#BUT. still. i think he should watch mash perhaps

[metrosexualcyclops]

the captain should watch mash

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - under the checkered flag (part three)

warnings ; alcohol consumption, reader being a clown, jk being a clown, everyone’s a clown

prompt ; in which a girl who doesn’t believe in risks takes the biggest one of all—falling for a man who lives for the thrill.

note ; i can’t believe it!!!! we’re halfway through the series omgggg. guys your feedback and love mean all the world and i love writing this story and hope for many more to come <3 sorry im being soft on main my bad

playlist here

series masterlist here

Friendship, as it turns out, is something Jungkook takes very seriously.

It starts subtly—occasional texts, a check-in here and there. How’s work? Are you drowning in spreadsheets yet? A picture of his breakfast one morning with the caption: rate my cooking skills, be honest. The casual kind of conversation that isn’t meant to mean much, the kind that should be easy to brush off.

But then, somewhere along the way, it becomes apparent it’s more than you bargained for.

The texts become more frequent, slipping into your daily routine like they belong there. Did you eat yet? What’s the most annoying thing a client has said to you today? I think my cat is judging me. Thoughts?

It’s easy.

So easy, in fact, that you don’t even realize how much of your time belongs to him now.

At first, it’s just casual meetups—wine nights where he lets you pick the bottle and pretends to know what he’s doing when he swirls his glass like a critic. You try to explain tasting notes, but he just hums thoughtfully and says, “Yeah, this one tastes very…red.”

Then there are the video game nights, where he insists on showing you how to play, only to immediately regret it when you button-mash your way to victory. “There’s no way that just happened,” he groans, staring at the screen in disbelief as you grin smugly beside him.

And then—perhaps the most unexpected of all—there’s the puzzle night.

It starts as a joke. You mention it offhandedly, expecting him to laugh it off, but instead, he tilts his head, intrigued. “I’ve never done one before. Teach me.”

So you do.

You sit cross-legged on the floor of your living room, a thousand tiny pieces scattered between you, as Jungkook studies the edge pieces like they hold the secrets of the universe.

“Okay,” he says, brows furrowed in concentration. “So the strategy is…?”

You smirk. “To not overthink it.”

He scoffs, determined. “No such thing.”

It’s the kind of thing you never would’ve imagined doing with him. The kind of moment that should feel out of place, but somehow, it doesn’t. Somehow, this feels oddly natural. Like you’ve been doing it since the day you were born.

And you don’t even realize how much of your life he’s occupied until Jisoo points it out.

She catches you off guard in the middle of an ordinary workday, when you’re both sitting at your desks, your laptop open but your attention elsewhere. Your phone buzzes beside you, another message from Jungkook flashing across the screen.

Jungkook: What’s the corporate world like today? Are we still scamming people?

You bite back a smile, typing a response.

You: Scamming is such a strong word. We prefer “strategic negotiations.”

Jisoo watches you out of the corner of her eye, her lips curling slightly. “Okay, who are you texting?”

“No one,” you say too quickly, setting your phone down.

She raises an eyebrow. “Right. So it’s no one that has you smiling at your phone like that?”

You roll your eyes. “I wasn’t smiling.”

“You were,” she says, leaning on her elbow, her tone turning smug. “And I have a very strong suspicion that it’s a certain race car driver.”

You freeze. “It’s not—”

Jisoo gasps, her grin widening. “It is! Oh my god, how often do you two talk?”

You huff, feigning exasperation. “It’s not like that. We’re just… friends.”

Jisoo hums, unconvinced. “Friends who text all the time. Friends who see each other, let me guess, two, three times a week?”

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come out, because she’s right.

You blink, suddenly realizing just how much time you’ve been spending with Jungkook. The wine nights. The video games. The puzzles. The constant texts, the check-ins, the easy way he’s integrated himself into your daily routine.

Your stomach twists.

Jisoo watches you carefully. “You do realize how weird this is, right?”

You sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple. “It’s not weird.”

She leans in. “It’s weird.”

You groan. “Jisoo—”

“No one becomes ‘just friends’ with a guy like Jungkook,” she says, voice dropping to a whisper like she’s unveiling some great universal truth. “And you, my dear, are playing with fire.”

You shake your head, trying to will away the growing warmth in your chest. “We are just friends. I told him I’m not ready for anything.”

Jisoo’s lips twitch. “And yet, here you are, practically dating him without realizing it.”

You sputter. “We are not dating!”

“Right, right. Just friends.” She holds up her hands in surrender, but the teasing glint in her eye doesn’t fade. “Does he know that?”

You frown. “Of course he does.”

Jisoo tilts her head, her voice softening just slightly. “And you’re sure you do, too?”

Her words settle into your skin, into the space between your ribs where doubt has started to bloom.

You exhale, shaking your head. “This isn’t—I’m not—”

Jisoo grins. “Relax. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You narrow your eyes. “Jisoo.”

She presses a hand to her heart. “I won’t tell a soul. But just so you know,” she leans in, her voice dripping with amusement. “I cannot wait to see how this plays out so I can tell you I was right.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples as she turns back to her computer, still grinning.

You pick up your phone again, staring at the message thread with Jungkook.

Friends.

That’s all it is.

It has to be.

But as your fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to type back something witty, something that keeps the conversation going just like always—there’s a small, quiet part of you that wonders: how long can you keep pretending that’s all it is?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

For the first time in what feels like weeks, you have a night that belongs entirely to yourself. No endless emails, no high-stakes negotiations, no last-minute client dinners where you have to keep a carefully curated smile in place. Just a rare, quiet evening. Or, well, until your phone buzzes.

Jungkook: Come over. I’m cooking you something good.

You raise an eyebrow, shifting on your couch.

You: Cooking? You sure about that?

His response is immediate.

Jungkook: I’m offended. I’m literally a five-star chef. And didn’t you say you haven’t had a good steak in a while?

You hesitate for only a second before exhaling, shaking your head to yourself.

You: Fine. But if I get food poisoning, I’m suing.

Jungkook: Fair. But it won’t happen.

And that’s how you end up in his kitchen an hour later, a glass of wine in your hand as you lean against the counter, watching him move.

Jungkook’s home is a place you’ve been acquainted well with, your Google Maps recognizing his address as one of your most frequented once. It’s always exactly what you never expected—sleek, modern, effortlessly expensive, but somehow still lived-in. The kind of place that belongs to someone who travels too often to make it feel warm but who still likes to return to something familiar.

Right now, though, your focus isn’t on his house. It’s on him.

Standing by the stove, Jungkook looks ridiculously good doing something as simple as cooking. His white t-shirt clings to his frame just enough to make it impossible not to notice the sharp cut of his shoulders, the lean muscle beneath. His silver chain catches the warm kitchen light, glinting against the smooth skin of his collarbone. Tattoos peek out from under the short sleeves of his shirt, trailing down his arm, shifting with every precise movement of his hands.

He looks relaxed here, completely at ease as he sears the steak, flipping it with effortless confidence. You take a sip of your wine, watching as he hums to himself, completely in his element.

“You look way too comfortable doing that,” you muse, swirling the deep red liquid in your glass.

Jungkook glances at you, smirking. “Told you I’m basically a chef.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch with amusement. “So this is your secret talent? Cooking expensive meals to impress people?”

He feigns offense. “Excuse me, I’m not trying to impress anyone.” Then, after a beat, “Okay, maybe a little. But only because you doubted me.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I didn’t doubt you. I just... never pictured you doing something so domestic.”

Jungkook grins, effortlessly charming. “What, you thought I survived purely on protein shakes and takeout?”

You pause, considering. “Honestly? Maybe.”

He laughs, tossing a pinch of salt onto the sizzling pan. “I like cooking,” he admits after a moment, his tone softer now. “It’s one of the few things that slows my brain down.”

You blink, surprised at the admission. “Slows your brain down?”

He nods, focusing on the pan. “Racing is... chaos. My life is chaos, most of the time. But this?” He gestures toward the stove. “This is simple. It’s just me, the ingredients, and making sure I don’t burn anything.”

You watch him for a long moment, something warm settling in your chest.

“You really love it,” you say quietly.

Jungkook glances at you again, an unreadable look flickering across his face before he smirks. “Told you I take my steak very seriously.”

You roll your eyes, but the teasing note in his voice doesn’t hide the truth in what he said.

Silence settles between you for a beat, but it’s comfortable, easy. You sip your wine, letting your gaze drift back to him, to the way he moves. There’s something frustratingly captivating about him, something that makes it hard to look away, no matter how much you try.

Maybe it’s the way he handles the steak, confident but unhurried. Maybe it’s the way his shirt clings to the sharp lines of his back when he reaches for a plate. Or maybe it’s just the way he exists, completely at ease in his skin, the kind of presence that makes it impossible not to notice him.

You take another sip of wine, looking away before your thoughts can spiral any further.

Jungkook plates the food, glancing at you with a triumphant smirk. “Alright, moment of truth. Let’s see if I live up to the hype.”

You set your glass down, taking the plate he hands you and sitting down at his dining table. “If this is terrible, I’m never letting you live it down.”

Jungkook scoffs, sitting down across from you. “I don’t fail at things, especially not steak.”

You raise an eyebrow but take your first bite.

The second the flavor hits your tongue, you freeze.

Jungkook watches, his smirk widening. “Oh, shit. It’s good, isn’t it?”

You chew slowly, narrowing your eyes at him. “I hate you.”

He grins. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “I hate that you’re good at this. I really wanted to make fun of you.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair, smug. “Guess you’ll just have to find another reason to tease me.”

You huff, but there’s no real annoyance behind it.

As the night stretches on, the conversation flows as easily as the wine. Small talk turns into stories—he tells you about his worst race-day rituals, you tell him about the most ridiculous work emails you’ve ever received. He makes you laugh more than you expect to, and for a while, you forget to keep your guard up.

It’s the same pattern you two continually fall into. That’s really what makes it dangerous. Because you don’t even realize how close you’ve gotten until you look up and find him watching you, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light.

Your breath catches in your throat.

For a second, neither of you move.

Jungkook licks his lips, the silver glint of his piercing catching the light. His tongue flicks over the ring slowly, a mindless habit, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

You look away, your fingers tightening around your wine glass.

He notices. You know he notices.

But he spares you the embarrassment and doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head, muscles flexing slightly beneath his t-shirt. “So,” he says, voice light, breaking the moment before it can become something else. “What’s next? You gonna let me teach you how to cook something next time?”

You exhale, grateful for the shift. “Absolutely not. I think I like it better when you cook for me.”

Jungkook grins. “Hm, getting used to this, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t fight the small smile on your lips.

Because, maybe… maybe you are. And that’s the scariest part of it all.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your wine glass, the warmth of the alcohol no match for the heat creeping up your neck. You try to play it cool, to roll your eyes, to scoff: but truth is, you are getting used to this. To him.

You lower your gaze, focusing on the deep red swirl of your wine as if it holds all the answers you’re trying to avoid. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you murmur, keeping your voice light.

Jungkook studies you, leaning slightly on the table, his elbow propped as he watches you with that knowing look that makes your pulse flicker. “Where’d you just go?” he asks, tilting his head. “You do that sometimes—you disappear into your head.”

You blink, startled by how easily he catches it. “I do not.”

His lips quirk, unconvinced. “You do.”

You exhale through your nose, schooling your expression. “I was just thinking about how, statistically, I have to endure at least one more meal with you cooking before you let me off the hook.”

It’s an easy deflection, one that comes naturally after years of keeping your thoughts and feelings wrapped up tight. You expect him to let it go, to tease you back, to move on like most people would.

But Jungkook just watches you for a second longer, like he knows there’s something else beneath the surface. Like he sees right through you. It’s unsettling.

But he lets it slide, leaning back in his chair as he stretches, groaning slightly as he rolls out his shoulders.

“Okay, serious question,” he says suddenly, breaking the moment.

You glance at him warily. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

He smirks, but there’s something different in his expression now—something thoughtful. “Do you wanna come to one of my races?”

Your head jerks back slightly. “Wait, what?”

Jungkook nods, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Yeah. Next one’s in two weeks. You should come.”

You blink at him, completely thrown off. “Isn’t that usually reserved for… I don’t know, one of your fan girls?”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You make it sound like I keep a roster.”

You raise an eyebrow, and he immediately smirks. “Okay, fine, I see why you’d think that,” he admits. “But no, I’m serious. You should come.”

You stare at him, trying to understand why he’s asking this—why he wants you there, of all people.

Jungkook notices the hesitation on your face, and instead of teasing, his expression softens. “Look, I know you think I’m always surrounded by screaming fans or whatever, but I actually don’t invite a lot of people to my races. Not personally, at least.”

You tilt your head slightly. “So why me?”

He shrugs, like the answer is obvious. “Because I want you to be there.”

Your breath catches slightly at his sincerity. You don’t know how to respond. You should say no. But the way he’s looking at you—the way his gaze holds yours, open and unguarded—makes it impossible to refuse outright.

So instead, you sigh, your tongue failing you as you shake your head, as if you’re doing him some grand favor. “Fine. But don’t make it a big deal. I’ll just sit wherever.”

Jungkook grins, his dimple appearing, and your stomach does a little somersault you pretend not to acknowledge.

“Deal,” he says, lifting his wine glass. “To you coming to my race.”

You sigh again, rolling your eyes, but you clink your glass against his anyway.

And as you take a sip, letting the wine settle warm in your chest, you try to ignore the quiet thrill that sparks in your stomach at the thought of seeing him in his element. Somehow, you already know deep somewhere in the confines of your conscious, this is already becoming something you don’t know how to handle.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You should have known better.

You should have known this man would’ve bent the world backwards for you if you meant you would even give him a sliver of your time.

The moment you and Jisoo step into the race venue, the energy is electric: it’s thrumming through the air, a chaotic mix of revving engines, roaring crowds, and the unmistakable scent of burning rubber and fuel. You weren’t sure what to expect when Jungkook handed you the tickets a week ago, telling you to bring a plus one (secretly praying you did not bring a man), but you definitely didn’t expect this.

Front row.

Front and center.

The seats he gave you aren’t just good—they’re the seats. The kind of seats reserved for people who matter, the kind of seats that have Jisoo gripping your arm and practically vibrating with excitement.

“Oh my god,” she hisses, dragging you down to sit before you can even fully process it. “Are you seeing this? Front row?! What the hell did you do to this man?”

You groan, already regretting bringing her. “Jisoo—”

“No, seriously,” she cuts in, shaking your arm like a child hyped up on sugar. “You told me you guys were just friends. Friends don’t give each other front-row tickets to the biggest race of the season.”

You sigh, shifting in your seat, but there’s no arguing with her. She’s right. You should have expected this, should have known that Jungkook wouldn’t just toss you into the general stands like any regular spectator.

But still.. this?

It’s a lot.

And the worst part? You feel it. A small, buzzing thrill at the base of your spine. A quiet excitement curling low in your stomach.

You glance around, taking in the sheer magnitude of it all; the massive grandstands, the towering screens flashing live footage of the track, the flashing lights, the thunder of engines preparing for battle. The energy is palpable, coursing through the crowd, through you.

You don’t mean to look around, it’s not like you’re looking for anything in particular. But your brain is on autopilot, faster than you’d like it to be. Your eyes find him.

Jungkook stands off to the side, near his car, surrounded by his pit crew but somehow still managing to stand out, like the center of gravity has shifted around him.

And god, you’re staring. You can’t help it.

Dressed in a fitted black racing suit that clings to his frame way too well, Jungkook looks every bit the star that he is. The suit is lined with sleek red and white accents, his name and number embroidered across his chest, a few sponsor logos patched onto the sleeves, but none of that matters. What matters is him.

The way his dark hair is slightly tousled beneath his helmet, the way the sun catches on the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his fingers flex around the strap of his gloves as he pulls them on.

And then there’s the tattoos, ink creeping out from his sleeve, peeking past the edge of his suit. The sharp contrast between the black fabric and the intricate designs decorating his skin is enough to make your brain short-circuit.

Your lips part slightly, heat creeping up your neck before you can even process the fact that you’re practically drooling.

Jisoo catches on immediately.

“Oh. My. God.” She turns to you with the slowest smirk you’ve ever seen in your life. “You’re down bad.”

You snap out of it instantly. “I am not!”

“You so are.” She nudges you, grinning. “You were literally eye-fucking him just now.”

Your face burns. “JISOO.”

She cackles. “I mean, I get it. If I were you, I’d be feral for him in that suit.”

You cover your face with your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” she sing-songs, clearly loving this.

You groan, still too warm, still way too aware of the fact that, yes, you were definitely staring. Is it a crime to stare at a man who spends his entire day texting you, his free hours seeing you, and treats you like you’re his entire world? Maybe. Possibly.

Before you can even come back with a witty response for Jisoo, Jungkook turns. For a second, he’s just scanning the crowd, his eyes sweeping across the stands, his expression unreadable. But then, he sees you.

And everything shifts.

His entire face lights up. The moment his eyes lock onto yours, his expression changes, his lips curve into a wide, boyish grin, dimples flashing, his entire posture relaxing as if he’s just spotted something he didn’t even realize he was looking for. He lifts a hand and waves.

At you. Not at the cameras, not at the fans screaming his name—at you.

And just like that, you forget all the autonomic movements that come with breathing.

Your brain stalls, your heart slamming against your ribs as you stare at him, frozen in place.

Jisoo, naturally, is losing her mind.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, gripping your arm again. “He’s so into you.”

You swallow hard, pulse erratic, and force yourself to do something, anything.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your hand and give him a small wave back.

Jungkook’s grin somehow widens.

And then, before you can even process what just happened, one of his crew members calls him over, and he turns away, back to business.

But the damage is already done. You’re shaken.

Jisoo is smirking at you like she just won the lottery. “Yeah. Friends, huh?”

You don’t respond. You can’t, not when your heart is still racing, not when you’re still trying to process whatever that was.

Because for all the warnings you’ve given yourself, for all the ways you’ve tried to keep this casual, you can’t shake the feeling that you just crossed an invisible line, and you have no idea how to come back from it.

The atmosphere shifts the moment the engines roar to life.

The sound is deafening: a deep, guttural growl that shakes through your chest, vibrating against your ribs like a war drum. The entire track buzzes with energy, the crowd alive with anticipation, waves of cheers and chants rolling through the grandstands. And it’s only when you hear it—his name, being screamed over and over, an entire sea of voices chanting for him—that you realize just how much of a star he is. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just a driver. He’s the driver.

“Oh my god,” Jisoo breathes beside you, gripping your arm as the racers line up on the grid. “I’m nervous.”

You exhale, trying to steady your own racing pulse, eyes locked on Jungkook’s car—the sleek, jet-black machine adorned with streaks of red, his number bold against the hood. He sits behind the wheel, helmet on, hands flexing over the controls, his focus razor-sharp. A few quick accelerations, testing the power beneath him.

The lights overhead flicker—red, red, red, red, green.

And they’re off.

The force of it is immediate, a blur of motion so fast your breath catches in your throat. The cars launch forward like missiles, tearing down the straightaway at blistering speeds, engines screaming as they battle for position.

Jungkook moves with precision.

He’s aggressive but calculated, weaving between competitors, his car slicing through the pack like a blade. Every turn is razor-thin, every move flawless.

“Shit!” Jisoo yells as another car swerves dangerously close to him, forcing him toward the outer edge of the track.

Your heart stalls.

Jungkook doesn’t panic, doesn’t even flinch.

Instead, he cuts in, barely a breath of space between him and the car beside him, his tires gripping the asphalt with perfect timing. It’s insane. It’s impossible.

And yet, he does it.

You barely have time to process it before the next turn, the next sharp maneuver that has you gripping the edge of your seat.

Lap after lap, he dominates.

He takes corners with precision so tight it makes your stomach drop. He threads through competitors like he’s seeing the race in slow motion while everyone else is barely keeping up.

A car ahead of him loses control, tires skidding, the rear nearly flipping as it veers into Jungkook’s path. It’s a moment of danger, a moment of sheer panic, that elicits a reaction from you, somewhere deep inside you that you nearly leap onto the track.

“Oh my god!” you gasp, gripping Jisoo’s arm hard.

Jungkook reacts instantly, dodging by a hair’s width, cutting across the inside lane with a dangerous amount of speed. His tires nearly lift, nearly flip and your heart stops.

Somehow, before you can cover your eyes and recoil, he corrects. Finds control. Shoots forward, engine roaring as he takes the lead.

The final lap is chaos.

Every racer is fighting for position, the finish line just ahead, but Jungkook is untouchable. He blocks an attempt from behind, barely gives room for anyone to challenge him. He’s flying, faster than anyone on the track, his car a streak of black and red cutting through the final straight.

