guttural sounds that the walkers make. But it’s not the high pitched mating call from the loud insects that lures the Alexandria residents out this night and to gather at the new wall, next to the construction site, but the scent of a hot stew boiling over a crackling fire, a pleasant buzz and the feeling of belonging. The feeling of a secure, pleasant atmosphere, the social needs; to gather up around the fire, eat and drink together.

He’d never understand the almost collective need all other people felt about socializing with others, in all sorts of social forms. Daryl still doesn’t understand it; he’s incapable of feeling that need and large crowds make his skin crawl. For him, it doesn’t matter, but for the sake of the community, he participates. Somehow he has learned how to handle it, accept that others need to sit down to eat with others. And like this, at the end of the world; well, he goes with the flow. Sometimes, not that he would admit it, it’s actually pretty fine. 

It’s the feeling of fine that’s laying over him as he walks over the grassy lawn next to the calm pond, with Juri ridin’ on his shoulders. The small, soft hands clings to his worn out vest and he softly bounces the heels of his small sneakers towards his chest.

“Ya’ sure ya’ up for this?” Daryl looks to his right, down at Mila.

Mila mumbles something inaudible in response. She walks somewhat stiffly, pulling Daryl back in time to when she stumbled up the stairs when she healed from the machete-wound, but she’s too damn stubborn, or proud, to say anything. She wouldn’t admit defeat even if she lost a leg, he’s sure ‘bout that. 

Behind him, Daryl hears hurried steps towards the soft grass, whereupon Carol walks up next to Mila.

“Look at that-” Carol smiles. “I was thinkin’ I wouldn’t see you three for the rest of the day.” She looks with a radiant smile up, above Daryl’s head, at Juri. In the presence of Juri, Daryl’s like air to Carol; she adores the blonde little rascal clinging to Daryl’s shoulders, who’s probably giving Carol a wide, sunny smile back.

“There’s no chance we’d miss dinner.” Mila says and nods up at Juri. “One doesn’t simply say no to soup.” 

“You’re right about that.” Carol sniffs the air. “It smells delicious.”

A couple of the original Alexandria folks  have already set up, prepared and started to serve dinner when they arrive. Well, he already knew; in his mind Daryl curses Glenn for what happened earlier. Over the firepit a big pot is spreading a pleasant scent of vegetables, broth and herbs around the perimeter. With ease Daryl grabs Juri under the arms and lifts him over his head and puts him down on the ground. He adjusts the legs in his small pants before he runs around the fire, to Carl and Judith.

“Off he goes.” Carol says with a chuckle and crosses her arms.

“Juri-” Mila hollers and waves at him. “We’ll eat first, then you can play. Davay!”

Over the fire they see how Juri nods, then gives Judith a pat on the cheek before he runs back around the fire. On the way, he’s hauled in by Abraham, who lifts him off the ground into his arms, while bursting into an open guffaw.  “What ‘ave we got here!” He utters between the clenched teeth, holding the small stump of a bad cigar in place.

As Juri wrestles Abraham, Daryl turns to Mila, who’s in action to attempt sitting down on the barked log. Goddamn stubborn wonderful woman, he thinks as he watches her bite the bullet, bending her knees to lower herself down. The bruise on her hip, the one that turned all red in front of his eyes while she was in the shower couldn’t be missed. It looked like hell. With a firm but gentle grip around her upper arm Daryl helps her down; Mila grimaces slightly, then gives him a grateful, silent ‘thank you’, hugging his hand with hers as she’s in position.

“If you could get me a bowl, I’d be forever grateful.” She says softly. “I’m not twenty anymore.”

Daryl can’t help but grin slightly.

“Yes ma’am.” He lets his fingers softly slip out of her grip, a touch that sends warm, pleasant sparks throughout his arm, and goes over to the fire, where Abraham and Sasha stand, preoccupied with Juri. “Go easy on ‘im, kiddo.” He smirks at Juri, tirelessly wrestling around in Abraham’s arms. Juri opens his mouth into what looks like a roar, a very silent roar, exposing his small, sharp white baby teeth towards his captor.

“Heh, well how ‘bout that!” Abraham exclaims dramatically. “I’ve caught a tiger! Must be ma’ lucky day!”

Juri looks somewhat displeased at Abraham’s proclamation. He shakes his head, making the blonde mane dance. Then he shapes his little hand into a claw and pulls it back over his head, while making his roaring face, and a hissing sound; the closest he can get to an actual roar. Daryl blinks at him.

“Ya’ don’t see the difference between a tiger and a lion?” Daryl glances amusedly at Abraham, who gives him a mighty impressed face behind the mustache. Daryl’s far from an expert, but he remembers the sign for ‘lion’ pretty well by now. 

Juri repeats his silent roar, before he pats the big red haired, red bearded man on the bushy cheek and wrestles out of his grip. He runs over to Mila, where he was heading when he was captured, and throws himself head first into her lap. She laughs and digs her fingers into the sides of his stomach, making Juri flounder his legs in the air behind him. 

“Good heavens-” Abraham looks over at Juri and sighs; the big man gets a look upon his face that Daryl hasn’t seen before. A wishful glance of resignation for the little boy that makes everyone he meets smile. “He’s precious. What a blessing it is, havin’ those lil’ ones around, right? Makes one reevaluate what we are fighting for. Well, there’s the answer.” He shifts his gaze to Daryl. “Ya’ lucky, Dixon.”

Well, what should he say in response? Daryl nods, barely noticeable; he’s not sure what Abe meant by that. Does he mean what Daryl believes, or more like what Daryl wants him to refer to? He glances at Mila and Juri, now sitting curled up next to each other, talking to Carol. Juri’s little hand is clasped around Mila’s finger and he looks so calm, so happy and healthy. And Mila, who awakes feelings inside of him that are difficult to describe in words. Well, he cannot deny that he likes what he sees. Three of the most important persons in his life, together; his best friend, the woman who’s the love of his life and the kid he would take a bullet for. 

“Yup, he knows.” Sasha states with a grin and buffs Daryl in the side. “Look at that, Abe, our archer’s in-”

“Shut it.” Daryl cuts Sasha off in a husky voice, instinctively lowering his eyes to the ground.

“Just sayin’-” Sasha says, still grinning amusedly, as she’s handed a bowl and a piece of bread from the woman, Liz, scooping up soup. 

“Minestrone.” She smiles as Daryl hoarsely asks for four bowls. “There’s bread too, but I doubt you can carry that too.” She continues jokingly as Daryl manages to hold on to two bowls with each hand. It ain’t hard, he’s used to carrying’ around a couple of ferrets or other dead animals without problems while out hunting. 

“Yeah.” Daryl replies mumbly and returns to Mila, Juri and Carol. “Here ya’ go, kiddo.” He hands Juri a bowl, then hands out the others to Mila and Carol before sitting down between the two women. “Ladies.”

“Thank you.” Carol says pleased. “This looks yummy!” She sniffs the rising steam from the soup and stirs it around. “Don’t take this the wrong way, I love to cook! But it sure is luxurious to have food prepared for you like this. Like being in a restaurant.” 

“What lousy places did Ed take ya’ to?” Daryl lifts his head and looks at Carol with a raised eyebrow.

“None.” Carol blinks at him. “That’s why this is extra special.”

“That won’t do.” Mila says and looks at Juri, who’s in full action to stir his spoon around the bowl. “Ostorozhneye. Careful, it’s hot.” She exhorts and returns to Carol. “I’ll invite you to bistro Sergeyevna someday. Best russian home cooking around. You’ll not have to go hungry.” Mila takes a spoonful of soup and meets Daryl’s eyes. “So, what’s on the menu at the Daryl Dixon diner, then?”

“Game.” He replies simply. Why complicate things?

“Yeah it would probably be some sort of barbeque.” Carol agrees. “Steak house, I’d call it.”

The two women laugh, Daryl shakes his head with a faint smile; well, he’s glad they’re having fun. While Mila and Carol talk about all sorts of food he’d never even heard of, Daryl looks around the gathered community. He briefly meets Glenn’s face; the terrified face he had earlier, bursting into the bedroom, is all gone and all seems to be as usual. Well, if Glenn felt embarrassed about it, it was nothing in comparison what Daryl felt - completely mortified. The anger had quickly turned into shame; like the time Merle happened to walk in on him with his first conquest, well... the first girl he tried to get it on with ever. She left in a hurry, he never saw her again and Merle tantalized him for days afterwards. It was only thanks to Mila’s easy outlook on the matter Daryl set his foot out of the door to go to dinner; at first she laughed about it, then entrusted him that she’d happened to walk in on Glenn and Maggie both once and twice ‘doing it’ since her arrival in Alexandria. 

“They seem very fond of fresh air.” She said casually as she stepped into a pair of clean jeans after the shower. “The first time I just laughed.” Mila shrugged and shook her head. “Second time not as much. He’ll get over it. Worse things have happened.”

He glances at Glenn again, they nod at each other before returning to their bowls with great interest. Daryl shifts his focus to Juri, who has emptied his bowl of pasta. Instead he plunges his spoon into Milas bowl, who’s still engaged in conversation with Carol, and starts to clear her soup of macaronis. In return he drops red peppers into her bowl. When the big blue eyes notices being watched, he looks up at Daryl and lifts his small index finger in front of his mouth in a shushing gesture.

“They’re good for ya’.” Daryl says and puts a spoonful of soup in his mouth. “Makes ya’ big and strong, like a lion.”

When the dinner’s over and they’ve cracked open both two and three beers, collected by Spencer and a few others during a run earlier in the day, around the crackling and heating fire, Juri starts to yawn. He makes himself comfortable in Mila’s lap, covered by her jacket, while resting his feet on Daryl’s thighs. After unleashing his third lionesque yawn within a few minutes, Mila states that it’s time for him to sleep.

“Time to put on pajamas, malysh.” Mila gets up from her place laboriously, with Juri in her arms. The blonde head rests on her shoulder and he looks sleepy. “Say ‘goodnight everybody’.” Mila says and glances at Juri, who throws kisses to right and left, before she starts walking in the direction of the houses, while talking to Juri about what goodnight story they shall read.

“He’s lovely.” Carol chuckles softly, looking after the toddler as they are engulfed by the darkness. “Did you see what he drew earlier? At the cul-de-sac?”

Daryl shakes his head. He just saw the happy trees and the sun in front of the house. Carol grins and chuckles once more.

“Ya’ gonna tell me ‘bout it?” He asks. 

“Go check it out later.” Carol shakes her head and smiles. “It’s sweet.”

“Sure.” Daryl takes another sip of beer. “Whatcha thinkin’ bout this other group, the looters?” He looks at Carol. “Honestly.”

“I don’t know.” Carol replies, rubbing her hands against each other to warm them. “Frankly, I think it would be foolish to think we’re alone out here. I think we should be prepared at all times, looters or no looters. Walls or not, we’re never entirely safe.” She looks down at her hands, then back at him. “I’m glad you made it back safe.” 

“Yeah.” He puts down the empty bottle between his boots, rests his forearms at his thighs and looks into the dancing flames. “Thought I’d lost her there for a while.”

“Well you didn’t.” Carol says with ease. “Why ponder what could happen, when it didn’t?”

Yeah he has thought about that too. Still he can’t help but feel guilty. Carol’s right. Nothing happened, nothing worse than a couple of bruises. He smiles faintly at her.

“That’s the spirit, Pookie.” Carol pats him on the cheek. “Well, I’m off to bed.” 

She gets up from the log and wraps her knitted sweater tighter around her. Daryl follows, they say goodnight to the others and start to walk back towards the house. When they reach the porch the front door opens and Mila steps out, wrapped in his poncho as protection against the cold. The long hair lies in a tousled braid over her shoulder and she smiles at them when they walk up the steps.

“Sleep’s like a rock.” Mila greets them while wrapping the woolen poncho tighter around her shoulders. “Barely made it halfway through Benjy’s Dog House.” 

“He’s had a busy day.” Carol says. “Good night you two.”

“Night.” Daryl responds.

Carol opens the door, walks into the dimly lit house and closes the door behind her. They are left alone on the porch, Mila leaned up against the white post, Daryl standing on the second step.

“Wanna go for a walk?” She smiles softly. “It’s a nice evening. Starlit.” 

