#they are not connected but I just had them on hand-

[vitalverstappen]

Man's Best Wingman - C. Leclerc

summary: they say dogs are a man’s best friend, but a certain dachshund may be man’s best wingman

pairing: Charles Leclerc x veterinarian!reader

warnings: none ( i mean use of y/n if you count that)

word count: 2.6k

It was no surprise that Charles Leclerc adored animals, specifically dogs. So, when word spread like wildfire around Monaco that he had adopted Leo, it was only a matter of time before the duo showed up in your clinic. 

You had heard about Leo from the gossip mill - Charles had been spotted walking the dog around the streets of Monte Carlo, and the photos of the two of them quickly made the rounds on social media. The sight of the Formula 1 driver, usually so composed and intense, walking around with an adorable dachshund puppy had the whole city cooing with affection. 

You had been working as a vet for a few years now, as one of the only ones in Monaco, so you were no stranger to having a celebrity walk through your doors. In fact, you had Alex Albon walking through your doors practically every month with the zoo he had. But hearing your techs swoon at the fact Charles was in your clinic, made you question how big this guy really was. 

“Y/n, Leo Leclerc is in room four for you. He’s here for his routine exam. So far everything looks good,” one of your techs said. 

“I bet Charles looks even better,” another one called, overhearing the conversation. 

Your eyes rolled, but you couldn’t help but chuckle at their remarks. “Focus on Leo, not Charles,” you teased, though you knew their excitement was understandable. 

Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you grabbed your stethoscope and walked toward room four. You were a professional, after all, and your job was to make sure Leo was in tip-top shape, not to let the celebrity connection distract you. 

As you knocked lightly on the door, you heard a soft voice call from the other side. “Come in!”

You opened the door to find Charles sitting on the exam table, with Leo happily bouncing around at his feet. The little dachshund’s tail wagged furiously as soon as he spotted you, making a beeline for you as though he’d known you for ages. 

“Hey there, Leo,” you said, crouching down to meet the enthusiastic puppy. You pet him for a second before standing back up. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N, but you can call me Y/N. I’ll be your primary veterinarian.”

Leo’s little tail wagged even harder at the mention of his name, and you couldn’t help but to smile at the sight. His big brown eyes stared up at you, full of trust and excitement. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Charles said as he got off of the exam table. His smile was easy, and you noticed how much more approachable he looked when he wasn’t in his racing suit. “I’m glad to see you’re the one handling Leo today.”

You nodded, doing your best to focus on the task at hand, though your heart was pounding into your throat. “He’s a cutie. And I’ve heard a lot about him from the clinic’s gossip mill. Seems like you two are quite the duo.”

Charles chuckled lightly, glancing down at Leo, who was now sitting patiently at his feet, as if sensing the shift in attention. “Yeah, Leo’s been a good distraction for me. Definitely makes my life a bit more fun, and I think he’s a great companion for my downtime.”

You turned to Leo, picking him up and placing him on the exam table, where Charles once sat. “He’s got a lot of energy for a little guy. Looks like he’s been keeping you on your toes.”

Charles shrugged, the slightest hint of amusement in his expression. “He definitely does, but I love having him around. Plus, he’s a great way to relax after a stressful weekend, just walking him around and enjoying the quieter side of things.”

“Sounds perfect,” you replied, settling your stethoscope into place. “Let’s make sure everything is going well with him. I’ll just start with a quick check-up, get his vitals and make sure he’s healthy.”

You focused on Leo, quickly going through the routine exam. His heart rate was normal, his coat was shiny and healthy, and his eyes were bright. After a quick examination, you looked up at Charles. “He’s in great shape, Charles. No issues at all. He’s a happy, healthy little guy.” 

Charles sighed in relief, his smile widening. “I’m glad to hear that. I was worried I might be doing something wrong.”

“Not at all,” you assured him, chuckling. “You’re doing everything right. It’s clear you care about him a lot.”

You scooped Leo into your arms and informed Charles you would be taking Leo into the back room to give him his shots. What you didn’t mention was that it was also an opportunity for all of the techs to fawn over the puppy. 

Once you brought Leo back into the exam room, Charles' eyes lit up, though you were unsure if it was at you, or the dog. You gave him a few instructions for Leo’s next few weeks, including a reminder to keep up with his vaccinations. “He’s good to go! Just a few follow-ups, but nothing to worry about.”

You bid goodbye to the driver as you guided him up to the receptionist's desk. There, you gave instructions on the next exam date. 

Charles had the day of the exam circled on his calendar the minute he got home. Sure, he wanted to be a good dog dad and pay attention to Leo’s appointments, but he also couldn’t wait to see you again. 

Unfortunately, he didn’t realize that since Leo had done so well, the follow up appointments that had been scheduled were only with the techs, not with you. He went through with the appointments, but in the back of his mind, he had to find a way to see you again. And thankfully, Leo gave him plenty of excuses. 

It all started when Leo ate a blade of grass. 

Now, Charles knew that eating grass wasn’t going to kill his dog, but he was worried it might make him a little sick… and he wanted to see you again. 

So, he scheduled an appointment.

As soon as you saw Charles and Leo’s names on the schedule, a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You tried to shake it off, you were just doing your job, but there was something about seeing him that made you feel a little lighter. 

As the time drew nearer, you found yourself making sure everything was in order, the clinic bustling with its usual activity. Your techs were curious no doubt - they’d fawned over the duo when they took care of the dog’s follow up appointments, and definitely talked about the “celebrity dog dad” a little more than they probably should’ve. 

“Y/n, Charles and Leo are in room three for you. He mentioned Leo had eaten some grass earlier today, but so far, everything seems normal,” your tech informed you 

You walked towards the exam room, preparing yourself to see the driver and his dog again. As you entered, you saw Charles sitting on the chair this time, gently scratching behind Leo’s ears. The little dachshund’s tail was wagging, and he immediately perked up when he saw you, jumping down from Charles’ lap. 

“Hey, Leo,” you greeted, crouching down to pet the excited pup. “What’s all this fuss about grass, huh?” 

Charles looked up from his phone and smiled when he saw you. “Hey, Y/N. Yeah, Leo decided to sample some grass this morning, and now I’m just a little paranoid.”

You chuckled, standing up to meet his gaze. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Dogs eat grass all the time. Most of the time, it’s harmless. But let’s take a quick look just to be sure.”

You began your routine examination of Leo, checking his belly, feeling for any signs of discomfort, and listening to his heart. Leo seemed perfectly fine, happily squirming and wagging his tail as you worked. 

“See?” you said, glancing up at Charles. “He seems to be in good spirits. No signs of anything bothering him.” 

Charles let out a relieved sigh, but there was still a hint of concern in his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve just been overthinking it. But I’m still getting used to being a dog dad, you know?” 

You smiled warmly, meeting his gaze. “Like I said at our first appointment, you’re going great, Charles. Leo’s in good hands.” 

He looked at you with a soft smile, and for a moment, there was a brief pause in the conversation. It was like neither of you wanted to break the moment, but eventually, Charles cleared his throat and stood up. 

“Thanks again, Y/N. Seriously,” he said, giving you an appreciative look. “I’m glad I came in today, even if it was just for a little blade of grass.” 

“It’s no problem at all,” you replied, trying to keep your composure. “Take care of Leo, and we’ll see you for the next check-up.” 

But you saw him much sooner than the next check-up. 

Only a few weeks after the grass related appointment, your receptionist came into the back area, where you and your techs were prepping for surgery. You had a busy day ahead of you, with having back to back appointments all day, and the only break you got was your thirty minutes of lunch. 

“Mr. Leclerc is on the phone,” your receptionist began, causing a bunch of oooo’s from your staff. “He said that Leo stubbed his toe and wanted to see if you had availability for today.”

You paused for a moment, wiping your hands on your scrubs as you turned toward your receptionist. “Leo stubbed his toe?” you asked, trying to suppress a smile. You could hear the excitement in your staff’s whispers behind you, but you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing how much Charles’ calls were starting to feel like little breaks from the clinic chaos. 

“Yeah, that’s what he said,” your receptionist replied, her tone amused. “Should I tell him to hold on or that you’re in surgery?” 

You quickly ran through your schedule in your head. It was packed, but a stubbed toe? You could squeeze that in. You didn’t want to seem like you were too eager, but you couldn’t help but feel a little excitement at the thought of seeing Charles again. 

“I can take a shorter lunch,” you said, giving your receptionist a quick nod. “Schedule him for the last twenty minutes of that half hour.” 

Your receptionist raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything as she turned to make the call. As soon as the door closed behind her, your techs immediately leaned in, their eyes sparking with curiosity.

“You know you two aren’t fooling anyone, right?” one of them teased. “You’re excited to see Charles again.

“And he’s got to be wanting to see you if he’s making an appointment over a stubbed toe,” another one chimed in. 

You rolled your eyes, trying to stifle a grin. ‘It’s just a stubbed toe,” you replied, but your voice betrayed you, laced with a hint of amusement. “He’s just a concerned dog dad. Nothing more.” 

Your techs exchanged knowing glances, clearly not buying it. 

“Uh-huh,” one of them smirked. “A ‘concerned dog dad’ who keeps calling in for the tiniest little thing. Sure.”

“Maybe you should get him a frequent flyer card,” another suggested, grinning. 

You shook your head, trying to ignore the warmth growing in your cheeks. “Focus, guys. You have things to do, remember?” 

They held up their hands in mock surrender, but you could still feel their eyes on you as you turned back to finish prepping for the day. 

When the status of Leo’s appointment changed to “arrived” on your computer, it took everything in you to remain calm and composed. The butterflies in your stomach only grew as you heard Leo’s excited barks from down the hall. 

Once your techs informed you that the Leclercs were ready to see you, you made your way to the exam room, trying to keep yourself steady with every step. When you opened the door, Charles was sitting there, looking as relaxed as ever, with Leo perched on his lap. 

“Hey there, you,” you greeted Leo first, just like you always did. “I heard you got a stubbed toe this time around.”

Charles chuckled, giving you a sheepish look. “I know, it’s ridiculous. But he seemed to be limping a little, and I didn’t want to take any chances.”

You nodded, appreciating his concern for his dog. “It’s never ridiculous to take care of our furry friends,” you said, your eyes briefly meeting his. There was a warmth in his gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. 

You got Leo up on the exam table, gently checking his paws and making sure everything looked good. As you worked, you noticed Charles’ gaze lingering on you - though this time, it felt different. His smile was softer, more intentional, and there was something in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. 

Finally, after checking Leo’s paw, you turned to Charles. “Good news. It’s just a little sore, probably from the way he landed. No major damage.”

Charles visibly relaxed, his tension easing as he gave a small sigh of relief. “I’m glad to hear that.” 

As you gave Leo a few gentle pats and wrote down the instructions for recovery, you could feel Charles’ eyes on you again. There was a quiet moment between you two, one that made the air feel just a little thicker, like there was more unsaid than spoken. 

“Thank you for always being so patient with me, and with Leo, and I appreciate you squeezing us in at the last minute,” Charles said, standing up to walk toward the door. He paused for a beat, then glanced back at you with a small but meaningful smile. “Would I be able to squeeze into your schedule again sometime, for coffee or drinks?”

You felt your heart flutter as the words hung in the air. It was the question you’d been waiting for, yet the reality of it still made your breath catch in your throat. For a second, you just looked at him, the familiar warmth in his smile making your pulse quicken. 

You tried to play it cool, but you couldn’t hide the slight blush creeping onto your cheeks. “I think I could make some time for you,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “I’m not usually this free, but for you? I’ll make an exception.”

Charles’s smile widened, and you could see a spark of relief in his eyes. He stepped back into the room, the distance between you narrowing as he moved closer. “Tomorrow? After work?” he asked, his tone a little more tentative, as if waiting for your confirmation. 

You nodded, your heart racing a little faster now. “Tomorrow works. Let’s say, six?” 

He gave a small, excited nod, clearly trying to contain his enthusiasm. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up. I’ll make sure not to keep you waiting.”

You both stood there for a moment, the air thick with anticipation, before he gave a final smile and turned to leave. “See you tomorrow, Y/N.” 

As he exited the room, Leo wagged his tail, clearly eager to follow. You watched him walk out, a mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside you. You leaned against the exam room table for a second, trying to catch your breath, before shaking yourself out of the daze. You still had a job to do, but you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as the thought of tomorrow played over in your mind.

[coryndoll]

plot ── after you undergo a procedure to erase rafe from your memory, rafe, devastated by the realization, decides to do the same, only to find himself fighting to hold onto the love you shared, proving that some connections can never truly be forgotten.

content ── another fucking mini series bc i cant stop, rafes perspective, memory loss, emotional distress & heartbreak obvi, dysfunctional relationships, existential themes

authors note ── sorry guys ive been so busy w my new life that i have NOT touched tumblr in a good while. plus this semester is more demanding in terms of my workload ugh so im never writing anym its so lame

main masterlist | next

rafe stares at the card, his fingers gripping the edges so tightly the paper starts to bend. his breath is slow, shallow, like his body is forgetting how to function properly. the words blur together, but it doesn’t matter. he’s already memorized them.

he lifts his gaze to his father. ward stands stiff, arms crossed, staring down at his shoes like he’s the one who’s been blindsided. like he’s the one who just had his entire world gutted out of him in a single fucking sentence.

there’s guilt in the way he exhales through his nose, in the way his jaw slides ever so slightly, but rafe doesn’t give him the chance to speak.

“this is real?” his voice comes out rough, barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loud will make it more true.

ward hesitates, then nods.

rafe lets out a short, breathless laugh, his chest rising sharply before sinking under the weight of it all. he shakes his head, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he looks down at the card again, like maybe this time the words will rearrange themselves into something less impossible.

“so, what?” he scoffs, wetness pricking at his eyes. “they just . . . deleted me? like a fucking file on a computer?”

ward sighs. long, slow, through his nose. he knew this would be hard to explain.

“how many?” rafe asks. how many memories are gone now?

his father doesn’t answer right away. his jaw shifts, gaze dropping to the floor like he doesn’t want to say it. or maybe he’s just trying to soften the blow of something that can’t be softened.

when he finally speaks, his voice is careful. deliberate. “all of ‘em, bud.”

rafe scoffs again, but it’s weaker this time, like his body is struggling to keep up with his disbelief. he smiles, but it’s the kind that only comes when someone is trying not to fall apart.

“no . . . no. she didn’t. she wouldn’t do that.” he shakes his head again, faster this time. “that’s not even a fucking thing— i mean, erasing someone from your mind? since when did we have the tech for that bullshit? that didn’t happen.”

he throws the card onto the table like it burns to hold it any longer. gets up so fast his chair scrapes loudly against the floor. his chest is rising and falling too quickly, hands threading behind his head as he paces across the kitchen, back and forth, back and forth, his fingers digging into his scalp.

ward doesn’t stop him. he just watches, his own grief settling deep in his expression. and maybe it’s not the same kind of grief. maybe it’s not the gut-wrenching, all-consuming, ‘i’ve lost the love of my life kind’, but it’s still there.

because he’s seen lacuna inc. before, out near the edge of the island, where no one really looks unless they’re desperate enough to. he’s seen it and he’s hoped no one he loves would ever consider walking through its doors.

but you did. a girl who once sat at his dinner table, who used to laugh with his family, who was supposed to be his daughter-in-law one day.

was rafe really that bad? bad enough to make you want to erase him?

rafe stops pacing so suddenly it’s like something clicks into place inside him. he turns, slipping out of the kitchen without another word. his father calls after him, but he doesn’t listen. his hands move on their own, grabbing his keys from the hook by the front door, pushing outside, stepping into the thick outer banks air like he’s coming up for air after drowning.

he doesn’t know where he’s going.

apparently, he can’t go to you.

but he’ll do something.

a/n: just the short little prologue so def let me know if ud like to be tagged for this one!