And before you can even react, or tell Jisoo to stop waving her hands like a madman, the checkered flag waves, declaring the winner. Jeon Jungkook.

The crowd erupts.

Jisoo screams, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you like she’s won the race herself. “HE DID IT! HE DID IT—OH MY GOD!”

Yet you still can’t breathe. Because in the middle of all the noise, all the chaos, your chest is aching with something unfamiliar. Something terrifying. You knew he was good. You knew he was talented. But watching him like this—watching him command the track, watching him own his moment, watching him win—it’s something else entirely.

You feel it in the way your heart swells, in the way your entire body is still pumping with adrenaline, in the way your fingers tremble slightly against the railing. You’re proud of him. So much more than you expected to be.

And as Jungkook slows his car, as he lifts his helmet and runs a hand through his messy, sweat-dampened hair, as he grins like a king who just conquered the world, you realize something else, too.

You’re falling for him.

And you don’t know how to stop.

Your phone vibrates in your hand just as the celebrations on the track begin to settle, the roar of the crowd still echoing in your ears. The rush of it all is still thick in your veins, your heartbeat erratic, your body buzzing.

Jungkook: Come to my locker room. My manager will take you.

You stare at the message for a second, your pulse skipping.

Jisoo, practically bouncing beside you, notices immediately. “What? What is it? Why do you look like that?”

You hesitate before turning your phone to show her.

She screams. “OH MY GOD—”

You slap a hand over her mouth, panic flooding through you. “Jisoo!”

She yanks your hand away, eyes wild. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS? I’M ABOUT TO MEET JEON JUNGKOOK.”

You exhale, trying to steady yourself, but truthfully? You’re just as rattled. The adrenaline of the race is still coursing through you, mingling with something else. something warmer, dizzier.

You just watched him win. You watched him command the track. And now he wants to see you.

You don’t have time to analyze it further because Jungkook’s manager appears, who you’ve only heard about in passing from Jungkook’s storytelling, nodding in your direction. “[Y/N]? Come with me.”

Jisoo grabs your arm so tightly you lose circulation. “We’re going backstage.”

You try to stay composed as you follow his manager out of your section, through the winding halls of the stadium, but your heart does not slow down. The deeper you go, the quieter the sounds of the crowd become, replaced by the faint hum of voices, the occasional burst of laughter from crew members celebrating, the sound of bottles popping.

You nearly bump into his manager’s shoulder, as he pauses in front of a door. The door. The one marked with his name.

Jisoo grips your arm hard.

“Is this real life?” she whispers, vibrating.

No.

Absolutely not.

But before you can answer, the manager opens the door, and there he is. Jungkook is standing in the middle of the room, grinning like a child, and your breath catches.

He looks unreal.

Still in his racing suit, half unzipped, the sleeves hanging low around his waist, revealing the white compression tank clinging to his chest, his toned biceps flexing as he runs a towel over his damp hair. He’s slightly sweaty, glowing under the dim locker room lights, his skin flushed from exertion, his adrenaline still burning through him.

And god help you, he looks so good. It’s overwhelming. No one should ever look that good.

You feel it instantly, this need to touch him, this pull toward him that makes your skin feel hot. You could mount him right there.

Jisoo, naturally, has no shame.

“OH MY GOD.” She shoves you aside, beaming at Jungkook. “You were incredible! I mean, I knew you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good. Holy shit, I thought you were gonna die like, three times.”

Jungkook laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, that last turn was tight.”

“TIGHT?! I nearly had a heart attack!”

You hover awkwardly at the entrance, shy now, letting Jisoo blabber on while you try to compose yourself.

Jungkook, ever the charmer, grins at her. “Glad you guys came. I figured it’d be fun for you.”

Jisoo clutches her chest dramatically. “Fun? FUN? This was the best day of my life.”

Jungkook chuckles, his eyes finally shifting toward you.

Suddenly, the air changes.

His grin softens, his posture shifts, and the way he looks at you, like you’re the only one in the room. The soles of your feet are glued to the floor.

“You okay?” he asks, voice quieter, gentler.

You nod, feeling your face burn. “Yeah.”

And then, because it’s all you can think to say, because the words tumble out before you can stop them, “You were… really good.”

Jungkook smiles. No, not the cocky, teasing kind. This one is different. Softer. Like your words actually mean something to him.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “You think so?”

You swallow hard, nodding again. “Yeah.”

His eyes linger on you, unreadable, something warm beneath them.

You shift on your feet, suddenly overwhelmed, trying so hard to ignore the way your pulse won’t slow down.

Jisoo, of course, being the best (and worst) friend in the world, refuses to let you suffer in silence. She nudges you hard. “That’s it?! That’s all you’re gonna say? You were really good?”

You shoot her a look.

Jungkook laughs, eyes crinkling. “It’s fine. I’ll take it.” He glances back at you, still smiling. “I’m just glad she came.”

Your stomach flips.

You knew this was a mistake. You knew this was another bullet point on the list of bad decisions you’ve ever made in your life. But standing here, watching him look at you like that, you’re starting to think it’s too late to turn back.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

God, you are such a people pleaser (and you resolve to quit that after this night).

You should have made an excuse, told Jungkook that you were exhausted, that you’d had enough excitement for one night. But when he had looked at you—grinning, breathless, alive—when he had asked you and Jisoo to come to the afterparty, something in you had wanted to say yes.

And now, standing in the middle of his post-race celebration, surrounded by his world—models draped in silk, investors swirling whiskey in crystal glasses, celebrities exchanging fake smiles—you regret it.

This isn’t your scene. You feel it instantly, the sharp edge of not belonging.

Jisoo thrives in environments like this. She’s already three conversations deep, flirting with someone who looks like they own half the city, sipping on a drink she didn’t even have to order herself. She blends in effortlessly, her laughter mixing with the low hum of expensive conversations.

But Jungkook… well, Jungkook has been beside you all night. From the moment you arrived, he’s been there, not glued to your side, but near in a way that makes it impossible to forget his presence. He floats in and out of conversations, nodding politely to sponsors, shaking hands with investors, laughing at jokes from other drivers, yet somehow, he always finds his way back to you.

Every few minutes, his eyes flicker in your direction. Every time someone new approaches you, his body angles slightly toward yours, like he’s keeping you in his orbit, like he’s subtly making it clear that you’re with him.

You, on the other hand, feel exposed.

The dress Jisoo made you wear—something too pretty, too delicate, too much—clings to your skin, the champagne in your hand suddenly feeling like an accessory you don’t know how to hold. You stick to the edges of the room, quietly observing, trying not to feel like an outsider.

And Jungkook still finds you.

Like he knew you’d be here, lingering at the margins, trying not to take up space.

His presence is immediate, undeniable, and the moment he steps beside you, the air shifts, your pulse reacting before you can tell it not to.

“You look like you want to be anywhere but here,” he murmurs, his voice low, just for you.

You huff a quiet laugh, keeping your eyes on the glittering crowd in front of you. “That obvious?”

Jungkook smirks, his gaze flickering between you and the room. “Only to me.”

You roll your eyes, but your chest feels warmer than it should.

Jungkook nudges your arm lightly, his tone teasing but genuinely curious. “So? What’d you really think?”

You blink. “About what?”

He gives you a look. “The race.”

“Oh.” You clear your throat, suddenly shy under his direct attention. “I mean… it was insane. I don’t know how you do it. You were flying out there.”

Jungkook grins, his dimple making an appearance. “That’s the goal.”

Jisoo’s voice echoes in your head. He almost died like three times.

You shift slightly, hesitant before murmuring, “That one moment… when that guy lost control in front of you—”

Jungkook hums, like he knows exactly which moment you mean. “That was close.”

You glance up at him. “Did it scare you?”

He tilts his head, considering. “Not in the way you think.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

He leans a little closer, voice softer now. “It means I don’t get scared in the moment. My body just reacts. But after?” He shrugs, exhaling. “Sometimes I think about what could’ve happened.”

You study him, something tightening in your chest. “And does that ever make you want to stop?”

Jungkook meets your gaze, and for a moment, the noise around you fades. “No.”

There’s something about the certainty in his voice, the way he owns his answer, that makes your stomach flip.

You clear your throat, trying to ground yourself. “Well… you won.”

He grins. “I did.”

“And you deserved it.”

His smirk softens slightly, something warmer creeping into his eyes. “Yeah?”

You nod, glancing away, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah.”

Jungkook hums, leaning slightly against the wall beside you, his body angled toward yours. He’s close, but not too close. Just enough that you feel him.

“Why’d you come tonight?” he asks, voice softer now.

You hesitate, fingers tightening around the stem of your glass. You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to admit that it was for him. So you shrug. “Jisoo wanted to come.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. You can feel him watching you, reading you, peeling back layers you didn’t realize were so easy for him to unravel.

“Come with me,” he says.

You blink, turning toward him. “What?”

He doesn’t explain, just gently tugs your glass from your fingers, sets it down on the nearest table, and takes your wrist lightly, barely a touch, but guiding.

You let him. Because of course you do. You haven’t denied the man once since he met you (beside when you told him you weren’t ready to be a relationship.)

He leads you through the crowd, past the chaos, through a side door that spills into a quieter space, a private balcony overlooking the city, the cool night air brushing against your skin like a reminder that this is real.

Jungkook exhales, rolling his shoulders, finally free of the noise. “Much better.”

You cross your arms, leaning against the railing. “Are you avoiding your own party?”

He smirks, stepping beside you. “Just the parts I don’t care about.”

You shake your head, but there’s something softer in your chest now, something that shouldn’t feel like relief.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

The city stretches beneath you, lights flickering like stars, the distant hum of traffic filling the silence between words.

“You were really something out there today,” you murmur, surprising yourself when you blurt out the words.

Jungkook glances at you. “Yeah?”

You nod, keeping your eyes on the skyline. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “It’s the only time my head goes quiet.”

You turn to him, surprised.

Jungkook chuckles, but there’s something honest beneath it. “When I’m driving, nothing else matters. It’s just the track, the speed, the next move.” He pauses. “It’s the only thing in my life that’s completely mine.”

You study him, the way his eyes flicker in the night, the way his shoulders seem just a little lighter out here, away from the noise, the expectations.

“I think I get that,” you admit softly.

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you. “Yeah?”

You nod, inhaling. “Sometimes I think I like being alone so much because it’s the only time I don’t have to be anything for anyone else.”

Jungkook hums, thoughtful. “That’s kinda why I wanted you here tonight. I feel like that about you.”

You choke on an inhale you didn’t even know you were holding. Jungkook shifts slightly, turning to face you fully now, the space between you suddenly too small, too much. Your heart stumbles. There’s something different in his gaze—something you know you should step away from, something you shouldn’t let yourself get pulled into.

He reaches out, brushing the lightest touch against your wrist. It’s barely anything. Somehow, it still wrecks you.

Your pulse skips, your skin burning beneath his touch, and Jungkook feels it. You know he does. Because his eyes drop to your lips. It’s so quick, barely a flicker, but it undoes you.

He’s going to kiss you.

You know it.

And for a second—just one millisecond—you think about letting him. About leaning in, about closing the distance, about ruining everything.

But something in your body wakes up, an electric zap of massive proportions. You take a step back. It’s small. Barely noticeable. But it’s enough.

Jungkook blinks a few times, like he’s waking himself up to reality.

You swallow, exhaling shakily. “We’re just friends.”

It’s not a rejection. It’s a reminder.

Jungkook holds your gaze for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he smiles knowingly. “I know.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you just nod, looking away, trying to steady yourself, trying to breathe.

Jungkook lets the silence stretch for a second longer before he exhales, rolling his shoulders again. “Wanna go back in?”

You nod, forcing a small smile. “Yeah.”

But as he leads you back inside, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin, you know you’re not fooling anyone. Least of all, yourself.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The next morning, the office hums with the familiar rhythm of ringing phones, clicking keyboards, and quiet conversations spilling over office walls. You slip into your routine effortlessly—emails, reports, client updates—anything to ground yourself after last night.

But Jisoo?

Jisoo is still talking about the race.

“I mean, I knew he was good,” she says, leaning against your desk, her coffee cup balanced between her fingers, “but holy shit. Watching it in person? I think I actually ascended.”

You barely glance up from your screen, typing out a quick response to a client. “Mm-hmm.”

Jisoo narrows her eyes. “That’s all you have to say?”

You sigh, finally looking at her. “It was… cool.”

Jisoo scoffs. “Cool? Are you kidding me? That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. He was insane out there. He almost flipped his car. You were screaming. Don’t act like you weren’t losing your mind.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. “I was concerned for his safety.”

Jisoo grins knowingly. “Concerned. Right.”

You shake your head, clicking open another spreadsheet. “Drop it, Jisoo.”

She sighs dramatically but relents, pushing off your desk. “Fine. But only because I have actual work to do.”

You hum in approval, barely registering the way she grumbles under her breath about boring friends who refuse to admit they’re in love with race car drivers.

And for a while, the office settles. You dive back into your work, drowning in numbers and emails, your morning slipping by in a comfortable blur.

Until an hour later, when Jisoo circles back. But this time, something’s clearly wrong. She approaches your desk hesitantly, fingers gripping her phone, her entire demeanor different from before, no teasing, no smug smirks. Just… hesitation.

You glance up at her, eyebrows pulling together. “What?”

Jisoo doesn’t speak.

Instead, she exhales through her nose and shoves her phone into your face.

Your heart stalls. Because on the screen in front of you is Jungkook. And her. The headline practically burns into your retinas.

JEON JUNGKOOK SPOTTED LAST NIGHT WITH STUNNING MODEL AT POST-RACE EVENT

The article is accompanied by a photo, one that’s grainy but clear enough. Jungkook, in his outfit you remember well, effortlessly magnetic even in motion. And beside him, a woman. A woman that is most definitely not you.

She’s beautiful. Painfully beautiful. Tall, effortlessly poised, the kind of woman who turns heads without trying. Long, sleek dark hair cascading down her back, designer dress hugging her curves in a way that makes her look sculpted rather than human. Everything about her is refined, elegant, polished. You look down at your black pantsuit, the one you’ve worn thousands of times that suddenly feels too big for you.

You can’t breathe. Something heavy lodges itself in your chest, pressing against your ribs, suffocating.

He’s your friend.

That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you remind yourself as you force your eyes to move away from Jisoo’s phone, as you push it gently back toward her, as you swallow past the sudden, inexplicable lump in your throat.

“Why are you showing me this?” you ask, and your voice comes out steady, too steady that it’s absolutely suspicious why you’re not crumbling to your knees at the sight.

Jisoo studies you carefully, her lips pressing together. “I just… thought you should see it.”

You let out a breath, forcing a small smile. “Jisoo, this is his life. He can be with whoever he wants.”

She tilts her head. “I know that.”

“So why does it feel like you’re waiting for me to react?”

Jisoo hesitates, as if she’s debating how much to say. “Because I saw the way he looked at you last night.”

Your stomach tightens. You shake your head, laughing lightly. “You’re reading too much into things.”

“Am I?”

You don’t answer.

Because the truth is, you don’t know why you feel like this. You don’t know why your hands feel clammy, why your chest feels too tight, why your heart is pounding as if you just ran a marathon. He’s your friend. That’s all. But why does it feel like something inside you is breaking?

You pull out your own phone, stare at the screen for far too long before finally typing out a message. You don’t even notice when Jisoo stalks back to her desk in silence, a defeated look on her face.

You: How’d the rest of your night go after I left?

It’s casual. Simple. Just a normal text to a friend, which is what he is. That’s what you keep reminding your brain. That’s what you did to yourself. The response comes quicker than you expect.

Jungkook: Good. Missed you after.

Your fingers pause, hover against the keyboard.

You weren’t expecting that.

He missed you? What does that even mean? You left early before the party really unraveled, before the night bled into the kind of company he was used to keeping. Before her. You shouldn’t care, yet your fingers move before you can stop them.

You: Did you? Seems like you had good company.

The second you press send, you regret it.

Your stomach knots as you stare at the message, at the way it hangs there in the chat, too heavy, too obvious. You should have deleted it. Should have just played it cool.

But now it’s too late. Three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen.

Jungkook: What?

Your chest tightens.

You should clarify. Should laugh it off, make it seem like you were just teasing, keep it light, but you don’t. Instead, you turn your phone over, pressing it screen-down against your desk like it can stop the way your thoughts are spiraling.

You hate this feeling. The insecurity. The comparison. This is exactly why you didn’t want to get involved with him in the first place. You know you’re shy. You know you’re not the kind of person who commands a room, who slips into spaces like the one last night and belongs there. You know that if Jungkook wanted someone, it should be her.

The kind of woman who looks effortless in silk and diamonds, who knows how to handle a world that you barely understand. The kind of woman who doesn’t hesitate, who doesn’t stand on the sidelines, convincing herself she doesn’t want something that she clearly does.

Your phone buzzes again. You don’t want to look. Your body betrays you yet again.

Jungkook: What’s up with you?

Your fingers tighten around the device, your heart pounding. Before you can overthink it, another message comes through.

Jungkook: Come over.

You hesitate. You shouldn’t. You should make up an excuse, tell him you’re busy, put distance between whatever this is before it starts feeling like something it’s not supposed to be.

Jungkook: Just hang out. Like always. You in?

Like always. Your pulse slows, just a fraction. It’s what you’ve been doing for weeks—drinking wine, playing video games, sitting on his couch while he talks about his day like you belong in his space.

He’s your friend. He’s been your friend. God, the words are beginning to sound so foreign to you.

Your fingers move before your brain catches up.

You: Sure. Be there after I wrap up these reports.

And as you grab your things, as you tell yourself this is normal, as you step out into the cold air, you try not to think about how much you kinda, maybe, want it to be more.

The drive to his house feels longer than usual. Your fingers grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, knuckles pale against the soft leather. The city blurs past you, neon signs flickering in the quiet hum of the night, but all you can hear is the echo of your own heartbeat, uneven, frantic, betraying every lie you’ve told yourself.

This is nothing. You’re just friends.

So why does it feel like you’re hurtling toward something you can’t control?

Your thoughts spiral, tangled in images you don’t want to picture—her. The model. Stunning, effortless, the kind of woman who belongs in his world.

And you? You’re just you. A girl who crunches numbers and wears neutral blazers, a girl whose biggest risks involve high-stakes contracts, not hundred-mile-an-hour races.

You try to shake it off, to remind yourself that Jungkook is Jungkook—charming, unattainable, someone who exists in spaces you were never meant to fit into. Why did he tell you he missed you? Why did he ask you to come over, like it was you he wanted to see?

The questions lodge themselves deep, threading through the doubt, the fear, the quiet ache you don’t know how to decipher.

And by the time you pull into his driveway, your heart is still racing for all the wrong reasons.

You stand outside his door, fingers hovering just above the wood, heart pounding in a way that feels completely unreasonable. It’s just Jungkook. It’s just another night. Your body doesn’t seem to believe that anymore.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you knock, just two quick, light taps.

The door swings open almost immediately, like he was already standing on the other side, waiting. You gulp down all the saliva left in your mouth, hand still hanging up in the air in a knocking motion. Because Jungkook is there, standing in the soft glow of his entryway, looking so effortlessly good that it actually makes you lightheaded.

Grey sweatpants, hanging low on his hips. A fitted black t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders, the fabric clinging to every defined line of muscle. His dark hair is slightly tousled, like he’s just run his fingers through it, and the warm lighting casts soft shadows over the sharp cut of his jaw.

It’s unfair. It’s so unfair.

His lips pull into an easy smile, completely unaware of the mess he’s making of you.

“Hey,” he says, stepping aside to let you in. “That was fast.”

You clear your throat, stepping past him, trying so hard not to inhale the faint scent of his cologne, something deep and clean, with a hint of warmth that lingers in the air.

The familiar scent of ramen fills the house, the rich, savory aroma curling around you like something comforting.

“Did you eat yet?” he asks, closing the door behind you. “Figured you wouldn’t say no to ramen.”

You shake your head wordlessly, stepping further inside, slipping off your coat.

Jungkook watches you, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe leading to the kitchen, arms crossed lazily. “You okay?”

You force a small nod. “Yeah.”

It’s a lie. You can just tell Jungkook knows it.

He tilts his head, studying you, his eyes scanning over your face like he’s reading a script only he can see. “You’re quiet,” he muses. “That’s new.”

You huff a soft breath, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I don’t talk that much to begin with.”

Jungkook’s brow lifts. “You do around me.”