He nods and a warm feeling spreads throughout his body as she slips her arm into an arm hook with his. They start walking, or more like dragging their feets along the empty road. It’s a cool evening, but spring is on its way. It’s in the air, he can smell it. 

At the cul-de-sac they stop, looking down at the street. Juri sure kept himself busy while they were gone. He’s drawn most of the Atlanta group. The figures are made out of blocks, but they’re pretty good for a three and a half-year old. In the starlight he can see Carl and Judith, Morgan holding a stick, the church with a broken church tower, the houses and- he spots three figures standing close together. One small, one tall and one somewhere in between. He does recognize himself, the childishly drawn crossbow and the vest is hard to miss.

“That’s-” He points.

“Yup.” Mila says, squeezes his arm tighter. “Picasso has outdone himself on this one, right?”

Fuck, he suddenly feels all squeamish. But it’s darn cute.

“He’s great.” He says hoarsely and swallows, puts his arm around Mila’s shoulders. “Really.”

They continue to walk, until they stop at a parked pickup; shoulder to shoulder they lean up against the truck bed, eyes fixed on the sky, before they climb up on the truck bed and sit down. Daryl leans up against the back of the cab and Mila curls up against him, braiding his arms around her.

“I love to watch the stars.” Mila sighs, her breath stands like a vague cloud above her mouth in the cool evening air. 

He can’t disagree, however the mere thought of space, the vast eternity that is spread out above them, scares him.

“It’s like the sea.” He says. “Too big.”

“You’ve ever been to the sea?” Mila asks.

“Nah.” He replies. “Haven’t been around much.”

“We’ll go there someday. That would be nice.” Mila says softly, like a summer breeze, but suddenly she gasps. “Look!” She points up towards the sky. “A shooting star.”

Daryl tilts his head back, eyes fixed at the sky. A small, bright white dot shoots over the starry sky, passes its neighboring, resting stars, cheering it on while twinkling. He’s seen stars fall before, but this one shines brighter than any other he has ever seen. As if it was the brightest star in the sky, calling out for attention.

“Some say fallen stars represent souls that have been released from purgatory, so they can begin the ascent to heaven and eternal peace.” Mila says. “Others say they represent the soul of a new life falling to Earth. My mama always said shooting stars possess magic and good luck for anyone who happens to gaze upon one.” She turns her head and looks up at him. “Come on, make a wish.”

“About what?” He asks.

Mila shrugs a little underneath the poncho.

“Anything.” She replies. “But don’t tell me. Then the magic stops working.” Mila closes her eyes. “Close your eyes and make a wish.”

Daryl sighs. He doesn’t believe in magic, but for her sake he closes his eyes. Wish what, he wonders; right now he can’t seem to think of anything he wants. Nothing more than he already got. It’s just mumbo jumbo. Half-heartedly he thinks of something, before he opens his eyes and looks down at Mila’s dark, soft hair. As for now he’s got all he needs.

“Ya’ made a wish?” 

Mila smiles, a good enough answer.   

“Do you ever wonder what life would be like, if all this hadn’t happened? I mean, if all of this hadn’t happened-” Mila turns her head backwards, towards him. ”-you’d taken me out to the movies? Or a bar?” 

”Not sure I’d dare to ask ya’ out at all.” Daryl replies in all honesty. She had never even looked in his direction in such a scenario, because the other guy, Jim, had been alive. ”To be fair, ya’ outta my league, Jersey.” He therefore says. 

”Schh.” Mila hushes softly and curls up closer to him. “Yerunda. Gibberish. Please, play pretend. Take me on an adventure, Dixon.”

She becomes silent and rests in his arms, head upon his chest; her hand finds its way to his collarbone and softly she caresses it. Her touch is affectionate, loving. Daryl thinks to the point of him almost getting a headache. He has no idea what he would have done in such a scenario, he can’t even imagine it in his wildest imagination. A bar? Nah, that would never work. He has never set foot in a movie theatre and he would never dream of going out to eat. Mila is all rock concerts, karaoke, bar rounds and hanging out with friends. Daryl doesn’t know much about any of those things, minus the drinking. Wait, didn’t she used to go hiking? 

“I-” He pauses, hesitating slightly before he continues, remembers. “There’s a place.” 

A memory he most of all wanted to repress, or simply just chose not to spend time on. It wasn’t long before the outbreak. He had had enough of everything; Merle, himself and life. The days before was a jumble of alcohol, drugs and gut punches. They hung out at Merle’s junkie pal’s house, the same house where they each and every day drank themselves to the point of no return, where he’d been half beaten to death, threatened with a gun and whatnot. The place he reluctantly had called ’home’ for quite some time until Merle managed to get a place on his own, where he let Daryl stay. It more or less turned into Daryl’s place since Merle was in and out in prison more than he wasn’t. Being involved in the contraband of meth gave him a prison punch ticket, but he rarely went in for longer periods. As soon as he got out there was a party that went on for days. Booze, drugs, prostitutes and fights in a never-ending loop. 

That day when he stormed off, he’d just been in another fight. Once again Merle stood by and watched, too drunk and high to really care, leaving Daryl to fend for himself against three beefy bikers that did a pretty good number on him. It was as if the zest for life was knocked out of him, bit by bit, for every blow he received, until he managed to fend them off and fled out of there with only one thought in his head; “This ends now.”   

In a fit of rage, he set off on the motorcycle; where to, he didn’t know. Whether it was fate or his subconscious that took him out into the wilderness that afternoon, he doesn’t know til this day. But he stood on the brakes at a lay-by at the edge of the mountains with a throbbing head. His thoughts raced, blood boiled in his veins and he got off the motorcycle, didn’t care to either park properly or remove the key from the ignition. He wouldn’t need it anymore. Without purpose or meaning, he went out into the wilderness, equipped only with a knife, crossbow and a gun. He kept looking upwards while climbing, resilient like a fox, uphill. It didn’t matter that he cut himself on sharp rocks or slipped, he no longer felt pain. Suddenly the slope ended and he found himself standing on almost leveled ground. He moved forward, knowing that he would soon reach the precipice. However he misjudged his route and he came out on a raw ledge, a lookout point that had not yet become part of the hike trail. Staggering, with his heart in his throat, he stumbled out onto the ledge where he collapsed; head spinning, eardrums beating. He cried out with rage, his cry of anger bouncing between the rocks and the peaks. He sat up, pulled his knees up to his chin and felt how everything was breaking apart around him. It was over. It was now or never.

Nature has a strange, almost supernatural power to feel how it can be in danger. How its beauty can quickly face a threat, how it in the blink of an eye can change forever and never being able to repair itself from such a tragedy. Just as Daryl took -what he thought was- his last breath, deep into his lungs, and was about to let his finger pull the trigger, Mother Nature intervened. The sky burst open, a cloud moved and paved the way for the sun to let through its rays that lay over the view and colored it as if by magic, in a myriad of colors. The sudden change, how all the gray suddenly turned green, yellow, red, orange, pink and blue, made him hesitate. He exhaled, gasping for breath and feeling the beads of sweat dripping down his hands, which cramped around the pistol handle.

The treetops that burst out of the soft fog that lingered after the rain before seemed to float in the air. The pistol slid out of his grip, his muscles didn’t seem to be able to hold it up and he sat with his arms hanging along the sides, the backs of his hands resting against the cold, hard stone. With tears streaming down his cheeks, the first time he cried in god knows how long, Daryl watched the surrounding beauty, while the breeze gently caressed his face, like the soft touch of a loving mother, the mother he never had. As if it pleaded to him to breathe, to take in everything around him, the beauty and the wilderness. This was his home, this was his safe space. Nature wouldn’t hurt him. Daryl’s eyes fell upon the gun next to him. He took it and threw it in a wide arc into the air, down the cliff ledge. Not his will, but Mother Nature’s.

“I’d take ya’ up the Blue Ridge mountains.” He says therefore.

“Like the John Denver song?” Mila starts to hum. “Almost Heaven, West Virginia… Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River- is it?”

“It ain’t far from here.” Daryl adjusts, makes himself comfortable against the back of the cab. “There’s this place, down Chattahoochee National Forest, at the southern edge of the mountains.”

“Oh come on, now you’re just making names up for fun!” Mila laughs softly, still with her eyes closed. “Chattahoochee? Another country song?”

“Will ya’ lemme do this or not? It’s a goddamn river.” Daryl says. ”I grew up there, ‘round the northern mountains, nearby Blue Ridge.” He continues, wraps his arms tighter around her, tries his best to fantasize a scenario in his head; he has never had a particularly vivid imagination. Maybe as a kid, but that’s a long time ago. “We’d drive out there in summer, when it’s all green; Watch the azaleas bloom in scarlet, crimson, orange- There’s so much life out there one couldn’t believe their eyes if they could only see it. Most folks don't, like they’re blind. But they’re out there. Foxes, songbirds hindin’ up the tall pines. Grouses, coyotes... A place where no human has dared to put its foot down. It’s untamed, maybe the last wild, untouched place on earth.” Daryl pauses. He doesn’t know much about the world. He hasn’t traveled, barely been outside Georgia. But he’s still sure of his thing, feels it in his body. He’s more familiar with nature, the wild, than anything. He spent more time in the woods and up the mountains than in his godforsaken childhood home. “There’s an undisturbed ledge up the mountains-” He continues, holding her closer as he watches the stars, his eyelids begin to feel heavy. “We’d put up camp there, an open fire. Roast something, corn, game… watch the sunset over the mountaintops, listen to the coyotes-” He closes his eyes and at the memory of how the sky let through the sun and lit up the whole valley, he can not help but smile faintly. “-watch the sunrise over the treetops.” 

More than that he doesn’t get time to tell, before he’s lulled into sleep with Mila on the truck bed.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Jake comforting Chris after nightmares or during storms with cuddles is actually my favorite thing in the entire world pleeeease don’t tell me I’ve seen the last of it

CW: implied noncon as part of a nightmare + inappropriate actions towards another person on waking. References to drugging.

Note - this is not part of a narrative timeline exactly. Consider it within the third week or so of Chris living at the safehouse.

The boy called Baldur, because Sir has a thing for old Norse God's and the boy's name is whatever he is called when he steps from the box, feels buried in the scent of cologne sprayed on soft sheets, bergamot and lavender with a deeper hint of something like moss and sandalwood underneath. The sheets are navy and slipping between them feels like drowning in a featureless pool, staring into a pond with no bottom, so far down light can't filter in any longer. There are too many pillows.

Still, the boy wishes there could be more softness, here.

He is good, in the dark, because that is what he has to be. He tilts his head back, pulling his neck into an inviting arch. He digs his heels down into soft sheets, he says the right whispered words, makes the correct sounds, keeps his eyes open when he should and closed when he should and through it all, his thoughts race in a wild screaming panic of get me out, get me out, I don't want this, this isn't what I want to be.

He buries those thoughts. They belong to someone else, and the boy called Baldur must be good, between the navy sheets, in the darkness.

I want this, he whispers, twisting fingers in short, clean-cut hair, mussing it up, listening to the low chuckle he receives as a reward.

Half of him loves the sound of that laughter - half of him is a cry of pain and fear and shame only barely covered by skin.

Darlin' you barely understand what those words mean, Sir says in response, oil-slick smooth, a man whose voice was made to be heard on TV.

The boy speaks slowly, or not at all, because silence is better than stammering, and his words are all wrong when he tries. But he can speak the phrases they taught him. In that way, he is still good.

I want you, he murmurs, and pushes up on his elbows, then, tilting his head just right to bite his lip. His heart pounds with fear he can't name, and his thoughts are sluggish and slow, the pill he is given after dinner lets him drift through the nights with only one thought at a time.

It feels awful, to think so slowly, but it helps, too.

Baldur, darlin' that is the truest thing you've said all night.

That's not his name anymore.

Some nights Chris has to force himself out of these dreams, swim up like a drowning man desperate for air. Tonight, though, the sudden realization that Baldur isn't his name anymore is all it takes for Chris to come fully awake, gasping for breath, sitting up in the twin bed in the room he shares with Antoni.

Across the room, Antoni snores lightly, soft little whistle-sounds Chris doesn't mind.

His soft jersey sheets - he picked them out himself, they are blue and orange plaid and ugly and his -are soaked with the sweat now drying on his skin, and he feels shivery and unmoored, like he'll fall off the earth and float away in space like a lifeboat lost at sea.