[nylqnder]

DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED SIDNEY CROSBY

pairing: younger!gf x sidney crosby

summary: after a night of celebrating, one photo changes everything. a private moment goes public, sparking rumors, opinions, and a whole lot of judgment. suddenly, it feels like the world is closing in, and you and sidney have to figure out how to deal with the chaos.

warnings: age gap (12 years, reader is 25), appearances from natemac + charlotte, steph marner and lauren kyle, people online sucking and being rude, angst

wc: 6.32k

notes: based on dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift. obsessed how everyone's collectively agreed that sidcros canonically has a younger gf lmao

Sidney wasn’t the type to bring people along — no charity events, no team functions, nothing that risked exposing too much. Privacy was his shield, one he’d spent years perfecting, carefully keeping his private and professional lives independent of each other. And, in the several months you’d been together, that instinct had only sharpened. No one knew about you, not really. Not the media, not the fans, not even some of his teammates.

But when he asked, voice soft and edged with something unspoken, you couldn’t say no.

He would never admit it. He would never outright say that he wanted you there, that he needed you there. 

But you could hear it anyway — in the way his voice hesitated just a fraction too long before he asked, in the way he didn’t meet your eyes at first, like giving you the choice to say no made it easier for him to ask at all. Sidney wasn’t one to lean on others, not openly, not in ways that could be perceived as weakness. But this? Inviting you to Four Nations, to a tournament where every move was scrutinized, where the weight of expectation that comes with representing your country pressed down like a vice?

It wasn’t just about wanting you there. It was about needing something steady, something certain, in the chaos of it all. You weren’t just a spectator to him. You were an anchor. And even if he’d never say it, this was the closest he’d come to asking you to stay. 

So here you were, in Montreal, tucked into the quiet luxury of Sidney’s hotel room, the hum of the city just beyond the window. His duffel bag sat half-zipped on the floor, his team-issued gear folded neatly beside it. Across the room, Sidney leaned against the dresser, still in his sweats, still fresh from practice, watching you as you stood in the middle of the room with your coat draped over your arm.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you told Sidney who was watching you with that quiet patience, waiting for you to tell him how your afternoon went.

The invitation had caught you off guard. Sidney wasn’t the kind of guy who asked for favours, who made a fuss over things most people took for granted. But somehow, between morning skate and team meetings, he and Nate had quietly set this up.

No one here really knew about you. Sidney had made sure of that — not out of shame or secrecy, but because privacy was the only way he knew how to protect something that mattered. And because of that, you didn’t have the built-in connections the other WAGs had. You weren’t part of the tight-knit circle that formed around a team, the kind of bond that came from years of shared seasons and shared memories from teams such as these.

But then Nate’s fiancée, Charlotte, had texted — a casual, no-pressure invitation to lunch with her, along with Mitch and Connor’s wives, Steph and Lauren. It had been arranged so seamlessly that you knew it had come from someone other than them — Sidney or Nate, most likely, making sure you weren’t alone in a city full of people who knew each other.

He shrugged his shoulders, nonchalant. “I didn’t do anything.”

You gave him a look, dropping your coat and pulling off your heeled boots before sitting on the foot of the bed. “Nate, then.”

Sidney huffed out a laugh, gaze flickering away for a moment before settling back on you. “Maybe.”

It was so like him — so like them — to do something thoughtful and then pretend like it hadn’t taken effort at all. You should’ve expected it.

Still, it had felt strange walking into that restaurant, into a lunch with women who had a history with each other, a rhythm you hadn’t yet learned. The gap between you and them was obvious in some ways — you were newer, younger, and the age difference between you and Sidney wasn’t exactly subtle.

But they hadn’t pried. They hadn’t judged.

They’d just… welcomed you.

“You were right about them,” you said finally, drawing your legs up beneath you on the bed. “They were really nice. They didn’t ask a bunch of questions or make it weird.”

Sidney’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting you fill in the silence at your own pace.

“I mean, I know the age difference is… noticeable,” you continued, watching his expression carefully. “I figured there’d be some curiosity, maybe even skepticism. But they didn’t make me feel out of place. It was just… easy.”

Sidney let out a slow breath, his fingers tapping absently against the dresser. “Good,” he said simply, but there was something heavier beneath it.

You tilted your head. “You were worried?”

His lips pressed together in a way that meant he was choosing his words carefully. “Not worried,” he admitted. “Just… I didn’t want you to feel like an outsider.”

Something in your chest tightened, warmth spreading through you at the quiet sincerity in his voice. He hadn’t asked you to come here lightly. He hadn’t arranged this lunch on a whim.

“I didn’t,” you reassured him. “It was nice to feel included.”

Sidney nodded, a small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture that told you he was relieved. He glanced down at the floor, then back up at you, his mouth quirking into something almost shy.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly.

Your breath caught for half a second, but you smiled. “Me too.”

The days began to blur together as the tournament came into full swing. You’d only just begun to experience the ebb and flow of regular hockey seasons, but with the Penguins missing playoffs last year, you hadn’t experienced the business of meaningful hockey. One moment, you were in Montreal, adjusting to the rhythm of Sidney’s world, and the next, you were on a plane to Boston, the city humming with anticipation for the final game.

It was in those moments, where Sidney was being whisked away to the arena for practice and media, that you were glad to know the other girls now. Mornings you likely would’ve spent alone were now spent getting brunch with the girls or checking out local boutiques together. 

The final game felt different. The energy in the arena, the weight of expectation in the air — it was tangible, pressing down on everyone in attendance. You could feel it in the way the fans leaned forward in their seats, in the nervous tension woven between every play. The stakes were everything. Canada versus the U.S. A rivalry as old as the game itself, culminating in one night, one moment.

You sat beside Lauren in the stands, your fingers curled around the armrests of your seat as the game unfolded at a breakneck pace. Every shift was a battle, every second a test of endurance and will. Sidney was relentless, his presence a steady force on the ice, his every move calculated and precise. And yet, it wasn’t just him — it was the whole team, a collection of the best, playing as one.

The game stretched into overtime, the tension nearly unbearable. You barely breathed as Canada took a faceoff and gained possession in the offensive zone. The entire arena seemed to hold its breath as Mitch passed the puck to a wide-open Connor right in front of the net before he wired a wrister past the goaltender. The building erupted, the horn blared, and suddenly, everything was chaos.

You screamed before you even realized it, jumping to your feet, arms wrapping around Lauren as you both nearly lost your balance in your excitement. The ice was a blur of movement — sticks and gloves flying, players leaping over the boards, crashing into each other with unrestrained joy. The Canadian bench emptied in an instant, the celebration spilling across the ice in waves.

You finally see the 87 on a red jersey joining the throng of players. He wasn’t the first into the pile, likely wasn’t the loudest in his celebration, but the second he reached his teammates, the weight he carried seemed to lift. His grin was wide, eyes crinkling at the corners, his arms tight around Nate as they half-collapsed into the growing huddle. It was rare to see Sidney lose himself in a moment, to let his guard down completely. But here, now, you could see it. The pure, unfiltered joy of winning, of achieving something monumental on the international stage once again.

Your throat tightened, emotion catching you off guard. It was one thing to know how much this meant to him, but another to see it written across his face so clearly. Sidney wasn’t one to need validation, but this — this was different. Winning for his country, leading on the biggest stage — it was everything.

Tears burned behind your eyes, but you blinked them away, unwilling to miss a second. Lauren squeezed your arm, her own excitement mirrored in her bright smile. “They did it!”

You nodded, laughing breathlessly. “I can’t believe it.”

The medal ceremony was a blur of red and gold, of cheers and anthems and beaming faces. When Sidney stepped forward to receive his medal, you swore your heart clenched in your chest. He looked up into the crowd, and for a fleeting second, his gaze found yours. He didn’t wave, didn’t do anything that might draw attention to the connection, but the warmth in his expression was unmistakable. And that was enough.

The bar was packed by the time you arrived, a haze of celebration thick in the air. Team Canada had all but taken over, their roped-off section teeming with players, coaches, and close friends, the space a sea of red and white. Laughter and clinking glasses filled the room, voices raised over the pulse of music and the distant roar of fans still celebrating in the streets.

You had barely stepped inside when you felt a presence at your side, warm and familiar.

“You made it.”

Sidney’s voice was quieter than the surrounding noise, but you’d have heard him anywhere.

You turned, and there he was — still in the team-issued hoodie he must have thrown on post-shower, hair damp at the edges, eyes alight with something soft and tired and incredibly alive. The gold medal was slung around his neck, a casual afterthought despite the magnitude of what it meant.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Of course I did.”

His hand found yours instinctively, fingers warm against your wrist, brushing against your pulse. He didn’t pull you in right away, but there was something unmistakable in the way he looked at you. A silent acknowledgment. A quiet gratitude.

And then, just like that, the space between you was gone. His arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you close, the solid warmth of him pressing into you. He smelled purely of champagne and beer that had been poured on him post-win. His lips found your temple first, then your cheek, slow and deliberate. He hadn’t had a second to himself since the final horn, but here, now, with you, he let himself pause.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the noise.

You leaned back just enough to meet his gaze. “For what?”

“For being here.”

It was a simple thing, and yet it held so much. For seeing him at his most intense and still choosing to stay. For understanding the gravity of nights like these and letting him exist within them without expectation. For knowing when to stay in the background and when to step into his orbit.

You smiled, fingers grazing the medal at his chest before gripping the front of his hoodie, tugging him down just enough for your lips to brush his. “Wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

His breath hitched slightly, just for a second, before he kissed you properly, with the kind of certainty that came with knowing, without a doubt, that this was right.

The moment was brief, fleeting — Sidney wasn’t one for public displays — but when he pulled away, his fingers still rested against your hip, grounding you to him.

“C’mon,” he said, voice lighter now, that rare post-win ease still settling into his frame. “Let’s get a drink.”

You let him lead you deeper into the celebration, past teammates who clapped him on the back and playfully nudged him at the sight of you together. He took it all in stride, offering nothing more than a smirk before ordering two drinks, his hand never once leaving yours.

The morning after the celebration felt slow, almost suspended in the quiet hum of a city still revelling in victory. Sunlight streamed through the hotel curtains, casting long, golden streaks across the unmade bed where Sidney lay beside you, his breathing steady, the weight of exhaustion still heavy in his limbs.

His back rose and fell with each slow breath, the muscles shifting beneath skin mapped with faint freckles and the ghost of old bruises. The warm glow of morning light traced the sharp angles of his shoulder blades, pooling in the dip of his spine, highlighting the way his skin gleamed with the remnants of last night’s sweat. A few stray curls clung to the nape of his neck, dark against the pale sheets. 

You shifted slightly, careful not to wake him just yet, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. The moment the screen lit up, your stomach twisted. Missed calls. Unread messages. Group chats that had been dormant now lit up with notifications.

Your pulse quickened. Something had happened.

You shot upright, legs swinging over the side of the bed as you scrolled through the never-ending stream of notifications. Sidney stirred beside you, a low hum escaping his throat as he blinked against the light. “Morning, hon.”

You didn’t reply, rather scrolling through messages and posts to find the root of the uproar. “Babe?” he asked. When met with more silence, he sat up, placing a calloused hand softly on your shoulder. “Y/n? You okay?”

You hesitated for half a second before exhaling sharply, tilting the screen toward him. It didn’t take long for Sidney to make out what he was seeing on your screen. A single image had spread like wildfire across social media overnight — a photo taken at the bar, capturing the two of you in the kind of intimacy that left nothing to interpretation.

The photo on your screen was bathed in the warm, low-lit ambiance of the bar, a moment frozen in time. Sidney stood before you, his smile soft yet intense as he gazed down at you. Your arms were wrapped around each other, bodies pressed close, foreheads nearly touching, lost in a private world amid the dimly lit crowd. The golden glow of the room kissed your skin, the soft waves of your hair cascading down your back as your fingers rested lightly on his bicep.

The comments were filled with vitriol.

Since when is Crosby into arm candy?

She looks way younger than him…

Is this a mid-life crisis thing or…?

Damn, never thought I’d see Sid with a gold digger.

The words made your chest tighten. It wasn’t just gossip; it was venom. Assumptions turned into insults, speculation sharpened into accusations. People who didn’t know you — who had never even seen you before this moment — had already decided exactly who you were.

Sidney pulled back, retreating to his side of the bed. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, grabbed his phone and scrolled through his equally endless notifications. They all contained the same things; questions about who this mystery girl was, asking since when was he into younger girls. The queries about who you were rivalled the amount of congratulatory text he had received about winning gold. 

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing the way his shoulders were tensed up as he hunched over his phone. “Sid,” you started, voice careful, but he shook his head.

“I should’ve been more careful,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “I should’ve known someone would take a picture.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not your fault.”

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “I know, but that doesn’t make it easier.”

Sidney had spent his entire career guarding his privacy, crafting an existence where the only thing the world saw was the player, never the man. And now, in a single night, that careful boundary had been breached.

You crawled across the expanse of the king bed, the sheets rustling softly beneath you as you moved closer. Your fingers found his shoulder first, hesitant yet deliberate, the warmth of his skin grounding you as your palm flattened over the tense muscle. He exhaled at the touch, a barely-there sigh, but he didn’t lean into you. 

“What do we do?”

He exhaled sharply. “We don’t do anything.”

You blinked. “Sid—”

He stood up, your hand falling from his unclothed shoulder as he turned to face you. “People are going to say what they want, no matter what we do. If we respond, it adds fuel to the fire. If we stay quiet, it dies down eventually.”

You knew he was right, but it didn’t make it easier. Your fingers curled against the sheets, frustration simmering beneath your skin. “It’s just… ugly. They’re making it seem like you’re some predator and I’m some money-hungry girl taking advantage of you. And they don’t even know us.”

Sidney’s expression softened. “I know.” His hand found your chin, tilting your head up to look into his eyes. “But I do. And that’s what matters.”

You studied him for a moment, searching for any trace of doubt, but there was none. Just the unwavering steadiness that defined him, the quiet certainty that had always drawn you to him in the first place.

He let his hand fall, exhaling slowly before running his fingers through his still-damp hair. The weight of the moment settled between you, thick and heavy, but Sidney didn’t flinch under it. He just stood there, watching you, waiting.

Then, his phone buzzed again. A call. He glanced at the screen, lips pressing into a thin line before silencing it.

“Who is it?” you asked quietly.

“Geno,” he muttered. After a beat, his phone buzzed again. “Tanger too. Probably checking in.”

Of course. The photo was everywhere. His teammates weren’t oblivious. They knew what this meant — what it meant for him.

Sidney sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “We should pack. Our flight’s in a few hours.”

You nodded, though the tension still sat heavy in your chest. This wasn’t something you could outrun, not even by getting on a plane and heading back to Pittsburgh. But if Sidney wasn’t going to let it dictate his next move, you wouldn’t either.

The hotel lobby was eerily quiet compared to the chaos of the night before. A few lingering fans still loitered outside, hoping to catch a last glimpse of the players before they departed for their respective cities. The gold medal around Sidney’s neck had been tucked away into his carry-on, but there was no mistaking who he was — who both of you were, now, in the wake of the photo.

You spotted them before they spotted you.

The girls stood near the hotel entrance, their voices hushed but animated. You could tell they had been talking about it — about you. The moment they noticed you approaching, their expressions shifted, morphing into something softer. Understanding.

“Hey hon,” Charlotte murmured, stepping forward first, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she pulled you into a quick hug. “I saw everything online. Are you okay?”

You hesitated. There wasn’t an easy answer to that.

“I…” you exhaled, forcing a small smile. “It’s a lot.”