Your stomach tightens. You glance away, your fingers tightening slightly around the hem of your sweater. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. Nothing has happened. Nothing changed. Except everything has fucking changed and it couldn’t be worse. All you can see is that article, that picture of him walking with her, looking like he belongs with people like her, women who are beautiful in a way you feel like you will never be.

And suddenly, standing here in his house, surrounded by his things, with his scent in the air, his presence so overwhelming, it feels wrong, like you shouldn’t be here, like this was never meant to be yours.

Jungkook notices.

Of course, he does. The man has been nothing but the observer since the day you met him.

He straightens slightly, his expression shifting, still light, still casual, but tinged with something else now. Curiosity.

“What’s up with you?” he asks, voice softer now. “Something happen?”

You shake your head too quickly. “No. Just tired.”

Jungkook doesn’t look convinced.

And the worst part? He doesn’t push. He just watches you for another second, like he’s debating whether to let it go.

He exhales, rolling his shoulders, before nodding toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he says, voice easy again. “Before the noodles get soggy.”

You nod, following him. But even as you take a seat at his kitchen table, even as he ladles steaming broth into a bowl and sets it in front of you, even as you curl your hands around the warmth of it, you still feel cold.

The air between you feels off.

You know it. Jungkook knows it. A higher power above both of you knows it.

But he still tries.

He slides into the seat across from you, chopsticks twirling between his fingers, his expression relaxed, but his eyes are sharp, watching you too closely.

“So,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “how was corporate life today? Any thrilling financial scandals? A hostile takeover, maybe?”

You barely register the question, your fingers absently stirring your noodles, dragging them in slow circles through the broth. The scent of garlic and spice curls into the air, warm and familiar, but you can’t seem to focus on it.

Your mind is obviously elsewhere.

Jungkook clears his throat, trying again. “Did you finally tell your boss he’s the worst?”

You blink, barely lifting your gaze. “Huh?”

Jungkook exhales through his nose, setting his chopsticks down with a quiet clink. “Okay.” He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms, tilting his head slightly. “What’s going on with you?”

Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks. “Nothing.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Right.” He gives you a pointed look. “You’re barely eating. That’s not like you.”

You swallow, pushing your noodles around again, your stomach feeling too tight to eat.

After a beat, you finally say it. “How did your night end up after I left?”

Jungkook blinks. He wasn’t expecting that.“What?”

You keep your eyes down. “Last night. After the race. After I left.” Your voice is light, too light. “How did it go?”

Jungkook frowns slightly, like he’s trying to figure out where you’re going with this. “Uh… good?” He lifts a shoulder. “I stayed at the party for a little while, had a few drinks. Talked to some sponsors.”

You nod, still dragging your chopsticks through the broth. “That’s it?”

Jungkook raises a brow. “What answer are you looking for?”

You hesitate.

You shouldn’t ask. But your lips move faster than your brain can catch up. “Did you… leave with anyone?”

Jungkook stills. Suddenly, you hate the silence. Your throat tightens, your heart thudding against your ribs.

Something shifts in his eyes. Understanding. Realization. Slow, creeping, settling between you like a quiet storm. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady. Careful. “Do you care that I did?”

Your stomach drops. You should have seen this coming. You walked right into it, let yourself slip, let him catch something you weren’t supposed to be showing. You don’t panic, you don’t react. Instead, you do what you always do: you pretend.

You force a small chuckle, shaking your head lightly. “No. Just making conversation.”

Jungkook watches you carefully, his jaw ticking slightly, like he doesn’t quite believe you. He lets it slide for now.

You lift your chopsticks, finally taking a bite, ignoring the way the noodles feel heavy in your throat. But even as you chew, even as you pretend like nothing happened, you know that something has. And there’s no undoing it now.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything more at first. He just picks up his chopsticks, twirling his noodles around in the broth, his movements slow, almost lazy, like he’s thinking.

You keep your gaze down, focusing on the steam curling up from your bowl, pretending you don’t feel his eyes on you.

“So,” he murmurs, “how’d you find out?”

Your grip on your chopsticks tightens. “Find out what?”

He lifts a brow. “About my good company last night.”

Your stomach clenches. You force yourself to lift your spoon, to take a sip of the warm broth, to act normal. “Jisoo saw it online.”

Jungkook hums, swirling his chopsticks through his noodles. “And she showed you?”

All you can muster is a nod.

He exhales through his nose, nodding slightly. “Right.”

A beat of silence.

“So,” he says again, voice casual, “you don’t care, right?”

You look up, meeting his gaze.

His eyes are unreadable, but there’s something else there, something careful, like he’s waiting for you to slip, waiting for something in you to crack.

You steel yourself. “No. Why would I?”

Jungkook tilts his head slightly. “I don’t know. You just seem kinda… I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Jealous.”

A slow, sharp heat creeps up your spine. You set your spoon down, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not.”

He smirks. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You bristle. “You can hook up with whoever you want, Jungkook. It’s your life.”

His smirk doesn’t fade. If anything, it deepens. “Right. Because we’re just friends.”

Jungkook leans forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table. “Remind me—whose fault is that again?”

The words are light, teasing. But they hit.

Your jaw tightens, fingers curling into your lap, heat rising to your face. He’s never spoken to you like this before, never challenged you like this. You hate that it’s working. You let out a slow breath, forcing yourself to keep your voice even. “I don’t care who you sleep with.”

Jungkook watches you carefully. “Okay.”

There’s a question that bubbles in you, one that lingered in your mind from the second you saw the headline. You know the answer to it; that was primarily the reason Jisoo showed you. Yet, confirmation is what you need. You hate yourself for it. But you ask. “Did you?”

Jungkook lifts a brow. “Did I what?”

You swallow, hating the way your pulse refuses to stay steady. “Did you… hook up with her?”

It’s stupid to ask. You know what the answer is.

And yet he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes flicker over your face, scanning your expression, your posture, the way your fingers have curled into your palms.

And then, finally, “Yeah,” he says.

One word. One syllable, and you suddenly feel too big in his chair. Your heart drops. You don’t react. You can’t react. Because if you do, it’s over. If you do, he’ll know. So instead, you nod, small, sharp. “Okay.”

Jungkook’s gaze doesn’t waver. But you do notice the way he shifts. The way his smirk fades just slightly, the way his eyes soften, like he sees something in you he wasn’t supposed to see, like he just watched something in you break.

You clear your throat, reaching for your chopsticks, acting like this is just another conversation, like his words didn’t just carve a hollow space inside your chest. “That’s great,” you say lightly, forcing a small smile. “Glad you had fun.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks unsettled. He just stares at you, his chopsticks hovering over his bowl, his expression unreadable. The playful smirk from earlier is gone now, replaced by something sharper, something quieter. “Why are you being like this?”

You glance up at him, forcing an innocent expression. “Being like what?”

Jungkook exhales, setting his chopsticks down with a soft clink. “Like this,” he says, gesturing toward you. “Like you’re pissed off at me, but you won’t just say it.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “I’m not pissed off.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you closely. “You don’t seem fine.”

“Well, I am,” you snap, sharper than you intend.

Jungkook lifts a brow, clearly catching the shift in your tone. But he doesn’t back off. Instead, he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, his gaze locked onto yours. “Are you seeing other guys?”

You nearly fall out of your chair. “What?”

He shrugs. “I’m just asking.”

“Why?” You shift in your chair uncomfortably.

Jungkook doesn’t blink. “Because you’re acting weird about me seeing someone.”

Suddenly, it’s too much. All of it. The article, the photo, the way it made you feel like something inside of you had cracked wide open. The way you hatedthe thought of him leaving with someone else, touching someone else, being with someone else. The way you have no right to feel that way. He’s not yours, and you made sure of that.

Your chopsticks clatter against the side of your bowl as you sit back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest. “No,” you say, voice clipped. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

Jungkook doesn’t react, just nods slowly, still watching you. “Why not?”

You blink. “What?”

Jungkook leans back, stretching an arm over the back of his chair. “I just figured. You’re beautiful. Smart. Cool. Thought you’d be dating someone.”

You hate the way your stomach flips at his words. You hate the way your pulse reacts to his voice, his attention, his everything. So instead of acknowledging it, you let something else rise to the surface, something sharper.

“I’m not into all that,” you snap.

Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Into what?”

You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. “Hookups. Dating. Whatever.”

Jungkook tilts his head, his gaze unreadable. “Why not?”

Your jaw clenches. “Because I’m not.”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you, his expression shifting into something you can’t quite place. You hate being seen like this. Hate the way he’s peeling you open, poking at something you haven’t unpacked in years.

So you do something you never do. You snap.

“Not all of us are like you, Jungkook,” you bite out, your voice sharper than you meant it to be. “Not all of us have someone waiting for us after every party. Not all of us want that.”

Jungkook still doesn’t react. He just blinks, his face impossibly calm, like he’s letting you get it out, letting you burn.

But you don’t stop.

“You wanna know why I’m not seeing anyone?” you ask, voice quieter now, but no less biting. “Because I’ve only ever had one boyfriend. One. And I’m not the kind of person who just… moves on like it’s nothing.”

Jungkook finally reacts to that. His expression shifts, subtle, but there. The slightest pull of his brows, the smallest flicker of surprise in his eyes, like he’s realizing something new about you, like he’s seeing you differently.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

Your chest rises and falls, your pulse erratic, your hands curling into fists beneath the table. You feel sick. Sick with jealousy, with insecurity, with all the things you don’t want to feel but can’t seem to stop. Sick with how much he affects you, how much he gets under your skin, how much you wish you could rewind time and just not care.

But you do. You do. And Jungkook knows it, even if you’ll never admit it.

Jungkook leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable, but there’s something different in his eyes now, something softer. Like he’s peeling through everything you just said, looking past the sharpness of your voice and into the raw truth beneath it.

“How long were you together?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You inhale slowly. “A few years.”

Jungkook nods, his fingers tracing the rim of his bowl absentmindedly. “First love?”

You hesitate. Then nod. “Yeah.”

His gaze flickers over your face, taking in the way your shoulders have tightened, the way you’re suddenly so aware of your own breathing. He’s quiet for a second, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll keep going.

And for some reason, you do.

“I thought it was forever,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I really did.”

Jungkook doesn’t speak, just listens.

You swallow. “But it wasn’t.”

There’s something fragile about those words, like even now, a part of you still carries the weight of them. The reality that forever is just a word, not a promise.

Jungkook watches you, something unspoken behind his eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

You exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “Not in the way you think.” You look down at your hands. “I think I just… loved him more than he loved me.”

It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud, andit makes you feel those feelings all over again.

Jungkook doesn’t react immediately. But when he does, his voice is steady. “That’s a shitty feeling.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah.”

Another silence stretches between you. But this one isn’t tense. It’s reminiscent.

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you carefully. “Is that why you don’t date now?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know.”

“You’re scared,” he says simply.

You freeze. He says it so easily. So matter-of-fact, like he’s known. Maybe he does. He always has.

“I just…” you sigh, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore.”

He doesn’t push. But he’s still watching you, still waiting.

And then, before you can stop yourself, the words slip out. Soft, hesitant, almost afraid. “Would you care if I saw someone?”

The shift is instant. His jaw ticks slightly. His fingers tighten around his chopsticks. And when he finally speaks, his voice is steady. Honest. “Yes.”

You weren’t expecting that. You don’t know what you were expecting. But it sure as hell wasn’t this.

Jungkook doesn’t take his eyes off you. “You know exactly how I feel about you.”

Your mouth is dry, fingers uncurling from your sleeves, your whole body on fire. You do. It’s the only thing you’ve been sure of in these past few weeks. And yet, hearing him say it, feeling the weight of his words settle between you, makes it so much worse.

Your throat tightens. “So then why did you hook up with her?”

Jungkook blinks.

For a second, he just looks at you. You realize, maybe you caught him off guard. Maybe he wasn’t expecting that question. But you’re not taking it back, you need to know.

Jungkook exhales slowly, leaning back, running a hand through his hair. “Because I was trying not to think about you.”

Your breath stalls. He says it so simply. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it’s just fact. And yet, It wrecks you. Because it means all the things you don’t want it to mean.That he does think about you. That this has never been one-sided. That you’re not the only one caught in this slow, unraveling mess.

Your hands tighten around the edge of the table. Suddenly, you don’t know what to say. Because if you let yourself respond, you might admit that you’re just as lost as he is.

You just stare at him. What the hell are you supposed to say to that? Jungkook just admitted—without hesitation, without flinching—that he hooked up with someone else because he was trying not to think about you.

The words hang in the space between you, electric and raw, making the air too thick, too heavy. And so, like always, you deflect.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you murmur, forcing yourself to breathe, forcing your voice to stay steady. “We’re just friends.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “Yeah,” he mutters, voice laced with frustration. “I fucking know.”

His jaw is tight, his fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatpants. “It’s all I think about,” he continues, voice lower now, rougher. “How you keep saying it. How I have to keep pretending like I don’t want more.”

You don’t realize you’re gripping the edge of the table until your knuckles ache. Your heart is pounding. You knew the extent of his little crush but not the honesty, not the way his words cut through you like they belong inside of you.

You swallow, trying to keep your breathing even. “Jungkook—”

But he shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“No,” you press, voice quieter now. “Talk to me.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair, exhaling through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of it. His eyes flicker up to yours, darker than usual. You feel it immediately —the tension that’s been simmering beneath the surface for weeks, spilling over the edges now, too much to contain.

So you do something stupid, something reckless, something that feels like pressing a bruise, just to see if it still hurts.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” you say, keeping your voice even, controlled. “But maybe I should.”

Jungkook’s head snaps up. His entire body goes still.

“Maybe it would be easier for both of us,” you murmur, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “If I—”

“Don’t.”

The single word is sharp. Final.

Your lips part slightly, caught off guard by the way his expression hardens.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, rolling his jaw. His fingers tap against the edge of his bowl, his posture tense, like he’s reeling himself back in.

Then, after a beat, his voice shifts.

“Or, I don’t know — Whatever,” he mutters, shaking his head as he grabs his chopsticks again. “You wanna see someone, go ahead. It’s none of my business.”

You know he doesn’t mean that, but he doesn’t let you linger on it. Instead, he changes the subject.

“Anyway,” he says, forcing an easy smile, “are you gonna help me build that stupid puzzle you made me buy, or am I suffering alone?”

And just like that, the moment ends.

He’s back to being Jungkook, your friend, the boy who teases you about your boring corporate job and buys you ramen without asking.

Yet, it lingers within you. The weight of everything unsaid. The way his words are still lingering, pressing against your ribs, filling every inch of the silence between you.

And no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about it.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

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[terresdebrume]

"I won't let them touch you" for your dead boy detective agency boys

Thanks for the prompt friend! :D Sorry it took so long, I was at work and then I got plagued with The Insecurities

This fits the possessive side of things slightly better than the dramatic one? Idk. I feel like I've failed to comply with the rules, even though I like the snippet x)

Anyway, thanks again, and if anyone else wants to send a prompt the list is right there

The sun beats down on the town square, bright enough to hide the outside world behind a veil of golden light and turn cousin Katherine's dress into a blinding beacon of virginal purity. Whatever one thinks of the concept, Edwin admits to himself, there is no denying that summer weddings occasionally provide such vivid image as to at least explain how it may have come to be. Nevertheless, he stays away. Of his three cousins, Katherine is the one he always felt the most kinship for, and he would not have missed this ceremony for the world, and yet--Edwin's knuckles brush together, gloveless skin shot through with electricity at the realization, and Edwin jolts his hands apart again. He tries to shove them into his pockets, only to pull them out once more when he remembers not to break the lines of his navy suit. Trying to settle them at his side proves no more fruitfull: the pose feels unnatural and constrictive, as if his hands were pulling against some kind of invisible tie.

"Here," Charles says, stepping between Edwin and the aisle, the lean line of him neatly obscuring the sight of Edwin's hands. "Have at it for a minute, yeah?"

It takes a moment for Edwin to understand, and when he does hit throat immediately constricts with emotion. They have never truly talked about this quirk of Edwin's. Not in the way they perhaps should have, at any rate. It is largely Edwin's fault: for all that he has learned to pursue his interests more openly and unashamedly, there are some areas of his life he has yet to dare confront. Cut and dry is all well and good, but even he can be made to appreciate the value of ambiguity. And so: they haven't talked about it. The way Edwin's fists knead against one another without thought whenever he feels tense, the way he rarely wears less than three layers of clothing if he can help it. The way busy weeks at work make him come home impatient to shed them, the very contact of cloth against his skin so intense as to feel like pain. The way loud noises make him want to stick a pencil in his ears, sometimes.

They haven't talked about it, but Charles took note anyway, and never once expected Edwin to change. Edwin, almost overcome with gratitude, lets out a long, quiet sigh of relief, and leans forward until his forehead can rest against the back of Charles' neck.

"It's no use, you know," he sighs, murmuring to ensure his voice won't be carried out to where his paternal grandmother is slowly walking towards the door. "The minute they see--"

He does not stop himself from pressing his fists together this time. Doesn't try to ignore the tightness of his shoulder, or the beating of his heart--and because he doesn't try to pretend they aren't here, they grow smaller. More manageable, in a way, than they ever were when he was alone. Without quite meaning to, Edwin smiles down at the back of Charles' suit, red in a sea of greys and blues. Here, hidden behind Charles, Edwin knows no one will try to pull his hands apart.

"You don't worry about them," Charles says, quiet but firm. "I won't let them touch you."

Charles once slapped Edwin's father's hands in the middle of dinner at the Ritz, all for the crime of trying to stop Edwin from mashing his fists together. Edwin belives his latest proclamation immediately, and without reservation. Still:

"You cannot fight my entire family," he says, just for the pleasure of hearing Charles put on his cocky voice and retort:

"Just you watch. First one to look a little too close gets whooped on their bum."

Edwin, despite himself, finds himself chuckling, straightening up until he can look at Charles properly. The light from outside lines the edge of his cheek in golden light the hoop in his ear as bright as a halo. He is a flame in the darkness of the church, bright and warm as a fire in the hearth. Edwin, born and raised in the icy cold of a winter lake, can never get enough.

"Surely," he says, "you don't meant Granny Gladys."

"Especially Granny Gladys," Charles retorts. "I'm not gonna turn my back and let her get me with her rollator."

Edwin, with some difficulty, bites down on a burst of laughter. In front of him, Charles turns his head just far enough to flash a wicked grin, sharp and shameless in a way that makes Edwin's stomach expand into the warmest of feelings. Charles must see something in his face then, because he turns serious, hands coming up to frame Edwin's face as he looks into his eyes and says:

"I'm serious you know. If your father tries to slap your hands again, I really will send him down on his arse."

"I believe you", Edwin says, insides turning embarrassingly gooey at the fierceness of Charles' tone.

"Good," Charles says, still frowning in intensity. "There's nothing wrong with you. There's nothing wrong with your hands. I know I haven't been where I should have been--"

"Charles," Edwin interrupts, heart picking up speed with the alacrity of a racing car, "you don't--"

"No, listen to me," Charles insists, hands pulling gently at the sides of Edwin's face until their foreheads touch, "no more hand slaps. No more eye contact. I couldn't be with you these past seven years, and I'm sorry--but I'm here, now, and I don't care what anyone in your family says, as far as I'm concerned, unless you want to, you don't have to look anyone in the eye ever again."

Edwin stares, half feeling like he is about to liquefy. He feels so, so warm here in the coolness of that church, warm like the sun in spring after a long winter. Warm like a nice sweater on a winter evening. Warm like Charles' smile, like the way he only ever takes Edwin's hand in his with love, like the way the only thing he ever did with Edwin's fist was wrap his hands around them like a shield. Edwin stares, and swallows hard, and catches Charles into a crushing hug before he can do something absolutely daft like kiss him right here, where all his family could see.

[nicnak20]

Wisdom teeth:

*Yn gets her wisdom teeth out and Nicholas cares for her.*

The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the warmth that usually radiated from Nicholas. He sat beside Yn in the plush waiting room chair, his dark brown hair catching the harsh fluorescent light as he shifted nervously. His brown eyes, usually pools of comforting reassurance, were now laced with apprehension. Yn was currently staring blankly at a fish tank, a vacant smile playing on her lips.

"Are you okay, my love?" Nicholas asked softly, reaching for her hand.

Yn turned, her smile widening. "The fishies are having a party! Did you bring the dip?"

Nicholas chuckled, relief washing over him. He'd been dreading this appointment. Wisdom teeth removal was never a picnic, and he knew Yn hated needles. He squeezed her hand gently. "I think the fishies have enough dip. Maybe we can get some ice cream after?"