He slips out of bed, his hands shaking, and moves out into the wall on nearly soundless bare feet. They're all good at walking without sound, after training.

He doesn't feel real. Everything is wrong, and he wants, but he doesn't want, and he's scared of the drumbeat of it, the flames that lick his skin.

He wants and doesn't want, and he needs... what does he need?

Jake's room is across the hall and one down, next to the stairs, and Chris doesn't tap on the door to knock, he only moves in, still feeling drugged and slow, one-track thought, exhausted and throbbing with a pain that exists only inside of him.

Jake sleeps on his side, his feet hanging a little off the end of the bed sticking out from his blankets, hugging a pillow the way children hug teddy bears. Chris watches him. Jake is kind, and sweet, and treats him so well.

And Chris wants, so much, to feel real again.

He moves to the bed, focused - too focused, this isn't right, he isn't like this - and breathing a little harder, flushed, as he gently pulls the pillow from Jake's grip. The older man shifts around, rolling into his back, letting out a low exhale.

Just what Chris wanted. Doesn't want. Can't want anything else.

He doesn't climb into the bed, but pushes the blankets off towards the wall and climbs onto Jake himself, laying over the top of him, shivering at the warmth and solidity of the body he is straddling.

Jake groans, eyes moving under closed eyelids. "Mmmn, sh-shit, what-... what's-"

"Ssssshhh," Chris whispers. He knows the training will carry him through until he can make the shivering stop, the fear that chases him in the dark, the terror that it won't ever be over. Jake is the safest person he knows.

He presses his lips to Jake's and rolls his hips, whispers, "I want this," just like he's supposed to.

Are they trained to convince their owners, or themselves?

Jake's hands grip hard onto his shoulders, his eyes flying open, and he pushes Chris away from him, holding him nearly at arm's length. "Chris? What the fuck?"

His voice is slurred with sleep, and Chris tries to lean in to kiss him again, but Jake's grip is too strong.

"No," Jake says, firmly. "Absolutely not. What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," Chris says, feeling his own eyes fill with tears. "I woke up feeling, feeling, feeling weird and I wanted, I just, I wanted to, to to to feel better, just to-... to feel better! And I thought, um, I like you, and, and and and-"

"You woke up-... Okay, liking me is not the same as-... Chris, I am not going to do anything to you. No. Absolutely one hundred percent the fuck no." When Chris's face falls, Jake sighs, blinking sleep from his eyes. "I won't ever, not with rescues. I'm not safe for you if I do, Chris. You said you woke up like this?"

Chris swallows, nodding. Jake's grip on his shoulders slowly loosens. "I was, um, I had a, a, a dream about, you, you know... And I woke up, I just... was scared, of the, the dream and I, I needed... to, to, to to to feel... um... I don't know."

Jake nods, shifting in the bed, gently moving Chris so he's lying in the spot he likes between Jake and the wall. "You needed to feel like you're here, not there. I got it. It's okay, Chris. I'm not mad at you."

Chris settles onto Jake's pillow - scratchy but fun, some movie on it that Chris doesn't know, he likes the image of the robot on one side though. Jake pulls the blankets back and Chris breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes Jake is putting the blankets on him, too. "You're not?"

"No. Nightmares are normal. But you can't try that with me, man, I won't do that to you."

"With me," Chris corrects, but his voice trails off when Jake fixes him with a long, hard stare, eyes glittering with the dim reflection of moonlight through the blinds.

"No. To you. If I... That would be wrong. And I won't. You should know that I'm safe, and anyone who would-... They wouldn't be safe. But you can stay here."

"I, I, I can?"

"Yeah." Jake closes his eyes again, and Chris watches the lines of his face relax, tries to mirror it. "If you have bad dreams, man, you can always come see me, okay? That's what I'm here for."

"Okay," Chris whispers, and he's smiling. Some of the shivery horrible feeling is gone, the fear settles into something closer to the tired he was before. He feels less worry that he isn't real, because he is, even just laying like this. "Okay, Jake."

"You can trust me," Jake murmurs, already halfway back asleep. "No matter what, Chris, I got your back. Go t'sleep, I got class tomorrow."

"Good, good, good good good night, Jake," Chris says, softly. His feet find a spot of warmth where Jake's legs had been before, and Chris closes his eyes, tapping happily on his stomach. He feels better, and nothing happened, and he feels better because nothing happened.

He waits until Jake's breathing is soft and even again, until he's sure the other boy is sleeping. Then Chris opens his eyes again to look at Jake's sleeping face, erasing the horrible smug smirk in his memories and dreams with Jake's gentle, insistent, I am not going to do anything to you.

Chris smiles, in the dark.

He never smiled in the dark before.

"I, I can trust you," He whispers, and lets himself slip back into sleep.

[sombreboy]

Love Maze »19

Previous  » Next Series Masterlist ▎ 18+ ▎ pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook ▎ genre: School AU, crack humor, smut, angst, ETL, slow burn, fluff. ▎ word count: 8.1k ▎ ch.warnings: Profanity, angst, description of medical procedures (I'm no doc so dhsajkd), homophobia (tae's father is homophobic), use of homophobic slurs(censored), mentions of blood, tae jerks koo off in the hospital bed THIS WAS SO UNPLANNED BUT HEY IT HAPPENED..they're horny. dom!tae, sub!koo, good boy kink

Co-writer: @velvetwicebang​​​​​ ♡♡♡

The boys sat in the dull, somber hospital waiting room. It’d been around an hour, and still no news of Taehyung. Joon knew it was probably still too early, but the suspense was keeping him at the edge of his seat.

“Jungkook-ah..” Jin treaded gently, “do you want some tea? Anything?” Their youngest seemed so out of it, it was incredibly concerning. Just as Seokjin was about to build onto his small proposition, an older man barged in through the doors. He was tucked into a polished suit, obvious he’d come back from work by the bag at his side.

“I’m here for Kim Taehyung.” Namjoon quirked up a brow, turning to look at Jungkook to see if he knew the man.

“Kim Daejung. His father.” The group’s eyes widened, they’d never seen Tae’s dad before. The latter didn’t openly talk about his family— at all. “You’re all checked in. Feel free to take a seat by the group of boys, they’re here for Mr. Kim as well.” The moment the man turned around with a puzzled expression, Namjoon’s eyes widened at the uncanny resemblance between the two. Taehyung was an exact copy of his father. The sharp eyes, full brows, sun-kissed skin. Everything. Well, except he was a few noticeable years younger..

Hesitantly, the man advanced towards the group. Who the hell were these kids? He took a seat across from them, clearing his throat before crossing his arms over his chest. For the first time since they arrived, Jungkook's eyes moved from the blank stare at the floor up to the man's face. So this was Taehyung's father. The very man who had Tae running to Kooks place with tears in his eyes and trembling in self hatred. Taehyung looked just like his father. But they were nothing alike. Jungkook didn't say a word, simply mirrored the man's posture when their eyes met. Daejung crooked an eyebrow as his gaze roamed Jungkook's disheveled state, the blood on his hands and clothes.

"How do you know my son?"

"We're on the same basketball team in school." Namjoon clarified, interrupting whatever Jungkook had waiting at the tip of his tongue.

"Ah." Daejung nodded, seemingly uninterested after all. He clenched his jaw in annoyance. He really had to come here for his useless son. And let's not begin to talk about the hospital expenses. The very thought had the older man fuming in frustration for himself rather than for the condition of his child.

"Hey." Jungkook suddenly caught the older man's attention, "Are you not going to ask if he's okay?" Kook didn't fail to notice how Taehyung's father didn't seem worried enough. He didn't even ask what had happened-- or if his son was even alive. All he saw was that Taehyung was nothing but an inconvenient burden with the way Daejung was impatiently tapping his shoe against the floor.

"Mind your business, kid." Daejung huffed back, the hostility in his words provoking Jungkook to clench his fists in his lap. Gently, Jin seated next to him placed a hand on the younger's back as if to say 'Don't'. The monochromatic room lacked fresh air and ventilation, and the newborn tension between Jungkook and Taehyung’s father only stuffed it even more. It had the rest of the boys ready to take action, keeping a close eye on Kook who appeared to be ready to burst. The older man struck them as a heartless asshole. Tae was severely injured, yet that wasn’t enough to get him to care just a bit. All of this was a nuisance to Daejung. It was killing him not knowing how much money was being wasted on Taehyung. It physically hurt to think of all the extra hours he’d have to work. Even then, it wouldn’t be enough. With an impatient sigh, the older man leaned back into his seat, glancing at Jungkook once in a while. His eyes were red from crying. It got him thinking.. Why did he seem the most in pain?

“Mr. Kim?” Daejung turned around to the voice’s origin, meeting the lady from behind the counter once again. “Hello.” She respectfully bowed, apologizing for disrupting him during a tough time. “I completely forgot to give you these,” the woman extended out a plastic bag with Taehyung’s found belongings— his cellphone and wallet. A bit disoriented, the older man thanked her before setting the clear bag on his lap. He didn’t think much of it, until he caught a glimpse of a picture sticking out from his son’s wallet. Curious, the boys watched him unzip the bag, asking themselves what he was doing rummaging through Tae’s things at a time like this. Daejung took out the wallet, before unfolding the picture strip. It was adorned with silly hearts around the creased edges. But the most surprising thing of all, it was of his son— with a boy. Worst of all, with the same boy sitting across from him. “You’re kidding me..” He felt a wave of new anger wash over him, glaring into Jungkook’s doe eyes with utter disgust. Jungkook recognized the strip of pictures immediately, and it felt like a pang in his chest from the memory. Tae had kept the photos of them… Hearing the older man's word in revulsion towards the fact that his son loved the boy sitting right across from him had Kook's temper flaring up even further. Especially when the words were directly aimed at him, and Tae. Jungkook stood up abruptly, the hands of his hyungs reaching for him to sit back down, not strong or fast enough to keep him down. He was just so angry at this man, he wished he could just beat some sense into him.

"Kook, sit down.." Jimin pleaded behind him, tugging at the younger's shirt. Jungkook brushed his hand off, keeping his eyes fixed on Taehyung's father. If eyes could burn holes through a person, Daejung would be hollow. The older man kept looking down at the photo and back at the doe eyed boy, the difference between the sweet looking boy and the anger fueled, bloody mess standing tall was eerie. But Daejung couldn't wrap his head around this.

"No fucking way." Daejung spat out as he crumbled the photo in his hands to throw it at Jungkook, a deadly sharp stare in his eyes, "You're probably the reason my son is in here in the first place, aren't you?"

Jungkook took a step closer, the muscles in his arms flexing with every clench of his fist. "No." He really tried keeping himself calm, but the older man didn't make it easy.

"Hah....was probably beaten for being a f*g. You stay away from my son." Daejung mocked, the words coming from his mouth nothing but venomous, as if he knew exactly how to place his words to hurt the most.

"Watch your fucking mouth, you don't give a fuck about him anyway! I do!" Kook placed his palm on his chest to make a point, the hard thud against his pecks displaying the strength he possessed. Yoongi rose to his feet, hand reaching out for Jungkook’s bicep to prevent him from pouncing Taehyung’s father. He felt the strong muscle project from underneath the skin, verifying the younger’s internal infatuation towards the appalled man. “Don’t fucking touch me, kid.” Daejung pushed back, disgusted that Jungkook’s bloodied hands came in contact with his expensive suit. “You don’t know shit about the relationship with my son. You think he gives a fuck about you?” The man scornfully chuckled, finding the strain on the younger’s face quite amusing. “Taehyung is incapable of love. He’s a kid without any manners, he only thinks about himself-- All of this? This is a phase, alright?” Daejung didn’t hold any shame in bad-mouthing his own child, belittling his every step, making him feel worthless. It was his own twisted game. “When he moves away after High School, Taehyung’s gonna thank me I sent him to a college outside of the country. Far from you.”

Hearing Taehyung's father say those words felt like a punch in the gut for Kook. The amount of times he'd heard the expression 'it's just a phase' from his own dad was almost laughable. "You're lying..." he murmured, but the more he thought of it, he wasn't so sure. Was Tae gonna leave?