Lauren scoffed, arms crossing. “People are awful. Like, seriously, do they not have anything better to do than rip apart someone they don’t even know?”

Steph nodded, her brows furrowed in frustration. “I don’t get it. As if Sidney would ever be the type to entertain a ‘gold digger’ — like, come on.”

Their voices overlapped, indignation building on your behalf, and the warmth in your chest surprised you. You hadn’t expected this. Not really. You’d half expected them to finally let their fronts up and admit that they thought the age gap was weird, that they agreed with the strangers online who called you an opportunist, who speculated about your intentions, who dissected every interaction like it was proof of some ulterior motive. You’d half expected them to nod along with the cruellest comments, to tell you, gently but firmly, that they understood why people were saying those things.

But they didn’t.

Instead, their outrage was genuine, layered with protectiveness you hadn’t dared to hope for. Their voices rose over one another, dismissing the gossip with a ferocity that made your throat tighten. Something was reassuring about their presence, about the way they made it clear you weren’t alone in this. You hadn’t been part of this world long, but in the span of a few days, they had made space for you in it.

Sidney stepped up next to you, his hand brushing against yours. “We should get going, the cars waiting out front.”

They nodded in understanding, exchanging quick hugs before stepping aside, letting you both pass. As you exited the hotel, the cool Boston air hit your skin, crisp and awakening. Sidney’s hand found the small of your back, guiding you toward the car waiting to take you to the airport.

The chartered flight back to Pittsburgh was quiet. Sidney had never been a man of many words, but this silence was different — it was thicker and heavier. The silence threatened to suffocate the two of you.

You sat beside him, your fingers twisting idly in your lap, the occasional hum of the airplane engines the only sound between you. Every now and then, your phone would vibrate with another notification, but you had stopped checking them hours ago. You knew what they would say.

Sidney, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped scrolling. His jaw was set, shoulders tight, his focus glued to the screen as he combed through the online storm that had erupted overnight. The same cycle of cruel comments, the same intrusive headlines. Sidney didn’t even use social media, at least not publicly. He only had it to keep up with his closest friends and family. 

But that didn’t stop him from looking. From searching his own name. From refreshing the threads and articles that dissected the photo. It was a compulsion, a need to know — even if knowing only made it worse. His grip on his phone tightened with every cruel joke, every twisted narrative about the two of you. You could see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of something raw in his expression, but he wouldn’t tear his eyes away. 

Eventually, you reached over, your fingertips grazing the back of his hand, urging him to stop. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at you either.

“Sid,” you murmured.

A long exhale. He finally locked his phone and set it face-down on the table in front of him. He rubbed his hands over his face before turning his gaze toward the window, watching the clouds roll by.

“I didn’t want this for you,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard. “I know.”

He turned then, looking at you for the first time in what felt like hours. “It’s not fair,” he said, the words sharp with frustration. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I should’ve—”

“Sid.” You cut him off before he could start blaming himself again. “This isn’t just about you. We knew this could happen. We just didn’t know when.”

His lips pressed together, unhappy but unwilling to argue. He reached for your hand then, lacing his fingers with yours, grounding himself in the simple connection.

But even as he held you close, you could feel the shift between you.

The weight of it all didn’t lessen when you returned to Pittsburgh. If anything, it only grew heavier.

Sidney was different. Not distant, exactly, but careful in a way he hadn’t been before. The easy rhythm you had fallen into over the months — the stolen moments, the quiet evenings spent in the comfort of each other — had been disrupted.

Now, everything felt… tense.

You noticed it in the way he checked over his shoulder for any signs of intruding cameras before reaching for you, in the way he kept a careful distance between you in crowded spaces, his hand hovering near yours but never quite closing the gap. He still looked at you the same way in private, still touched you with the same quiet reverence. But beyond closed doors, it was as if he had retreated behind an invisible wall.

It wasn’t intentional. You knew that. This was how he had survived in the public eye for so long — by being careful, by maintaining control.

But this time, it wasn’t just him anymore. It was you, too.

And you weren’t sure how much longer you could pretend it didn’t hurt.

The first fight — the first big fight — came late one evening, when the weight of everything became too much to ignore.

The living room was quiet except for the low hum of the television, its blue light flickering against the walls. Sidney sat beside you on the couch, one arm draped along the backrest, his other hand absently tapping against his thigh. He looked tired — more tired than he had in a long time. The kind of tiredness that went deeper than physical exhaustion.

TNT was on, background noise to the silence neither of you seemed eager to break. Then, Paul Bissonnette’s voice cut through the quiet, casual but laced with something more. Something biting.

“Look at our boy Sid, huh? Maybe all he needed was a new young toy to bring some life back into him.”

The words landed like a slap.

Sidney stiffened, every muscle in his body coiling tight. Without hesitation, he grabbed the remote and shut the TV off in an instant, the screen snapping to black.

You sat in the newfound silence and the air between you suddenly charged.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Sidney exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know how we can keep doing this,” he muttered, voice strained. “Not if this is what people think.”

Your brows knitted together, confusion laced with hurt. You uncurled yourself from Sidney’s side, turning to look at him. “Since when do you care what people think?”

“I don’t,” he snapped, then sighed, shaking his head as if trying to correct himself. “It’s not about me.” He turned to you, his expression raw in a way that made your stomach twist. “It’s about you. The way they talk about you. The things they’re saying.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. “Sid, they don’t know me. They don’t know us.”

“They don’t have to,” he said, voice edged with frustration. “They’ve already decided. And now every time someone looks at you, that’s what they’ll think.”

Anger flickered in your chest, an ember catching fire. “So what? That’s their problem, not ours.”

Sidney pushed a hand through his hair, exhaling hard as he stood up and paced a couple of steps in front of the still-warm television. “You don’t get it. It’s not just a few comments. It’s not just gossip. It’s relentless. It follows you. No matter what you do, no matter how much time passes, they’ll keep talking. They’ll keep judging.”

You scoffed, the weight of his words sinking in, settling like a stone in your stomach. “So what, then? What are you saying, Sid?”

He hesitated.

That hesitation — more than anything else — made your chest tighten.

“I love you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s why I can’t subject you to the kind of judgment that us being together will bring you.”

Your breath hitched. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls too close. “Are you—” Your voice broke slightly. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “Are you ending this?”

Sidney didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. The answer was written all over his face.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. His gaze was cast downward, jaw tight, hands shoved deep into his sweatshirt pocket like he was holding himself back from reaching for you. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, reluctant. “I just… I don’t want this life to hurt you.”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s bullshit, Sidney.”

His head snapped up, eyes darkening. “It’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” you shot back, anger rising in your throat. “You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing it for you. Because it’s easier to let go than to fight for something that actually matters.”

Sidney’s jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” You let out a humourless laugh, standing up and getting in his space, forcing him to look at you. “What’s not fair is you making this decision for me. You think I don’t know what I signed up for? You think I don’t know what comes with being with you?”

He stepped back, needing to put a few feet of distance between the two of you to remove the temptation of reaching for you. Frustration was etched into every line of his face. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“But I chose to!” you said, your voice coming out slightly more raised than you intended. Your voice cracked, hands trembling at your sides. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle, Sid. I’m not a fucking child, Sidney! God. You of all people should know that.”

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Sidney’s chest rose and fell with a slow, measured breath, his jaw locked so tight you swore you could hear his teeth grind. His hands curled into fists at his sides before he forced them open again.

“I know that,” he said finally, voice rough. “I know you’re not a child.”

“Then why are you treating me like one?” Your words came sharp, slicing through the tension between you.

He faltered. His lips parted as if he had an answer ready, but nothing came. He swallowed, shook his head slightly, gaze flickering toward the ground. When he didn’t speak, you felt something crack inside you, something that had already been splintering under the weight of this conversation.

Your laugh was bitter, humourless. “You don’t even know, do you?”

Sidney’s head snapped up, a flash of something — guilt, maybe, or shame — crossing his features. “That’s not—”

“No,” you cut him off, stepping closer, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “You’re scared.”

His brows knit together, but he didn’t deny it. Couldn’t.

“You’re scared of what they say. Scared of what it means to have something real and complicated and worth fighting for,” you pressed, voice shaking with something between heartbreak and fury. “You’re a coward, Sidney.”

He flinched. The word hit its mark, a direct shot to his pride. For a second, you thought he might lash out, might argue, might fight for himself — for you — for this. But instead, his face softened, the anger slipping away like a tide receding. He exhaled a slow, unsteady breath, and dragged a hand down his face.

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t a defence. It wasn’t an argument. Just those two words, heavy with meaning, with regret, with something that almost sounded like surrender.

But you weren’t sure you could accept them.

Your arms wrapped around yourself instinctively, like you were trying to hold yourself together, keep your heart from shattering entirely. “Sorry doesn’t change the fact that you’re willing to let them dictate this.”

Sidney stepped forward, just slightly, like he wanted to close the space between you. “I don’t want to let them dictate anything. I just— I don’t want this to hurt you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the fight draining out of you all at once. Because that was the part that made this hurt the most. He wasn’t lying. He truly believed he was doing the right thing. That protecting you meant walking away from you.

But that wasn’t protection. That was fear.

You exhaled sharply, opening your eyes to meet his. “You already hurt me, Sid.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, anything to fix it. But there was nothing he could say. Not now.

The air between you was thick with everything unsaid, the silence pressing in on all sides. Sidney’s face was tense, his shoulders rigid, but his eyes — God, his eyes — were the only part of him that betrayed how much this was killing him.

Your heart clenched, an ache settling deep in your chest. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment you walked away. You took a step back.

But then—

“I don’t want this to end.”

The words came out hoarse, almost broken, and the moment they did, it was like something inside of him finally cracked wide open.

Sidney exhaled shakily, hands raking through his hair like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. “I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, voice thick. “But I’m scared, okay?” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I’m scared of what it means to bring you into this. Scared of how they’ll tear you apart. Scared that one day, you’ll wake up and realize you don’t want this life anymore, and I’ll lose you anyway.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the wind from your lungs.

That was it. That was the truth of it — not just fear of what people said, but fear of losing you.

You stepped forward, closing the distance between you. “Sid,” you whispered, heart hammering. “You don’t get to push me away because you’re scared.”

His gaze flickered to yours, conflicted and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“You think you’re protecting me, but you’re not. You’re just making the decision for me,” you said, voice steady despite the way your emotions threatened to break free. “If you want this to work, you need to be more like the Sidney that doesn’t give a damn what the media says. The one who only cares about what happens on the ice and in his own life. You’ve spent your whole career tuning out the noise — why can’t you do that for this?”

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “Because this is different.”

“It’s not.” You reached for his hand, gripping it tight. “It only feels different because you’re letting them make it different. If you want this — if you want me — you need to stop letting them dictate what you do. What we are.”

Sidney stared at you, his fingers tightening around yours like he was anchoring himself to you. And for the first time since this fight started, you saw it. The fight in him.

He wasn’t letting go. He couldn’t.

A muscle ticked in his jaw before he exhaled, like he was finally letting himself breathe again. “I want you,” he said, the words low and certain. “I want this.” His voice dropped even lower, almost like a confession. “I love you too much to let you walk away.”

“Then stop being scared,” you murmured.

You squeezed his hand one last time before pulling your hand gently from his. As much as you believed Sidney when he said he wanted this to work — wanted you to work — the fear was still rooted in him. It lingered in the way his fingers twitched as you let go, in the way his breath caught like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You had spent so much time trying to prove to him that love didn’t have to be terrifying, that not every open door led to something painful. But fear like his wasn’t something you could love away. It had to be faced. By him.

So you stepped back.

His eyes flickered with something — panic, maybe, or understanding. Maybe both.

“I—” he started, but the words never fully formed.

You gave him a small, sad smile. “You have to figure this out, Sid. I can’t do it for you.”

The night air wrapped around you as you left his home and for the first time in a long time, Sidney let you go.

The door shut softly behind you, the quiet sound somehow louder than all the shouting, all the arguing, all the things left unsaid between you.

Sidney stood there, staring at the empty space where you had just been, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. His hands clenched at his sides, then loosened, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that you were gone.

The house felt impossibly empty.

He turned toward the window, catching a glimpse of your silhouette as you walked down the driveway, your shoulders squared, your pace steady. But then, just before you reached your car, you hesitated.

Sidney held his breath.

For a second — just a second — he thought you might turn back. That you might give him another chance to fix this before it was truly broken.

But then you inhaled sharply, set your jaw, and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, headlights cutting through the darkness.

And then you were gone.

Sidney exhaled shakily, dragging a hand over his face as he turned away from the window. His heart pounded, a dull, aching rhythm that matched the pulsing regret settling deep in his chest.

He had been so afraid of losing you.

And now, because of that fear — because of his own cowardice — he might have lost you anyway.

[himbo-kuto]

doctor!reader x doctor!zayne summary: zayne just loves u or sumn :p

“hmm.. that’s strange..” you mumbled to yourself as you looked at the chart that your husband just handed to you. zayne studied your confused expression as you flipped back and forth between pages. he came to your office with results that he couldn’t exactly connect all the dots on. you worked in orthopedics and in many instances you were able to fill in the blanks. 

“and you ran all the tests and they came back…” you looked back at his figure that was hovering over you– one hand on the back of your chair, one on your desk. 

“negative.” he confirmed. 

“mhmm…” you turned your attention back to the chart, your brows furrowing immediately as you now had to read every word on the page slowly, just to make sure you didn’t miss any important information. you took the glasses that were resting on the bridge of your nose and pushed them upward into your hair, now feeling like you were able to see the chart more clearly. 

zayne took a pause as he fully took in your appearance. your glasses perfectly pushed your hair back, giving him a clear view of your face– furrowed brows and pouty lips. he smiled unbeknownst to him as he was just filled with love and gratitude. the sun from the outside was hitting you perfectly, making you glow like an angel (his angel). 

“i think we should run a–” you looked over to find your husband with a soft expression that was oozing admiration and affection. it made you blush instantly. just how long had he been looking at you like that?

“why are you looking at me like that, dr. zayne?” he reached over and tucked a stray hair behind your ear as you tried to refocus on the task at hand, though failing miserably. 

“no reason in particular. you just look radiant, my love.” you whined as you kicked your feet under your desk, using the clipboard to hide your blushing cheeks.

“zayne, what did we say about compliments in the office!” he turned your chair around so you were fully facing him. he took said clipboard, placing it on your desk (now forgotten) and caged you into your chair. he leaned in further, now inches from your face. 

“i don’t remember anything about giving compliments, doctor. we agreed not to kiss in public and last time i checked..” you watched as his gaze flickered upward to view your empty office.

“...it was just you and me.” you bit back your smile as you shyly looked up at him, your cheeks deepening in color. he planted a kiss on your forehead before leaning down and capturing your lips. he stayed there for a moment, reveling in the feeling of your lips on his. 

“did you come in here to get a second opinion or to steal a kiss dr. zayne?” you whispered softly as he pulled back, as to not break the moment. 

“you can’t steal something that already belongs to you, dear.” in one fell swoop, he landed another kiss on your lips, grabbed the clipboard from your desk and headed toward the door. 

“i’ll run that test you suggested, thank you doctor.” and just like that he was gone from your office. you blinked a few times before shouting to his fleeting figure. 

“you didn’t even hear what test i wanted to run!” 