Her eyes lit up. "Ice cream! With sprinkles? And gummy bears?"

"Anything your heart desires," Nicholas promised, his heart melting at her childlike enthusiasm.

A few moments later, a nurse called Yn's name, and Nicholas squeezed her hand once more, offering a reassuring smile. "You'll be great, sweetheart. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Yn, fueled by pre-op medication and perhaps a dash of nerves, simply giggled and skipped towards the back, leaving Nicholas in a state of amused bewilderment.

The next hour felt like an eternity. Nicholas paced, read tattered magazines, and even tried to solve a crossword puzzle, but his mind was solely focused on Yn. He imagined her in the dentist's chair, the whirring of the drill, the pressure, and winced in sympathy.

Finally, the nurse reappeared. "You can come back now. She's still a little groggy."

Nicholas followed the nurse down the hall, his heart pounding in his chest. He found Yn reclined in the dental chair, her cheeks flushed, and a comical bib still adorning her. Her eyes were open but unfocused.

"Hey, baby," Nicholas said softly, kneeling beside her chair. "How are you feeling?"

Yn blinked at him, then a slow smile spread across her face. "Nicholas! You're here! Did you see the squirrels? They're wearing tiny hats and tap dancing!"

Nicholas stifled a laugh. "No, I missed the squirrels. But I'm glad you're doing okay."

The dentist, Dr. Lee, approached with a sympathetic smile. "She's reacting to the anesthesia. It should wear off soon. Just keep an eye on her, make sure she gets plenty of rest, and follow the post-op instructions."

Nicholas nodded, taking the printed sheet of instructions from Dr. Lee. He knew the drill: soft foods, ice packs, pain meds. The usual.

Getting Yn home was an adventure in itself. She insisted on singing opera at the top of her lungs in the car, mistaking the dashboard for a stage. At one point, she even tried to conduct the traffic with her hand, much to the amusement of other drivers.

Once they were finally inside their apartment, Nicholas gently guided Yn to the couch. She immediately curled up in a ball, her eyes fluttering shut.

"Are you comfortable, my love?" Nicholas asked, tucking a blanket around her.

Yn opened one eye. "Nicholas? Are you a cloud?"

"Only when you need me to be," he replied, kissing her forehead.

He spent the next few hours catering to her every whim, which included copious amounts of ice cream (with sprinkles and gummy bears, of course), reruns of her favorite cartoon shows, and a surprisingly detailed explanation of the mating rituals of penguins.

At one point, while Nicholas was preparing a bowl of lukewarm mashed potatoes, Yn wandered into the kitchen, clutching a stuffed penguin.

"Nicholas," she said seriously, "Mr. Fluffypants here thinks we should adopt a llama."

Nicholas turned, trying to suppress a grin. "A llama? Where would we keep a llama, sweetheart?"

"In the living room! It can watch TV with us! And we can knit it sweaters!"

He knelt down, taking her hands. "Yn, as much as I love the idea of a llama in our living room, I think we should stick to Mr. Fluffypants for now. Okay?"

She pouted for a moment, then her face brightened. "Okay! But can we at least name our next car Larry the Llama?"

"Absolutely," Nicholas agreed readily. He'd agree to almost anything in her current state.

As the afternoon wore on, Yn's pronouncements became increasingly bizarre. She declared that squirrels were actually government spies, that she could speak fluent dolphin, and that she was secretly a time traveler from the year 3042.

Nicholas just listened patiently, nodding and offering the occasional affirmative response. He knew it was the anesthesia talking, that she wouldn't remember any of this in the morning. But he also knew that these moments, however strange, were a unique expression of her personality, unfiltered and uninhibited.

Later, as the sun began to set, Yn finally started to drift into a more natural sleep. Nicholas sat beside her on the couch, stroking her hair and watching her peaceful face. He knew she would be sore and uncomfortable for the next few days, but he would be there for her, every step of the way.

He couldn't help but smile, remembering the events of the day. It had been chaotic, absurd, and utterly exhausting, but also incredibly endearing. He had seen a side of Yn he never knew existed, a side that was silly, imaginative, and completely unburdened by the constraints of reality.

As Yn stirred in her sleep, she mumbled something unintelligible. Nicholas leaned closer, trying to decipher her words.

"... love you… Nicholas…"

He smiled, his heart swelling with affection. "I love you too, my crazy, squirrel-obsessed, time-traveling penguin enthusiast," he whispered, kissing her forehead.

He knew that the next few days would be filled with ice packs, pain meds, and more than a few nonsensical ramblings. But he also knew that he wouldn't trade it for anything. Because even in her loopy, post-operative state, Yn was still the kind, sweet, loving woman he had fallen in love with. And he was endlessly devoted to her, in sickness and in health, in sanity and in…llama-induced madness.

He pulled the blanket tighter around her and settled in for the night, content to be her cloud, her audience, and her devoted protector, no matter how bizarre the circumstances.

He knew that tomorrow, she would be back to her normal self, a little embarrassed perhaps, but he would cherish the memory of this day, a reminder of the beautiful, quirky, and endlessly fascinating woman he was lucky enough to call his own. And maybe, just maybe, he'd even start researching llama sweaters. Just in case.

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Ash & Skylight Part 12

Summary: All you’ve ever wanted in life was to know where exactly you could plant your feet in the ground and grow into yourself. Clearly, you never meant to fall for a certain ginger-haired, freckly, dragon-chaser called Charlie Weasley. Even moreso, you certainly never meant to invite in a particular overly-competitive, Quidditch fanatic named Oliver Wood into your life. And yet, perhaps there is something to be found in the skies, after all; perhaps there is a bit of promise in risking it all in the wide, blue world above.

[Multi-Post Story] [Charlie Weasley x Reader] [Oliver Wood x Reader] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Rough Sex.] [Warning: If you don’t like sad endings, this one may not be for you.]

❂ Click Here for Ash & Skylight Home Page (All Chapter Links) ❂

A/N: The events attributed to each year are different in this story than in canon. As you can see in this chapter, I've mashed together parts of Harry's first and third years.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Tomorrow was the day of Gryffindor Quidditch team try-outs.  It was late evening, and you were sitting with Oliver in a quiet corner of the Gryffindor common room.  He was poring over different lists, each of which were apparently a potential roster for this year’s team.

“Oliver, you don’t even know who’s signed up yet,” you pointed out.

“No,” he agreed. “But I reckon I’ve got some decent guesses.  See, I’ve kept the records for try-outs for every year and I’ve spoken to each of the top contenders since we came back to school and I made them all promise they’d come to try-outs and then I talked with each of their friends on the side to make sure that they meant it and that they haven’t got plans to, I dunno, join the choir or Gobstones club instead.  So, yeah, it might not be perfect, but I think I’ve managed to get a pretty good sense of who’s trying out this year.”

You stared at him. Oliver didn’t notice, however, as he furiously crossed out a name on one list, only to add it to another.  You wondered whether you should let him know that his information-gathering tactics bordered on stalking, but you decided to let it go.  Instead, you asked politely, “Well, is there anything I can help with?”

“No,” Oliver said at once. “Just you being there will be enough.”

“Okay,” you said softly.

But then, you saw Oliver’s head pop up.  A stream of sunset light came in through the high window and caught Oliver’s light brown hair.  You reached out and stroked his hair softly.  Oliver turned to you, and he murmured, “Well, um, perhaps there is something you might be able to do…”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Well…” Oliver paused to kiss your wrist, before he suggested, in a pleading, soft voice, “Perhaps you could… man the sign-up table?”

You almost laughed, for he was presenting you with this trivial suggestion in such a serious manner, as if he was asking you for the greatest favor in the world.  However, right after you said easily, “Yes, sure,” you suddenly realized that Oliver actually took the sign-up table quite seriously.  For all at once, he was very, very close to you, pinning you down against the arm of the chair.  He held your hands tightly in his and stared at you very solemnly indeed, as he murmured, “Promise me you won’t let that sign-up sheet out of your sight.”

“Uh… Uh… Yes, I promise,” you managed to say.

“Watch over it like a hawk and don’t let anyone skip slots or change the order.”

“I – I would never,” you said, finding yourself replying in the same serious manner, even though you had no idea why this was such a big deal to Oliver.

Oliver’s eyes softened and he bent his head down to give you a little kiss on the forehead before he let you go.  

“Right, that’s settled then!” he said, reverting back to his normal voice instantly. “Now, where’s that list I was just working on?”

You blinked, wondering what in the world had just happened.  But as you sat there on the couch, still lying back against the arm, and you watched Oliver busy himself with all sorts of plans, you found yourself content with your own curiosity. Because you didn’t need to understand anything to watch over and encourage Oliver, and that was all it took for you to feel quite happy.   

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

It was the day of Gryffindor Quidditch team try-outs. 

Charlotte, Alexander, and Corina agreed to help you set up the sign-up table and sheets, while Oliver set up the Quidditch pitch and materials (balls, hoops, gear, and bats). 

At eight o’clock, Oliver was already down at the pitch, bursting with energy, while you had to wrangle Charlotte and Alexander out of bed.  Fortunately, Corina was a morning person, so she was waiting outside of the Gryffindor entrance by eight.  You let out a sigh of relief and thanked her.  Thank goodness Corina’s on time.  I didn’t fancy having to go all the way to the Hufflepuff common room to wake her up. 

You all trooped down, carrying an unwieldly folded-up table.   Alex muttered grumpily, “If try-outs are at ten, I don’t understand why we’ve got to be down here at eight.”

“Shush,” you told him, “Oliver’s been up since five.  Don’t ruin this for him.”

“Ow,” was Alex’s resounding reply, as the edge of the table banged against his shins.

“Hold it up higher,” Charlotte said, a bit impatiently.

“I’m trying,” Alex griped.

Corina (again, the only morning person) smiled nervously at you all.  She followed the rest of you out of the castle, while clutching a few sheets of parchment and ink for the sign-up sheets.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The four of you made it down to the entrance of the Quidditch pitch.  Charlotte and Alex began to unfold the table.  While watching them set up, you spotted a dementor drifting along the edge of the Black Lake. You shivered.  I know Dumbledore said the dementors are meant to protect us from Sirius Black, but I really don’t like how they always hang around the castle. They give me the spooks, and I swear that whenever they get too close, the wind gets colder and it’s as if a stone has dropped in my stomach… 

However, your attention was averted, for Oliver, who had seen the four of you coming down the grounds towards the pitch, came out of the entrance of the quidditch pitch.  You walked over to meet him halfway.      

“G’morning,” you greeted him.

“Hi.”  Oliver gestured at you, and mumbled, “Your…”

“Hm?”

Oliver reached over and gently brushed a stray strand of hair away from your lips.  As he did so, you felt his hand brush across your cheek, and you felt a wonderful warmth pass from him to you.  Oh…

Oliver’s brow furrowed, as he misunderstood you shivering at his touch as you shivering from the cold.  To your surprise, you suddenly found yourself all bundled up in Oliver’s Quidditch warm-up jacket.   “Oliver?  Um, I didn’t say anything about a jacket…”

“Yeah, but just in case.  He firmly zipped up the front for you.  “You look a bit peaky.” 

You smiled, and your eyes crinkled a little.  He’s so cute, honestly. 

“Um, what?” Oliver wondered, a bit uncomfortable with how you were admiring him.

“Nothing,” you said softly.  “Just… thank you.”

Oliver blushed, and he looked away from you.  “All right,” he said, a bit unsteadily, “I’ve got to finish setting up the loan broomsticks.  I’ll be back later.”  He jogged back to the pitch.  Meanwhile, you returned to your friends, who had finished setting up the table. 

Seeing you coming, Corina mentioned, “Oh, before I forget to tell you, I have to leave by ten.  I promised to have breakfast with a friend of mine – um, a close friend of mine, and I don’t want to be late.”

Alex looked over at her.  “Wait.  You have friends other than us?”

Charlotte sighed and dug her elbow into his side.   

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Alex clarified.  “It’s just that I thought we were your best friends, but the way you said you were having lunch with a ‘close friend’, it’s like you’re…” A light bulb lit up in his head.  “Say, who’s this ‘close’ friend anyway, huh?”

A light blush appeared on Corina’s face.  “Um, Peter Jones.”

Alex looked over at you and Charlotte. “Peter Jones?  Do we know a Peter Jones?”

Thoughtfully, you said, “The name seems familiar.  Isn’t he a Hufflepuff?”

Corinna nodded.  “Yes, he’s in Hufflepuff with me, and he’s the same year as us.”

“Yeah, but I feel like I know him from something particular,” Charlotte murmured, wrinkling her nose as she tried to recall where she’d heard his name. 

Corinna tried to be helpful, suggesting, “Well, he sits only two rows back from you in Charm - ”

Only, Charlotte suddenly punched her hand in the air and cried out, “Oh, I know where I saw that name!  Peter Jones, yeah – isn’t he the kid who hasn’t been able to find his cauldron for six years?”

Corina sputtered, “Wh – What?”

You instantly knew what Charlotte was talking about.  There was a “Lost and Found” notice, pinned up on the Gryffindor bulletin board for six years now, asking if anyone had found a lost cauldron that was “sort of dented on the top and burned on the bottom.”  Peter had put it up as a first-year, and then he had never been taken down, whether because he forgot about it altogether or was still looking for it, no one knew.  You burst out laughing.  Meanwhile, Alex wondered aloud, “How in the world do you lose a cauldron?  Even for a first year – no, especially for a first year.  The cauldron’s half your size when you’re a first year.”

Corina’s face was bright pink by now. “Um, well…” she murmured vaguely.

Just then, an annoyed voice snapped, “Oi, less laughing over there!  Can’t you sense the mood?”

You turned around to see a rather well-built blonde boy, whom you recognized as Cormac McLaggen, scowling at all of you.

“What mood?” Alex said briskly. “It’s just you out here.”

“Yeah, but I’m taking this very seriously,” Cormac said.  “So the mood is serious and you lot are distracting me with your ugly laughing.”

“Ugly laughing?” Charlotte said, offended.

“Yeah, he sounds like a crow, cawk, cawk, cawkkk, and you sound like a hag, going hur, hur, hurrr. ” Cormac rudely pointed the end of his broomstick at her.

Charlotte’s eyes flashed, and you knew Cormac was in for it.  Oh shit, you thought, and you hastily whispered to Charlotte, “Just let it go.  He’ll be headed to the pitch soon enough, anyways.”

Charlotte ignored you and decided to have her way with Cormac.  Feigning cold disinterest, she said, “And who are you, little boy?”

“What? I’ve been in your House for five years, you numpty.  And my uncle’s Tiberius McLaggen.”  Cormac puffed out his chest impressively.

Charlotte lifted her eyebrow and dealt her blow, saying coolly, “Well, is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

“What!?” Cormac looked like he was about to burst. “You don’t know Tiberius McLaggen?”

“No,” Charlotte replied, now examining her fingernails. “And even if it did, it does nothing in telling me who you are, little boy.”

“Stop calling me ‘little boy’!” Cormac said angrily. “I’m only a year younger than you.”

You stepped in before the argument got out of hand. “All right!  We’re only teasing you, Cormac.  Now, come sign up.”  You held up the paper and quill. 

Cormac, still scowling, came over.  With rather grandiose handwriting, he signed his name on the list so that it took up two spots.  Charlotte let out an understated scoff, just loud enough that Cormac would hear it.  Predictably, Cormac exploded. “What? What is it with you, huh?”

“Me? Look at you, you numpty.” Charlotte jabbed her finger at the list.  “Who signs their name like that?  You took up two spaces by yourself!”

Cormac stepped towards Charlotte and said hotly, “So what? Can’t I?”

“Stop it!” Stepping between them, you held out your hands to stop them from getting any closer to each other. “Cormac, try-outs are going to start any minute.  You should go warm up.”

With a harrumph, Cormac slung his broomstick over his shoulder and went off.

“That little twerp,” Charlotte muttered. “Been pissing me off for five years, with my uncle this and my uncle that.”

“That was low, to pretend like you didn’t recognize him,” Corina said, watching Cormac go. 

“Yes,” Alex chuckled, “you know how much that poor boy survives on his ego.”

Charlotte snorted. “I’ll greet him like a normal human being when he stops parading about like he owns the place and if he ever stops mentioning his godforsaken uncle – which, as we both know, will be never.”

“You are in rare form,” you said to Charlotte, sighing a little.   

“You didn’t have to break us up,” Charlotte told you.  “I could take him.”

“I know you could,” you agreed. “That’s why I stopped it.  I didn’t want to see you clobbering him right before Quidditch try-outs.”

At that moment, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie walked up to the table.  “Good morning,” Angelina said. “Manning the sign-up table, I see.”

“Hi Angelina. And yes, I am.” You gestured at the sheet in front of you. “Please sign up here.”

As they took turns adding their names to the list, Alicia said, “Last year, Oliver was trying to run sign-ups and try-outs at the same time.  He wore himself out within the first hour and by the time he told us the results, he could only say the names aloud in wheezes.”

“But he wouldn’t let us help,” Katie recalled. “We all offered, but he said he couldn’t trust us.  He was so sure that someone was going to tamper with the sign-up list.”

Alicia rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, we all told him, ‘Oliver, no one cares about the Gryffindor try-out order enough to tamper with it,’ but he wouldn’t believe us. Apparently, there’s some optimal time and order to try-out or something.  Some scientifically proven time where all of your Quidditch skills magically elevate to the infinite degree.”

You realized, ah, so that’s why he was so serious about my keeping a watch on the list.

As the three of them finished signed up, you told them, “Good luck.  Oh, and Cormac’s warming up over behind that tree, in case you wanted to, you know - ”

“Steer clear?” Angelina said knowingly, her eyes flashing with amusement.  “Got it.  Thanks for the warning.”

As the three of them walked away, you heard Katie say, “If McLaggen makes it onto the team this year, I’m going to resign in protest.”

“Yeah, but he almost made it last year,” Alicia said. “Shame’s the jerk’s actually pretty good at Quidditch.”

Corina checked her pocket watch.  As she did, she realized, “Wait, you told Cormac that tryouts are starting any minute now, but it’s only nine thirty.   I thought tryouts started at ten.”

“Oh, I mean, thirty minutes is soon, I suppose, um…” You sighed and confessed, “All right, so I just wanted to get him away before Charlotte clobbered him.”

“Clobbered who?”

You turned to see Oliver approaching you.   

“Oh, no one,” you said easily. “Quidditch pitch all ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Sign-up sheet is all ready, too.” 

Oliver picked up the sheet and scanned it.  At once, his brow furrowed. “This is it? What’s everyone thinking? Thirty minutes isn’t enough time for a proper warm-up.  Hell, even an hour is hardly enough time.  The Weasley twins aren’t on here.  Damn it, I told them to be here early this year.  I tell them every year, they’re going to pull their skinny little leg muscles if they don’t warm up properly.”

Charlotte, Alex, and Corina guffawed at the image of the Weasley twins and their “skinny little legs muscles.”

Oblivious, Oliver continued, “They never do leg sprints seriously, either, even though I’ve told them, I’ve told them, that it takes an overall balanced physique to be a light flyer, which a Beater definitely should be.”

“I’m sure more people will come,” you reassured him. “And we can’t all have as strong legs as you do.”

“I guess not.” Oliver hesitated, then, as he looked you up and down.

Corina and Charlotte traded looks, thinking that Oliver was checking you out – only to hear Oliver then comment, “But you could, you know.  Like I’ve said, you’ve got a good, athletic build.  If you’d only run some sprints with me in the mornings - ”

“Oliver, no,” you insisted. “I’m not trying to be a Quidditch player, remember?” Seeing Oliver’s eyes slowly fall into those sad little puppy eyes, you hastily snatched back the sign-up sheet and held it up between you two, hiding his face from view.  You defended yourself by saying, rather feebly, “Besides, I’m manning the sign-up sheet and I’ve plenty enough leg strength for that!”

“Fine, fine,” Oliver gave in, though with a soft sigh.  “All right, I’ve got to go and warm up myself.  Thanks for your help, and thanks to your friends too.”

“No problem, Captain,” Alex chirped out, and saluted him.

Oliver paused, wondering if Alex was making fun of him or not.  But then, he noticed Alex’s red shirt.  “You’re a Gryffindor?”

“Sure am.”

“You look like you’ve got some strength to you.  Don’t you want to try out?”

Alex shook his head resolutely.  “No can do. I’ve never thought of playing Quidditch, have no thoughts of playing it now, and will never have any thought of playing it, ever.”

“Really?” Oliver said, awestruck.

“Really.”