Yoongi kept his grip on Jungkook's arm, tugging at him to leave the room. "Come on, let's go." He urged, and after a long moment of thick silence, the younger gave in and left out the door without another word. When outside, Yoongi let go of Kook. "I brought your change of clothes... they're in the car. You should grab them and wash up your hands and then come back, okay? I'm sure the asshole is gone by then." Yoongi's words were soft, and hearing him refer to the older man as an asshole made Kook feel a bit better. "Alright..okay." Kook nodded as he grabbed the keys that Yoongi had borrowed from Namjoon, heading outside towards the car. Yoongi decided to wait by the entrance, keeping a distant eye to give the doe eyed boy some much needed space. Jungkook unlocked the car and got in, sitting down in the car as he reached for the plastic bag with his clothes. He placed them in his lap as he took a second to just.... Breathe. Would he ever be allowed to catch a fucking break? He was happy the car was spacious, quickly able to change out of his bloody jerseys to slip on a black hoodie and sweatpants before heading back towards the building, seeing Yoongi waiting outside the door with a soda in each hand. Just something to get the bitterness off the younger's tongue.

"Thanks." Kook breathed out as he brought the can to his lips, the sugary drink not as sweet as he’d hoped for it to be. But how could it be, with circumstances like these?

~

A couple more hours passed by, and almost everyone was on the verge of passing out from exhaustion. Yoongi was asleep, Jimin was trying to stay awake, Hoseok seemed fine, and Jin visibly fought against his eyelids weighing down on him. It was a close battle. Daejung kept his distance from the group— which was for the best. From the looks of it, Jungkook was still wide awake from anger. Worry, too. Namjoon couldn’t sleep with the ticking bomb at his side, even if Kook had calmed down a bit, Joon would feel better if he kept an eye on him. Their previous feud was no longer of importance, all that mattered was that Jungkook was okay.

Moments later, and the doctor appeared in the waiting room. “Kim Taehyung?” Nearly everyone’s heads perked up, standing up from the stiffly uncomfortable chairs to walk over to the man. Tae’s father followed behind, pushing past the boys to stand upfront. “Are you the father?” He answered with a curt nod of his head, waiting for what the doctor had to say. “Your son is strong. He’s okay after only a few minor complications.” Hoseok exhaled a breath of relief, looking for Jungkook’s reaction. “It was good that you found him when you did. If you would’ve waited a minute longer, I’m afraid he wouldn’t be with us right now.” Daejung’s jaw tightened, the words were too raw. It hadn’t fully sunk in that Taehyung could’ve died. “H-how’s he doing? Can we see him?” Jimin asked, desperate for more good news. “He’s a bit out of it at the moment. Taehyung suffered from a few seizures during the procedure. The skull fracture was deep, which caused him to lose a lot of blood. We had to make sure there were no blood clots or leaking of cerebrospinal fluid. He’s doing fine, only had to get a few stitches done to patch up the open wound.” Jimin smiled at Jungkook, hoping that was enough to assure him that Tae was going to be fine. He made it.

“Mr. Kim, if you’d like you can go see him-“

“Can we see him? Please. We’ve been waiting out here for hours.” Yoongi tiredly pleaded.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. But I’m afraid it’s family members only.”

“Doctor. Please, Taehyung is like family to us! We don’t all have to go. Just... please.” Hoseok added, to which the older man seemed to thoroughly think about.

“Mr. Kim, are you fine with one of them coming along?” Daejung shrugged his shoulders, simply wanting to get this done and over with. He had work in the mornings. “Alright. Jungkook, go.” Namjoon softly uttered at the younger, easing his anxiety with a faint smile. Jungkook hardly processed everything that went over his head the past few minutes. Taehyung was okay... But only because Jungkook found him on time. He could've checked any other place before going to the locker room, and it would've been too late. Just that thought alone was heartbreaking...

'Jungkook, go.'

He felt Namjoon's hand gently push the younger to step inside of the room. He hesitated at first, his doe eyes worried and his expression blank from all the emotions he's been through. He couldn't even bother with being upset at Taehyung's father at the moment. Especially not when he saw Taehyung himself on the bed. Nothing else mattered. A shaky exhale pushed through Jungkook's lips as he rushed to the side of the bed, roaming the elders face with his doe eyes. The color of his skin was no longer pale, but had gotten most of it's beautiful tan back. He was alive. Kook never would've thought that simply watching the elders chest heave up and down as he breathed would be one of the best things he's seen today. Taehyung was there, but not fully. Hi s swollen eyes leisurely flickered open, ears spiking up from the sudden intrusion. He’d only been awake for an hour or so, his mind had yet to catch up. It hurt to think as much as it hurt physically; the rocketing ache in his head was bothersome. Tae didn’t pay any attention to his father’s entry, noticeably livening up at the hazy sight of Jungkook. He’s able to recognize Kook’s doe eyes anywhere. Having the latter stare down at him was the torch he desperately needed in these dark times. “Hey..” Tae muttered meekly, attempting to smile. “You’re here.. I-I love you.” Taehyung needed to say that— needed to reassure Kook that all was well. Perhaps Tae was scared he would’ve never gotten to say those three words again. He hated himself for making the younger worry.. Slowly, he reached for Jungkook’s hand, weakly holding it in his bigger one.

His father’s jaw clenched tightly from his son’s words. Did Taehyung not see that he was in the room? He shouldn’t say such disgusting things— especially if it’s aimed towards the same sex. It made him sick. Every second of their exchange.

Jungkook quickly grabbed Tae's weak hand in both of his, softly squeezing it in reassurance. "Hey," his voice was shaky due to his entire body trembling, feeling like he's internally experiencing a turmoil of every single emotion he's able to possibly possess, "Of course I'm here." Kook leaned closer to get a better look at the elders eyes, barely able to see the brown pools of life through the swollen eyelids. But it was there. "I love you too, you dumbass..." he joked, but he was also serious. He loves this guy with every figure of his being. And Kook was nothing but a dumbass too for trying to believe anything different. He loved this dumbass, that kept being a difficult push and pull-- but whatever happened, they both kept gravitating back to each other.

Once more, Taehyung's father felt himself getting sicker and sicker through the exchange. "Enough." He finally mutters, but Kook refuses to do anything but to keep holding Tae's hand. God knows they both need it.

A weak, barely detectable chuckle emitted from the back of Taehyung’s raspy throat. “So sweet of you,” He teased amidst laughter, gazing up at Jungkook to the best of his abilities. It was kind of hard when his unclear vision was limited by his eyelids’ puffiness. Taehyung looked sickly— as one would expect. A crescent moon, the shade of dark, red-ish purple adorned his sunken under eyes. The bridge of his nose was visibly swollen, flushed with the remains of dried blood. And of course, no one could ignore the protective cord of stitches keeping the broken skin of his upper forehead together. No one but his father, who appeared to be more preoccupied with their choice of wording rather than his son’s well being.

“What did you do, Taehyung? Why did this happen.” He was back to putting the blame on his son. Again. Tae wished he could’ve been used to it by now.. He was hurting enough already; the elder didn’t need this pain on top of it.

“Dad—“

“Do you know how much this is going to cost me?” The older man huffed, impatiently tapping his foot against the tiled floor. “I work way too damn hard for this.” Daejung refused to meet their eyes, defined jaw clenched once again. “You won’t even appreciate my efforts.” His father was also back to speaking on his behalf. Not caring about how Taehyung truly felt.

“Dad.. I-I’m sorry for putting you through this.”

Jungkooks rolled his tongue against the fleshy inside of his cheek, eyebrows drawn together as he glared over his shoulder, before looking back at Taehyung, softly stroking the elders knuckles with his hand. "This isn't your fault." He hissed out, moreso aimed towards the asshole in the room, "Don't apologize."

"He better apologise, and it won't ever be enough for the shit he put me through." Daejung scoffed, still annoyed with their interactions, "you should apologize too, you were probably the very reason he was put here in the first place." He continued, hinting at the fact that their relationship was something his son would get beaten for.

Jungkook withdrew from holding Taehyung's hand to turn towards the elder man, his nostrils flaring with his growing anger. "Your son almost died, and all you do is blame him?!. Get the fuck out of here if you're not gonna at least pretend like you give a fuck!"

Taehyung's father crooked an eyebrow, stepping closer to the younger. Rarely he was spoken to this way. "You have no power here. He's my son. My blood. And he's gonna repent every single penny I'm wasting on this," he gestured towards the hospital room, but ends his pointing hand at the younger, "this shit."

Jungkook's hand clenched again, but this time he doesn't hold back, instead takes a few daring steps until he's almost chest to chest with Daejung, his doe eyes instead replaced with something eerie swirling inside of them. "Get the fuck out of here." he paused to clench his jaw, hissing through his teeth, "Before I put you in a hospital bed myself."

One does not want to mess with the bundle of muscles this boy is, and considering he almost lost everything he cared for, Daejung was lucky that he didn't end up eye to eye with a man with nothing to lose. The older man was taken aback— who the hell did this kid think he was?

“Whatever.” Daejung harshly spat, lingering by the doorway. “Don’t expect me to come visit you, Taehyung. Not with this fucker around.” As if Jungkook was a walking disease, his lowered eyes raked down his stiff form. Disgust was one way to put it. Not only was his son a f*g, he was a man of terrible taste. Without one last glance, Daejung walked out of Tae’s hospital room.

Taehyung was left speechless, teary-eyed, and relieved. “Sorry you, uh, y-you had to be in the middle of that.” Taehyung’s teeth clamped down on his strained jaw, the muscle protruding from the sides. When the elder least expected it, a single tear streamed down his cheek. God, how much he loved Jungkook.. “Shit.” He roughly wiped at his face, careful around the bruised areas. However, more tears welled up in his swollen eyes. “I-I don’t wanna think about what would’ve happened if I didn’t make it.” Taehyung stared at Kook, reaching for his hand once again. He couldn’t picture a world without the younger; he just couldn’t. It was cheesy, but Jungkook was his everything. “Just.. not being with you for two weeks hurt like hell. I couldn’t imagine leaving you forever.”

The very moment Taehyung's father left, Jungkook's muscles seemed to relax. Turning to Tae, he quickly returned to his side by the bed to catch his hands with one of his own, using the other to carefully wipe away the elders tears with the pad of his thumb. "But you're here." He felt the lump in his throat grow, his own voice straining at the thought of receiving news other than the fact that the love of his life wouldn't be okay. Kook was sure he wouldn't be able to live without him. "You're okay... you're okay..." his own tears glazed his doe eyes, bringing Taehyung's hand up to kiss the soft skin of his knuckles, "I love you. I always loved you."

Those damn three words..

He’s heard them before in movies, plays, casually shared on the streets by many of Cupid’s victims— but Taehyung never would’ve thought he’d get to hear them himself. No matter how many times Jungkook reminded Tae of his love towards him, he still turned into a flustered mess. Something told him that would never change..

“I love you too.. dumbass. Always will.” The warm tears were now due to happiness, genuinely glad that Kook was by his side throughout all of it. Closing his eyes, Tae cutely puckered out his lips. “This is code for, ‘lean down and kiss me, my neck hurts.’” The elder childishly mumbled through the pout, patiently waiting for the touch of his prince’s lips against his.

Jungkook couldn't hold back the toothy, nose scrunching grin on his face. He leaned forward over Taehyung, bracing his hands on the bed to place a delicate kiss on the elders pout. He'd missed the familiar touch of these lips, so he went back for another, and another, moving his chapped lips against Tae's as carefully as he could. His face lingered close as he pulled back just enough to look at Taehyung with his soft gaze. "I missed you."

Throughout this sweet encounter, their hyungs had lingered outside of the door, Jimin finally unable to contain his curiosity after watching the older man rush out of the hospital. He quietly opened the door to take a peek, everybody else scuffing and pushing to get a look, only to be greeted by the wholesome sight of the two boys kissing. The boys exchanged looks of relief and joy, letting the boys have a moment together for a little longer before their patience ran low. They wanted to see their stubborn brother too.

"Taehyung, you're awake!" Hoseok chimed as he pushed through the door, stumbling over his friends as they all gathered in the room.

"Were so relieved that you're okay," Jin added with a worried sigh.

"That the both of you are." Yoongi murmured, hands deep in his pocket with a lopsided smile.

Namjoon felt glad, this was such a mess from the very beginning, and it finally seemed to be like everything slowly fell into place. The boys were happy again-- but he couldn't help to wonder about Jisoo. She must want to know what's going on too. But that's for the morning, they've all been through hell. The game was long forgotten, all that mattered was that Taehyung was alive and well, and Jungkook finally seemed like he could breathe.