[yelenabemylova]

birthday - jeong yunho x fem!reader

summary: celebrating the clock hitting midnight on your boyfriend's birthday with dancing (suggested listening), and cake, 1.6k wc

warnings: so much tooth rotting fluff, suggestive ending, calling yunho 'pup', he cries a little (of happiness)

latest yunho fic // ateez masterlist

yunho had been performing on stage tonight, which gave you the perfect opportunity to go shopping for his birthday. even though he assured you over and over he didn't need you to get him anything, you wanted to show him how much you loved him regardless.

unfortunately, he had another concert scheduled on his birthday, so you wouldn't get to spend much of the day with him, but you promised you'd make it up to him afterwards. this was your first time celebrating his birthday together, so you wanted it to be special.

as the door to your apartment opened, you jumped a little, not expecting yunho and yeosang to be back so early. scrambling to hide the wrapping paper and presents under the kitchen table, you greeted them both with a hug, and gave your boyfriend a quick kiss on the cheek.

“so, how was the show?” you asked the pair, who looked utterly exhausted. “yeosang got me a birthday cake!” yunho perked up as he lay his bag down on the counter, pulling out a white box. “only a little one, for tonight. i didn't want to interfere with any official plans,” yeosang was glad he bought the smaller size, noticing your visible sigh of relief.

“ah, ah,” yeosang swatted yunho's hands away from the knife block, “it's not your birthday yet,” he pointed to the clock. the blonde sighed dramatically, sitting on one of the wooden chairs and pretending to faint, the back of his hand covering his forehead.

giggling at his antics, you took his hand in yours, gently brushing your lips against his fingertips, causing the tips of his ears to blush a dark red. “i’ll be back at midnight, don't cut the cake without me!” yeosang went to go shower, giving the two of you some space.

yunho walked over to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water as you jumped up to sit on the counter. he tilted his head back as he drank, his throat bobbing each time he swallowed. slowly, he made his way over to you, gently parting your knees to stand between them.

“hi,” his voice was but a mere whisper, tickling the inside of your ear. “hi,” you suddenly felt shy under his gaze, looking down instead. frowning, he placed his finger under your chin, tilting your head up and admiring your bashful grin, subconsciously mimicking your expression.

the atmosphere in the kitchen felt almost fuzzy, the clock seemingly frozen in time as you studied the details speckled within each other's irises. you noticed the light from behind you highlighting the flecks of different colours in his eyes, shimmering as though magic was attempting to escape them.

suddenly, the cuckoo clock startled the two of you, announcing that it was now midnight. “happy birthday, pup,” you pressed your lips against yunho's, feeling his cheeks heat up at the pet name.

“thank you, jagiya,” he rested his forehead against yours, catching his breath. “should we call yeosang in to cut the cake?” you asked him, glancing towards his closed door. yunho shook his head, “not yet, just want to be with you first.”

you were quick to pull your phone out, connecting to the speakers and playing ‘reflecting light’ by paloma fellowes, a tune he recognised from the first few notes, “it's our song,” he muttered, feeling his heart burst. jumping off the counter, you held out your hand, “care to dance, jeong yunho?”

the smile that took over his face was endearing, the tilt of his head nothing short of adorable. he placed his hand in yours, resting his chin atop the crown of your head as he pulled you into him. his arm around your waist was secure, and he held your hand close to his chest.

yeosang walked out of his room momentarily, spotting the romantic moment and snapping a quick picture. he turned off the lights, allowing the window to be your only source of illumination.

together, you swayed in the moonlight, giving yeosang a quick smile of appreciation before he disappeared back into his room, allowing you to have your moment with each other. “i love you,” you rested your head against your boyfriend's chest, hearing his heartbeat speed up at your confession.

no matter how many times you told him, he'd still feel as lovesick as he did the first time he heard you say it. “i love you, pretty girl,” he responded, just as he did when you initially declared your feelings for him. never had he felt such a strong pull to someone before, and the feeling only intensified with each passing day.

as the song drew to a close, you picked up the vase from underneath the table, taking out the bouquet of flowers and handing it to him. his eyes immediately filled with tears, and panic coursed through your veins at the sight.

“i’m so sorry, i don't know what i was-” he interrupted your nervous rambling with the most passionate kiss you had ever shared with him, every ounce of his heart being poured into this one moment, quieting your racing thoughts. “nobody has ever given me flowers before, thank you,” he grabbed your shoulders and kissed you again, “thank you.”

his reaction was touching, and you couldn't imagine why nobody had given the most romantic loverboy flowers before. “i picked an assortment of your favourites,” you grinned up at him, admiring the way he looked between you and the arrangement in his hand.

carefully, he placed them into the vase now back on the table, and cupped your face in his hands, “this is the most thoughtful gift i’ve ever received,” he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, a tear slipping from his eyes and landing on the side of your face.

you stood on your tiptoes to gently wipe his tears from his wet cheeks with your thumbs, brushing his eyelids with your lips. the gratitude you both felt for each other in that moment radiated throughout the room, and it felt as if pure feelings alone could cast a spell of eternal adoration.

the lights blinded you momentarily when yeosang turned them back on, yunho instinctively raising his hand to cover your eyes and giving yeosang a stern look. the younger of the two raised his hands in silent defence, giggling at yunho's fake air punch.

your boyfriend removed his hand from your face, giving you a soft peck between your eyes before skipping over to the fridge to pull out his cake. yeosang offered him a knife, but yunho shook his head, allowing him to cut the cake for him.

“wait, we need to put candles on first,” you remembered, rushing over to the cabinet and pulling out a small box. placing the numbers on the cake, you lit the wicks and watched yunho make his wish before gently blowing over the flames.

yeosang cut you all a piece of the cake, walking over to answer the door to see who had knocked at this hour. “what did you wish for?” you asked yunho as he pulled you into his side, cheering as the six boys walked into the kitchen, wishing him a happy birthday.

“i can't tell you, or it won't come true,” he winked at you, before walking over to hug all of his fellow group members. you chuckled to yourself, also going over to greet the boys, “you're all just in time for some cake!” they all immediately flocked around the table, begging yeosang to cut them each a slice.

yunho was staring at you from across the room, and when you noticed, the both of you blushed and looked away, embarrassed. “hey! birthday boy first!” you told yeosang, shooing the others away from the cake until your boyfriend claimed his piece.

he sat down on a chair, pulling you into his lap. holding up his plastic fork to your mouth, he offered you some cake, “for my beautiful angel, who has already made this the most special birthday of my life.” you felt your cheeks burn at his words, quickly accepting his offer, you ate the cake on his fork, before burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“i’m so glad you're happy, pup,” you gently scratched the back of his neck, feeling the blood rush to it as you spoke. he offered you a strawberry from his plate, a little cream on the edge of it. the mischievous grin on your face went unnoticed by him as you quickly darted to scoop up the cream with your finger, dabbing it on the tip of his nose.

his fake pout caused your heart to melt, and you gently kissed away the cream, yunho seizing the opportunity to place some on your nose instead. “jeong yunho!” you exclaimed, for he misjudged the amount on his finger before he swiped it onto you, dropping a considerable amount onto your t-shirt.

“oh no,” he drew out his words, “now you have to take it off.” lightly hitting his arm, you climbed off of his lap and went into his room, looking for a clean shirt of his to change into. you pulled the dirty one over your head, discarding it into the laundry basket before rummaging through yunho's wardrobe.

a pair of arms circling around your waist made you jump, but your boyfriend's touch was familiar enough to you to recognise it. “hi, jagi,” he turned you around in his arms, his grip on your waist strong. “hi, yuyu,” you stared up at him through your lashes, feeling a little shy when his eyes darted down to glance at your bra-clad chest.

he licked his lips, and his pupils were slowly darkening his previously vibrant irises as he took in your figure, “can i have my wish now?”

please reblog, it really helps us authors !!

[jacktheeldergod2]

Fuck it I'm answering all of them

1. It's bad

2. A random bird I saw outside. Common city pidgeon

3. Yeah. Not telling

4. Yeah. I'm also the most confident person ever. It's weird

5. Polycule. But all of them are a fucking ocean away

6. Either bleed out somewhere in peace with the whole thing or with my belly full of alcohol and a pretty face on my crotch

7. Green apple

8. Not professionaly yet but I do muay thai

9. I don't bite my nails. I anxiously rip off the ever regenerating skin of my lips

10. Like a few months ago. It was very short cause the pe teacher broke us up immediately

11. Yes. My lovers

12. No but it sounds fun in a way

13. Bigots,my mother etc

14. @mmmmmmky . Kay doesn't talk on the internet much so I miss Kay almost constantly

15. Mind your business

16. Hateful

17. I never made out at all my lovers live seas away

18. Fuck no. Spiders? The cool looking weavers? No I fucking don't

19. Why? To wait like I'm waiting right now all over again? To suffer more?

20. Nowhere. I haven't done that

21. Jacking off to @puppygirllaika 's content and playing hades

22. I hate kids. Humans should fully grow up in a single year like most animals. We'd have so much more time of youthful vigor that way

23. Not yet. I want snake bites and a bunch in my ears

24. I'm not good at school and none of them ever really felt good

25. Some friends from here that deleted their blogs and cut contact

26. Sex

27. No. Well I refused to be my first girlfriend's lover at the start out of fear that I'd fuck it up so maybe that counts

28. My relationships are open. If my lovers are being happy that's good for me whether I am involved or not. I'm a grown man not a 12 year old girl like I once was

29. I don't think so. I've pissed em off a few times though

30. Everything

31. My lovers and my friends

32. Purple,indigo,pink,that general range of color

33. Yes. Severely

34. random shit happened. Among them @sapient-marshmallow-princess had a computer. It was new and all that

35. Mother. Years ago

36. Never

37. Forget. Even if I forget what was done I'll forgive none of it

38. No

39. I haven't had one

40. No although I'd like to. Feels good to be naked y'know

41 through 50 are missing

51. Παστίτσιο

52. Nothing ever happened for a reason except the actions of living beings. The universe itself is just space and the matter within it

53. Masturbation

54. Yeah

55. Very much so

56. Not many,not too little. Never got really bad unfortunately. I wanna bring a human halfway to hell with my hands

57. I am incapable of perfectly differenting sexual attraction and romantic love. Perhaps I love my lovers platonically but have some special connection with them. I don't believe in some "the one" or "fated love" bullcrap. I never was so juvenile

58. Storms

59. Yes but it never snows here unfortunately

60. Doesn't matter to me. @moonsfavoritedaughter wants to so we'll buy some rings and tell the oaths to each other in the woods. This is more to make her happy,I needn't a ring to prove the love I feel

61. No

62. @moonsfavoritedaughter @mmmmmmky @sapient-marshmallow-princess

63. Already did. My name is Jack Spawn. Or the feminine version,Jackie Spawn. Maybe I'll change it more. Jojo sounds kinda good but I'm not sure

64. I haven't kissed

65. Fuck probably

66. If I can't act my complete self around someone they are not my friend. So yes

67. Your mom

68. Bella

69. Do I look like a 5-7 year old to you?

70. All my friends and lovers

@coiled-dragon you tagged me in a "people I wanna get to know better post last month so you can read this if you want

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[dcxdpdabbles]

If you have the time I would love an update on Passion for Fashion or on Mr Flavor your an amazing writer love your fics ❤️❤️

Danny wakes to another new mattress, this time accompanied by a machine beeping and another change of outfits. His back and left ribs have a dull ache, but otherwise, he feels fine.

He lays on the bed for a few minutes, noting the difference between the one Oscar had him sleep on and the kind in the cheap motel. It wasn't as firm as the ones in the motel, but it wasn't anywhere near as luxurious and soft as the one Oscar gifted his fairies. This was somewhere in between, which meant Danny was now in someone else's hands.

Cracking open his eyelids as thinly as possible, he carefully glances around, trying to discover what happened after passing out. Danny is pleasantly surprised to find himself in a hospital room with no one around. Not even a ghost.

It gives him enough courage to carefully examine his body. Phantom's healing factor may not be at full capacity, but it seems faster than a normal human's. He pats himself down, wincing in certain areas, but eventually, he deems it well enough to escape.

Without hesitation, Danny reaches up and snaps off the wires connecting him to various machines. He ignores the alarms that go off and the sound of rapid footsteps in the hallways while he limbs towards the window.

He can tell it's sturdy enough not to open for a regular human. Usually, that wouldn't have been a problem, but Phantom's powers were laying doormat, so he does the next best thing. He picks a chair and flings it as hard as possible at the window.

The door to his room is burst open by medical staff just as the chair bounces off the glass and lands with a thump. Danny stares at it for a few seconds. "Ah. I thought that would have at least put a crack in it."

"You're safe!" one of the nurses tells him, hands held up, palms facing Danny in an obvious sign of trying to earn his trust. "You're in Gotham Hospital. You were rescued a week ago and have been receiving treatment while locked in a coma."

Danny squints at her. "I'm pretty sure I wasn't rescued. I broke out myself."

Some medical staff shift uncomfortably on their feet before the same nurse steps closer, words even, soft and gentle, "You were fearless. You should be proud of-"

"Did they delete the footage of my secret formula?" Danny cuts her off, tilting his head. The question stops the woman short, looking unsure how to respond as the rest of the medical staff watch the exchange with pursed lips.

"I'm not sure-"

"Meh." Danny sighs, rolling his neck. He taps his fingers against his chin, considering the consequences of someone finding those videos.

On one hand, Danny will lose his main source of income, but on the other, it won't mean much. Cream sodas were the only drink in this world, but eventually, someone was bound to make the discovery.

It's not like he legally has a right to it, either. Danny hadn't applied for a patent for his soda, and he can't copyright a recipe. Really, the only thing he had going for him was his trademark that one guy who messed up his motel room got him, but even then, if the recipe thief changed the bottle designs, what was he to do?

Danny couldn't afford a house, much less a lawyer, with the money he earned from Mr. Flavor's Soda. He'll just have to keep moving and find out how to call back Phantom.

Rolling his neck to the other side, he flinches as it stiffens up, returning him to the present. Then, he notices the medical staff is slowly creeping closer, shifting in like they are alligators about to pounce on a meal.

Eyeing them and the open door—thankfully one of the big sliding doors, which meant the exit was so much wider—Danny gets an idea. He acts unaware of what they are doing, making sure to plant a ball of his feet to give him good leverage. He needs to push off as quickly as possible.

He places his thumb right under it while his pointer finger lays carefully under his lips. In a quick jerk to the side, Danny forces his neck to crack, using his hand as a turner. The sound that echoes through the room sounds like pasta being crunched. "I guess it's not too important. Not when I'm a ghost."

The lead nurse inhaled deeply before blowing a slow breath. "Why don't we get you back into bed? We need to check you over."

"I'm fine."

"We-"

"When can I leave?"

"That's-"

"Have you ever tasted a rainbow?"

"What-"

"It tastes like sugar and reality warping." The smile that stretches across his face is the same one he made at Sam while under Ember's love spell. It's the most innocent but eager expression he can make, which used to get him out of trouble back home.

In Gotham, it made everyone uneasy. The staff even stepped away from him instinctively, looking far more alarmed than when Danny popped his neck, and a few of them had flinched at the sound.

His smile stretched more. "Would you like to taste the rainbow?"

"I-um-that is." The woman spluttered, glancing around at her coworkers like she was sending S.O.S alarms with her eyes alone. "Why don't we-"

Danny rushed at her, laughter bubbling up in his chest as she scrambled back. One of the male nurses shot forward, intending to meet Danny halfway- his movement suggested some form of training. Military?- but that plan quickly derailed when Danny flipped himself over him.

His body flared with pain that he ignored in favor of dancing out of reach from the multiple hands that tried to grab hold of him. One of them managed to snag his hospital gown, but Danny had no problem thrashing about until it slid off- thank the mighty Ancients that he was wearing some boxers.

He had to slide before the legs of a nurse and flip over another before he could break into the hallway. The hallway was long and narrow, but it didn't seem connected to any visible exit. Danny had only a few split seconds to choose left or right before he went with his gut and twisted towards the right.