Oliver looked rather dazed at the thought of Alex genuinely never wanting to play Quidditch.  You put the sign-up sheet back down on the table, placing a rock on top of it to keep the wind from blowing it away.  Then, you firmly grasped Oliver’s arm and drew him away from your friends. “Good luck with try-outs,” you said brightly, stressing your words a little to remind him of where he was.

“Right, yeah, thanks.” 

“I’ll come let you know when more people have signed up.”  You began to lean in to kiss his cheek, only Oliver stepped away first.  You fell back on your feet, and simply smiled at him instead. 

Oliver began to take off, but then he paused.  He had noticed you leaning in, only he’d moved before he’d realized it, as it hadn’t crossed his mind that you’d want to kiss his cheek now.  Only now that he had noticed it, damn it, he wanted that kiss. But had the moment passed?

Shucks, Oliver thought, and he started towards the pitch again, only to think – Well, no.  I don’t want to go without it.  He awkwardly half-side-stepped and half-tripped over himself as he abruptly came back to you.  Grabbing you rather unromantically around your middle, he hurriedly brought you in for a kiss, only to miss your lips and plant a kiss instead on your lower cheek. 

“Sorry, I – the first time – I didn’t realize – anyways, thanks,” he said gruffly, and then, before you could reply, he was gone, racing back towards the Quidditch pitch.  You blinked and swayed slightly in your spot.

Behind you, your friends burst out into laughter.  Charlotte asked, between giggles, “What was that?”

“Hush it, you lot,” you said defensively, pressing your fingers to your cheek where he had kissed you. “It was sweet.”

“The way he grabbed you,” Alex said gleefully. “Yanked you, more like, as if you were some big tuna fish from the sea that had to be hoisted abroad.”

“He did not!” you said, even though you knew full well that he did.  

But then, something happened that distracted you entirely – a large, lithe cat suddenly bounded into view.  You gasped, instantly recognizing the cat. “Bean, get away from the table!”

Unfortunately, it seemed that Bean couldn’t hear you or else was intent on disobeying you.  It wasn’t really Bean’s fault.  After all, Bean was a cat, and the sight of the parchment paper fluttering about, with its edges flickering brightly in the air with the wind, made it a very curious sight for him. 

Sensing his ill intent, you pleaded, “Bean, leave the parchment alone.  Please, you can do whatever you like, but leave the parchment alone.”  You rummaged in your cloak and brought out a small Gryffindor flag that you’d brought with you today.  Flashing it about in the air, you urged, “Take this instead!”

Bean turned his great, big, grumpy-looking head to look at the flag.

“Yes, there you go,” you said, feeling relieved. “Come take this, okay?” 

Bean began to turn towards you, to favor the flag instead of the parchment, but then, you made a mistake – you stilled your hand.  The flag went limp, and the paper went on merrily fluttering about, so, logically, Bean went for the happy paper instead.

You cried out, “Son of a – Bean!” You chased after the cat, but je zigzagged lithely over the grass. 

“Help me!” you yelled to your friends, and to their credit, all three of them went chasing after the cat, too. 

After five minutes of being outsmarted by the feline, in which Bean darted through Alex’s legs no less than ten times; scratched Charlotte’s outstretched hand; and leapt onto your back and clung onto your jumper, making you screech and flail about in a humiliatingly uncoordinated manner; Corina panted out, “Can’t we – Can’t we just make a new list?”

You shook your head furiously.  Wiping sweat from your face, you called out, “Okay, everyone, jump towards the cat on the count of three. One, two, three!”  All of you pounced together. 

“Mreeeeooww!” Bean yowled loudly as you managed to catch him.  You immediately trapped him in a tight hug.  Alex yanked the paper out of its jaws.  It ripped, but thankfully only at the very end, where Bean had been holding onto it by his teeth.

“Bean, we’re not trying to hurt you!” Corina said desperately, feeling quite sorry for the poor cat.  “But you can’t have the paper.”

“Alex, run!” you called.  “Get that paper out of here, and I’ll release Bean!”

Alex ran behind a nearby tree, and you let go of Bean.  He hissed at once and tried to scratch at you.  Yelping, you rolled over to avoid being pawed at.  Corina fluttered about you, dashing this way and that, but not knowing quite how to help. 

Just then, two figures appeared from over the hill. 

“Hannah!  Look, there’s your stupid cat! Oh, what the - ?”

“Oh Merlin! Bean? Bean!”  Hannah sprinted over, followed closely by Ernie.   

Behind you, Charlotte finally managed to grab Bean by the scruff of his neck. 

“No, be gentle with him!” Hannah called out desperately.  “I’m coming, Bean!” 

Bean, seeing his beloved owner coming over, yowled pitifully.  Hannah came running in, with her arms stretched out.  She hugged Bean, taking him back from Charlotte. 

Noticing you sprawled out on the ground, Ernie pointed at you and said loudly, “You again!  How long are you going to get bullied by Bean, huh, miss prefect?”

You let out a wheeze, still out-of-breath.

“I’m sorry!” Hannah exclaimed.  Still hugging Bean to her, who now acted like a totally different cat, snuggling into her chest and purring softly, Hannah reached over and offered you her hand.

“I’m – wheeze – okay,” you managed to say.  “Just – wheeze – please get that cat – wheeze – out of here.”

Hannah nodded.  “Ernie, come on, I want to go to the greenhouses to say hi to Neville.”  With another apologetic look, she and Ernie left, headed towards the greenhouses.

Just then, another voice chirped out, “Oi!  Where’s the sign-up sheet?”

Corina helped you up, and you spotted the Weasley twins at the table, with Fred waving the quill in the air.  

Clutching the precious sheet to your chest, you wheezed out, “Coming,” and you hobbled back over to the table, with your dignity slightly sore from having been, as Ernie so aptly put it, bullied by a cat.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

At eleven o’clock, Corina, Alex, and Charlotte were all gone, and you headed to the pitch with the latest sign-up sheet, bringing in a few last-minute stragglers.  You handed Oliver the list, and then you went up to the stands to watch the rest of the try-outs.  You felt a bit awkward, as all of the players trying out were waiting in the stands, too.  However, you tried to ignore them as you sat at the front and pulled out a little Gryffindor flag that you’d tucked away in your cloak.  You began to wave it in the air encouragingly, when someone snorted loudly behind you and said, “Why would you bring that to try-outs?”

You turned your head to see Cormac sitting behind you. “What?”

Cormac nodded at your banner. “What’s the point of waving that now?  It’s not a game.  You can’t root for Gryffindor when it’s individual try-outs.  We’re all Gryffindors here.”

“Oh…” You paused.  He has a point, you thought reluctantly.  I didn’t really think about it like that, I guess.  I didn’t really think about it at all, if I’m being honest.  It’s more that the Gryffindor team is Oliver’s team, and I wanted to support Oliver.

“Well, just don’t mind me, then,” you said pleasantly, and you went right on waving your Gryffindor flag.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Try-outs were over.  You watched as Oliver trudged towards you, clearly depressed.  “No Seeker,” he said glumly. “My lists were off.  Perkins and Coleman were awful.  Couldn’t see the Snitch to save their lives, let alone catch it.”

“Perkins wasn’t so bad,” you said, though you honestly had no idea whether he was or not.  But Oliver shot you a look, and you corrected hastily, “No, you’re right.  He was shit.  Of course he was, that – uh – tosspot.”

Oliver groaned. “What am I going to do?  No Seeker!  This is the worst.”

“Maybe you can hold another day of try-outs?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll have to.”  Oliver sighed. “But what’s the likelihood of finding a good Seeker who didn’t even come to try-outs in the first place?”  He put his head in his hands and tugged at his hair. “Seeker’s so important.  I mean, your Chasers need to score fifteen goals to make up the difference, sixteen to win.  And the Keeper can’t let in any goals in the meantime.”

“Listen, Oliver,” you said, desperately trying to cheer him up, “you’ve got your Keeper, Chasers, and Beaters all sorted.  You’ll find a good Seeker and if not, I’m sure Perkins and Coleman can be trained up.”  You gently lifted his chin, making him look at you, as you said, half-admiringly and half-resignedly, “If there’s anything I know about you, it’s that you can whip someone into shape.”

Oliver’s lips perked up the tiniest bit, before he pointed out, “Except for you.”

“Except for me,” you confirmed.  And when Oliver pouted, you laughed and leaned in to kiss him.

Oliver opened his arms, and he brought you in to kiss you.  A long moment passed, where there was nothing but the beautiful late evening sky above your heads and the soft rustling of faraway trees and the chirping of crickets.  You kissed Oliver tenderly, and he responded in kind, and when you finally fell back onto your feet, Oliver continued to hug you, as he was loathe to part from you.  Kissing your cheek again, he murmured, “I liked the flag, by the way.”

“Hm?”  You were a little lost in Oliver, loving how warm and sturdy he felt against you, and feeling very safe in his arms, that his words brushed over you like a soft summer wind, without definite shape.

So, it was only when Oliver clarified, “The little Gryffindor flag you were waving,” that you realized what he meant.

“Oh.” You laughed a little, embarrassed. “It was silly. It wasn’t even a game.”

“Who cares?” Oliver murmured. “You meant it, and I needed that today. Especially after the thirteenth Seeker candidate bombed.” He sighed heavily, suddenly depressed again. “I knew we weren’t going to be able to find another Charlie Weasley, but I didn’t think we wouldn’t find anyone.”

You reached down and took Oliver’s hand.  “We’ll find someone, just you wait,” you said encouragingly, and you led him to the end of the Quidditch pitch, where all of the materials were gathered and needed to be put away.

As the two of you began to take everything back to the storage shed, Oliver said, “Oh, by the way, did anyone come after the sign-up sheet today?”

You paused.  Well, certainly, you thought wryly.

Oliver’s eyes widened at your silence.  “Really?” he said, already fearing the worst.  “Who was it?  Davies?  Flint?  I swear I’ll get them back.”

“Er – no,” you admitted. “It may have been…” Your voice dropped to a mumble and Oliver leaned in, but still couldn’t make out your words.

“What?” he pressed.

“Uh…” You cleared your throat as you confessed softly, “Bean.”

“Bean? Who - ? Wait, the cat?”

You nodded. “But it was fine,” you said quickly. “I got it back – um – easily.”  You chose to leave out how you had nearly passed out and realized you had the breathing capacity of a chain-smoking grandmother.  

“Oh, good,” Oliver said, but then he caught your expression and he saw your mouth open, and before he knew it, he heard himself say, “Don’t be rude about the cat.”

“Right,” you agreed at once. But then, you looked over in Oliver in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Oh, er, a certain look comes over your face when you’re about to say something insulting,” Oliver explained. 

You raised your eyebrows wonderingly at him. “Really?”

Oliver chuckled. “Maybe.”

The two of you began to head back up the castle, as Oliver wondered, “But why is it always a cat? I mean, why is it always that cat?”

You let out a long sigh.   “Honestly, Oliver?  You tell me.” 

Seeing your puzzled expression, Oliver couldn’t help but feel quite tender towards you, and, despite how gloomy he was feeling, he smiled a little at you as you led the way back up to the castle.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The next morning, Professor McGonagall opened her chamber door at six o’clock, intending to go down to the Great Hall for breakfast before classes, except –  “Merlin’s beard!” she gasped, for Oliver was standing there forlornly, staring at nothing at particular, but taking up her entire doorway.  “Wood! Announce yourself!  Knock or – or something!  What is this manner of ambushing me at the break of dawn?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Professor.”  Oliver sighed.  “It’s just that I felt I ought to tell you that – well, I couldn’t find an appropriate Seeker at try-outs yesterday, and I’m not sure what to do.”

“You couldn’t find a Seeker?”

“No.  Perkins was dead awful.  He actually fell off his broom, for no reason.  Coleman is clearly blind as a bat.  The Snitch nearly went up his nostril, and he still didn’t see it.  And the rest were even more abysmal, Professor.”  Rather desperately, Oliver asked, “You couldn’t just Transfigure me one, could you?  Turn an owl into a Seeker, or make Coleman grow a third eyeball that’s miles better than the two he’s got, that sort-of thing?” 

McGonagall stared at Oliver, torn between laughing at the fact that such a young student was using the word “abysmal” on the rest of his colleagues and suggesting Merlin-level, highly illegal Transfiguration, and torn between sympathy, for Minerva McGonagall had once been quite the impressive Quidditch player herself, until a foul from a Slytherin player during a match had put her on the sidelines for the rest of her years.  As it was, McGonagall’s own passion for wanting Gryffindor to have the Quidditch Cup, especially to keep it away from the Slytherins, could not be overstated.  

“Very well,” McGonagall said seriously.  Pushing her spectacles up on her nose, and with a mean glint appearing in her eyes, she promised Oliver, “I shall keep my eye out for a promising young Seeker for you, Wood.”

Oliver paused, for he suddenly sensed a kindred spirit in McGonagall.  “Professor,” he said, a bit awed.

“You heard me, Wood.  Now, off to breakfast with you.”

Oliver nodded, and he obediently turned around – and that was when McGonagall realized that the boy had not invested in a comb since she had last told him to.  She gave a soft sigh, but said nothing, only watched him make his way down to the hallway.  What is it with great Quidditch players and awful hair? she wondered to herself.  James Potter, Charlie Weasley, Oliver Wood… Is it so impossible for these boys to comb their hair after practice? 

Shaking her head lightly, McGonagall ran her hand over her own, quite severe bun, as she stepped out of her office and followed Oliver down to the Great Hall.  As she passed by a suit of armor, she vaguely thought of reviving it and commanding it to play Quidditch.  Wouldn’t that be something? she thought, and she allowed herself a chuckle before assuming her more formal posture and entering the Great Hall.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

You, Charlotte, Corina, and Alexander were having breakfast together. 

“So,” Charlotte said, “out with it.  Has Peter Jones found his cauldron?”

Corina told her, “You can just call him Peter.”

“I can’t,” Charlotte replied, quite matter-of-factly. “Because he’s an entity to me, not a person.  Peter Jones and his Lost Cauldron – you see? Like Peter Pan and the Lost Boys.”

You smiled at Charlotte, amused. 

But Corina shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Ah, it’s a Muggle story,” Charlotte said.

Looking over at Corina, Alex said knowingly, “You didn’t ask him about the cauldron, after all, huh?”

Corina admitted, “Well, no.  It didn’t seem appropriate.  I mean, we’re just getting to know each other and it was the first date and, uh - ”

“You really like this guy, huh?”

“I – No – Well, I wouldn’t - ”

“Don’t hide it from us,” Alex pressed. “Don’t be like her - ” he jerked his head at you “- and ambush us last-minute with your love life.”

“Hey, I didn’t ambush you with anything,” you said. 

“You absolutely did,” Charlotte insisted. “I livewith you, for Merlin’s sake, and I didn’t even know you liked Oliver, much less that you were in a full-blown relationship with him.”

“I swear, I didn’t see it coming either!” you said defensively. “I just – I got lucky, that’s all.”

“You got lucky?” Alex said gleefully. “You mean, you got laid?”

“I – no!” you said, taken aback.  “That’s not at all what I meant.”

Charlotte and Alex chortled at you.  Then, Alex said, “But you know what? I approve of Oliver.  He’s a proper mad lad, and that’s fine by me.  Plus, he’s not too bad to look at.”

“Not bad at all,” Charlotte agreed. “And with how active he is, he’s probably quite good at getting lucky, eh?”

“Stop it!” you said, waving your fork threateningly in the air. 

“But Peter Jones…” Alex looked at Corina again.

“What?” Corina said warily. 

Alex said, “If he couldn’t find his cauldron in six years, I’m gonna have some doubts about this guy.”

“And the name doesn’t exactly inspire sex appeal, either, does it?” Charlotte added. “Peter Jones!”

“Hush!” Corina said hurriedly.

Charlotte paused. “Yep, nope.  Did nothing for me.”

“I don’t – That’s not – I said you could just call him Peter,” Corina stammered.

“All right, enough,” you said, finally coming to Corina’s defense.  “Anyhow, I’m sure Peter did find his cauldron.  I bet he just forget to take down the notice.” 

“Well, we don’t know, do we?” Charlotte said.  “Because this one - ” she pointed at Corina  “ – liked him too much to ask.”

“I’ll ask next time, all right?” Corina murmured.  Her cheeks were quite pink now.

“Oho!  So there’s a next time, is there?” Charlotte picked up. “You’ve already decided on a second date?  Hasty, hasty.”

“I don’t know if it’s a date,” Corina said delicately. “But it’s supposed to be Hogsmeade weekend, next Saturday.” She paused, and then confessed, perhaps against her better judgment, “At Madam Puddifoot’s.”

Alex and Charlotte shrieked, for Madam Puddifoot’s could be nothing other than a date spot.  Even you, though you were trying very hard not to embarrass Corina further, couldn’t help but give her a knowing look, with your expression saying something along the lines of, wake up, girl, Peter Jones definitely has the hots for you.

Corina deftly hid her face behind a piece of toast and you watched in amusement as the egg on top of it slowly slid off and fell back onto her plate.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Were Oliver and I out of the blue? you wondered, as you waited for him to come out of Potions class.  All day long, Oliver was running behind, as he grabbed random people who looked fit and asked them if they wanted to try out as Gryffindor Seeker.  He even grabbed a Ravenclaw, and Roger Davies, thinking this was a ruthless level of sabotage, nearly socked Oliver in the face.  Oliver didn’t even notice, however, for he had already moved onto the next person, who turned out to be none other than Alicia Spinnet.  To be fair, he’d only been paying attention to her stature and noticed her height and build from behind, but of course, when Alicia turned around and saw Oliver, she sighed long and loud before informing him, “I’m already on the damn team, Oliver,” to which Oliver let her go and slunk away.

Oliver slunk right out of the classroom, only to find you standing there, waiting for him.  He immediately straightened up, and he smiled at you.

I suppose we were out of the blue, you acknowledged to yourself.  Just a year ago, I still considered him the bane of my prefect duties – well, him and the Weasley twins.  Thank Merlin that’s all changed now.  Thank Merlin he was so generous with me, and I got to see him for who he really is.   

You and Oliver usually didn’t walk to class together, but today, seeing Oliver singularly focused on finding a Gryffindor Seeker, you silently took it upon yourself to act as his reminder that he still had to go to classes. 

“Ready for Defense?” you asked.  “If we hurry, we should still be able to snatch the back seats, and you can go over your lists again.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

You and Oliver fell into step together, when Oliver shot you a sideways look. “You know, we don’t usually go to class together.  But I like this. Walking together places.”

“You like walking to class together?”

“Yeah.  You never let me walk with you before.”

You remembered that Oliver had said something similar before, but you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.  So, you reached out and took his hand in yours.  You squeezed it gently, but then, Oliver grasped your hand back in a much tighter grip.  Surprised, you looked up at him.  He was still looking at you and the way he was looking at you –Your heart fluttered.  “I – I suppose I like it too,” you said softly, without quite knowing what you meant.

The two of you walked into the Defense classroom – well, you walked into the Defense classroom; Oliver paused to bump his shoulder into the doorway before he made it through.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     * ��   *     *

You and Oliver didn’t quite make it to the back row of seats, and you truly regretted not doing so.  You and Oliver ended up next to Percy, who found Oliver’s blatant disregard of the class and intense focus on Quidditch lists personally offensive.

“Wood, you’re on the wrong page.”

“Wood, aren’t you going to take any notes?”

“Wood, you haven’t taken a single note?”

“For Merlin’s sake, Percy,” you finally said.  “Leave him be!”

Unable to ignore all of the hissing going on between you and Percy, Professor Lupin looked up from his lecture notes. “Is something the matter?”

“Um, no, sorry, Professor,” you said quickly.

Just then, the classroom door opened, and Professor McGonagall walked in.  “I’m sorry to bother you, Professor Lupin,” she said. “But could I please borrow Wood for a second?”

“Of course,” Lupin replied graciously.  “Mr. Wood, if you would please follow Professor McGonagall…”

Oliver shoved his lists towards you.  “Take these, and keep them safe.”  You quickly took them, and Oliver got out of his seat and made his way out of the classroom.  You looked after him curiously, wondering what on earth McGonagall could want with him.  I hope he’s not in trouble again.  Now that I’m not a prefect anymore, I don’t think I could help him again.

Apparently, Percy had the same thought, for he was smirking at you over his textbook.  Annoyed, you put your head down again, forcing yourself to focus on the lesson instead.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Class was over, and still Oliver was nowhere to be seen.  You headed to lunch with everyone else, when you spotted Professor McGonagall closing the door to her classroom.