“Thanks guys.” Taehyung showcased a faint, boxy smile. Seeing everyone here.. for him, it eased his throbbing pain somewhat. The feeling of relief seemingly washed over their worn out, sunken faces. They willingly waited in the hospital for hours, hoping for a chance of good news. It got Tae thinking, was he that memorable?

“I’m gonna say something.. and I need you to promise me you won’t laugh your asses off. If you laugh, I take it back.” Taehyung warned, gaze flickering between each of their puzzled friends. “I love you guys.” It was a different kind of love from the one he shared with Jungkook, but it was there. After what nearly took place, it made him realize he should say those words more often. No one quite knows when their last day would come, better to leave without any regrets.

All boys felt smiles tugging on their lips, some trying desperately to hold them back while others freely grinned widely. "We love you too!" Jimin chimes as he heads to the side of the bed to give Tae a gentle hug, careful not to hurt him.

"Yeah." Yoongi agreed with a simple nod.

"Or else we wouldn't have waited hours for you!" Jin grinned, followed with his hyena-like laugh.

Jungkook scrunched his nose, this entire scene so wholesome. He kept Taehyung's hand in his, constantly rubbing mindless circles with his thumbs against the smooth, warm skin.

"So, any news on when you get to leave here?" Namjoons eyes roamed the room, "should I go check with the nurse?"

Taehyung seemed to dig deep in the back of his mind, “I think she said in around a day or two..? Apparently they still need to do a few tests or whatever.” Just the thought of that was tiring, Tae wanted to go home. Home as in Jungkook’s tiny apartment, nowhere else felt more welcoming. As if on cue, a young nurse walked into Taehyung’s hospital room. She was initially startled by the large number of people, but she hid it well.

“Okay, Taehyung. I think it’s time for you to get some more rest.” The woman looked at his group of friends, reassuring them that they’re free to visit him tomorrow— when it wasn’t three in the morning. “He’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.” She spoke to all, but mostly towards Jungkook. It was sweet how much he cared for his boyfriend, but everyone was due for some much needed rest. “I’ll let you guys bid your temporary goodbyes.”

The nurse left the room to give them some privacy once more. Everyone hadn't really properly felt the exhaustion hurling over them until now that they were finally able to relax.

"Alright guys. Let's go." Namjoon nudged towards the door, giving the two youngest by the bed a softer look. The other guys could tell they probably needed another moment to themselves before parting, so they waved goodbye before heading out the door, leaving Jungkook & Taehyung together.

"I could stay here." Jungkooks doe eyes roamed Taehyung's face, his hand reaching to move his dark curls away from his eyes, "so you don't have to be by yourself?"

A fond smile magnified on Taehyung’s dry lips, “Baby, I’m fine. I’ll survive.” He extended out a weak hand to caress the side of Jungkook’s face, “You need your rest. No offense, but you look like shit.” A raspy laugh emitted in the midst of the comfortable silence. Tae withdrew his hand to latch onto Kook’s closest one, giving the firm skin a gentle squeeze. “Just give me a big kiss and get out of here.”

"Fair enough. Today has been a long fucking day." Kook sighed with a relieved smile. After all, it didn't end badly. And for that he was grateful. A small pout formed on his lips as he leaned forward, one hand delicately placed on Tae's cheek to draw him in for the remaining inch needed to press their lips together. He kept it that way, their chapped lips not bothering him in the slightest. He was just happy that they were there. Warm. Alive... Kook pulled back when he felt like he got enough to make it through the night, kissing Tae on the forehead before standing up straight to stretch his back. "Okay, I'm going. I'll be back tomorrow though, don't miss me too much!"

“I’ll try not to, see you tomorrow.” Taehyung watched Jungkook leave with a saddened twinkle in his eyes, wishing he could just.. stand up and leave with him. But he had to stay here for a bit longer. If he was lucky, perhaps it’d only be one day.

~

“Feeling better?” Namjoon asked Kook the moment he sat in his car, rubbing the younger’s shoulder in a soothing, slightly awkward manner. Joon was trying his hardest to be there for him, although his nervousness could be a little too loud at times. “I called Jisoo, by the way. She’s relieved that everything’s alright.”

Oh, right. Jisoo.

"Yeah, much better." Kook sighed, sinking into his seat as if he's melting into it, body completely worn out in exhaustion-- both physically and mentally. "Ah, that's good.." kook nodded, making a mental note of the fact that he had to talk to her about everything. They had a long heart to heart earlier, and honestly he was rather excited to finally tell her that things were...good. Even if the two of them shared their time together, intimately and in other aspects, they were awfully good at just being.. friends. Jungkook had rambled on about Taehyung like a giddy schoolgirl, even during a time where he was pissed at the elder earlier tonight. And suddenly everything had changed in within the span of a few hours. At this point, this had happened so many times that Kook would eventually suffer from an internal whiplash.

Namjoon kept the conversation short; he could tell Jungkook was fighting against his sleepy urges. And truthfully, so was he. It’s been a long, stressful night. They all needed their own time to heal, to take in everything that happened in the short span of the few, awful hours that were spent waiting for news on Taehyung’s condition.

“Alright. See you tomorrow, Kook.” Joon bid his tired goodbyes, driving off when Jungkook made it into his apartment building. Namjoon didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but he hoped it wasn’t anything remotely close to today.

~

Despite everything, Jungkook slept like a dead man. He was so exhausted that his body didn't give him much of a choice than to rest. As soon his alarm clock blared, he groaned and got up. Now that the game was over with, there would be a break for the basketball team. Which he didn't mind, but it did feel weird to break his routine. Instead he used the extra time in the morning to take a walk, clearing his mind of the things he's been brewing on for forever. Most of all; Taehyung. Was he doing okay? Kook couldn't wait to go see him. School passed by rather quickly, seeing his hyungs every now and then was reassuring. They also looked a lot better after a night of rest-- and Jimin was back to his obsession with his cellphone. The very moment the bell rang to dismiss class, Jungkook was already half way through the hallway. He didn't need anything else than to see Taehyung. Luckily the hospital wasn't too far away, running there was an option. He was too impatient to wait for a ride from Joon. Jungkook was a bit taken aback when he reached Taehyung's room, only to find several policemen talking to the boy. Well, they were just finishing up it seemed, as they were just leaving, letting kook finally see the face he's been longing for all day.

"Tae," Kook closed the door behind them as he entered the room, "What was that for?"

Taehyung felt himself relax when the assertive pack of policemen left his side, giving him the chance to breathe. Talking about what took place built up nervous jitters in his veins, and as if he could relive it all over again, the stitches in his forehead mirrored a forest fire only growing in size. It stung. They interrogated him with several questions regarding last night’s bloody circumstances. The approximate time, the place it happened, and most importantly; who was unstable enough to nearly tear someone of their life. If Tae remembered— or even knew. Which he vividly did. The image of Ash’s face was something that’d been forever engraved in his memory. He didn’t see the man the moment he lunged towards him, but Taehyung could perceive his madness through the harsh tug of his fingers. It made the elder a little uneasy..

“Babe, hey.” He traded his sullen expression for a small smile, slowly extending out his arms to engulf Jungkook in a warm hug. It would definitely make him feel better. “Oh, uh, nothing.. they were just asking me things about last night.” Taehyung nibbled down on his lower lip, “If I remember who did it.” The topic hadn’t come up yesterday, thankfully. It would’ve only granted him a bigger headache. “Anyways, did you miss me at school?” The elder cheekily wiggled his brows, trying to steer away from the previous conversation.

"Missed you a lot," Jungkook confirmed with a small smile of his own. But he wasn't going to let the elder get away from his attempt to avoid the question. "So, do you?" Kook pressed on the matter, and it was obvious that the stubborn boy didn't want to simply beat around the bush. He reached out to gently brush Tae's well overgrown fringe away, his eyes observing the stitches visible, "remember who, I mean?"

He angled his face towards Jungkook’s feather-like touch, forgetting about his internal worries for the brief time. The second the younger withdrew his caring hand, the calming spell was shattered. “I mean..” Taehyung hesitated, “yeah.” Tae wasn’t going to lie. There was no need to. The boy at his side was the one person he could trust, it would be silly to keep something as serious as this from him. “Don’t freak out, okay?” Knowing Jungkook, Taehyung wasn’t too sure his words would have any effect. “Remember, I-I’m fine now.” It was challenging for him to admit, but he’d go out with it for Kook. “Uhm.. it was Ash. He— he found me in the locker room, started talking shit; saying how I made you uncomfortable. I grew tired of it, so I turned to leave but..” Tae gulped, fidgeting nervously with the younger’s fingers. “All I remember is him grabbing me by the hair, and just.. slamming my head against the sink. Everything else is blurry...

Jungkook's jaw muscles visibly tensed up at the revelation. Things made more sense now, Ash always struck him as odd. Obsessive. But to the point of using violence? He was fucking insane. "That motherfucker..." Kook hissed through his teeth. The sensitive nerves within the younger boy were easily set ablaze by this-- anything that hurts Taehyung he wants to get rid of. He was even ready to pounce Taes own father for the sake of peace. Now, he didnt, and it was for the best. But Ash, however was different. Jungkook's hands were trembling in his building rage, "...he won't even dare to look at you again." kook murmured as if he skipped a previous part of his sentence, maybe it was simply in his thoughts.

Taehyung successfully attempted to sit up on his hospital bed, warm hands seeking Jungkook's face. “Hey, don’t worry. They’ll handle it, Kook.” He forced the boy into looking at him, guiding the latter’s sandwiched face closer to his own, staring into the same pair of doe eyes he missed waking up to. “Please.. don’t do anything stupid, alright?” Taehyung pressed his chapped lips onto the tip of Jungkook’s nose, the pads of his thumbs caressing over the younger’s temples. " I love you, I’d hate for anything bad to happen to my boyfriend— wait, we’re back to being boyfriends, right..?”

Jungkook's face relaxed in the elders touch, and the sweet words only added to his small smile growing. ''Okay.'' He agreed, but he knows himself too well. He won't be able to simply let it go... But he didn't want to add to Taehyung's worries. ''Yeah,'' He added with a small scrunch to his nose, placing his own hands on top of Tae's, ''We're boyfriends again.'' Just those words alone made Jungkook feel the bursting joy of butterflies in his chest, finally he felt like the void in his soul was complete once more. He sighed in content, ''I want you out of here, I miss you a lot.''

The elder beamed at the sweet confession, finally withdrawing his hands from Jungkook’s face to run his fingers through the younger’s soft, curled hair. It was noticeably longer.. “I should be out of here soon. I kinda miss you too.” Taehyung broadcasted his teasing in the form of a lopsided smile, scooting his butt to make some room in the bed, “lay down with me.” It was a tight space, but he’d missed Jungkook way too damn much to care. The closer they were, the better. The boy nuzzled his cheek onto the younger’s chest, inhaling his boyfriend’s scent with every collected inhale he took. “Hey, I don’t know if I ever thanked you for it, but.. thanks for standing up for me— because of my dad, I mean.” Tae mumbled, hugging him tighter.

Jungkook kept his boyfriend close, one arm around him as the other reached down to hold Tae's hand. ''I won't ever let him hurt you again,'' Kook promised, craning his neck to softly press a kiss against the elders head. He wouldn't let anybody hurt him again. At least not without consequences. Jungkook wanted to protect the one person he felt like he'd die without. ''I can't wait for you to come home, I miss your loud snoring.'' He tried to lighten the mood a bit, for Taehyung and for himself. He rubbed mindlessly against Tae's upper arm, a reassuring touch, hoping his embrace would feel like a wall of protection, ''And morning showers.''

It worked, Taehyung’s swollen eyes crinkled into crescents, the sound of his deep laughter ringing throughout the room. “You’re desperate, huh. Missing my snoring? That’s a first.” Tae looked up at him, smiling now that he was back in the safety of Jungkook’s strong arms. “What do you miss about morning showers?” The elder cocked a brow, mind automatically ignoring the ‘washing up’ side of things. He’d missed his boyfriend so fucking much— it hurt.