He was born right-handed, and before teaching himself to be ambidextrous, his right never let him down. He raced down it as fast as his aching body could take him, which was pretty good, seeing that he was outpacing a group of grown adults.

That male nurse was gaining, though. Danny could hear his footsteps approaching, and the man shouting, "Stop!" as he got uncomfortable near his back.

He will be able to reach Danny in a few seconds, especially since the aches in his body are rapidly turning into pain, slowing him down.

Another problem he didn't consider was the people in the hallway who- like idiots, really- didn't leap out of Danny's way. They just stood there gawking as they zoomed past them. He had to push a woman in cartoon theme scrubs into the wall, shouting an apology as he rounded the corner.

The new area he found himself in had more hospital employees who turned to see the commotion, but all Danny saw was the glass stairs leading downstairs to a seating area. There were groups of people that craned their necks up, visitors' passes tapped to their shirts. A woman speaks into a walkie-talkie, and suddenly, there are blaring alarms throughout the building.

Danny can identify a lockdown when he sees one. Without wasting a second, Danny runs at the railing and leaps.

A scream from one of the onlookers as he slams against the floor below, having the misfortune of landing on a low coffee table. It breaks under his hold, which is only an insult to injury, as he groans. The pain has now flared up to levels he hasn't felt in a long time as Phantom, but his ghostly side still refuses to show its head.

He is half considering lying there and allowing them to capture him when a burst of familiar ice encases his body. The medical staff that had surrounded his crumbled form leaped away with shouts of "Meta!".

Danny raised his hand and stared at the layer of ice in wonderment. His breathing came out in fast-paced huffs as he tried desperately to catch his breath. The ice numbs most of the pain, and it is like all his senses snap into place.

He leaps to his feet, laughing joyously as the rest of the people press themselves into the walls, trying to crawl away from him. Danny doesn't care because he feels like Phantom.

He feels like himself again! He wills his body to be unchained from gravity, throwing himself forward, ready to take flight and finally escape—only to land in a heap on the ground, the ice wrapping around his chest like a suit of armor cracking.

"Oh, come on!" He whines, pushing himself up. He flickers his eyes around the room, landing on a mirror at the desk where a young woman wearing a uniform is frozen in fright. Without a word, he snatches it up and checks his reflection.

It seemed that his ice had changed shape, going from a clutter of ice into a knockoff version of the Ghost Peeler—without the helmet—and his eyes were green, but that's it. He had no snow-white hair, no glowing fractures, and not even his eyes looked inhuman; they just looked like he was born with them.

If anything, it was like Danny was cosplaying.

He gently places the mirror back on the counter, takes a deep breath through his nose, and spins around. He walks right out of the hospital- he had to smash the glass with his ice-covered hand- without a hint of emotion on his face.

They all let him go, which Danny is thankful for since he makes it out of the parking lot before he screams of utter frustration, aggressively flinging his arms around and stomping his foot.

After a minute of throwing a very public, very loud temper tantrum, Danny allows the ice to melt off his body, leaving him dripping and only wearing boxers as he scurries away. He ignores all the looks thrown his way, grumbling under his breath about that stupid tribe that got him into this whole mess until he finally spots someone he knows.

It's one of those kids who initially gave him his name. His very first customer, in fact, was standing on his toes and picking into a shop, pressed against the glass display.

Danny walked right up behind him, clearing his throat. "Hey, do you know what part of Gotham we're in?"

" I wasn't doing anything!" The boy spins around defensively only to have his eyes wide dramatically when he takes in Danny's state. He wonders if it's the fact he's covered in some nasty bruises, in his underwear, or dripping wet from the neck below despite no rain that causes such an expression. "What in the world happen to you!?"

"Got kidnapped. Escaped. Got run over and survived. Got hospitalized. Escaped again," Danny lists, smiling his innocent smile again, hoping it will make the kid ask fewer questions. It does the job as the boy looks rightfully horrified. "Where are we?"

"Uptown Gotham," The boy stammers, shaking slightly.

"How far away is that from Old Gotham or Crime Alley?"

"Um, about four blocks that way is Old Gotham. Crime Alley is pretty far."

Danny knows that. He'd gone to Old Gotham for a while to speak to some of the ghosts- and of course, none of these buildings were haunted because that was just his luck. "Thanks. See you around!"

He strolls away, feeling some of his anger calm now that he knows where to go. After a few blocks, he sang his soda theme song again, tapping the beat into the sidewalk with his bare feet. At the entrance of Old Gotham, he even found a donation bin for people to drop off clothes, which he happily helps himself to.

It looks like the seventies threw up in here—or someone cleaned out a long overdue closet—but Danny eventually found a pair of bell-bottom flower-printed jeans that fit and a large fake fur coat he could throw onto himself. The shirts smelled weird and were too small for him, but he found a purple velvet feathered hat that he thought would distract him from being topless.

After placing it on his head, Danny started scatting his theme song, feeling oddly peppy. Now that he was no longer frustrated, he realized how good it was that his ice had appeared.

Sure, his eyes weren't glowing, but the fact they changed let him know he was this close to being Phantom again. He just had to be a little more patient.

He could do that.

[himbosandhardwear]

Steve is rifling through Eddie's collection of magazines, while he's waiting on Eddie and Wayne to get done fixing the dryer(Wayne's fixing, Eddie's getting in the way it sounds like), when he realizes how insane the assortment is; Heavy Metal, Car and Driver, Rolling Stone, National Geographic, OMNI, MAD, even a copy of Good Housekeeping. It's all so Eddie though, to have so many varying interests. He's a little jealous, if he's being honest with himself.

"You have a lot of stuff," he comments when Eddie comes back, closing the copy of Rolling Stone.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, let me just..." He starts kicking a pile of clothes under the bed.

Steve huffs a laugh. "No, I meant you have a lot of interests." He waves the magazine. "Hobbies and stuff."

Eddie nods, continues to shove piles of stuff under the bed anyway. "I guess, yeah. I tend to jump from thing to thing though. Last night it was painting miniatures, tonight it could be writing a song. I don't really get a say in which one. Oh, nice, I've been looking for this," he says, holding up a random T-shirt.

He watches Eddie get distracted by the new discovery and leave the rest of the pile where it's at, smiling to himself as Eddie goes on a tangent about merch vendors at concerts being the real enemy of the people.

"How do you know what you like?" Steve inadvertently blurts out during a gap in Eddie's tale.

He turns toward Steve. "What do you mean?"

What does he mean? "I guess... It's just, I like cars and sports and girls. That's, like, kind of it. And since I started being friends with Henderson and Robin and you I've figured out that's, like, the most basic shit a guy could be into. Level One Dude Interests. So, I guess I just want to know how you find other things? And how will I know if I'm interested?"

"Hmm." He frowns softly. "I've never had to think about it before. I kinda just...fall into things. I like it or I don't."

"Okay, but what's it feel like?"

Eddie puts the shirt down, forgotten again in a moment, and sits. "What does it feel like when you think about cars and sports and girls?"

Steve really thinks about it. Nothing is as consuming as when he was younger, but he does remember a vague sense of excitement, a feeling of connection with the people he surrounded himself with, who shared his interests. But he hasn't felt that in a while. Maybe he wasn't as into those things as he thought, was only into the connection.

"You're having very deep thoughts over there," Eddie points out with a grin.

"Shut up." He grins back. "I think maybe I don't actually know what it feels like to like something because I like it, not just because everyone else likes it. You know what I mean?"

"Well, yes but no." He waves both hands to indicate his person and also the chaos of the room around them.

"See? This is why I'm asking you. If anyone can help me figure out what I like it's you."

Eddie slaps both hands together and rubs. "A project! Excellent idea!"

Wasn't his idea but sure.

"First we have to get you exposure to new things. Movies, TV, music, culture. Then we'll rate how you feel about each demographic. Your music taste is already improving so that's good. Movies, I'm thinking 12 Angry Men to start. Food? Authentic Mexican. We're gonna get you excited about shit!" He seems excited enough for the both of them, which is great. "Excitement is key! You want enthusiasm, yearning even. Your interests should consume your every waking thought. When I'm consuming a new hobby, I'm focused like a shark, I'm obsessed. I go to bed thinking about it and wake up thinking about it. Excited to get back to whatever it is. I wanna talk about it, share it with other people. Complete and total immersion. You wanna marry that interest. You know what I mean?"

Steve blinks at him, stunned into silence. Eddie's just described how Steve feels about him...

Oh.

Oh.

[chaos-deimos-et-eris]

[lD:

#we owe the people of past generations an apology #we've been acting like they were idiots for eating lead without asking if it tasted good

end ID]

lowkey why i get a little bit angry when people are like "if you live in America there is no reason for you to drink bottled water. tap is right there!" but yeah. as soon as i got to school people warned me "dont drink the water if it is hot. it will make you sick." older kids passed down the warning. teachers that lived in the city muttered it as we left to go us the bathroom. teachers that commuted from much richer whiter nearby cities would give us detention if we took too long to go to the one water fountain with a filter, on the first floor by the kindergarteners. they couldn't afford more, and the littlest kids needed the safer water more than the rest of the school. this was still a problem when i got to high school. you couldn't always get to the one safe-ish water fountain in the school without getting into trouble. sometimes u risked it. if u drank too long the water would start coming out just a tiny bit sweet.

then flint happened. i guess some teacher from out of town raised the alarm. or perhaps some immigrants that havent gone to school and havent been warned, that just havent lived their whole lives with "dont drink warm water. dont drink sweet water." something in the water was normal for me even if no one have even told me exactly what it was. grass is green. sky is blue. water sometimes becomes not safe. when the news came out that we too had a serious lead in water problem and my dad told me, i was like "yeah, we know." like i never connected the dots until that moment, but culprit of my childhood anguish between not wanting to get this mysterious water illness and not wanting to get in trouble was clear to me then. i got in trouble for joking about it but we knew. the city knew. something had been wrong with our water, and we had worked around it for so long it had long since stop registering as anything more then a daily annoyance. to this day i dont know if lead gets u sick fast enough for the link to be made, or if this mysterious illness was just a boogieman to get us to reject the water in fear. it worked. never had a classmate go to the hospital for collapsing from lead poisoning. several of them got tested after the news and all had high levels of lead, some dangerously so. i never got tested, not sure i wanted to know. it wasnt nessercery, we all knew we'd been affected.

supposedly all the lead pipes were to be removed and replaced but we all know someone whos never had their streets pipes removed. so i thrust bottled water in my little cousins hands and join again as a new voice in a long line of warning. Dont drink if the water is hot. Dont drink if the water is sweet. It will make you sick.

Why was I today years old when I learned that lead compounds taste SWEET and THAT'S why kids eating paint chips back in the day was a concern?

[mmirx]

AFTERTHOUGHT ⋆⑅˚₊

Who were you if not unremarkable? You had finally come into terms that you are someone who was meant to stay in everyone’s shadow, but not until you met Caleb, or so you thought.

cw/tags: PART 3 of this, university au, non-mc reader, frat guy caleb (but not really important), angst, jealousy, self-loathing (please just lmk if i missed more cw, i just cant identify more as of now)

note: idk what im doing lmao kidding nway, wrote this in one sitting bcs it was the only chance i had after the loooong week i had. alsoooo, i take it back, i might make this longer bcs i haven't explored some parts in the previous chapters. PLUS THANK YOU GUYS FOR READINGGGG!!!

word count: 1.7k

You’re at your breaking point—or at least you were weeks ago. Now, you weren’t even sure what prompted you to fill your schedule to no end; leaving no room for any sort of self-care at all. But, you were adamant in accepting the truth that it was not the answer to the hole that Caleb left you.

Nothing can ever fill the part that he took from you the moment you let him in your life because he wasn’t just any bystander that you knew would leave you. When you thought that you were finally worth being a recipient of one’s genuine attention was the moment you should’ve known that you have once again been defeated by the nature of love itself. He curated a room in your life. One that you thought you were the center of almost letting yourself believe that someone is capable of doing that for you.

But now, you weren’t sure at all, no you were, but for the fact that he wouldn’t do anything that deep for you.

The reason? Well, she’s standing in front of you right now. Eyes filled with worry and hint of anger while refusing to let you speak. However, you knew why, mad at you for cutting your connection with them—not completely—by deactivating your social media accounts, and even going as far as ignoring messages and calls with your ‘previous’ number. But you can’t just disregard your own sake to ‘bring back old times,’ her own words to keep up a dramatic flair.

“What? Like four weeks ago?” she retorted after hearing your reasoning about being busy with the conference. MC was right—it ended a month ago, and you were aware of the fact that you haven’t been with her for more than a month. 

“I know, I know but I took up a new volunteering gig…”you said trying your best to muster up a half lie. It’s true though that you joined a volunteering group, but they haven’t even demanded an hour of your life. How were you supposed to tell her that you’ve been neglecting her because of Caleb? Her literal childhood bestfriend?

You stared at her profoundly, and if you weren’t, you would’ve missed the moment she hesitated to say something. What was that?

“Come with me,” she said in a beat, grabbing your wrist, “don’t try to run away this time, got it?”

“Where–” trying to loosen her grip–“are you taking me?” 

Of course, in her true nature, she ignored you. You knew that you didn’t have a chance to flee this, so like a trolley, you let her drag you in God knows where.

Walking for minutes across the campus didn’t feel as irksome as it once used to be. The sun was also present with wind as its companion. Looking around, you realized that maybe you were too busy trying to distract yourself in a way that your body probably hates you for now. Completely oblivious of the fact that you missed out the times that the sun had waited for you. 

Your optimism didn’t last very long though.

Holding your wrist on one hand and taking her phone out on the other hand, your heart almost jumped out the moment she uttered his name. What in the fresh hell?

You heard how she hissed his name accompanied with insults that were somehow out of character of her because they were said as if she dipped them out personally from hell. 

“MC!” you shouted with eyes unintentionally widening. “Is he coming with us?”

But to no avail, she waved her hand dismissing you as if you. You couldn't help yourself to roll your eyes at her. She was literally insisting to spend time with you a moment ago, and now she’s dismissing you because of him? Well, that sounded bitter of you.

Curiosity growing as they spoke, you were about to ask what they’re talking about but—

“Alright, let’s go,” MC cut you off with no intention of letting you ask questions. It was weird, a moment ago she seemed okay, but she looks pissed right now. You knew that she’s hiding her annoyance, it almost made you laugh, where did her acting skills go?

However, it made you wonder, what happened when you were busy trying to avoid them? Did a ‘progress’ finally take place when you were gone? Maybe Caleb didn’t even notice your absence—he might have been grateful too that there’s one less person to divide MC’s attention from him. If that is so, then it’s high time for you to get a grip and move on.

Your mind wandered to possible scenarios that happened between them during the last few weeks. It makes your stomach turn upside down. As if something has flipped your organs  intentionally to rattle you for being stupid enough to like someone, and you hate it. You’re human and you know you’re bound to fall in love with someone, but at the same, at your bestfriend? Really? Were you even his bestfriend? 

Like a bell, you were again reminded of what you heard weeks ago.

No, you weren’t his bestfriend, just a mere someone he didn’t even know how he managed to tolerate.

I don't even know how I managed to put up with her.

What you hated even more is that if he really did feel that way, why act as if you’ve meant something bigger in his life? As if you were a significant chapter in his life. As if one that he needed to make sure to be appreciated by himself and every person in the story of his.

Busy with your inner monologue—about the sole reason you ended up with an unhealthy way of coping in life healthy for the system that exploits you but not for your own body—you didn’t realize where you were now.

Looking around, it’s the hidden part of the campus where you used to frequent with the two of them. You can feel it—something good isn’t about to happen. One that you spent weeks trying to ward off.

“MC…” you called her attention, noticing how busy she was trying to spot something, “please tell me he’s not here.” 