“Professor McGonagall!”

Seeing you, McGonagall replied, “Quidditch pitch.”

“Huh?”

“That’s where Wood is.  Training the new Gryffindor Seeker.”

“Oh! You’ve found someone?”

“Yes.” McGonagall smiled. “I’m sure, as Wood’s friend, you’re quite relieved to hear that.”

“Yes, Professor.  But who is it?”

“A first-year student, but he’s already quite promising.  His name is Harry Potter.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

You made your way down to the Quidditch pitch stands.  Already on the field, there was Oliver and a small, scrawny boy with jet black hair (quite messy, you noted) and a pair of too-big glasses.  You climbed up into the stands.  Oliver, seeing you, stopped to wave at you.  You grinned and waved back.  Then, you settled in, leaning forward to rest your arms on the railings and then resting your chin comfortably on top of your arms.

Wood’s voice floated up to the stands, and you heard him say, “Right.  Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it’s not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers.”

“Three Chasers,” Harry repeated.

“This ball’s called the Quaffle,” Oliver said, holding it up. “The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?”

“The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score,” Harry recited. “So — that’s sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn’t it?”

“What’s basketball?” Oliver asked curiously. 

“Never mind,” Harry replied quickly. 

You smothered a laugh. 

“Now, there’s another player on each side who’s called the Keeper — I’m Keeper for Gryffindor.” Oliver paused here to flash Harry a grin and to point at himself with his thumb.  This time, a chuckle escaped you.  Oliver continued, “I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring.”

“Three Chasers, one Keeper,” repeated Harry. “Okay, got that.”

“Now, I’m going to show you what the Bludgers do,” Oliver said. “Stand back.”

Oliver unstrapped one of the Bludgers.  At once, the ball pelted straight at Harry’s face.  You winced.  Thankfully, Harry managed to swing the bat just in time to stop it from crushing his face.  Then, the Bludger shot at Oliver, who dived lithely on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.  Could’ve used him to catch Bean, you thought, watching Oliver’s dive.

“See?” Oliver panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate. “The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That’s why you have two Beaters on each team — the Weasley twins are ours — it’s their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So, think you’ve got all that?”

“Er — have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?” Harry asked.  You could hear how nervous he sounded, and your heart went out to him.  

Aw, he’s so little, you thought fondly.  Oliver scratched his chin thoughtfully.  Uh-oh, you realized, Oliver’s going to be honest, isn’t he?  He doesn’t realize that he should comfort Harry.  Oh goodness, what’s he about to say?

“Um,” Oliver said the next moment, “A couple of broken jaws, I suppose - ”

You quietly face-palmed yourself.

Seeing Harry’s wide eyes, framed in his glasses, Oliver quickly reverted and said, “But nothing worse than that! Um, perhaps we should move on.”

Yes, do, you agreed in your mind.

“Now,” Oliver continued, “the last member of the team is the Seeker. That’s you. And you don’t have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers —”

Harry interjected, “— unless they crack my head open.”

Oliver shook his head. “Nah, don’t worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers.”  Seeing Harry’s doubtful look, he insisted, “I mean, they’re like a pair of human Bludgers themselves.  Anyhow, Harry, forget all that.  Because what I want you to focus on is this - ” He reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball.  It was so small that you couldn’t make it out in Oliver’s hand from the stands, though if you squinted, you thought you might be able to see the light reflecting off of its fluttering wings.  “This is the Golden Snitch, and it’s the most important ball of the lot. It’s very hard to catch because it’s so fast and difficult to see. It’s the Seeker’s job to catch it. You’ve got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team’s Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That’s why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages — I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep.”

Harry’s mouth fell open.

“Well, that’s Quidditch,” Oliver said impressively, rather oblivious to young Harry’s many worries, bouncing around as he took in all this new information.  “Any questions?”

Harry quickly shook his head.  You smiled, admiring his courage.

“Excellent,” Oliver said. “I was thinking, then, for your first practice, we’ll start you off with just some spotty balls.”

“Er – what?” Harry said.

Oliver reached into his pocket and pulled out –

“Oh, a golf ball,” Harry recognized.

“Huh? What’s – What’s ‘gulf’? What?” Oliver wrinkled his nose in confusion.

You giggled again, though you muffled your laugh against your arms. 

Harry mounted his broomstick, and Oliver proceeded to throw the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch.  Harry caught the first one, then the second, then the third… With each successful catch, you could see Oliver light up more and more. 

When Harry finally touched down, Oliver ran over to him excitedly. “You really are a natural, Harry! Excellent! Now, you watch, that Quidditch Cup’ll have our name on it this year.  I wouldn’t be  surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn’t gone off chasing dragons.”

At the mention of Charlie and chasing dragons, you let your gaze drift up to the sky.  Right.  I haven’t thought about him for some time now, but Charlie’s out there, isn’t he?  Chasing dragons, up in that wide sky… Your mind was quieter now, and you were undeniably happy, but your heart softly whispered, And what’s your dream?  You still had no answer.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The next evening, you watched, mouth open in perturbed shock, as Oliver, who had gathered the rest of the Quidditch team in the locker room to tell them about Harry, leapt up onto the nearest bench and crowed loudly,  “Bless Minnie! We’ve got the Quidditch Cup in the bag, I tell you!  This year is gonna be our year!”

“Oliver, jump one more time and your pants are coming down,” Fred said wisely.

Oliver paused and looked down to check his pants.  They were, indeed, a little low on his hips.  You blinked at him, with your mouth still open.  Alicia, catching your expression, snorted with laughter.

“What?” Oliver demanded. “What is so funny about what I said?”

“Nothing,” Alicia said hastily, and you also hurriedly closed your mouth.

“Well?  Didn’t you all hear me?” Oliver said. “We’ve got a Seeker!  And I’m telling you, he’s incredible.  We’ve – got – a – Seeker!” With each word, Oliver punched the air exuberantly.  “He’s got the perfect build for it, too.  Light, agile, nimble.  He’s absolutely perfect!” 

Katie humored him and clapped, while Angelina and Alicia had the decency to remain quiet, despite the silent laughter plastered on their faces.  However, the twins were merciless in teasing Oliver.

“Oliver, remember you’ve already got a girlfriend?” George said, nodding over at you.

“Of course I… What do you mean?” Oliver said, confused.  You hid your face in your hands.  When no one replied, except for Angelina shaking her head, Oliver went on with his game plan.  “Anyways!  Since, our new Seeker’s a tiny first-year, I need you, Fred and George Weasley, the pair of you,” he growled, suddenly sounding much more like Molly Weasley than he ever could have known, “to be on top of your game.  You got that? On top – of – your – game.  That means I want you two on the field, tomorrow, five a.m. sharp - !”

“Noooo!” Fred protested dramatically, and he fell over into Angelina’s lap.  Angelina let out a cry of disgust and leapt to her feet, and Fred rolled over rather ungracefully onto the floor.

Meanwhile, George stood up out of indignation and yelled, “Wood, for Merlin’s sake, is your life mission to kill us with lack of sleep?  I swear to Merlin Fred and I would both be five inches taller if you hadn’t interrupted our every bloody morning with Quidditch practice! ”

“You’re plenty tall enough!” Oliver said hotly, staring furiously at George and not at all deterred by the fact that he was a good foot shorter than George. “What you lack is leg strength!  I’ve been telling you for years - !”

Open-mouthed again with shock at just how chaotic everything was, you watched this dialogue go on for quite a while, unsure if you were supposed to admire or admonish all the madness unfolding before you.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

You missed the next Quidditch practice, as it happened on Alexander’s birthday.  You, Corina, and Charlotte put together a little party for him in the evening.  (Charlotte pestered Corina to invite Peter Jones, but Corina, blushing, refused.)  However, the following week, you made your way back out to the Quidditch pitch to watch the Gryffindor team practice.  You could instantly tell that the team’s energy was much more optimistic now that a talented Seeker had joined.  You watched the players swooping about, yelling at each other, and tossing the Quaffle back and forth for a while.  Then, reaching into your pocket, you pulled out and unfolded a slightly crumpled-up pamphlet titled, “Wizarding Careers 101 – Everything You Need to Know to Secure Your First Job.”  You flipped through the pamphlet, reading about different introductory jobs and their requirements.  Healer, Auror, Wizengamot… None of these feel particularly inspiring to me.  You sighed.  But then, your eyes flickered up as you heard a loud shout, and you saw Oliver sprinting madly towards you, with an intense glint in his eye.

“Oliver, wha - ?” you began, and then you gasped out, “Ah! Oliver!” For, Oliver, who had just made three brilliant saves in a row, had come running over to you, grabbed you in a massive bear hug, and planted a huge kiss on your cheek.

“Did you see me? Did you see me?” Oliver roared into your ear.  He leaned down and smashed his lips against your cheek.

Your instinctively squeezed your eyes shut – only to open them and find that the entire Quidditch team was laughing at you.

Oliver beamed at you. You stared up at him in disbelief. His hair was windswept to the point that it looked like he was sporting a pouf, and there was grass and grime streaked on his cheek.

“Oliver, you need a - ”

“Yeah?” Oliver said brightly.

The word “shower” caught at the tip of your tongue. Instead, you murmured, albeit a little shyly because the entire Quidditch team was watching, “…trophy.”

Oliver laughed.  “Well, we’re on our way to getting one, I tell you!”  He suddenly lifted you up and swung you around happily.  You shrieked, taken by surprise.  Then, when Oliver put you back down on your feet, he kissed you enthusiastically.   

“Mmpfh! O-Oliver!” you gasped, with your heart thudding wildly in your chest.  You heard the Weasley twins wolf-whistling in the background.  George called heartily, “Look at our Captain go!” 

Oliver broke the kiss, though he kept you in his arms as he shouted over his shoulder at George, “Shut up! You just think about that mishit from today!”

You wondered, “Mishit?”

“Yeah, the moron nearly took Katie’s head off today,” Oliver grumbled. 

“Oh.” You paused. “I must have missed it somehow.”

Oliver looked down at you. “Yeah, you’re always up there dreaming, huh?  Or reading something.”

“Yes.  But I do watch you,” you assured him.  “I love watching you fly. You’re so good at it.”

Oliver grinned at you.  Leaning in closer to you, he murmured, “Yeah?”

You smiled. “Yeah.” 

Oliver kissed you again.  By now, the rest of the Quidditch team had left the pitch and were heading back up to the castle.  So, you didn’t hold back, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders lovingly and kissed him back quite fervently.  Then, you softly stroked the little tuft of hair right at the back of his neck. “Come on, let’s clean everything up and go back to the castle.”

You and Oliver began to pack everything away.  You had initially wondered why Oliver didn’t use magic to sweep everything away in one go, but by now, you knew that Oliver examined several of the items after each practice, looking for any scratches or dents that had to be fixed.  While he did that, you put away everything else, like the black and white covers that players wore over their clothes to split up into different teams for practice and the extra hoops that players would sometimes fly around with for Chasers’ throwing practice. 

As you picked up a hoop and slung it over your shoulder, you heard Oliver scoff.  Looking over, you saw that Oliver peering closely at a Quaffle.  With a scowl, he muttered angrily, “Fred” before rubbing hard at the Quaffle’s surface with his sleeve.  You came over and quietly peered over Oliver’s shoulder.  You saw that Fred had scrawled, in chalk, Go home, ya loser.  “Pft…”  You quickly put your hand up to your mouth, but it was too late. 

Oliver looked up, frowning.  As you were standing behind Oliver and he looked in front of him, you tried to sneak off before he noticed you but – You felt yourself being tugged back by one of the hoops.  Oliver had grabbed onto the other end of your hoop, and as it was still slung over your shoulder, all he had to do was yank it back to draw you back to him – and that was exactly what he did.

“Er – hello,” you said, looking over your shoulder awkwardly.

Oliver slid the hoop off of your arm.  It fell to the ground.  When you tried to catch it, Oliver, moving so fast you barely caught his movement, grabbed your hand to stop you.  “Forget the hoop for a second.”

“O-Okay.”

Drawing you in closer (despite your subtle efforts to dig your heels into the ground), Oliver asked you, “You don’t think I’m a loser, do you?” His brown eyes glinted in a steely manner, and his brow was furrowed as he posed this question to you.

You stared at Oliver.  “Erm…” You coughed delicately, before solemnly shaking your head and replying, “No, Oliver.  Not at all. Never.”

“Oh…” Oliver let out a sigh.  “Okay, good.”  He let you go, then, and he carried on examining the rest of the equipment.

You watched Oliver walk away, puzzled by the entire exchange.  He - He got so serious about it.  I wanted to tease him, but I couldn’t.  But how could he ask me with a straight face if I think he’s a loser?  You bit your lip, wanting to laugh again.  Oh Godric, I don’t think I can take this anymore.  He’s so awkward, and so – so cute.

Just then, Oliver’s stomach growled, loud enough for you to hear it.  You were lost.  You broke out laughing.  You had started to pick up the hoop again, to put it away, but you dropped it and fell to the grass, laughing.

Oliver’s head shot up, and he looked over at you.  “What?  What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you said, still laughing.  “Oh… Ha, ha!” You wiped your eyes, now watery from laughing so much.

Oliver came over to you, now hoisting a net of Quidditch balls on his back.  “Seriously, what’s so funny?”

You shook your head at him.  Picking up the hoop again with one hand, you reached out with your other hand and grasped Oliver’s hand.  “Nothing, really.  C’mon, let’s finish up.”

You led Oliver to the shed.  You hung the hoop up and then, you took the net from Oliver.  You tried to throw the net up onto the highest shelf, but it kept slipping off.  You put your foot up on the lowest shelf, so you could reach up and push the net to the back of the shelf to keep it from rolling off again – that was when your foot slipped slightly.

“Ah!”  You grabbed at the shelves on either side of you.  But you quickly realized that the bigger issue was that the net of Quidditch balls was rolling back off the shelf, right at you. 

Oliver hurriedly looped his arm around your waist and yanked you back.  When the net fell, he quickly batted it away with his foot.  Holding you to him, Oliver asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.  Silly of me to put my foot there.” Panting slightly, you looked up at him. Your hair brushed gently against Oliver’s cheek as you lifted your head.  “Thanks for catching me.”

Oliver paused, as your eyes met his.  He reminded you, “I told you before, I’ll always keep you safe.”

Oh… You blinked in surprise.  How is he so… steady? These things he tells me – I’ll take care of you, I’ll keep you safe, I’ll always protect you – other people say those things like promises, like things that’ll happen in the future.  But with Oliver, it’s like he’s so sure of me that he means it already.  Even though we’re so young and so unsure of our futures, he looks at me and values what I think as if I’ll matter to him for our entire lives…

Oliver hesitated.  Her eyes… She’s looking at me with such – such brightness.  What does she mean by that?   Without meaning to, he suddenly blurted out, “You okay?” Then, he instantly fumbled, “Sorry, I already asked you that.  I don’t know why I’m asking you that again.”

“No,” you whispered softly, “you can ask me again, Oliver.  Because I am okay, when… when I’m with you.”

“Oh, right.  Good, then.”  Oliver paused, before he mumbled, “Was that supposed to be a line?”

You laughed a little.  “I suppose so.”  You cocked your head at him.  “Did it work?  Can I… kiss you?”

Oliver blinked owlishly.  “Kiss…?”

You nodded.  And then, after a brief moment, he nodded back.

Smiling, you kissed him then, pressing your lips against his as warmly as you could.  In your mind, you whispered fervently, I hope he realizes that I’m serious about him too.

You felt Oliver breath in suddenly, and his chest went quite tight.  Your hands slipped up his arms, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders once more.  At the same time, you leapt lightly onto your toes and leaned forward, pressing yourself to Oliver more firmly.  Oliver stumbled back slightly, but as you stayed with him, he slowly began to press into you right back.  You could feel his chest against you, and you felt his warm, strong arms embrace you back.  Yes, you thought, loving that Oliver was responding to you.  Oh, yes, please.  More…

As if he could hear your thoughts, Oliver chose that moment to decide to kiss you deeper.  His hands slid into your hair, and then he kissed you back quite passionately, moving his lips oh-so-sweetly against yours. 

Oh, oh, oh…! You melted quickly in his arms, for Oliver kissed you so well.  He knew just how to press his mouth against yours to make your heart thump wildly in your chest and your legs start to tremble.  Only he has this effect on me with just a kiss, you knew, and now, you also knew why.  It was because he took his time with you, and he met you exactly where you were.  He didn’t tug you into him and he didn’t push his lips against yours aggressively.  Rather, he held you tightly, and his lips searched for yours, and when he found you right where you were, he matched you perfectly. 

At some point (neither of you were sure when), you’d fallen back against the wall, and Oliver held you there.  All the while, his lips met yours again and again and again.  You moaned against his mouth, desperately, feeling overwhelmed but wanting nothing more than to stay with Oliver like this forever.  His kisses are so sweet, you thought.  Please, Oliver, keep me like this forever. 

However, feeling quite flushed, for a moment, you had to duck your head down for a breath and to try to steady yourself.  Your hands clutched hard at his shirt, balling the fabric up in your fists.  Oliver gave you a moment, but as soon as you lifted your head again, Oliver warmly cupped your cheek in his hand, and he caught your now-flushed-pink mouth in yet another sweet kiss.   

“Mm…!” you breathed out.  You naturally reached up, seeking support as your mind was starting to go all fuzzy from being with Oliver like this.  With your right hand, you managed to grip onto Oliver’s left wrist quite hard.  However, it took you a solid minute to realize that you couldn’t quite seem to lift your left hand, which was instead brushing up against Oliver’s hip repeatedly, because at some point, your sleeve had either fallen down or been tugged down all the way to your elbow.  Just as you realized this, Oliver’s hand slowly slipped down from your cheek to your bare shoulder.  And then, his kisses followed his hand, until his head was buried against your shoulder, and he was kissing your neck so sweetly.

“Oh G-God…” you moaned.

“Mm,” was Oliver’s only reply, as he continued to lavish your neck with kisses.

“S-Suck,” you whispered.

Oliver paused. “What?” he whispered back, keeping his lips against your neck.

“Suck my neck.  I want to – want to feel your mouth on my n-neck,” you told him, whispering it as though it were a secret confession.  “Please…”

Oliver nodded, and you felt his soft hair brush up against your jaw for a moment.  The next moment, you closed your eyes tightly and exhaled harshly, as Oliver sucked so gently on your neck. 

Oh, Godric, his mouth is so – so warm.  Mm, and the way he sucks at me, like he wants to taste me… Gods, yes!  You shivered slightly in pleasure.  Before you knew it, you were pleading to him.  “More,” you begged.  “Please, Oliver, p-please.”

Oliver huffed out against your neck.  You didn’t seem to realize it, but you were trembling all over, and as you panted out, your breasts were pressing up against his chest with every breath you took.  And your moans – Oh Godric, her moans, Oliver groaned to himself.  The sounds she makes, she’s going to drive me crazy with all the sweet sounds she makes.  When she’s panting and saying my name, all at once, it makes me – it makes me all – Oliver sucked hard at your neck.  You gasped, and you went all tense for a moment, only to then fall back entirely against the wall.

Oliver quickly put his arm around your waist, to keep you from slipping down.  Expecting you to pause to try to catch your breath, he asked you, “Are you all right?”

But, then, much to his surprise, as you bleated out feverishly, “Yes, yes, I’m all right,” you ignored your trembling legs and made yourself turn around, so that your back was now to Oliver.  Then, you put one hand up on the wall to support yourself as you leaned over.  With your other hand, you reached down and tugged down your skirt over your ass (which was brushing up against him already, with how close the two of you were), and down to your thighs.  Oliver’s mouth fell open slightly and a heavy blush rose quickly in his face, as he realized you were positioning yourself in a way that clearly indicated that you wanted him to – wanted him to – Oliver swallowed hard.  Before him, you tried for a moment to yank down your panties as well but you were too unsteady and unfocused and you ended up breathing out, “Oliver, please…”

“W-What?” Oliver blurted out, responding almost comically quickly.

Slightly annoyed by how your shirt and jacket kept catching on your elbow, you quickly slid your arm out of the sleeves.  The shirt and jacket fell even further, revealing your bra.  But you hardly noticed, as you were finally able to put both hands up against the wall – and now, you could lean all of your weight forward, and push your hips out as much as you wanted.  So you did, pressing your ass pressed right up against the front of Oliver’s pants. 

Oliver froze.  Oh, Godric, oh Godric, ohGodricohGodric - 

As if that wasn’t enough, you moaned out, “Take my panties off or – or pull them to the side, whatever you want, just – just - ”

Oliver asked hoarsely,  “Just what?”