Jungkook pretended to think about it for a second, humming in thought. ''Well..'' He paused to lean back more comfortably in the bed, his gaze roaming the ceiling, ''I miss your cocky comments. The way the water coats your skin... and.. the way your skin feels against mine.'' He chuckles, the mere thought stirring his insides, ''Your hands. Shit...''

Fuck. Maybe asking was a bad idea...

Taehyung’s bigger hand squeezed harder onto his, as if it’d been awakened by the memorable mention. “What I’d do to put my hands to work right now..” Tae lowly breathed out, legs pressing together to try and mask his evident boner. “To touch you.. and tease you.” His slender fingers unlatched from the younger’s to snake underneath the fabric of his shirt, feeling around his boyfriend’s defined abs.. traveling up to his warm pecs. The elder’s eyes roamed towards the closed door, then back to Jungkook’s chest, able to make out the shape of his hand whilst it roamed freely around his skin. “So fucking strong..” Taehyung shimmied up a bit on his spot, now able to nuzzle his nose into Kook’s neck.

A breathy sigh emitted from Jungkook's lips, the elders slightly cold hands quickly warming up underneath his shirt. ''Fuck...'' Kook quietly cursed when Tae's nose tickled his neck, ''I missed your touch...'' Jungkook's eyes flickered towards the door, then back down to the hand that roamed his torso. ''What if someone walks in..'' He closed his eyes nonetheless, a part of him didn't even care. He missed feeling Taehyung, like a parched man craved water.

“They won’t.” Taehyung sounded overly confident, although he had zero clue about what could happen in the span of their time together. Someone might walk in, someone might not. They’ll have to take the risk; Taehyung’s fingertips prickled with anticipation. He pressed a wet kiss onto the vein that protruded along the side of the younger’s skin. His hand slowly slid down Jungkook’s torso, seeing the light once again. After withdrawing his face from Kook’s neck, Tae guided the palm of his hand up to his mouth. Slowly, he wet the slight dip with his glistening spit, all the while he held eye-contact with Jungkook. “Don’t make any noise, and no one will come in. Sounds easy enough?” The elder bit down on his lower lip, unbothered to wait for a clear answer. Taehyung’s eager hand sank deeper past the waistband of his boyfriend’s sweatpants, before sneaking down into the warmth of his briefs. Immediately, his fingers wrapped around Jungkook’s thick girth. He began to pump him slowly whilst the pad of his thumb massaged the tip. “Do you like it? Because I do.” Taehyung murmured in his sultry voice, keeping his intense gaze on Jungkook’s cute facial expressions. “You look so pretty..”

Jungkook bit down hard on his lower lip to muffle the groan that threatened to escape his throat, instinctively jutting his hips into Taehyung's hand. He was so needy for this, no other could touch him the way he did. ''I love it, you know I do..'' The pressure on his tip already had him leaking precum, pressing his back further against the bed as he kept his eyes on what went on beneath the fabrics of his waistband, ''Take it out, please..'' he restraint of his underwear prevented Taehyung from properly stroking him, and it slowly made him frustrated. His need for more grew way too quickly, greedy for more friction. And yet, in the midst of this, he looked at Tae with a hint of concern in his eyes, ''Are you okay, though?'' He was still worried about the elders health, he didn't want him to overwork himself past his abilities in his condition.

“Is that seriously what you’re worried about when I have your dick in my hand?” Taehyung chuckled, nevertheless answering his boyfriend with a quick nod. Anything to ease his worries. Remembering Jungkook’s previous pleads, he pulled out the latter’s cock, nearly gasping at the inviting sight of precum leaking down his hardened shaft. “Right now it’s all about you, okay baby?” Taehyung gradually increased his sloppy pace, jerking Jungkook off from the tip to the base, spreading the droplets of cum onto every mouth-watering inch. “You’re being a good boy for staying quiet.” Tae crooked up a brow, the wet sounds of his hand continuously sliding down his boyfriend’s cock increasing in intensity, as did his movements. “Love it when you’re a good boy for me..”

The terms of endearment and praise has Jungkook melting underneath Tae's ministrations, already feeling the heat of an orgasm pooling in his lower abdomen. ''Ah... feels good...'' Kook breathes out in a quiet whine, eyes never wavering from the way the elders large hand moved up and down his slick length, ''Harder... I won't last long babe..'' He whimpers, feeling his hips buck upwards to meet the movements, desperate to cum. Jungkook's eyebrows were gradually drawn together the closer he got, his breathy moans becoming harder to keep in control, ''I'm gonna cum, please....''

Taehyung granted him no mercy, only accelerating his movements to the best of his abilities. “Fuck..” He groaned, the slight sore in his wrist drove him to jerk his boyfriend off until the nip of pain was subdued by numbness, left to feel the rock hard exterior of Jungkook’s wet cock. The elder gazed down at him, strands of hair streaming down his dark eyes. “Cum, baby.” He muttered in a pleading tone, his long fingers squeezing tighter around the younger’s overwhelming length. Taehyung could practically feel him about to burst. The following seconds were similar to a ticking time bomb, Tae didn’t know when he’d come loose. All he knew was that Kook was close. When the time came, the elder let out a pleased moan at the warm, sticky mess that spurt all over his hand, adorning his glistening fingers. “See? No one came in.” A smirk stretched itself onto his reddened lips— the natural hue from biting down on them quite often. Taehyung’s hand didn’t stop there, continuing to pump his boyfriend at a slow pace, helping him come down from his strong high. “Your hair’s getting longer.” He noted in the midst of doing so, feeling comfortable enough around Jungkook for it to not be awkward. It felt.. domestic, in a sense. “You better not cut it.”

Jungkooks hazy eyes stared down at the mess that is his twitching length and Taehyung's hand, coated in the younger's release. "Y-yeah?" Kook stuttered out meekly, taking deep breaths to collect himself as the cloud of lust slowly dispersed. Looking up at Tae, he reached out to swipe his thumb over the elders lower lip in a sweet gesture. "So is yours... you look hot." Glancing down at the mess between his legs once more, he squirmed lightly when the touch was becoming a bit too much, but did nothing to stop Taehyung's hand, "ah... need to clean that up, let me get a towel or something?"

“Oh yeah?” Taehyung ruffled the outgrown locks of his hair with his free hand, flaunting them for extra effect. “Glad my boyfriend thinks I’m hot.” The elder grinned over his shoulder, insisting on getting up to grab Jungkook a spare towel. If he stayed glued on that stiff bed for a second longer, he might just lose it. Taehyung was used to moving around; rushing through things. Hours upon dreadful hours of laying down in the same place felt disorienting as fuck. “Here,” he handed Kook the soft fabric, snuggling up to the younger’s chest once again. “Never thought I’d jerk someone off in a hospital room.”

Jungkook whispered a quiet 'thanks' as he cleaned himself up, placing the crumpled up towel to the side before he pulled his waistband up to tuck himself back in, "Never thought I'd be jerked off in a hospital room." He chuckled lightly. It was as if they never went through this agonizing time spent apart from each other, the way they fell back into their comfort of the other so easily was just the telltale sign of how much they both needed each other. Kook wrapped his arms around Taehyung to keep him close, glancing over at the clock. Fuck, he had to leave soon... "I'm gonna ask the nurse if I can bring you home today." He placed a soft kiss on the elders head, "You seem much better considering, I'm sure you can do the bedrest part in my bed instead."

Similar to a worn out, flickering lightbulb trying its hardest to shed its light, Jungkook’s proposition was the right twist it needed to have Taehyung gleaming in contentment. “Fuck, please do. My ass is sore from laying around all day.” B arely two days in and Tae already dreaded expanding his stay. Jungkook’s place was the calm, cozy atmosphere he desperately needed. Not some.. dreary, monochromatic space that was his assigned hospital room. The only striking detail was a framed picture that hung on the beige wall, even then, it was of an abstract painting. Boring.

Tae never really learned how to properly appreciate the arts.. He felt most comfortable whenever he visited the younger’s apartment; Taehyung knew it was silly, but sometimes it felt like he belonged there.

Kook’s cum-stained couch, the small shower, his spacious bed— now those were pieces of art he could truly admire. “Take me home.”

As it turned out, they were planning on dismissing Tae even if Jungkook hadn’t asked. They felt as if there was nothing to worry about, the few tests they’d done came back crystal clear— no signs of unexpected complications. There was no reason to have Taehyung stay another night. The moment the nurse broke the news out to him, Tae’s boxy smile shone brighter than the stars. She thanked Jungkook for looking out for him, even going as far as complimenting them on their relationship.

“You two are lovely together, by the way.”

Taehyung didn’t seem to mind. A pparently, they tried contacting his father. Since his son was getting released, it was better if he was escorted home by a family member. However, Daejung never responded. Nor did he bother answering the hospital’s voicemails. They got the hint that Jungkook was the only family Tae had..

Bittersweet was a perfect way to put it.

© sombreboy 2020. Do not repost, edit or translate.

[doyouever-daydream]

Take me out to the ball game.

A/N So…  This is the result of me being sad over Opening Day being postponed, the MLB livestreaming game 7 of 2016 WS when my Cubs won, and having watched yesterday the episode where Rossi talks about this and puts up the W in his office wall *cries thinking about it* (I thrive everytime David Rossi of Criminal Minds or Nick Miller of New Girl make a reference about the Chicago Cubs lmao) Also in my head the Simmons family are huge Nationals fans just for the sake of the story lmao. Hopefully you’ll enjoy it.

Summary: It’s MLB’s Opening Day and since the Cubs are playing against the Nationals, Rossi invites the whole BAU fam to the Nats Park. (Please remember I suck at summaries)

Pairing: I guess there’s a little Spencer Reid x SSA (y/n) (y/l/n) there but it is mostly bonding time between the BAU fam.

Warnings: None.

Masterlist

“Well, this isn’t Wrigley Field but at least our Cubbies are playing” (y/n) said to David as they got to their seats.

It was MLB’s Opening Day and David had invited everyone to go and see his beloved Cubs playing against the Nationals, he was particularly excited that he finally had another Cubs fan in the team. They were both wearing Cubs jerseys and hats.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on the field playing? There’s enough of you to be a team” Prentiss teased the Simmons family, who were proudly wearing Nationals gear, all six of them had jerseys, even little Rose Mary.

“Very funny, Em, but actually we’re incomplete, there are nine team members on the diamond” Matt said with a laugh.

“Better start working on triplets then” Will said while he and JJ put sunscreen on their boys.

“Not a chance” Kristy was quick to answer braiding Lily’s hair.

The whole BAU family was there, even though not all of them were baseball fans, they felt it would be a good memory attending Opening Day all together.

“I have an extra Cubs hat if anyone wants it, maybe you Luke, come to your senses, come on” (y/n) teased Luke and he jokingly gasped while adjusting his Yankees hat.

“Haha, very funny, (y/l/n)”

“I’ll take it” Spencer, who was conveniently sitting next to her,  spoke and everyone hid their smirks, they knew he was doing it so he could impress (y/n), truth was he didn’t know much about sports, he had been busy with his lectures so he couldn’t do proper research on the sport but he was willing to learn as the game progressed.

“Yes! That’s the attitude, Spence” She happily gave it to him.

“Usually I’m more into hockey and football but this could be nice” JJ thought the weather was beautiful and the atmosphere at the park was nice.

“Wait, till this lasts 4 hours or more” Kristy joked with wide eyes.

“What!?”

“This is the king of sports and now I could finally prove it to you” Rossi was ecstatic being there.

“I love you, Dave but if this goes on for more than three hours I’ll leave you up to it and I’ll go to the house, or anywhere else”

“Yup, I want to tag along if that does happen” Penelope chimed in and Luke laughed.

“Count me in, I’m mainly here for the food and the beer” Emily added with a beer already on her hand.

“Amen to that” Tara was also holding a beer and putting on her sunglasses.

“I want a hot dog!” Michael got hungry at the mention of food.

“Sure, buddy, I’ll go grab you one”

“I’ll go with you, the kids also will want food any second now” Matt was quick to follow Will and soon Tara, Emily and (y/n) joined them to buy snacks for the rest of the team.

Soon they were back with a lot of food and drinks for all nineteen of them.

They all chatted about different things, they were seated in two rows so that they weren’t that far from each other, the game started and Matt, David and (y/n) were immediately lost in the game, the three of them talking about what their teams were doing good and what they could work on.