You wanted her to lie because at least that’d bring you comfort even for a moment. The air suddenly felt like it was meant to bring suffocation. Your hands torn between emitting heat to ward off the cold that the weather brought or bringing a feeling of dampness with sweat that you’d always hated. Either way, you felt revulsion towards anything at the moment.

MC was looking at you as if she was silently asking for your forgiveness. Her eyes trying to tell a code that you couldn’t decipher. But you couldn't muster any kind words, at least not until she puts her plea for forgiveness in words. Then—

A voice came from behind you. One that you haven’t heard for weeks calling your name like a prayer. At that moment, you hated how your body responded to his call. His eyes wandered on you as if finally making up for the moments that he’d been deprived of the privilege of setting eyes on it.

It took all your strength to not shift away your gaze from him. 

But you had to face MC, “What’s this?” you asked laced with rage rather than confusion while pointing at Caleb. “And I thought, it was you actually wanting us to spend time together.”

“Well, for starters, I don’t see an issue with me bringing you here to see Caleb? You’ve been avoiding us, and now, you’re mad?”

“I wasn’t but I certainly am now!”

“It was my idea,” Caleb interjected, “don’t be mad at her, she wasn’t at fault.”

Still protecting her? 

“No, I’m not done with her. MC, trying to be a good samaritan?” your voice dripped with sarcasm. “Helping us make up? If we were thirteen, that would be cute, but for fuck’s sake we’re pushing mid-twenties, so it’s just plain stupid.”

You didn’t miss how her eyes flickered with pain and if your heart was’t throbbing with anger right now, you would’ve reached out her hands to apologize. But how can you, in this state, think rationally?

“I’m sorry. I understand your anger but I needed to.” You hated how even in moments like this, she’ll be the ever-so-nice person that she is. “I’m leaving, please, talk.”

With that, you didn’t try to stop her because what’s the point in trying? This was their plan. 

“Don’t blame her, I insisted on her doing this,” Caleb said, taking you out of your own mind. It infuriated you because what is he truly planning to get from this?

He didn’t see you as someone who’s worthy of his affection. He made that clear when you heard him talking with his friends. That was enough to repel you from his life. Plus the fact that you have been slipping away from him.

What you couldn’t put your fingers on right now is why does it feel like his gaze at you in this moment is trying to tell you a different story?

“You’re avoiding me,” he said, more of an accusement than a statement. 

“If I am?” you tested him. Suddenly, you were back with your habit of biting the inside of your mouth when you’re nervous. Little did you know, he noticed that, because he knows you as if he’d study the book of your life—wanting to be a part of it in a way where he’ll never be written out.

“Why?” he begged, voice dripping with desperation that made your skin crawl. “Tell me what I did.” 

“I’d beg heaven just for you to forgive me.” You averted your gaze from his as you pondered how you hated how convincing he sounded. You hated every moment of it because all of a sudden you were back where you were a few months ago. Silently cursing yourself for being weak from everything that he does, you didn’t get a chance to speak at all.

Missing every wave of emotions on his face, you kept your mouth shut, not knowing what to say because it all felt unreal.

“Anything, just don’t tell me you’re with someone.”

What?

tag(s): @justpassingdontworry @jadeymeciela @i-messed-up-big-time @rxelarailuj @albatrossblues

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown: ☾ Chiron Through the Houses — A Wound You Were Meant to Heal ☾ (and a light you were born to carry)

We all carry a wound that doesn’t quite bleed but still aches in silence. Chiron shows us where that ache lives, where we feel broken, unseen, not enough. But it also reveals the place where our pain becomes our gift.

Chiron doesn’t just mark a wound, it marks your wisdom. The place where you cracked open is the place light gets in. And one day… you’ll thank your wound for becoming your why.

Let’s begin, house by house.

Chiron in the First House You wear your wound like a second skin. It’s in your smile, your posture, the way you hesitate before saying “this is who I am.” You may have learned early that being yourself wasn’t quite enough, or perhaps, too much. But your healing begins the moment you stop trying to be palatable. Scars don’t make you less beautiful. They make you real. And your presence? It’s medicine for anyone who’s ever been afraid to take up space.

Chiron in the Second House This is the wound of worth. You were taught that value had a number, a title, a price tag. That love must be earned. That safety lives in the external. But eventually, you’ll tire of negotiating your value. And when you do, you’ll find the gold was never in the bank. It was buried in your bones. You are already enough. Not because you did something. But because you are.

Chiron in the Third House They may have silenced you, misunderstood you, interrupted your thoughts before they could bloom. So you turned your voice into a locked room. But even quiet things echo. You were never too much, you were just ahead of your time. Your healing lives in words, raw, trembling, true. Speak them. Write them. Because your story is the bridge someone else has been praying to find.

Chiron in the Fourth House The ache of this placement sits in the bones of your childhood. A home that didn’t hold you, a love that felt conditional. You may still carry the echo of doors that never opened when you knocked. But healing is not about rewriting the past. It’s about becoming the sanctuary you never had. Build it, brick by brick. And one day, you’ll sit in your own warmth and realize you were always your own home.

Chiron in the Fifth House They laughed when you were serious. Dismissed you when you were vulnerable. Taught you to hide your light so you wouldn’t be burned. But joy is not a luxury. Creativity is not frivolous. This is your birthright: to feel, to create, to love without apology. Your art is the rebellion. Your love is the revolution. Keep creating. Even when your hands shake. Especially then.

Chiron in the Sixth House You’ve tried to be perfect, haven’t you? To fix the cracks before anyone sees them. You measure yourself in tasks completed, bodies managed, emotions controlled. But healing isn’t neat, it’s messy and cyclical and human. You are not a machine. You are a rhythm. A breath. A being. Let yourself rest. Not because you’ve earned it. But because you deserve it.

Chiron in the Seventh House You gave too much. Or maybe never dared to give at all. Love wounded you. Connection confused you. You keep meeting mirrors that don’t reflect you back. But here’s the secret: your worth was never dependent on another’s recognition. You are whole, even when standing alone. And when you finally meet someone who sees your soul instead of their own shadow, you’ll know the difference. You’ll choose love without losing yourself.

Chiron in the Eighth House This is the wound that hides in locked drawers and dreams you don’t speak of. Loss. Betrayal. The kind of pain that changes your shape. You’ve walked through the underworld more than once. But you came back each time, didn’t you? That’s your power: to die and be reborn. Your healing isn’t about avoiding the dark. It’s about remembering that you are the light that knows its way through it.

Chiron in the Ninth House You searched for truth and found contradictions. You believed, then doubted, then disbelieved entirely. Faith became a wound. But life isn’t meant to be figured out. It’s meant to be lived. Let go of needing answers. Let yourself be the question. And one day, you’ll realize: you weren’t lost. You were just walking a path no one else dared to take.

Chiron in the Tenth House You’ve been climbing mountains just to prove you’re worthy of the summit. Authority figures may have broken your spirit, or expected you to be more than human. But your soul didn’t come here to impress. It came here to impact. Success isn’t found in applause. It’s in the quiet knowing that you stayed true to your essence. Leave your mark, not on the world’s expectations, but on its heart.

Chiron in the Eleventh House You’ve always felt like the outsider. The misfit in the room full of masks. You wanted to belong, but not at the cost of your truth. And so, you kept your magic hidden. But the world doesn’t need more fitting in. It needs more you. Your weird is your wisdom. Your edge is your offering. Find your people, or build your own constellation.

Chiron in the Twelfth House You feel everything. Pain that isn’t yours. Sorrow without a name. It’s like you’re carrying something ancestral, karmic, invisible. And maybe you are. But within that fog lives your deepest gift: compassion that could flood galaxies. Your healing is quiet. Subtle. Spiritual. You may never get closure from the world. But you will find peace within. And in doing so, you’ll become the kind of presence that heals without even speaking.

[deerspherestudios]

I don’t know if this is where I’m supposed to post constructive criticism, but just a small inconsistency I noticed, I hope you don’t mind:

Mychael winks a lot throughout day 1, but then he doesn’t know what winking means when the MC attempts to flirt with him.

Thanks for your time!

That's fair to bring up! Believe it or not, I did hesitate on whether or not to write that bit, but it was a cute interaction that I liked so I left it in haha!

TLDR; Mychael learned to mimic gestures (i.e winking), but can't tell when someone is being flirty, so he misinterpreted MC's intent. He didn't assume they were being playful either judging from their tone.

So if I were to elaborate, Mychael has been mimicking gestures and phrases humans do and say without really understanding them; winking is another part of that.

He doesn't know why people wink, but it makes sense for him to do so when being playful/cheeky because he's seen people do so in similar situations, especially in drawings and cartoons, a more expressive media. It just feels natural to do it too after seeing it happen enough times.

On the other hand, when MC winked at him flirtatiously, he doesn't naturally connect the gesture with that intent. Given his disinterest in romance before meeting MC, he doesn't pay much attention to couples when he's out and about. Plus, he's never had anyone wink in his direction so that contributed even more to his confusion.

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part one)

warnings ; none!

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; WELL WELL WELL my angels. we are back with ANOTHER series <3 i am not kidding, this story has had me tossing and turning and screaming and crying. they are such a nuanced duo(even more so than utcf) and if you know me, you know i only write characters that are flawed af and boy… do these two have flaws. also so excited bc my dream is to be a CMO so all that marketing jargon is literally ripped from my real life. this is def a slower burn more than utcf even was, so part one is just getting to know reader, a glimpse into jk and hers future dynamic. it will be giving cocky idol and grumpy girl boss reader… yall hate to see it.. anywho all your love and support is so appreciated and im SO excited to kick this one off <3

playlist here

series masterlist here

You learned at an early age that the world doesn’t hand power to people like you. You have to take it.

Born in Busan, raised in a home where every won had to stretch, you grew up with a hunger that never faded. Your parents worked tirelessly; it was long hours in dimly lit shops, silent tears in the living room over bills, doing everything they could to put food on the table. They wanted stability for you, a quiet life where everything was paid on time and there was no need to chase the impossible.

But you weren’t built for small dreams.

At 17, you won a coveted scholarship to a university in Seoul, a golden ticket out of the cycle that kept your family trapped. There, you became relentless. Top of your class, the kind of student professors whispered about, the one who never failed, never wavered. But no amount of late-night studying or overachieving could buy you the connections that children of chaebol heirs and international elites were born into.

So, you had to outwork them. By the time you graduated, you had one goal: to carve your name into an industry that had no place for you. You moved to America, leaving behind familiarity, comfort, and even your family, knowing that to rise, you had to go where power lived.

New York City became your battlefield.

You started at the bottom, fetching coffees, ghostwriting proposals, working eighteen-hour days just to prove you deserved to be in the same rooms as people who had never known struggle. You didn’t just climb the corporate ladder; you burned every rung behind you so there was no way back down.

It took a decade, but now the plaque hangs on the wall. The name plate rings true of all your dreams. You are the Chief Marketing Officer of Calvin Klein.

At 30, you sit at the helm of one of the most influential luxury brands in the world, the architect of campaigns that have redefined fashion and culture. Your name carries weight in boardrooms, your decisions shift global trends, and every executive in the industry knows you are untouchable.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

In a world like this, power is never permanent. The moment you hesitate, falter, let someone too close, they will take everything.

All that to say — Monday mornings in New York almost always smell like steel and ambition.

The skyline stretches endlessly beyond the glass walls of your office, the pulse of the city thrumming beneath you, yellow cabs blurring past, heels clicking against concrete, the quiet hum of wealth without ever making a sound. You barely had time to sleep after landing from Los Angeles last night, but exhaustion has never been an excuse.

You straighten your blazer, heels clicking against the marble floors as you stride into the Calvin Klein executive boardroom. The space is drenched in morning light, the Hudson River glinting in the distance, but there’s no warmth. Sharp minds and even sharper tongues, all waiting for you to take your seat at the head of the table.

“Let’s get started.” Your voice is crisp, cutting through the murmurs as the team scrambles to attention. Coffee cups are set down, postures shift. The room belongs to you now, like it always does.

This is your campaign, your bread and butter — the Fall Collection, one of the biggest of the year. And today, the decision needs to be made. Who will be the face of it? You’ve put it off as long as possible, especially after the last campaign that had you sleeping, eating and breathing the word ROI.

A junior executive clears his throat, flipping through a stack of polished portfolios. “We’ve compiled a list of potential candidates. Some of the usual names, established actors, a few models with strong followings…”

You take the folder from him, skimming past faces that blur into one another, all predictable choices, safe bets. Safe has never impressed you.

“We’re not looking for predictable,” you say, voice even. “We need someone who will shift the culture. Someone who doesn’t just wear the clothes, but makes people desperate to buy them.”

Silence. Then, the suggestions roll in. A high-profile supermodel. A rising actor from a Netflix hit. Some European footballer with global appeal.

You listen, nodding as they speak, but your silence is judgment. Each name is good but not enough. Polished and uninspired, in your opinion.

You shoot them down effortlessly. “No. We’ve used her before.

No. He doesn’t have the presence.

No. I don’t need another pretty face.”

The tension in the room grows. The team knows you expect brilliance, not silly little recycled ideas.

Then, your VP of Content leans forward, fingers steepled. “I have a name,” He says, measured, waiting for your reaction.

You lift a brow. “Then say it.”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

For the first time, there’s a halt of all noise. Light murmurs. Someone exhales sharply. You hear a scoff from the far end of the table.

“A Korean idol?” One of the senior execs frowns. “That’s a different market entirely.”

“Not just any idol,” your VP counters. “The biggest. Pretty much the frontman of BTS. His brand power is—”

“Unmatched,” You finish for him.

Because it is. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just a name, he’s a phenomenon. A face that sells out stadiums in minutes, a body carved in discipline, a force that transcends the music industry entirely.

Still, the pushback is immediate “Well, he’s never fronted a campaign of this scale.

Idol endorsements don’t always translate to luxury.

Do we want to take that kind of risk?”

Risk.

The word hangs in the air heavily. It should deter you. It should make you pause. But instead, you find yourself a tad intrigued.

What is Calvin Klein, if not bold? If not disruptive? The brand has always thrived on rebellion, on choosing icons that define eras rather than follow them.

Jeon Jungkook is undeniably that. Perhaps, so are you.

You let the murmurs settle before speaking. “What’s our engagement rate from the last campaign?” You ask, looking towards the analytics team.

“Thirty percent growth,” They answer immediately.

“And what’s BTS’s engagement on a single brand mention?”

A pause. A begrudging voice follows, “Higher.”

Exactly.

You glance around the room, seeing the uncertainty and hesitation. You’re about to give a speech greater than LeBron at the NBA Finals. You lean back in your chair, tapping a manicured nail against the armrest, already picturing it, the campaign, the impact, the sheer cultural shift this could create.

“I like it.”

Silence.

A ripple of realization moves through the room, as if with just three words, the decision has already been made.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Securing a global superstar isn’t an easy task, not even for you. The next few days are a relentless blur of negotiations, contract rewrites, and back-to-back Zoom calls with a team so notoriously meticulous it nearly drives your own to the brink of madness.

The stakes are high. Deals like this don’t just happen. They are built, fought for, and secured with precision. And Calvin Klein doesn’t like to lose.

Your office pretty much transforms into a war room. Tables littered with printed pitch decks. Screens glowing with data analytics, engagement metrics, and market predictions. Your executives pouring over legal clauses, revising them so every word is airtight.

In the center of it all, you stand. Any normal human would be threatened but at this point, you’ve gone full robot. You take every call personally. A negotiation of this scale is your battlefield, and you don’t delegate wars.

Jungkook, obviously, is never on the calls. It doesn’t surprise you. Artists at his level rarely handle the business side of things. That’s what agents, lawyers, and managers are for. His team is professional, unshaken even when you push hard.