A low, arching moan, conveying how much you were aching for him, escaped you.  Your head fell forward slightly, so that you could rest your forehead against the wall.  At the same time, you wiggled your hips slightly, rubbing yourself against Oliver’s front. 

Oliver’s hands flew to your hips.  He didn’t know whether he wanted you to keep doing this to him or not – Well, truthfully, he absolutely did want you to keep rubbing up against him, but he felt slightly guilty for how much he was enjoying this and he was also worried that he might cum too soon again. 

You were entirely oblivious to this, though, as you begged, “Just fuck me, please…!” You let out a soft sob and buried your face against you the back of your hand. 

Oliver let out a low, shuddering breath, and without even realizing it, he suddenly gripped your hips quite hard.  He was entirely consumed by how beautiful you looked before him now.  With your hands up against the wall and your shirt pulled down to your waist, every line and curve of yours was fully on display for him.  Your soft hair tumbled down your shoulders and trembled as you sobbed into your hand.  And then, of course, if Oliver dared to glimpse down (which he did, but quickly), there were your hips, jutting out for him so sensually, and your sweet little ass, still all wrapped up in your cute panties, and then the back of your soft, plush thighs.  Even now, your skirt was slipping down your thighs, bit by bit, towards your ankles, as you shivered and moaned as you begged for him to touch you.  You were panting so much, with your whole body going up and down a little, even as you held yourself up against the wall because you wanted – Oliver cut his thoughts off for a moment, before he let himself admit, because she wants me inside her.  Yeah, she wants me to… His hands slowly dragged down your hips to your ass, and his finger slipped inside the lining of your panties.  She wants… me.

Oliver finally dragged your panties down, though he took his time with it, watching them stretch out little by little against your shivering thighs.  When he let go at last, he watched them dig in just a little, into your soft thighs.  Fuck, he thought dizzily.  Then, pushing up the back of your shirt and jacket out of the way, he finally saw your pretty pussy, just waiting for him.  Oh, fuck.  Oliver bit his lower lip hard as his cock throbbed heavily in his pants. Shit, I think I’m already – already hard for her.  When did that happen?  He felt rather embarrassed. 

However, you were already wondering what was taking so long, and you finally bleated out, “Oliver, what’re you - ? Oh God, can’t you please take me already?”  In fact, you weren’t even quite sure what you were asking for – perhaps for him to kiss your pussy or for him to slowly give you his fingers to warm you up.

To your surprise, you heard a quick little zip sound, and then Oliver shuffled closer to you.  You paused.  Is he…? Already…?  But I haven’t done anything to him yet.  He couldn’t possibly be hard already, right - ?

“Ah!” You gasped loudly, and losing your grip on the wall, you scrabbled at the wall for a second as you suddenly felt Oliver push in his thick, hard cock inside of you with one smooth, but quite firm thrust.

“Oh – Oh my God!” you gasped out.  I didn’t know he was - ! “Ah, Oliver, n-not so f-fast!”

Oliver immediately stopped.  “Sorry!  Are you okay?” He leaned over your shoulder to look at your face.  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?  Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“No, you’re not hurting me!  I was just surprised,” you told him honestly.

“Are you sure?” Oliver stressed.  He brushed your hair back from your face, so he could read your expression better.

You smiled at him and nodded. “Yeah, I promise.” 

Relieved, Oliver let out a breath and then he began to lean back. Only, you reached out and gently caught his face in your hand.  “Oliver, I’m more than okay,” you told him, your voice quite soft and wanting.  “Try it again, and just go slow at first, all right?  Warm me up for you… Open me up for you… You’ll feel me get all wet and warm for you, I promise.  It’ll be fast because I – I want you so badly right now.”  Your voice was soft because you were trying to be gentle with Oliver, to reassure him that he hadn’t hurt you and that he should keep going, and also guiding him without coming off as condescending or irritated in any way.  However, Oliver found your voice not only reassuring, but also quite – quite –

You paused, as you felt Oliver’s cock, which was pressed up against your ass, suddenly throb quite heavily.  Curious, you cocked your head at him and murmured softly, “Oliver?”

“Uh… yeah?” Oliver said, very flustered.

You hesitated.  You didn’t quite know how to ask him this without sounding arrogant.  But you finally managed to ask, in a quiet, almost embarrassed voice, “Do you, um, do you want me?”

Oliver’s face went bright red.  But then, after a second, he said, in a low voice that was almost a growl, “Yeah.  Don’t you know that you’re driving me crazy for you right now?”  He suddenly pressed into you, pushing you up until you were flat against the wall. 

You gasped, as you felt your tummy hit the wall – not hard, but quite suddenly. Then, you felt Oliver grab your hands and pin them to the wall.  At the same time, he was kissing your neck and shoulders all over.  Between kisses, you heard him confess to you, “I think I – I need to be inside you right now.  I’m losing my mind over here.  But I don’t want to hurt you.  Godric, I’m so scared I’m going to hurt you or do something stupid.” 

“Oli – ah – Oliver!” you breathed out. 

Oliver sucked at your neck sweetly.  For a moment, all thoughts flew out of your head, and you tilted your head back and exhaled.  Your head came to rest on Oliver’s shoulder.  Oliver let go of your hands, and he wrapped his arms around your middle and hugged you so tightly to him that you could barely breathe.  But it was perfect, as it was exactly what you wanted, what you craved – this closeness with Oliver.  Holding onto his arms, which were still wrapped tightly around your middle, you whispered,  “Oliver, I want what you want.  You’re not going to hurt me.  Just look at me, and we’ll take it slow.  But I need you inside me now, please.  If you’re okay with it, if you want me too, then – please.”

Oliver’s eyes met yours – and he let out a deep breath.  “If it starts to hurt, you’ll - ”

“I’ll tell you right away, I promise.”

“Okay.”  Oliver kissed your cheek.  “You guide me in, sweetheart.”

You reached down, and you slowly wrapped your hand around his cock.

Oliver cursed out softly, “Fuck.”  Then, he blushed and hurriedly looked away from you.

“No, I want to see your face, too,” you told him.

“But I – oh, shit - ” Without meaning to, Oliver cursed again, as you suddenly gripped his cock firmly and stroked him up and down.

You giggled a little, finding him adorable. 

Hearing you laugh, Oliver glanced over at you – and his eyes were almost hurt, and he was nearly pouting at you. 

Oh, Godric, he’s going to make his puppy eyes at me now? you groaned in your head.  Oh, Oliver, you’ll kill me if you keep being so irresistible and cute, all at the same time.

Finally, you guided his cock to your pussyhole.  “Now, slowly, push in, and fuck me.” 

Oliver cautiously began to push his hips forward.  “Oh Godric,” he groaned, as his cock began to push at your pussyhole – and then, finally, the tip of his cock slowly sank inside of you.  “You’re so tight.”  He huffed out a hard breath, before he checked in on you, “Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?” 

“No, it feels so good,” you moaned out, totally honest.  “Mm, a little more, Oliver.”

With your permission, Oliver pushed into you a bit more.  His heart was thundering away in his chest, both in terror of possibly hurting you, but also in anticipation of how incredibly good it was going to feel when he was finally inside of you all the way. 

“Ah…” you moaned out, feeling Oliver gently spreading open your tight pussy walls.  “Now rock back and forth a little for me…”

Oliver gently began to sway a little, pushing the tip of his cock in and out of you.

Oh yes, you thought, feeling yourself starting to get wet quite quickly.  Mmm, yes, Oliver, make me all wet on your cock like that, just like that.  Still holding onto his arms, you began to rock your hips back and forth, too, taking in more of Oliver’s cock.

Oliver moaned softly, right in your ear.  “Uhn, baby…” You smiled to yourself, pleased that you could make him feel so good already, when you were barely taking him in.

Just as you’d promised, Oliver could feel you getting all warm and slick for him, and your pussy was starting to take him in more and more easily.  Oliver let out a breath, relieved as the anxiety of hurting you slowly lessened.  Now, he was able to fall deeper into the pleasure of it all, and lose himself in that sweet, irresistible feeling of being with you like this.  Feels so heavenly, Oliver groaned in his mind. He took you a little deeper, only to feel how tight and wet you were deep in your pussy. 

“Oh Godric,” you choked out, and you squirmed as you felt his cock push against your walls for a moment. 

Oliver breathed out harder, too, as he felt your pussy squeezing all around his cock.  It was the best feeling he’d ever had, and he knew, instinctively, that he needed more of you right now.  Without thinking about it, Oliver suddenly slipped his hands up to your shoulders.  Feeling his warm, broad hands grasp your shoulder, you moaned lowly, already knowing that Oliver meant to take you deeper.  Sure enough, the next thrust was a bit rougher, as he took you even harder.

“Ah!” you gasped, feeling his cock push more heavily into you.

Oliver gritted his teeth, and, still gripping your shoulder, he leaned forward ever so slightly, so that he sank even deeper into you. 

“U-Uhn,” you breathed out, stuttering a little.  Your hands flew back onto his thighs.

“Are you – uhn – o-okay?” Oliver asked you, even while he was still pushing his cock into you, needing to be buried deep inside of you.

“Yes,” you moaned, “yes, k-keep going, Oliver, p-please – mmm, you’re so c-close.”

“Close?” Oliver breathed out wonderingly.

“Yes, to my spot. Just a – a little more.”  Your hands slid up his thighs and onto his hips, and you gently encouraged him to push forward. 

Oliver acquiesced at once, pulling his hips back, only to thrust into you again, quite deeply this time.

“Oh!” You jolted – Oliver’s  hand slipped from your right shoulder, and he accidentally ripped your bra strap down your arm, so that the cup was pulled down to reveal your breast.  He didn’t notice at first, but then, you suddenly grabbed his forearm and half-turned, so that Oliver could suddenly see you, in all your state.  His eyes widened, as he took in how your face was already shining lightly with sweat, and your eyes were so very bright, but almost sad, because you were looking at him so desperately, as if you still wanted more of him inside you, and then your soft, blushing cheeks were so romantic, matching your soft, pink lips, which were now parted as you gasped for him.  Then, Oliver’s gaze flickered down for just a moment, and he caught how your shirt and bra had been yanked down.  He blushed at seeing your bare breasts, as he wondered, When did that happen?  But then… Oliver, despite feeling slightly embarrassed as he pondered how he’d come to start undressing you without even meaning to, ducked his head down for a moment, and while he still had his cock buried deep inside of your sweet little pussy, he also bent down and first kissed, and then sucked, at your breast. 

You gasped a little in surprise, and then you bit your lower lip and let out a soft moan, for Oliver’s mouth on you always felt so good. 

Mm, my girl, yes, she tastes so sweet, Oliver moaned to himself, as he took your soft breast in his mouth and sucked hard at it.  He took his time with you, lavishing your breast with his tongue, repeatedly lapping at your nipple over and over again.  At the same time, he started to thrust lightly into you again, and he was deep enough inside of you now that the tip of his cock grazed against your sweet spot every time.

“O-Oh,” you breathed out.  It was impossible for you to describe how good this all felt for you.  To be loved so gently and yet so passionately – you felt beautiful.  You arched as much as you could for Oliver, letting him continue to suck on your breast, while his cock was buried in your pussy.  Then, after a moment, you grinded your hips, doing your part to make your pussy take his cock as much as you could.  You heard Oliver let out a muffled groan, and he bit down softly on your breast.  You moaned back, and Oliver let out a hot, ragged breath against your breast for a moment, before he latched his teeth lightly on your nipple. Your right hand fluttered up Oliver’s body, touching his shoulder for a moment, before you managed to reach back and grip the back of Oliver’s hair.  You gently, but needily, tugged his head up, and then you yanked him forward softly, so that you could kiss him.  Oliver’s mouth locked with yours, and you were both panting heavily, and Oliver’s lips were all wet from having sucked and tasted your soft breast.  “Mmm - !” you moaned hotly into his mouth.  At the same time, you reached forward with both of your hands, and gently resting your fingertips against the wall of the shed, you started to work your hips, against Oliver, having your pussy start to milk his cock as he deserved.

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut tightly, and he suddenly groaned lowly against your mouth.  “F-Fuck,” he stammered out in a muffled voice.  “What are you doing to me?”

“Mm – ah - ! Does it – ahhh – feel g-good?” you asked him, between gasps. 

Oliver nodded furiously.  It was such an immediate, fervent response that you nearly giggled.  Only, you couldn’t find the breath to laugh.  His cock was filling you up so good, and as you jerked your hips back and forth against him, you could feel the ridges of his thick cock going up and down your walls, and the tip of his cock was kissing your sweet spot with every stroke.  You knew he’d be able to reach that spot if he thrust into you, but you didn’t want to push it.  You simply wanted him to enjoy it, to enjoy you.

“You move s-so well,” Oliver groaned.  He wasn’t sure if you noticed, but his thighs were shaking slightly.  “Uhn…” Then, in a voice so soft you barely heard him, he cursed, “Fuck…”

Your eyes flashed open.  You managed to breath out, “Baby, are – are you close?”

“W-What?”

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

“I – uh – uh - ” Oliver stammered out, unwilling to admit the truth.

You finally let out a soft, hurried laugh.  “It’s okay if you are.”

Blushing profusely, Oliver leaned forward and buried his head against the back of your shoulder, as he admitted, in a whisper, “I might be.”  Then, in a rougher tone, he growled at you, almost accusingly, “You have no idea, do you?  How good you feel to me.”

“Oh,” you breathed out happily.  Yes, that’s what I wanted to hear.  I just wanted to know that I feel as good to him as he does to me.  You instructed him, in a hushed, yet hurried voice, “I’m going to lean forward, okay?  And then I want you to fuck me.  I mean, I want you to take my pussy, make it yours.”

“Make it… mine?”

“Yes,” you confirmed.  “Don’t hold back, baby.  Just take me.  Pound me as much as you want, please.” 

“But what if I hurt you?” Oliver said, suddenly quite nervous.  “Or what if I, uh, cum too early?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you assured him quickly.  Inside your chest, your heart was beating quite fast.  And although you didn’t mind going as slow as Oliver needed, there was a tiny part of you that was begging to get fucked.  And you needed it to be Oliver, and you needed it to be right now.

“But if I cum inside you - ”

“I’d love it,” you blurted out.

Oliver froze.  “W-What? Wait, what?”

“Forget it,” you said hastily, realizing you might have said too much.  But you were at your limit, too, so you finally tossed aside your politeness and instead blurted out, in a more aching, needy voice than you cared for, “Oliver, can’t you tell? I’m - I’m aching for you right now.  Can’t you feel how hot I am inside?  How tight my pussy is?  I want you, and I can keep waiting for you.  But if you’re close, too, and if you’re willing, I need you to take me, and I mean, really take me.  Pound my pussy, please, oh, please, please, please!”

Oliver’s eyes went wide, and his throat suddenly felt very dry as your words finally clunked into his brain.  She wants me that bad?  She was just waiting for me?  And she… needs me?  He blinked.  I can give her that, though, can’t I?  I mean, I’d want nothing more than to do what she’s saying – to take her and make her mine.  I wasn’t thinking about it, I just wanted so badly not to hurt her, and to please her.  But what’s she’s asking for right now – a pounding – deep down, I think that’s what I’ve been craving from the start.  To take her sweet little pussy, and make it mine.  A deep restraint within Oliver, born out of his nervousness from inexperience and out of his terror that he might hurt you or do something you didn’t want, finally snapped free, as you reassured him that everything he was doing was what you wanted, too.

“Okay,” Oliver finally replied, and his voice was firm.  He looked down at you, and, letting go of his embarrassment, he instead gave into his desire.  I want to see her pussy, and I want to see her take me.  Reaching down, he gently spread your pussy open for a moment.  You moaned and wiggled your hips wantingly.  Mm, Oliver thought to himself, so fucking pretty.  Look at her, throbbing already.  It makes me want to – It makes me want to fill her up, first with my cock, and then with my – my – But Oliver stopped himself.  He was learning to slowly let go of his anxiety of intimacy, but he still felt uncomfortable when he realized, at times, just how badly he wanted you.  But, until then, there were other ways for Oliver to satiate the intense feelings he had for you.  Like this, he thought to himself, as he pushed his cock back inside of you.  And he watched this time, watched your tight little hole take him in, inch by inch, until you were shivering all over and moaning quite needily, almost pathetically. 

Once Oliver was all the way inside of you, he leaned over and gave you a sweet kiss  on the back of your shoulder.  Then, grasping your shoulders once more, Oliver fucked you, and fucked you hard, just as you’d asked for. 

“Ahh!” You gasped out loud, in both surprise and utter relief, as his cock pushed right up against your sweet spot – and then again and again, for Oliver was snapping his hips forward quite forcefully, driving his cock deep inside of you. 

“Mm, yes, sweetheart, you feel so good,” Oliver groaned heavily.  After a minute of this intense, relentless pounding, his hands slipped down your back, and he gripped your hips tightly instead, keeping you right where you should be to take all of his deep, heavy thrusts.  

“Ah, ah, ah – uhnn!” Your moans became higher and higher pitched.  You started to scrabble at the wall in front of you because, although Oliver didn’t seem to realize it, he was yanking you back by your hips slightly with each thrust, making you take him with every stroke, and in doing so, he had you nearly on your tiptoes. 

Oh God, oh God, oh God, you whimpered in your head, as the way Oliver was taking you now sent your head spinning, and made your entire pussy go all tight with tension.  Oh shit, I think I’m gonna – “Nngh!” A tight, explosive sound left your lips, your hands balled into fists, your tummy went all tight, and your toes curled up in your shoes as you suddenly came for Oliver.

Oliver groaned, as he felt your pussy clench right on his cock.  With a growl, he suddenly ripped his shirt off, as he was feeling such a desperate, overwhelming tension take over him.  His shirt fell to the floor, and his hands were back on your hips and gripping you tightly enough to promise prints on your tomorrow, and he was fucking pounding into you, rutting into you like some wild animal, making the absolute most of taking your pussy when you were at your wettest and tightest.

“Ah, ah, ahhh!” You cried out loudly, as you felt Oliver’s cock slamming into you over and over again, dragging out your climax.  You soon felt your wet cum streaking down the back of your thighs.  You were crying a little, going all misty-eyed because of how good, overwhelmingly good, it all felt.  Then, you felt Oliver thrust – “Ahhh!” A loud gasp was wrenched out of you. 

You heard Oliver growl, and then, he let out a low, heavy groan.  The next second, he pulled out and you abruptly felt a stream of hot, white cum spurt out onto the back of your thighs, drenching you.

“Hah…Ah…Hah…” Gasping for breath, you started to slump forward against the wall.  Oliver quickly wrapped his arms around you and drew you back, pulling you into a tight hug.

Gasping right along with you, you felt Oliver place a messy kiss on your cheek.   “Fuck, that was – you were - ” Oliver choked out.  He had to take a deep breath before he managed to say, “That was amazing.”

“Oh God,” was all you managed to bleat out, for your legs were still trembling all over, and you could feel Oliver’s cum streaking down the back of your thighs.

“Are you all right?” Oliver whispered to you again. 

“Mhm,” you assured him, in a soft, satisfied hum.  You were so glad that he held you like this, so warmly, as you slowly drifted down from all that heat and tension. 

For a moment, you both stood there, still feeling that electric tingling going all over the both of you.  The sun had fallen quite low in the sky now, and the heavy golden light of dusk infiltrated the gap between the shed door and walls.

“Look at me, love,” Oliver whispered.  “I need to know that you’re all right.”

“I am,” you assured him.  You started to turn your head towards him, and Oliver reached up and gently pushed your hair back from your face, before he cupped your cheek in his hand and caught your lips in a kiss.  You breathed out softly as you kissed him back. 

“I – I did make you feel good, didn’t I?’ Oliver asked, a bit sheepishly. 

You opened your eyes and looked at him and Oliver, feeling uncertain all of a sudden, blushed and looked away.  You reached out and took his hand, and then, you guided him until his hand was at your pussy.  “Push your fingers in me, sweetheart,” you whispered lovingly.

“Right – Right now?”

“Yes, right now.”

Oliver hesitantly pushed two of his fingers into your pussy.  He breathed out when he felt your pussy still throbbing heavily, even now clenching on his fingers, but you were so, so wet, too, still dripping a little with your hot, sweet cum.

“That’s how good you make me feel,” you whispered lowly.  “That’s what you do to me.” 

“Oh…” Oliver breathed out. 

You smiled, and you assured him, “So stop worrying.  You do make me feel good.  So good, I can’t even tell you.” 