Kristy noticed Spencer was a little bit anxious, he moved his foot and every other minute he looked at (y/n), probably wishing he knew something about baseball so he could talk to her.

“First game, Spence?” She bounced Rose who was sitting in her lap.

“Uh, yeah” He turned to her and little Rose who was having the time of her life with a foam finger, that was almost as big as her, his uncle Dave had bought for her.

“Do you want to know more about how baseball works?” She offered and Spencer nodded desperately.

“Ok, so…”

And so Kristy began to explain to Spencer everything she had learned of the sport from her dad, brothers and Matt, she enjoyed watching the games before she started dating Matt but when they started dating, Matt’s love for it rubbed off on her.

It was the middle of the fourth inning and the Presidents race was happening, the kids were excited to see it. Soon JJ and Will had their sons on their shoulders, Matt had Jake, Luke had David, Kristy had Chloe and (y/n) had Lily while Penelope carried a happy Rose.

The scene of all of them cheering on the presidents was adorable, Krystall decided to take a video to capture the scene. The race ended and the kids were on their seats again talking about how cool it was to see the presidents run.

“I want my own giant foam caricature head” A tipsy Emily declared “Let’s all make our own foam heads and have a BAU race, woo!” She screamed and everyone laughed.

“It’s a good thing she didn’t drive here” Penelope said still holding Rose.

“I’ll take her home, I’m taking Spence too” (y/n) offered as she noticed a very quiet Spencer “Are you having fun?”

“Uh, yeah, this is nice, it’s my first baseball game but Kristy helped me out understanding the rules” Reid nodded as he ran a hand through his hair nervously.

“That’s great, you should’ve told me and I could’ve explained it to you on our way here”

“Don’t worry, it’s ok” His smile made (y/n) melt, his eyes looked particularly beautiful with the sunlight above them.

“Maybe it was best that Kristy explained it to you, I can get intense as I’m sure you noticed”

“I would say you’re passionate and it’s… It’s- really nice to see you talk about something you’re so passionate about, you know, besides work” He looked at her with a shy smile on his lips and noticed she was blushing, as she was going to say something Lily tapped on her shoulder.

“Aunt (y/n), are you gonna sing with me the baseball song?” She asked with a sweet voice.

“Of course, I’ll do that, maybe uncle Spencer can sing with us too” He looked terrified because he had no idea what they were talking about “We’re going to teach you a song so you can sing it with us during the middle of the 7th, ok?” More than asking, (y/n) was informing him he was going to sing with them and he nodded.

Soon  it was the 7th inning stretch and everyone were on their feet ready to sing, while Emily and Penelope didn’t know all of the lyrics they did their best, the rest of them happily sang “Take me out to the ball game”, Reid had Lily in his arms as she and (y/n) waved their arms in the air to the rhythm of the baseball classic.

“Take me out to the ballgame, take me out with the crowd, buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks, I don’t care if I ever get back, let me root, root, root for the home team, if they don’t win, it’s a shame, for it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out at the old ball game”

At the end of the game the Nationals had won, leaving the Simmons family, especially the kids very happy, so David and (y/n) weren’t that sad their team had lost if it meant the little ones being happy. 

The rest of the gang was also happy at how the day had turned out, as they expected they had a great time, after all, it wasn’t everyday they were able to do this kind of things all of them together.

[brightbeautifulthings]

THE MALL BY MEGAN MCCAFFERTY BLOG TOUR & BOOK REVIEW

"Totally rad! This former 1990s mall teen loved The Mall, an ode to tall bangs, boys with good taste in music, and female friendship, set in the only place that mattered. What a joy to have a new book from Megan McCafferty, who knows exactly how to make us laugh, cry, and fall in love with her characters." -- Amy Spalding, author of The Summer of Jordi Perez and The New Guy

New York Times bestselling author Megan McCafferty returns to her roots with this YA coming of age story set in a New Jersey mall. The year is 1991. Scrunchies, mixtapes and 90210 are, like, totally fresh. Cassie Worthy is psyched to spend the summer after graduation working at the Parkway Center Mall. In six weeks, she and her boyfriend head off to college in NYC to fulfill The Plan: higher education and happily ever after. But you know what they say about the best laid plans... Set entirely in a classic “monument to consumerism,” the novel follows Cassie as she finds friendship, love, and ultimately herself, in the most unexpected of places. Megan McCafferty, beloved New York Times bestselling author of the Jessica Darling series, takes readers on an epic trip back in time to The Mall.

About the Author:

Megan McCafferty writes fiction for tweens, teens and teens-at-heart of all ages. The author of several novels, she’s best known for Sloppy Firsts and several more books in the New York Times bestselling Jessica Darling series. Described in her first review as “Judy Blume meets Dorothy Parker” (Wall Street Journal), she’s been trying to live up to that high standard ever since.

Review:

"Troy's dislikes were about so much more than ridding controversial items from my wardrobe. They were about removing controversial ideas from my brain."

Year Read: 2020

Rating: 4/5

Thoughts: I'm honored to be asked to read this book, since I'm not sure it's one I would have requested on my own. Its title doesn't do it justice. The Mall makes it sound like it's a story about vapid, Clueless-era mallrats--no hate, I adore Clueless and I'm fond of malls, but this story is far more charming than the title lets on. First of all, it's a love letter to the 90s. If the mall of the 90s was your natural habitat as a teenager, then you're sure to enjoy all the nostalgic references to stores that are no longer around, like Kay-Bee Toys, Orange Julius, and Sam Goody. It really took me back to days of hanging at the mall with my friends, stocking up on 10 for $10 jewelry at Claire's, and searching for clearance band/horror movie t-shirts at Sam Goody, Suncoast, and Media Play before there ever was such a thing as a Hot Topic at my mall. I love that McCafferty set her story in this time period, and it's sure to resonate with readers slightly older than the average YA audience.

It's also fun for anyone who's ever worked in a mall, since they develop their own weird inner cultures. Cassie has Kool-Aid and Everclear and a Cabbage Patch Kids treasure hunt; I had urban legends about cursed objects and The Buckle challenge, wherein employees of other stores try to make it to the back wall of The Buckle without being pounced on by another retailer. The treasure hunting plot is fun, not unlike the teenagers trying to crack Russian codes in Stranger Things (without the guns and monsters). It gets enough attention to keep the plot moving, but as in life, it's not always the obvious things that end up having the most impact. The treasure hunt turns out to be secondary to the real plot development of the novel, which is Cassie's self-discovery and her friendship with Drea. It's a funny, moving coming-of-age story that handles its issues with humor and just the right amount of heart.

I like Cassie; she's my people. She's a straight-A student and an over-achiever, and her brand of know-it-all humor is just my style. McCafferty manages to capture that purely teenage arrogance that comes from being one of the smart kids without making Cassie wholly unlikable. She obviously thinks she's too good to work in a clothing store, and the mall is just a holdover until her real life starts in New York. Yet the book pushes her (not always gently) toward a more adult perspective that there are all kinds of worthwhile jobs in the world and that being a snob to people who earn their living in a mall isn't acceptable. I enjoyed her conquering her fears of her ex-boyfriend and discovering new sides of her personality, her cute new summer romance with "Sam Goody", and most of all her friendship with Drea. They're opposite poles, with Drea being the popular, sophisticated friend with panache, and I like how the book allows them both to be vulnerable in different ways. Cassie is far from a perfect person, and she doesn't give Drea's dreams the respect they deserve but, as with the best characters, she tries hard to learn from her mistakes. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

I received a free e-ARC through NetGalley from the publishers at St. Martin's Press and an invitation to join the blog tour. Trigger warnings: sexual harassment, slut-shaming (mostly countered on-page, or at least hilariously avenged), divorce, cheating.

Twitter | Get Your Copy

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 20)

The sun rises and slowly transforms the pitch black night into early morning, then into forenoon. Daryl observes how the quiet community, as if it had been in a coma overnight, slowly wakes up. He sees people come out of the houses, hears Carol calling out ‘breakfast’s ready’ inside the house and the clinking of forks, spoons and knives against plates. But he doesn’t move from his spot at the porch stair. 

Ever since he and Jersey handed over the watchtower to Eric and another Alexandrian that he haven’t bothered to put a name on and Mila went to sleep for a few hours, he’s been sitting here, sunken in thoughts.

It’s too much to process somehow. Everything he feels, everything he found out about her; it’s overwhelming not knowing what to do with all of these swirling… whatever it is. She’s like a goddamn hurricane. All hair and hell. Damn, she’s pretty, beautiful even. And that accent. She talks a lot. She’s pragmatic to the point of being indifferent. Maybe because she was raised like a goddamn robot by a psychopath. She’s hot tempered, impatient, stubborn... and holy fuck, Daryl digs it. All of her; the big heart, the kindness, the humor and the sarcasm. It’s like booze mixed with cherry coke. The way she looks at him… or is it just a creation of his own imagination? Is he a complete idiot for thinking that she looked at him in a special way when they sat there together, in the dark, sharing that bottle of vodka? Could it be- no! Obviously she doesn’t- he’s a fool. But the way he felt, throughout his entire body and soul, when their hands touched, he definitely felt something. But that might just be it, his own stupid delusion. When she told him she’d been engaged, and declared that whoever gave her the ring was dead, Daryl felt like the devil himself for feeling relieved, but also bad for feeling like that. 

The night has truly been peculiar, he thinks, while resting his gaze on a bird in a tree, trying to feed its squeaking nestlings. Parts of what Mila told him Daryl had recognized from his own childhood. He’d been beaten up many times by his old man, leaving deep scars that never faded. He’d been neglected and abused for most of his childhood, by everyone when it came down to it. But he was a boy. Not that it justified his father's actions towards him, but Daryl could at least, and used to, fight back. He was a pretty good fighter at an early age and knew he had to aim for the kidneys. But Mila was a girl, an unwanted girl who had to face the shame and blame for not being born as the son her old man so badly wanted. He’d reminded her every single day of her shortcoming, and she had apologized, and that (and when she told about the physical abuse, because that’s what it was, even though she didn’t refer to it that way) had hit him hard. How she somehow, even though she clearly despised and distanced herself from his actions, could talk about him with something that sounded like affection, Daryl found astonishing. Like she desperately cling on to the good memories, the few she might have. Was it a perfect example of Stockholm Syndrome, or just pure madness? She’d lived in a lie for almost her entire life, he’d murdered people; how was it possible that she was so indifferent after what she’d been through? Or maybe she just managed to conceal it behind a thick wall of oppressed feelings. He could understand that more than well in a way. But on the other hand it seemed like she’d turned her life around; she had a kid who she’d managed to keep alive. Her story had made him feel secure, less odd about his own history that he’d tried so hard to oppress, to push back into the deepest darkest corner of his soul, never to reveal to any living soul. 

Daryl had never talked to anyone about his upbringing, in fact he’d never talked to anyone as he talked to Mila. Somehow she managed to get these things out of him, that he had previously buried deep inside himself, that he’d never in a million years thought he would tell anyone as he told her the other night. She treats him in a way he’s never been treated before. 

Daryl twitches when he feels a thug on his vest. He removes his chin from the stock of the crossbow and turns where he sits on the porch stairs. 

“Hey kiddo.”

Juri smiles and sits down on the stairs next to him. He’s dressed in dungarees and boots, has seemingly managed to dress himself this morning, but has failed to tie the shoelaces that dangles around his soles.

“That won’t do. Come here.” Daryl waves his hand and nods at the shoelaces that flutter in the wind. The boy obediently raises his foot, Daryl takes it and puts it to his knees and begins to lace the small boot. “Gotta tie ‘em up good, or they’ll fall off ya’ feet.” he says and ties the shoe steadily, but not too tight. He doesn’t want to be responsible for causing Jersey Jr. a broken foot.

Daryl ties the other shoes too, then they sit there next to each other, quiet. Every now and then the boy snails up at him curiously. When Daryl snails back, Juri looks away, giggling. He’s kinda funny, Daryl thinks to himself and smiles. Cheeky, a li’ rascal.

“Ya’ mum’s not up yet?” he asks. 

Juri shakes his head, then makes a snarling sound. 

“She snores?” Daryl grins. “Yeah, ‘bet she does, kiddo. Heard ya’ were a snorer too.” He gives of a grunt, like a pig and Juri bursts into a big, faint, silent laugh. “Ya’ wanna go for a walk?”