Still, you know who he is.

Of course you do. You may have spent the last decade buried in boardrooms, but you were born in Busan. You grew up watching the Hallyu wave explode, and though you never had the time for it, your little sister devoured everything BTS.

You remember the way she would beg for concert tickets, how she’d fall asleep with headphones on, listening to their debut on loop. You used to tease her for it— why the fuck are you crying over an idol?

Funny, looking back at it now. Considering that idol’s contract is currently giving you a migraine.

His team is smart. They have demands, and they don’t bend easily. They want creative control over his campaign image. They want scheduling flexibility due to his commitments. They want Calvin Klein to align with Jungkook’s existing partnerships… list goes on.

All reasonable, but not easy. You fight for compromises, push for adjustments, rewrite proposals until every angle is optimized for success. At the end of the day, you know one thing: This deal is worth it.

And then, one morning, before you’ve even had a sip of your morning coffee, it happens. At exactly 7:14 AM, an email lands in your inbox.

SUBJECT: FINAL APPROVAL – JEON JUNGKOOK x CALVIN KLEIN

We are pleased to confirm Jeon Jungkook’s official partnership with Calvin Klein for the upcoming Fall Collection campaign. Thank you for your patience and professionalism throughout the negotiation process. We look forward to working together!

Your eyes flicker over the words. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times before you think you might pass out.

Slowly, a smile curves on your lips. You step out of your office, and before you can say anything, someone sees your expression and knows.

“We got him.”

The room erupts. Your team, overworked and barely running on caffeine, comes alive. Cheers echo through the space, hands slap against the table in triumph, tension melting into borderline euphoria.

They know what this means. This isn’t just a campaign. This is the kind of collaboration that will hopefully bring the brand back to the forefront of everyone’s minds and not in some TJMaxx aisle.

You let them celebrate. You don’t smile often, but today… today, you do.

Just when you think the victory high has settled, a package arrives later in the day for you. It’s a black envelope, embossed with gold lettering. No company branding. No assistant delivery. Just your name.

You open it carefully. Inside is a thick, cream-colored card with an unmistakable touch of handwritten ink.

Thank you for having me.
I’m looking forward to it.
—JJK

You stare at the writing for a beat too long. It’s clean, elegant, but slightly tilted, like the hand behind it didn’t care about perfection. The inked letters feel unexpectedly personal, almost at odds with the meticulous contracts you spent days battling over.

A small, teeny weeny little part of you does wonder… What kind of man is Jeon Jungkook when he’s not just a name on a contract?

You shake the thought away real quick. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the deal is done.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Power has a way of softening the sharp edges of travel.

As Chief Marketing Officer, you rarely have to think about logistics. The world bends to accommodate you with first-class flights, black car service, five-star hotels with skyline views. When business demands your presence in another country, the details are handled before you even lift a finger.

This time is no different.

The moment Calvin Klein secured Jeon Jungkook, it became your responsibility to oversee the partnership firsthand. Deals of this magnitude require your attention, and no one executes anything better than you. So you fly to Korea, fly home. First class as always, because nothing less is expected.

The moment the plane lifts into the sky, you immerse yourself in Jeon Jungkook.

Not the man— you don’t know the man. His brand. The name that moves markets, the face that has sold out entire fashion lines with a single post, the lives that have cleaned out ramen packets in seconds.

Your screen is a kaleidoscope of him, any campaigns, endorsements, past collaborations. Streetwear in one ad, high fashion in another. His presence shifts effortlessly from youthful rebellion to refined masculinity. He is everything Calvin Klein thrives on, raw and provocative.

He’s perfect for this.

You land in Incheon to a city humming beneath dark light. Seoul is quieter than New York, but no less alive with neon signs flicker against sleek glass buildings, the scent of rain and street food hugging the air.

A black car waits for you at the terminal, an assistant from Calvin Klein’s Seoul office greeting you with a polite bow. The ride into the city is smooth, the world shifting past in a blur of muted grays and bright LED screens. Your body is exhausted, but your mind stays sharp.

Tomorrow is the first meeting. You should be thinking about logistics. Contractual points that still need finalizing. The creative vision. The structure of the campaign. But as your car glides past Itaewon’s winding streets, past districts that are both familiar and foreign, you think of something else. You haven’t called home in a while.

You keep telling yourself you’ve been busy with deadlines, meetings, strategy decks stacked higher than your appetite for guilt, but deep down, you know the truth.

You haven’t called because you don’t know how to explain it. How success swallowed you whole, how you traded in your accent for sharper vowels, your mother’s cooking for room service, the comfort of home for the cold glass walls of boardrooms.

What would you even say?

Hi, I made it. I’m tired. I miss you. I don’t know who I am anymore.

It still is the least of your concerns when you arrive to your destination.

Your hotel is one of Seoul’s finest, very discreet, a haven of understated luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the skyline, and the quiet hum of a jazz playlist fills the suite when you enter.

You shrug off your coat, kicking off your heels, stretching out the tension of the flight. Your mind wanders a little as you pour your nightly glass of wine out; you will meet Jeon Jungkook tomorrow. It’s an odd feeling, seeing as you’ve met more celebrities in your life than you can count. You’d be a horrible liar , though, if you said you weren’t the least bit curious.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You wake before your alarm, the hush of Seoul stretching beyond the glass windows of your suite. The city moves gently at this hour before the rush, before the weight of the day settles onto its spine. For a moment, you allow yourself to breathe.

Discipline has always been your armor. You move through the motions with practiced ease, a cold rinse to shake off the last remnants of jet lag, a serum smoothed over skin (Laneige is the only right answer), a swipe of rouge on lips.

And today, more than ever, you need to be impeccable.

Your suit is white, tailored, almost impossible to ignore. It is a statement and a reminder that you are the architect of success.

However, when you step into the elevator, riding down to meet your driver, a flicker of something you haven’t felt in eons settles in your chest.

Nerves.

Not because you haven’t done this before. You have. You’ve met Hollywood A-listers, supermodels draped in couture, billionaires who own entire industries. You’ve handled them all.

It’s just… he does oddly remind you of home in some silly way.

You exit the hotel with the cool breeze of the morning air wrapping around you, the weight of the city’s movement already filling the space between you and the office. The car ride is smooth, twin reflections of New York’s controlled chaos and the quieter energy of Seoul. You barely notice the time passing as you mentally run through the agenda for the day, but there’s something about the looming meeting that sits heavier on your mind than it should.

The Calvin Klein Seoul office is small, nothing like the flagship headquarters in New York. The building is sleek but understated, a space that exists more for logistics than spectacle.

The moment you walk through the glass doors, the energy is so off. Your VP of International Marketing, a sharp-eyed executive named Daniel, greets you immediately. He is already speaking before you’ve fully crossed the threshold or even taken a breath of the office air.

“Everything’s set,” he says, handing you a sleek black folder. “Jungkook’s team will be here in twenty.”

You take the folder, skimming over the notes. “Any last-minute adjustments?”

“A few,” Daniel admits. “His schedule is tighter than expected, so we may need to shift some of the shoot days. And… his team wants final approval on every creative decision.”

You glance up at him, arching a brow. “They don’t trust us?”

“They trust us,” Daniel says, lips twitching. “They just trust him more.”

Fair. You figured they would play dirty at some point.

You nod, flipping the folder shut. “We’ll make it work.”

Daniel studies you for a beat, then smirks. “You nervous?”

You don’t hesitate. “No.”

You’re not. Not exactly. But as you settle into the conference room, as the clock ticks down to his arrival, you can’t shake the deadweight sitting on your chest. There’s not really a reason to be nervous, but suddenly, the fact that you sit at the head of the desk taunts you. It feels too official,, like every choice you’ve ever made has led to this exact chair, under these lights, and now everyone’s watching.

Daniel chuckles, stepping in behind you. “No need to act cool about it. I mean, dude is literally the most famous guy out there right now.”

You glance up at him. “Right,” you reply, settling into a chair at the table. “Do I give off fangirl vibes?”

“Fair play,” Daniel admits with a smirk. “It is also just business. He’s a client like any other.”

You raise an eyebrow, his words hanging in the air. “Sure,” you say, but something about the way you says it doesn’t quite feel right.

Daniel leans against the conference table, watching you with an expression that borders on amusement “So,” he muses, “are you ready to meet him, or are we keeping up this whole pretend you don’t care act the entire time?”

You shoot him a flat look, arms crossed. “I don’t pretend.”

He smirks. “Right. You just happen to be checking your watch every five seconds like we’re waiting for the President of South Korea.”

You exhale sharply, smoothing out an invisible crease in your sleeve. “You know I don’t care about the celebrity. I care about if my boss is happy.”

Daniel hums, unconvinced. “Riiiiight.” He tilts his head, watching you for another beat before flipping open a portfolio. “Alright, boss, walk me through it one more time. We’re running with the—“

Before he can finish, a soft knock at the door interrupts. The secretary peeks her head in, voice all smooth and professional. “He’s here.”

The words settle over the room. Daniel straightens up, giving you one last knowing glance before both of you move toward the head of the conference table. Your posture is perfect, composed, the picture of an executive who has done this a hundred times. Yet, for some reason, your palms are a little sweaty.

The door opens. A quiet hum of conversation drifts in first, footsteps soft against polished floors. And then, he steps through.

The first thing you notice is that he is not what you expected. Or maybe, he is exactly what you expected. Tall, poised, effortlessly self-assured. He moves like someone accustomed to attention, yet unaffected by it, a presence that doesn’t need to demand the room because it already bends to him.

He is dressed in black from head to toe. Black jeans, a crisp button-up slightly unfastened at the top, revealing the barest hint of a toned chest beneath the collar. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing a canvas of tattoos that swirl down one of his arms. Dark hair falls just over his brows, parted slightly. His skin is flawless, his lips full and plush, but it’s his round eyes that capture you first.

He has piercings, small silver hoops glinting in his ears, the metal just barely catching the light. And then, as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, you notice it, the piercing there, too.

You inhale, the moment stretching far too long.

Jungkook’s team follows behind him, a carefully curated group of managers, assistants, and legal representatives. They all exude efficiency, dressed in business casual

Jungkook is not corporate. He is the complete fucking polar opposite of it. And yet, as he steps forward, his expression shifts, a polite smile.

He greets everyone kindly, taking the time to nod toward the executives flanking the room, shaking hands, offering soft pleasantries.

You are still staring. For the first time in your career, you cannot decide if the man standing before you is a masterpiece to be marketed or a storm brewing.

You need to get a grip on reality.

Jungkook’s gaze is assessing, but you don’t let it linger. Years of discipline have trained you to absorb impact, analyze it, and move forward. So you shift your attention to the team standing behind him, your posture sharpening as you step forward.

“Good morning,” you say smoothly, extending a hand to the first of his representatives. “I appreciate you all taking the time to meet today.”

His manager steps forward first, shaking your hand firmly. “Of course. We’ve been looking forward to this partnership.”

One by one, you go through the motions, firm grips, polite smiles, nods exchanged. These are the gatekeepers, the ones who make the real decisions behind the scenes. You commit each of their names to memory, cataloging their expressions, their temperaments.

You turn lastly to Jungkook, your expression unreadable. His lips are still curled in a faint smile, but you keep your own face neutral. Instead, you bow, just a crisp nod of acknowledgment.

"Jeon Jungkook-ssi," you say, voice poised. "It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

When you straighten, you see it, the flicker of amusement crossing his face. He tilts his head, tongue pressing briefly against the inside of his cheek before speaking. “The bow? That’s formal. Are we at a company dinner?”

A few quiet chuckles from his team. You refuse to laugh. Your expression remains steady, composed. “It’s standard when meeting someone for the first time.”

Jungkook watches you for a beat longer, as if testing to see if he can break through that calm exterior. But when you don’t waver, he simply lets out a quiet hmm, not quite disappointed or impressed.

“Now, let’s get started.” You step toward the table, signaling the meeting’s shift into motion. “We have a lot to go over, and I want to make sure we’re aligned on the creative direction before we finalize schedules.”

Jungkook’s team follows, the atmosphere shifting from introductions to strategy.

“As I’m sure you’re aware,” you continue, placing a sleek, black folder on the table, “this campaign is projected to be one of Calvin Klein’s biggest of the year. Our goal isn’t just to market a collection, we want to shape a cultural moment. With Jungkook’s presence, we have the ability to move beyond traditional advertising and into something far more influential.”

You feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you focus on his team, keeping your voice measured and confident. “I know negotiations took time, but I want to personally express my excitement for this collaboration. We’re not here to simply slap a face on some storefronts… we’re here to build something iconic.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair, arms resting casually against the armrests. “Iconic, huh?”

You glance at him for a second. “That’s the standard.”

The meeting stretches into deep discussions and strategic analysis, the campaign unfolding across the polished mahogany of the conference table. You lead with precision, breaking down creative direction, discussing visual aesthetics, mapping out timelines with a ruthless efficiency.

Jungkook listens. Not just politely, not just because he has to, but the man actually listens.

You notice it in the way his eyes sharpen when you speak, the occasional flick of his gaze to the proposal documents, the way he leans forward slightly when something actually interests him.

“So, to sum it all up,” you continue, flipping a page, “this campaign will lean into Calvin Klein’s signature branding but with a more modernized edge. We’re emphasizing raw masculinity, effortless sensuality—”

“Effortless?” Jungkook interrupts smoothly in a teasing tone. “That’s an interesting way to put it.”

You look up. “You disagree?”

He tilts his head, considering. “I wouldn’t call it effortless.”

His voice is casual, but something in it makes the room halt slightly. You set your pen down. “Then what would you call it?”

Jungkook lets the silence breathe, holding your gaze a second longer than necessary. His team shifts slightly, waiting for his response. He smiles “Intentional.”

You hold his gaze for a moment before nodding. “Fair point.”

His lips twitch, like he wasn’t expecting you to concede so easily. But before the exchange lingers, you move forward. “We’ll finalize creative direction by next week. In the meantime, we’ll align schedules for fittings and shoot dates…”

By the time lunch rolls around, the energy in the room loosens slightly. It’s quite clear everyone is exhausted and would rather be two courses deep into a meal now. Jungkook’s team begins gathering their things, murmuring about reservations at a nearby restaurant. Daniel gives you a glance, knowing better than to invite you along.

You never take breaks.

As the last few executives file out, you remain in your seat, flipping through campaign notes, already highlighting sections for revision. The door closes behind them, leaving you alone in the quiet of the conference room.

You barely have a minute to yourself before a soft knock echoes through the space. You glance up, expecting Daniel, but instead… Jungkook.

He lingers in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, the other tucked into the pocket of his jeans. His expression is unreadable, but he’s unmistakably casual in the way he stands there, like he has all the time in the world. “Mind if I come in?”

You hesitate. You have no idea why. It’s not that uncommon to be friendly with the campaign faces. You actually really liked working with Kendall Jenner, with her even inviting you to her home in Calabasas.

You study him for a moment, the way he leans against the doorframe, his presence too large for the quiet of the conference room. With bated breath, you gesture toward the chair across from you. “Suit yourself.”

Jungkook steps inside, the soft click of the door closing behind him echoing in the empty space. His gaze flickers over the neatly stacked papers, the highlighted notes, the sleek silver pen in your hand.

“You don’t take breaks?” He questions innocently, lowering himself into the chair.

“I don’t have time for them. And I assume you don’t either, considering you’re here instead of at lunch with your team,” You retort.

Jungkook hums, tilting his head slightly. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d actually crack a smile once everyone left.”

A slow, teasing grin tugs at his lips. “So far, not looking too good.”

You exhale through your nose, unimpressed. “Was there something you needed?”

Jungkook leans back, the crisp fabric of his shirt stretching over his frame. He looks at you, not in the way men usually do, not with arrogance or expectation, but with a calculated curiosity. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

Great. You have an observer on your hands.

You blink once. “I don’t have to like you. Not in my job description, unfortunately. ”

His grin widens, slow and deliberate. “So cold. I think I like it.”

Your jaw tenses, but only slightly. He catches it. Most people flinch under scrutiny, but you don’t. You don’t shift, don’t fumble, don’t drop your gaze. Instead, you meet his stare with the same measured indifference you give to 55-year old men.

“Flirting with me won’t get you special treatment.” Your voice is detached, cool as a cucumber.

Jungkook lets out a quiet laugh, “Who said I was flirting?”

Your lips press into a thin line.

“Don’t worry,” he continues, propping an elbow on the armrest, “I don’t expect special treatment. Just the best. And from what I’ve seen so far…” he nods toward your documents, “…you don’t settle for anything less either.”

You don’t reply, but he’s hit the mark. Jungkook studies you for another beat, his gaze dipping, taking you apart piece by piece and seemingly trying to understand what makes you tick.

You hate to admit it, but he’s sharper than you expected. Most people in his position come into these meetings as faces, not minds. They sign the contracts, smile for the cameras, let their teams do the thinking.

You click your pen once. “If that’s all, I have work to do.”

Jungkook watches you for a moment longer, then moves a tad closer, just slightly, enough for you to catch the faint scent of expensive cologne, something clean and subtly musky.

His voice dips lower, softer now, but no less assured. “Tell me, do you always bet on things you know you’ll win?”

Your fingers still against the table. You set your pen down with deliberate precision, tilting your head slightly. “Only when the stakes are worth it.”

Jungkook’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile. The thing you’ll come to learn about Jungkook is this: the man cannot back down from a challenge. He loves games. Always has

It’s how he got here in the first place. Grit, obsession, the refusal to lose. Every accolade, every headline, every billboard was earned not just through talent, but by the sheer thrill of the chase.

Truth be told, he’s a little.. intrigued, in some weird way. To put it in even more cliche terms, you look like trouble.

And… well, Jungkook has always had a thing for playing with fire.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

taglist ; @lovingkoalaface @maybetheproblemisme @mimi1097 @mar-lo-pap @mysjammy @yooniepot @tinytan-gerine @ashslight @sky-23s-world @myzzysstuff @elinaki92 @7fever @munchkin-kitty7-blog @koofleur @jjkluver7 @coletaehyung @jkxlvrr @amarawayne @kooslilhoe @bangchanwantsmesobad @kpopslur @senaqsstuff @sugakookies77 @tteokbokibyjk @emmie2308 @neurospicynugget @prxdajeon @majesticjung-97

[scoupsakakitty]

hii I've been twirling my hair while reading your seventeen x 14th member series, bc they are just soo good!!! can I request for svt doing the different types of love language to reader. thank uuu smmm 🤍

Love Languages | Seventeen x 14thMember | fluff

The members of Seventeen, along with their 14th member, Y/N, were seated in a cozy interview studio. The atmosphere was warm and relaxed as the interviewer, a woman with a bright smile, shuffled through her cards before looking up at them.

"Seventeen, welcome! It’s always a pleasure to have you all here," she greeted.

"Thank you for having us!" the group responded in unison.

The interviewer chuckled before turning her attention to Y/N. "Alright, Y/N, this question is actually the most asked one by your fans. Are you ready?"

Y/N let out a playful laugh. "Oh no, should I be scared?"

"Not at all!" the interviewer reassured. "The fans are dying to know: What are the different love languages of the thirteen members of Seventeen?"

Y/N gasped dramatically, making the members laugh. "Oh wow, you’re really putting me on the spot! Okay, okay, let’s do this. I think I know them well enough."

The members leaned in, eager to hear what she had to say.

She started with S.Coups. "Our leader’s love language is definitely acts of service. He always makes sure we’re taken care of—whether it’s ordering food, checking in on our health, or making sure we’re not overworking ourselves."

S.Coups nodded in agreement. "That’s true. Taking care of you guys is my priority."

Next was Jeonghan. "He loves quality time. He’ll casually pull you aside to sit together in silence or ask you to play a game with him. Even if we’re just sitting next to each other doing nothing, he enjoys that."

Jeonghan smirked. "It’s because your company is entertaining."

Joshua, on the other hand, was all about words of affirmation. "He’s always hyping us up, telling us we did great, and reminding us how much he appreciates us."

Joshua laughed. "Well, I mean it every time! You guys are amazing."

Jun, Y/N explained, was a physical touch person. "He’s always hugging people, patting their heads, or just randomly leaning on someone."

Jun grinned. "I just like feeling close to my members!"

Hoshi, on the other hand, had a mix of words of affirmation and physical touch. "He’ll tell you he loves you while aggressively shaking your shoulders."

Hoshi burst out laughing. "That’s how you know I mean it!"

When it came to Wonwoo, Y/N described him as a quality time person. "He won’t say much, but if he invites you to read or watch something with him, that means he loves you."

Wonwoo nodded approvingly. "Exactly. Actions speak louder than words."

Woozi’s love language was acts of service. "He expresses love by writing songs for us and working hard to make sure we have the best music."

Woozi shrugged. "It’s just how I show I care."

DK, Y/N continued, was another words of affirmation king. "He constantly tells us how much he loves and appreciates us."

DK grinned. "Of course! Gotta remind my members how amazing they are."

Mingyu had a mix of physical touch and acts of service. "He’ll cook for you, then give you a backhug while you eat."

Mingyu beamed. "Because food tastes better when shared!"

The8 valued quality time. "He likes deep conversations and spending meaningful time with us, even if it’s just chilling in the practice room."

"It’s all about genuine connections," The8 agreed.

Seungkwan, according to Y/N, was both words of affirmation and acts of service. "He’ll hype you up, but also take care of you like a mom."

Seungkwan rolled his eyes playfully. "Because you all need someone to keep you in check!"

As for Vernon, he was a mix of quality time and physical touch. "He’s very subtle about it, but if he’s sitting next to you for a long time or playfully nudging you, that’s his way of showing love."

Vernon shrugged. "Sounds about right."

And finally, the maknae. "Dino is all about physical touch and words of affirmation. He loves holding hands and hyping us up with little speeches."

Dino grinned proudly. "Because I want everyone to feel happy!"

The interviewer looked impressed. "Wow, that was so detailed! Y/N, you really know your members well."

"Of course! Living with these 13 means you get to know them inside and out," Y/N replied with a smile.

S.Coups grinned mischievously. "We should do this for Y/N next!"

The rest of the group cheered in agreement. "Yes! Next time, we reveal Y/N’s love language!"

The interview ended with laughter, the group teasing Y/N playfully, proving once again just how close they all were.

[riddlesbunny]

Rumors

summary: Mattheo and Theo put an end to the rumors they might be attracted to each other one drunken night, but not in the way you’d expect.

pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader x Theo Nott

word count: 1k

warnings: Explicit smut, Poly!Slytherins, oral (m & f receiving), MLM!!!, p in v sex, creampie, cum eating, squirting, 18+ MDNI

note: for my sweet angel @nemesyaaa <3

There was no denying that Slytherins loved to gossip– you had even found yourself engaged in a rumor or two. However, when it came to your boyfriend having the hots for his best friend, you were taken by complete surprise. You had even yelled at Millicent for implying such a thing. They didn't like each other like that, they couldn't... could they?

At first, you dismissed it. They were best friends, always together, always in sync. But then you started noticing things. The way Theo’s gaze lingered a little too long when Mattheo wasn’t looking. How Mattheo’s smirk softened whenever Theo was near. The fleeting touches, the stolen glances.

And then came that night.

It started as a joke. A drunk night in the Slytherin common room. The rest of the gang were out at Hogsmeade, but the three of you stayed back. You were sprawled out on the couch, Theo sitting beside you, Mattheo lounging across from you both, his usual cocky grin in place.

Someone—maybe it was you, maybe it was Mattheo, you can't remember —threw the idea into the air like a careless spark.

“What if all three of us… you know?”

The air shifted instantly. Theo went still. Mattheo’s smirk deepened, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—held something different. Something darker. Something real.

You expected laughter, maybe teasing. But instead, there was silence. A charged, heavy silence that made your stomach tighten. Then Mattheo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked onto yours.

“Would that be a problem for you?” he asked, his voice lower than usual, almost testing.

Theo exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. His jaw was tight, his throat bobbing with something unsaid.

And that’s when it clicked. The rumors weren’t just rumors.

You looked between them—Theo, who suddenly wouldn’t meet your eyes, and Mattheo, whose smirk was still there but softer now, like he was waiting for your confirmation.

You had no idea what you’d just stepped into. But you were about to find out.

Now you’re on your knees infront of Theo, nothing new, except now you’re accompanied by his best friend. 

Matty takes the lead, his warm hand wrapping around Theo’s cock. He looks at you, a wicked grin on his lips. “I know how much you like to suck him off,” he states before gesturing towards Theo. That bastard must have been talking about you. Oh well, it didn't matter now.

You lick your lips as you lean forward, sliding your tongue along the tip of Theo’s cock as Mattheo continues stroking him. You wrap your lips around his tip, tasting a bead of precum that forms at the head. Matty guides your movements gently, slowly fucking your mouth with his Theo's cock. Your throat relaxes as Matty controls his pace, salvia pooling out of your mouth, dripping down your chin.

Theo’s eyes flutter shutas a loud groan erupts from his chest, pushing himself further down your throar, causing you to gag. Matty leans into you, whispering, “do you want me to take over?” 

Your heart races and wetness pools at your core as his words register. Nodding, you pull back, leaving Theo slick with your spit. 

Matty smirks at you, “such a good girl,” before taking Theo’s cock deep into his own mouth. His cheeks hollow out as he begins to suck hard, earning a ragged moan from your boyfriend. 

Theo is whimpering as Matty bobs his head, his curls bouncing up and down., you use your free hand to tug at Theo's balls.

Without any warning to Theo, Matty pulls away; a string of saliva connecting the two of them.

"I want to watch you fuck her" Matty tells Theo and you smile at him, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb as you sit back on your heels.

 "I guess we should give our boy what he wants,” you purr and Theo helps you to your feet, his gaze filled with lust. He takes charge, guiding you toward his bed with Matty close behind. With a gentle push, Theo lays you down, your body sinking into the soft mattres before hiking your skirt up and ripping your panties off.

"Spread those pretty legs for us," Mattheo commands, his voice hoarse with desire. Theo grips your ankles, pulling your thighs apart until you're fully exposed to them both.

Theo leans between your open thighs, pressing his throbbing cock against your slit. 

"So wet already, you like watching him suck me off, huh? Such a dirty girl," he groans, grinding against you, your arousal coating his shaft.

Theo guides his hardness along your entrance, teasing you with a few slow strokes. Then, with one fluid motion, he plunges into you, making you gasp as your body stretches to accommodate him.

Mattheo stands next to you in the bed, pumping his cock in his hand vigorously. Your gaze shifts towards Matty,, his grip tight and fast as he tugs himself. Theo slams into you hard, pushing you further onto the bed.

“Good boy," Matty moans and your eyes widen, “fuck her just like that.”

Mattheo's breathing hitches as he watches Theo slide in and out of you. The wet sounds of his skin slapping against yours fills the room, punctuated by your occasional whimpers of pleasure.

Theo's thrusts become more urgent, driven by an intense need to fill you completely. "Your pussy feels amazing wrapped around my cock," he groans, his pace quickening.

As Theo pounds into you, Matty leans down and claims your lips with his own. Your mouths mash together, teeth clashing briefly as you moan into each one another.

"Fuck, I'm about to cum,”  Theo grunts.

"Cum inside her," Mattheo groans.

As if the sound of Mattheo's voice turns him on, Theo lets out a final guttural groan as he spills into you, his pulsating cock shooting load after load deep inside your pussy.

As hefinishes, his cock twitching within you, Mattheo wastes no time to push him out of the way. Kneeling before you, he hooks your leg over his shoulder, revealing the hot, sticky mess between your thighs.  He dives in, his tongue lapping eagerly at your slippery folds, collecting the combination of your juices and his best friend's seed.

Mattheo's tongue flicks wildly, painting your inflamed clit with Theo's hot cum as he hungrily devours the remnants of your release.

As Mattheo feasts on your swollen pussy, you feel another orgasm coiling inside you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping it tightly as he licks you. Your hips buck uncontrollably as Mattheo sucks at your clit, his expert tongue sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You cry out, "Oh god, don't stop!"

The coil within you snaps and Mattheo pauses mid-lick, his eyes widening as he feels the sudden flood between your legs. The force of your orgasm sends warm liquid spurting across his cheek, wetting his face and filling his mouth.

Theo chuckles in awe, you watch him carefully as he gets himself dressed.

“See what a good girl she is?” He asks Mattheo— who is speechless, wiping your cum from his chin. 

[redraspberryleaf]

I grew up way out in the bush in a large house insulated with newspaper in the older parts. For this reason, we didn't have AC since it was way too expensive to cool, but since the canadian prairies regularly range from -40°C to +40°C in a year, we didn't cook inside in the summer. We could just do food you didn't need to cook, but the house would get so hot you pretty much didn't go inside at all during the day so we did one of four things:

1. Everybody got half a watermelon and a spoon for lunch and would find a shady spot to eat. Very important that if you decide to go out on the trails in the bush you stay far far away from the meadow where the beehives are.

2. Food on a fire. If it wasn't too dry out and we weren't running the risk of wildfire you would do food on a fire in one of two places: the fire pit (an old tractor rim with side vents cut in and a grate over top surrounded by gravel, benches, and faerie lights) or the little pizza oven that lived on top of a massive erratic boulder surrounded by flagstones for fire safety. Tearing into those pizzas while they were still hot enough to burn without cutting into them before the cats or dogs had a chance to try to steal any is a core memory of what summer is. It was also really good smoke flavour because we would use (a small amount of) dead fall from the bush that we would chop up whenever a big storm or tornado came through and took down trees. The trembling aspen were pretty bendy and resilient, so it was mostly delicious delicious oak that would come down.

3. My dad used to set up a little smoker BBQ beside the tire shop in the yard so while doing tractor tires or between changing regular tires he could check on the food and smoke it slowly all day. That was always yummy and people always tried to befriend my dad, help out, and linger in hopes of getting a taste. Since I grew up eating a specific style of shashlik that they do in the Slavic parts of rural saskatchewan where my dad grew up (instead of kebabs it was much larger chunks of the most delicious lamb meat you've ever had marinated in onion and lemon then eaten with your hands) I sorta just learned to eat all barbecue uncut with my hands and face.

4. The garden. Once things start to really come up instead of eating lunch, sometimes you just go grazing. You just go crawling through the dirt munching lettuce and radishes, sun warmed tomatoes and cool cucumbers shaded under leaves. The snap peas were all reserved for my sister so those were off limits. The best was when berries were in season and you'd feed on saskatoons or absolutely obliterate an entire bush of wild raspberries and come put looking like you'd torn someone's throat out with your teeth.

All of this is to say, I grew up eating entirely feral in the summers and can confirm it is ALWAYS the MOST delicious way food can be eaten. Every chance you get, you should obliterate your food with your hands and face and wash it down with a cool glass of water. Nothing on this earth will make you feel more alive and like a real person that is a part of this earth and connected to this world. I also highly encourage you to do this outside on bare ground (you can have a plate under the food of course, but put your body on the ground if you can). Nothing will taste better.

ordered pizza from a small local place and they didnt actually cut it so i've chosen to revert to a wild animal and begin ripping it apart instead of just using a knife to portion slices