Juri nods eagerly. 

“Let’s go.” 

Daryl gets up, grabs Juri under his armpits and lifts him up and places him on the ground. They walk around the pond, a walk that normally doesn’t take half an hour, but since his companion is only 3 feet tall, the pace is below average. When they arrive back to the house, Mila’s standing on the porch, shielding her face from the sun with her hand. Daryl once again gets all warm throughout the body and his tongue starts to crawl back up toward his palate. No, dammit! Juri starts to run towards her when he sees her, with three flowers clenched in his hand, that he picked next to the pond. 

“For me!” Mila’s smile could light up the entire Safe-Zone if it would've been night, when he hands her the flowers. “Moya lyubov, thank you.” She looks up at Daryl. “Where are your flowers?”

“Didn’t pick any.”

“What a shame.” She stands up and looks at Juri. “You know what! Carol has been an angel, and made lunch for you, Romeo.”

Mila shoves Juri into the house, while the boy waves at Daryl from between her legs. 

“Slept well?” 

“Enough.” she answers easily. “I need to get out of here for a while. Gotta go find new shoes for Juri. What kind of mother lets her son walk around in heavy boots in this heat?” 

“Good luck with that.” Daryl scoffs. “Getting past those assholes unnoticed won’t be easy.” 

The sapphire eyes peers at him through the sun. 

“Wanna join then?” She asks boldly with a grin. “Show off those hunter skills. Trust me, it’s easier to find game meat than a pair of kids size nine’s.” 

Daryl snorts and looks around. It’s not an impossible mission, but foolish. On the other hand, he can’t just wander around in here. He’s convinced that she would leave on her own if he doesn’t follow, no matter how much he, or anyone else, opposed it. 

“Gear up, Jersey.” He therefore answers and nods a little. 

Mila smiles triumphantly, turns on her heel and enters the house. She returns minutes later, with the automatic rifle on her shoulder and a backpack, dressed in a worn, black leather jacket over the dark t-shirt.

“New jacket?”

“Not directly. I got it for my eighteenth birthday. Saw it in this store down in Ashbury Park and thought, ‘hey, I’d look so cool in that’, so Adam and Peter brought it to me.” She corrects her left  boot with the other foot. “I love fun jackets! Fringes, embroideries- I'll be buried in this one, if that's the last thing I do.” Mila smiles. “Oh, and I told Carol we were going out.”

“What did she say?” Daryl asks, clenching his jaw. Some things are better left unsaid. Like sneaking off in the middle of what can be likened to a siege.

“Something like, have fun-” Mila replies and hurries down the porch. “And take it easy.”

They walk toward the wall, toward the place Daryl climbed to enter the Safe-Zone. Mila climbs onto the truck easily and soon they’re standing on the roof of the trailer, looking out over the landscape on the other side of the Alexandria walls.

“Head for the woods.” Daryl points. “The bike’s in there somewhere. Short run.”

Quickly and silently, they get down the trailer and start running towards the trees, into the woods. 

“Ya’ know where to go?” Daryl asks as they find the motorcycle in the same place he left it.

“I have a strategy.” Mila replies. “Houses with toys and swing sets outside usually have kids stuff inside too.”

“Fine.” Daryl gets the motorcycle up and leads it up the road. “Let’s go find some swing sets.”

He straddles the motorcycle and scoots forward, to give her room to sit behind him. Mila throws her leg over the body of the bike and sits down on the leather seat and wraps her arms around his waist. Daryl takes a deep breath, tries his best to maintain a normal heartbeat. 

”All right.” he coughs nervously. 

He warns the engine once again before he kicks off. He can feel all of the power in the machine throughout his entire body. Behind him, Mila squeezes his waist and makes a delighted cry as he increases the speed as he maneuvers the beast on the desolated road. 

“This is awesome!” Mila hollers into his ear.

A smile spreads on his lips and he speeds up, causing Mila to hug harder around his waist and laugh. They cruise around the nearby residential areas, scouting for children’s bikes in the driveways, basketball hoops, colorful slides and toys. Eventually, they find a street that seems to fill all the criteria. Daryl hits the brakes and the motorcycle stops next to a two storey house with a hoop and a climbing frame in the yard. Mila climbs off and takes her rifle, attaches the silencer over the barrel. 

“Okay, let’s find some shoes.” Daryl states. “Lead the way.” Briskly, Mila starts walking toward the door, rips it up and raises the AK in front of her and walks into the house. He follows, cautiously listening for hissing sounds and dragging feets. It’s clearly not her first rodeo. Mila immediately starts looking in wardrobes, in the laundry room and in cabinets. 

“Nope. Nothing.” she notes after a while. “Let’s continue.”

They leave the house and start walking down the street. Mila’s long hair blows effortlessly in the wind as they pass by abandoned houses, driveways and overgrown lawns. In the distance Daryl sees a lone, limping walker approach them in the street. He lifts the crossbow to his shoulder, aims and shoots. In the distance he sees it fall into a pile on the grund.  

“That house seems promising.” Mila points toward a house with what looks like a homemade skateboard ramp in the driveway. 

Daryl runs over to the walker, lying in a pile on the asphalt, to collect the arrow. When he turns, Mila has caught sight of a rotten creature, appearing from behind the molding ramp. With ease she lifts the rifle, aims and places a bullet in its head and it drops to the ground with a thud. With a crooked smile Daryl remembers what she said about the soup can. He then finds her inside the house, browsing the books in a bookshelf in the living room. 

“Children's Books!” Mila holds up a book for him to see. Where the wild things are, Daryl reads from the cover. He’s never read it. On the other hand, his ma’ never read books for him and Merle. “There’s so many cute books here! Peter Rabbit, Paddington-” she grabs the books and puts them in a pile. 

Daryl rests on the back of the couch, watches her stacking books on a chair. He’s amazed by how she engages her entire heart and soul to make sure that the boy has everything he could ever wish for. What would it have been like growing up like that? 

With about ten children's books stuffed in the backpack, Mila then continues through the house in the search of a new wardrobe for Juri, faintly humming. Daryl finds a weapon cabinet where the owner forgot a Glock and a few boxes of ammunition, and Mila finds a pair of Chuck Taylor’s in Juri’s size.

“Half a size too big, but his feet will grow.” She states and puts the shoes in the backpack.

If he thought they were done by now, Daryl was mistaken. They therefore proceed to the house next door.

“You notice something?” 

Daryl immediately turns all vigilant, looks around in search of hostility movements. Mila laughs a little. 

“What?” Daryl scoffs, mildly irritated, and lowers his guard. 

“We’re alone.” Mila says as they walk around a dense bush, once perfectly trimmed in a rounded shape, in front of the porch. “Like a little adventure. Pretty fun, right?” 

She feels the door handle and nods. Unlocked. She pushes the door open and it goes up with a creak. Mila quietly walks into the hall, Daryl follows, with a gut feeling that something will happen. And his guts don’t lie. All of a sudden Mila’s pushed to the carpet by a walker coming at them from the left, followed by its two companions. The first one attacks Mila and Daryl’s grabbed by a male, missing an eye. Mila swears loudly, a muffled bang is heard when she shoots the walker right in the face and tries to get up from the floor. Daryl tries to pull away from the one eyed bastard, that clings to his vest. The rotting mouth and disgusting fingers claws to his torso. 

”Watch it!”

With impressive force Mila grabs a hold of it by its shoulders, pulls it away from him and throws it into the opposite wall of the hallway. She takes her knife from her boot shaft and pushes it into its forehead. Daryl takes a hold of the last, remaining dead asshole and pushes an arrow deeply into its skull, forcing it down on the floor. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Ey, wha-”

Without another word, Mila lifts his shirt and searches his torso for wounds, or at least he thinks that’s what she does. Oh god, please don’t. Daryl gets intense chills of pleasure all through his body by her touch. Those soft, delicate fingers send shivers throughout his body in sheer delight. She withdraws, sighs in relief. 

”Though it bit you.” she says. 

“I’m fine.” Daryl replies, hardly meeting her gaze as he pulls the shirt down.

He tries to steady his breath, all while Mila still pants faintly. Their eyes meet, or are more like glued to each other. Daryl’s heart beats hard inside his ribcage, he can almost hear it like a drum inside his ears. Suddenly, before he’s able to say or do anything, Mila has thrown herself onto him, presses her lips against his in a kiss out of this world. It’s so sudden and so surprising that he can’t turn all flushed and angry, his usual defense mechanism in unfamiliar situations. But it’s also everything he’d ever dreamt it would be. Why would he withdraw? With her hands on each side of his face, her soft tongue finds its way in-between his lips into his mouth, exploring every inch of his mouth like a gold miner looking for nuggets. It’s mesmerizing, he’s never been kissed like this in his entire life. 

He cups her face with his hand, the one not holding on to the crossbow, feels the soft skin towards his palm. It soon finds its way to her lower back, as he presses her body against his as she begins to guide them away from the hallway massacre, with the three dead corpses, into the other room. Daryl briefly presses her up against a wall, making a framed picture fall to the floor. The rough, passionate kissing turns into a frenzy of hands and heavy panting. Daryl drops the crossbow to the floor and steers Mila towards the dining table. He pushes her towards the table, while their fingers eagerly search for buttons and zippers during heavy breathing and intense eye contact. 

He’s so excited, so frantically horny. Never before has he felt such a desire. He fumbles, all while Mila’s able to kick off one boot, push down her jeans and underwear, making them dangle around her leg and unbuckles his belt at the same time like a fucking magician. Daryl lets out a grunt as his palms run over her bare, soft thigh. He presses his forehead against hers and they kiss again, moaning into each other's mouths. Mila’s chest heaves rapidly underneath the t-shirt as she unbuttons his jeans, pushes them over his hips, releases his pulsating cock and drags him closer. She caresses him, touches him to the point of almost no return. Daryl ends it by grabbing her buttocks in his hands, lifts her up onto the table. She spreads her legs, pants breathlessly as she pulls him in between. Daryl grunts as he lightly fondles her, she’s so fucking wet. For him! That’s the most fucking incredible part, well, one of thousands right now. There is no darn turning back now. Without breaking eye contact, almost drowning in those sapphire eyes, while inhaling her scent, the floral and everything that enchants him, Daryl enters her, making both of them exhale loudly. She tightens around him and it feels as if he will come right away. Jesus christ, I can’t hold it, he finds himself thinking as he feels a rush of pleasure spread through his body, it won’t go. He starts to grind his hips into her, causing her to moan loudly, to dig her fingers into the back of his vest, as she jerks her hips forward against him. He lets out a low growl and starts to pound into her, making the table squeak, holding her in place while he with the other hand softly grabs the hair on the back of her head, not breaking their eye contact; all while a feverish heat runs through his body. 

Dear god he doesn’t want it to end, but he can feel himself edging as her body clenches around him, and he realizes that it’s more than close. He can feel it, her entire body screams that she’s on the edge too. She lifts her head to the ceiling, as she reaches climax and the surge of warmth from her orgasm surrounds him. Daryl moans loudly into her neck, feels his entire body tremble as he digs his hips into her, as deep as he possibly can, exploding inside of her.

They gasp for air, as if there wasn't enough oxygen in the room, bodies trembling, but they don’t break eye contact. Something warm runs down his cramping thigh, bolting with his runaway pulse.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Daryl’s whimpers, his voice breaks. He swallows, but doesn’t move, just keeps holding on to Mila’s body like a castaway clinging to a piece of board. “I’m sorry-” 

“I’m not.” Mila pants with her fingers entangled into the back of his head, the other hand grasping the back of the vest. “I’m not.”

They remain like that for a few seconds; silent, trying to get a grip of the whole situation and what just happened, how amazing it was. Daryl lowers his eyes, for the first time in what feels like forever and with a soft movement he wipes away the warmth from her inner thigh with his thumb. He feels high on adrenaline, feverish, standing there with one hand under her left thigh and the other in a firm grip round her buttocks, welded together. 

“I want ya’.” Daryl manages to utter between the heavy breaths, looking back at her. “Ya’ asked me what I want. I want ya’.”

Mila caresses his face with the other hand, runs it softly over his lips. 

“I want you too.” She replies. Daryl’s uncertain, did she actually say that? The faint smile he gets, between the panting breaths, somehow says it all. ”You heard me, Dixon.”