Oliver, thankful for your reassurance, kissed you yet again.  You both wrapped your arms around each other, and you stayed together like that for a long, long moment. 

Oh… This is such a perfect moment, you thought.  But then you noticed the light, and how it was withdrawing quite quickly from the shed.  Regretfully, you murmured, “We should go back.”

Oliver nodded.  His forehead was pressed softly against yours, and you felt him nod his head up and down.  You smiled, and despite your words, you closed your eyes for a moment and leaned into his hug.

Oliver sweetly nuzzled your cheek with his nose as he continued to hold you close.  A moment later, he whispered, in a barely audible voice, “How is it…?”

“What?”

“How is it you fit so perfectly with me?”  As soon as the words were out of Oliver’s mouth, he blushed, embarrassed.

But you knew what he meant.  Standing here, with Oliver holding you, it felt exactly right.  “I don’t know,” you mused, “but we do fit together rather nicely, don’t we?”

Oliver blinked, and then, a soft smile spread across his face, as he realized that you knew what exactly he meant.

You gave him one last, sweet kiss before you reluctantly drew away from him.  You cast spells to clean yourself up, pulled your bra, shirt, and jacket back up, and then shimmied your panties and skirt back on.  Meanwhile, Oliver pulled his shirt back on and his boxers and pants back up.

As Oliver saw you zip your (more accurately, his) jacket back up, he mused, a bit regretfully, “I never did undress you properly, huh?”

You looked over at him and grinned.  “Well, consider that on your to-do list for next time.”  Then, you cocked your head at him.  “Although, I don’t remember taking your shirt off of you.  When did that happen?”

“Oh, I, um – It got in the way,” Oliver mumbled.  “So I took it off…”

“Oh, so that’s on my to-do list next time,” you teased him.   

Oliver blushed and put his head down.  That was when you noticed that the back of his hair was quite mussed-up.  That must be because of how much I tugged at it, you thought.  You came over and gently patted the back of his hair back down for him. 

Not realizing that you were fixing his hair, Oliver cupped your face in both of his hands and kissed you again.

“Mm!”  Surprised, you laughed a little, but then you kissed him back.  “Oliver, thanks, but we – ah – we should head – mm – back.”

Oliver let out a little sigh, but as he drew away from you, he said knowingly, “Curfew, right?”

You grinned.  “Right. Now, c’mon.  Before Filch closes the castle doors.”  You left the shed, then, and began to head back up to the castle.

Oliver followed you and, without your realizing it, he reached forward and softly grasped the back of the Quidditch jumper that you were now wearing with two fingers, lightly holding onto you as he followed you back to the castle.  Still not walking side-by-side, I guess, he mused to himself. However, instead of feeling forlorn, Oliver now felt a soft, tender warmth in his heart as he followed you up to the castle, and he kept his eyes on your silhouette before him, guiding him back to the castle - and that was what he was staring at when he promptly tripped on the first castle step leading up to the castle doors. 

[kodiackwrites]

B&B bulking cod men pt 2!

Konig, Soap & Ghost- pretty much filler but ending is important to plot

—-

The conversation with Konig was over as soon as it started as another door opened at out Soap came, Smiling as he picked up his tray, “Thank you las” he said as he walked right back into his room, As did Konig. Ghost however didn’t make a noise, just took the tray, and disappeared into his room.

Hours later the men would fill the common room, telling stories, the odd laugh and chuckle and funny arguments filled the building. Making you let out a small laugh as you mixed the pot that sat in the oven, watching the timer finish for the steaks in the oven.

You made quick work of organizing all three lunch plates, Half a steak, Half a salmon, some handmade mashed potatoes, with some greens on the side. You grabbed a large tray from under the sink and placed the plates onto each, With a tall glass of milk, and adding salt & pepper shakers onto the tray.

Soap was the first to notice your entrance to the common room, “whatcha got there lassie?” He asked, trying to see the tray, Making Ghost & Konig turn over as you placed the tray on the large table.

They all looked confused, turning to face you. “I figured I’d make you all lunch, I apologize if im over stepping, I just realized you hadn’t eaten yet and it’s getting a bit late for lunch.” You explained, gesturing to the clock that read 2:46.

“Thank you.” Ghost mumbled as he took his pick of the plates, shaking some salt and pepper over it. The rest of the men followed with thank you’s.

“You’re welcome.” You smiled as you returned to the kitchen, cleaning the pots and pans you used to cook, Hearing the sound of cutlery scrapping at tapping against plates as then men silently ate.

Konig came in first, holding the tray covered in empty dishes, you thanked him and reached for the top plate, “non sense, you made us a meal the least I could do is the dishes, if that’s okay?” He asked kindly. “Go right ahead, just please leave them in the drying rack when you’re done.”

—

It has been nearly a week since the men had joined you, meaning they’d only be here for another. But the pattern of making them big breakfasts and lunch didn’t end. Due to them spending more time in the house instead of their usual leaving at 8:30 Am and coming home at 6, you’d grown closer to them, more so to Soap then the other too, but Konig would volunteer to help you clean up, and Ghost would silently do his share.

“What made you want to run a b&b? Isn’t it a bit dangerous in this area?” Ghost spoke up one evening after finishing his dinner, His voice was rough but he still had a British accent, the question caught you off guard, at first it was just for the money but you just never looked back once things started too run well. “I suppose it was just a quick way to get money when I first opened up, the house was rundown and too large for just me so I worked on it and got my permit.” You explained, “I guess it just worked out, I mean you guys are here every few months and there’s really no need to tip as much as you do.” You explained, “It’s a nice place, it’s the least we could do.” Konig chimed in, and Soap made a noise of agreement. “I suppose, It’s never what I wanted to do but hey, whatever makes the money.” You explained. “Perhaps you should join the military, the food you makes fuckin’ amazing. We could always use another cook.” Soap said with a chuckle, “Johnny don’t even try that.” Ghost grumbled angry in response, “I’m just saying, we could always use some better food at base and I’m sure this would suffice.” The scott argued back, “Alright enough, we’re not recruiting an innocent individual to cook for us.” Konig cut them off.

You thought for a moment, “I wouldn’t mind,” the men looked at you like deer in headlights. “That’s not just something you can decide on spot mate.” Ghost spoke up, Giving you a few minutes to think, he wasn’t wrong at all. But what would you be leaving behind? A few friends you barely speak too, a dead beat town? “True, but there’s not much going for me here other than this place.” You explain, “But I understand it’s not as easy as just volunteering and off I go.” Konig returned his attention to his plate, “I mean, if your records clean they might take you, got any professional cooking experience?” Soap asked, “I was a line cook for a few years, took hospitality and foods courses in college.”

Soap shrugged, “worth a shot if you really wanted to commit to it, you’d get slot more money then you would running this place, no offense.” He spoke, “it’s not the money that matters Soap”. Ghost argued again. “Sir- Ghost? I assure you I understand the risks of being involved in the military even as such an unimportant role.” You defended.

—

So here you are, a week after the conversation, sat with Soap finalizing your recruitment application. “So all the files are together?” He asked, you anxiously nodded as you handled him over the folder filled with all of your information. “Great lassie, I’ll be seeing ye soon then, thank you for letting us stay again.” He said with a nod and out the door he went, Following after Ghost and Konig.

[mashleverse]

#36 [MASH RADIO] - Web Radio feat. Kobayashi Chiaki and Koyasu Takehito

The long-awaited appearance of Koyasu Takehito, Japanese voice actor of Margarette Macaron, is here! As always, brief (and messy) summary under the cut!

Koyasu-san messed up the intro, to the point that Kobayashi Chiaki was laughing and their talk was still heard behind the music!

Koyasu: "Chaa--kiii!!" ; Kobayashi Chiaki: "Please don't call me like that!"

Koyasu said he was confused about how he should call Kobayashi Chiaki, especially since there are a lot of Kobayashis in the seiyuu industry so he couldn't just call him "Kobayashi-kun", so he settled with "Chaki" (from Chiaki), Kobayashi decided to just accept it, though he hoped that Koyasu would call him "Kobayashi-kun" in this radio (Koyasu proceeded to call him "Chaki" again shortly after, though he corrected that to "Kobayashi-kun")

They talked so much already in the beginning to the point that Koyasu forgot to introduce himself, so Kobayashi introduced him to the listeners!

Koyasu said that he auditioned for Margarette and got exactly the role he wanted!

Kobayashi: *explains about Margarette being a strong magician who can use sound manipulating magic and loves tartar sauce* ; Koyasu: Koyasu Takehito loves ise-ebi (lobster). ; Kobayashi: *is surprised*

Koyasu said he loves eating lobster with any kind of sauce, though not with tartar sauce.

Koyasu said that when he likes some food, he will start eating it a lot to the point he becomes bored of it or hates it.

Koyasu praised Kobayashi's performance as Mash when they recorded together (possibly during the Margarette battle) and Kobayashi was really happy!

Kobayashi: "What did you think about Mashle when you were voicing it?" ; Koyasu: "Well, I'm surprised by Ueda-chan (Ueda Reina, JP voice of Lemon)." ; Kobayashi: "Yeah, right! I said that a lot already, but I'm so surprised Ueda-san could let out that loud of a voice! (possibly referring to the scene when Margarette blew on Mash's ear and Lemon freaked out)

Koyasu assumed that perhaps it's the nature of Lemon as a character, that's both innocent and aggressive at the same time, and Ueda performed her character incredibly well, but he was still really surprised at her loud shriek back then. Both Kobayashi and Koyasu were amazed at how loud her voice was when she stood next to the mic.

When performing as Margarette, Koyasu thought of Margarette as a female role to emphasize the "woman's heart" that they have.

One of the listeners' letters said that their elementary school kids used to like Mash and Lance when watching the first season, but their favorite character changed to Margarette after watching the second season, then they thanked Mashle for being a series that everyone in the family can enjoy.

They ended up spending so much time on the Gion quiz that Koyasu was surprised that the radio ended already (yes, there's no Bukkowashitai session because Koyasu and Kobayashi talked a lot)! And that's it for the Mash Radio episode 36!

[emthought]

first lines fic challenge

first lines fanfic challenge thing: post the first 10 lines of 10 fics you've written (or up to that).

Thanks @alohawhore for the tag! Tagging @the-cinnamontography-is-amazing @almostpleasantrebel @archidendron @3asystreets @onekisstotakewithme @hecatesbroom

All of these are MASH because what else do I write these days? Three is what I wrote right after Loretta passed so major character death warning.

Saving Lives, Breaking Records

It started out with a Jeep and a spark of competitive spirit that brightened up an otherwise quiet day at a MASH unit in Korea.

Capt. Benjamin Franklin Pierce, a doctor at the 4077th MASH in Uijeongbu, Korea, read this publication’s story about 15 students at the California Institute of Technology who managed to fit in a Volkswagen Beetle. Pierce thought the team at the 4077th could best this number.

Turns out, he was correct.

This spring, 16 members of the 4077th squeezed into a standard-issue Army Jeep—usually designed to fit three to four people.

Though the idea originated with Pierce, he was quick to praise his compatriots at the 4077th.

“They’re champions. Each and every one of them. This wouldn’t have happened without them,” he said. 

He credited Maj. Margaret Houlihan, head nurse at the 4077th, with being the one to put them over the record.

“She was our ace in the hole,” he said.

2. woods, or steepy mountain yields

Donna has a knack for getting Charles to agree to things that wouldn’t normally be on his agenda.

Apple picking in the fall. Theatre from an underground group in the winter. And now, as spring almost turns into summer, hiking.

All week, he’d been staring at it on the calendar next to the large oak desk in his home office. He recognized the flowing cursive that wrote the entry, but he wondered what he was thinking.

(He was thinking of the way Donna’s face lights up whenever she’s excited about something.)

It gnawed at the back of his mind all week, and now that the day has arrived, it was no different. Who knows the kind of people they would run into while out there, and Donna said she would pack a picnic lunch, which was very generous of her, but Charles worries about how messy it will be. Ever since he moved out of the swamp, out of Korea, he’s tried to keep everything in his life as pristine as possible.

Worse yet, what if he perspired excessively or tripped and made a fool of himself?

3. love is watching someone die

Even before they’d become friends, Hawkeye knew Margaret was one of the strongest people at the 4077th. 

So it doesn’t make sense to him that she was one of the first to die. 

He knows, from years of practicing medicine, that it doesn’t work like that, that illnesses do not discriminate based on the most meaningful parts of a patient’s personality. 

Still, Hawkeye wants to grab the universe by the collar and shake it. He wants to yell at whatever god might exist that this was a mistake. There’s no way that he should have outlived her.

Margaret’s two requests for the service were that Fr. Mulcahy preside over it and Hawkeye give the eulogy.

Hawkeye remembers the day Margaret told him this because it was one of the first times they’d acknowledged the finality of her diagnosis. 

“How do you know I won’t embarrass you?” he joked softly because he wasn’t sure what else to do when his heart was breaking like this.

“I haven’t ever told you this for fear of inflating your ego, but I think you know me better than anyone, Pierce. There’s no one else I would want.”

4. Breaking Bread

Charles knew he should eat something after Hawkeye and BJ relieved him from a lengthy shift in post-op, but the thought of the mess tent slop made his stomach turn. In spite of this, he found himself walking across the camp in that direction. Between that and helping BJ and Klinger with their foolish prank, perhaps his logic would be another casualty of the Korean War.

He sighed loudly as Igor served him something that he claimed was chicken.

When he looked around and saw only enlisted men, he took a seat at a table by himself. He was an officer, and it was proper to keep his distance.

Charles pushed the food back and forth on his plate, trying to summon his appetite. He didn’t mind being alone—the quiet felt luxurious after the chaos of the bowling tournament and trying to get ahold of Haweye’s dad the day before.

More often than not, Charles found solitude ideal. He didn’t have to listen to asinine conversations or, like he had as a child, offer his father a list of everything he had accomplished for the day.

5. Knocking at Your Door

The first thing Margaret does when she wakes up in post-op after her surgery is try to go to her tent. There are appearances to keep up. She’s head nurse, not another patient, and she doesn’t want anyone forgetting that.

Her side is sore, but she can stand without too much issue. It’s just a bit of pain. She’s dealt with much worse before.

Compared to what most of the soldiers they work on are dealing with, it’s really nothing.

Hawkeye, who was checking in on a patient a few beds over, eyes her as she stands up.

“Going somewhere?”

His tone is a mix of concerned and amused, and her chest tightens in annoyance. 

6. she is the fight in you, the winning and the losing battle floating like a shipwreck in your chest

You’re smiling as you imagine avenging yourself in tonight’s Gin game with Helen when Colonel Potter pulls you in his tent to talk. You’re still thinking of Helen after he tells you what it’s about, but you aren’t smiling anymore. 

Your stomach sinks at the image of her alone in the supply room with a bottle of alcohol. You’re angry that you didn’t notice that she’d been drinking. You’re supposed to notice these things.

You don’t tell the Colonel any of this, and outwardly, you’re defensive. Everyone in this unit has been too drunk at some point. How is this incident with Helen any different?

(You know exactly how it is.)

When the Colonel mentions the near mistake with the blood types, your stomach sinks further.

7. More Than So Many Somethings

From: Major152

To: MaineBird

Subject: Ridiculous Accumulation of Stuff

I've spent my life thinking I'm a fairly practical person, but packing and then unpacking everything I own has shown me that I have far too many things. I don't think I've reached hoarding levels, but I've decided I need to cut back. Our world is so focused on consumerism and how that ties into our identities. Who are we without the things we own? How many people would be unable to answer that question?

From: MaineBird

To: Major152

Subject: Re: Ridiculous Accumulation of Stuff

I think it’s great that you get philosophical with (un)packing. I just complain the entire time when I’m stuck doing it.

8. i've been meaning to tell you, i think your house is haunted

The yell reverberates through the house, possibly echoing throughout the entire army base, and Margaret knows then that she’s been kidding herself thinking it doesn’t bother her.

She isn’t sure what her parents are even fighting about, but her father’s angry—and when he’s angry, he’s loud.

Up until a moment ago, Margaret thought she trained herself to tune it out, to lie in bed with a pillow pressed to her ears if it was particularly bad.

But now she’s shaking in a way that she hates. She closes her history textbook, knowing she won’t be able to focus anymore. She needs to get out of here.

Standing up from the desk in her bedroom, she tiptoes down the hallway. Her eyes close when she hears another shout from the living room, and she wills her heart to stop pounding. She’s supposed to be stronger than this.

She pulls herself together as much as she can and sneaks out the back door.

9. and we will all the pleasures prove

Charles is sitting at the piano in the middle of the OR, hands flying across the instrument as everyone else is bent over their patients. They all move in sync, taking the next steps for surgery as Charles’ fingers come into contact with the black and white keys.

Someone, Colonel Potter and his mother at the same time, tells him to do better, that lives are in the balance, that they're counting on him.

He puts more heart into it. He gives it everything he can.

Blood stains his fingers, drips down the keys of the piano, stands in stark contrast to the ivory of the keys. 

“You're losing this patient, Winchester. You're losing all of them,” a voice chides him, as if everyone else is a marionette controlled by the piano strings and he's a conductor in hell.

He’s trying his best.

10. like cicadas in the summertime

Margaret’s tried to pace her studying all semester so finals wouldn’t be stressful, but anatomy has snuck up on her in a way she hates.

She’s sitting next to Lorraine on a blanket outside as they pour over their textbooks. The grassy quad is otherwise empty, and they’d found a spot under a tree, enjoying a bit of shade as the sun shines in full force.

Margaret frowns as she realizes she's been reading the same sentence over and over.

Lorraine’s knee brushes against hers, and she backs away ever so slightly. She’s been hyper aware of their proximity ever since that night a few months ago.

It wasn’t the first time they’d shared a bed, but it felt different. Lorraine clung to her as she cried over an ROTC cadet who broke her heart, tears dampening Margaret's pajama top. There was an intentionality to the way Lorraine wrapped her arms around Margaret, and how she in turn rubbed tiny circles on her back. 

Margaret hated seeing her upset, but holding her like that felt right in a way that’s haunted her ever since.

[kindred-spirit-93]

Sup, it's me Anon

I actually did have an idea for a webcomic way back. Imagine Hera leaving Zeus with just a suitcase and her loyal attendant Iris, navigating modern Greece and self-reflecting on her life, while Zeus plots to win her back.

This concept draws inspiration from Pausanias's Descriptions of Greece, where Hera crashes the wedding of Zeus to a wooden cult statue of. I envision Hera as a blunt Dorothy-like figure (Golden Girls vibe, with Wendie Malick's voice).

As a young ambitious goddess, Hera declared herself goddess of the starts and the galaxy, experimenting with primal forces—mashing matter under its own weight or flinging it into the heavens.

Despite her formidability, she won Zeus' heart (they had a secret affair, hidden from Rhea while he was still married to Leto) Hera was thrilled to become Queen of the gods but grew disillusioned when Zeus deemed her interest in primordial laws "unfit for a queen." He reassigned her domain to domestic bonds, making her the Goddess of Marriage.

Hera tried to conform but struggled with Zeus' infidelity, which brought her deep embarrassment. Feeling unable to embody her assigned role and domain, Hera dealt with her issues with Zeus' mortal lovers and demigod children by revisiting her old passions, by making constellations (if you know how most constellations are made in mythology you'll get it).

In recent years, Hera has seemingly calmed down, growing apathetic towards the mortals (with whom she always had a complicated reputation). She now believes the rest of the gods should follow suit.

I imagine her reflecting on a lot of thinks, Her foster mother Thetys and her relationship with her actual mother Rhea and her relationship with her husband and sons. (Hera being the favourite child of Chronos will also be very important) She has a salad with Apollo, Aphrodite is her loud daughter in law. She lives with her sister Demeter for a bit (I imagine her to be quite free and open with her sexuality)

I imagine that some gods choose not to have a human form, Zeus gave up and just floats around as a sentient cloud. Mainly because I find the concept of a human looking woman being married to a small cloud funny.

Athena is worried because a bunch of weird creatures and snakes starting to rise from the ground, Hera seems to be too relaxed with that situation.

The underworld basically acts as an office comedy, so imagine the whole underworld to be set up like the Office.

And to make things interesting I imagine Hestia to be an antagonistic (not villainous) figure - dead set on keeping the family unit together

Basically it's a whole shit pot of ideas, and it just felt a bit too ambitious at the time. But those were my ideas

ANON U GIVE ME LIFE!!

i have no idea what i did to deserve this goldmine of asks but im incredibly grateful and super jazzed to see where it goes!

definately need to do more reading (if u have any suggestions or places to start ill be eternally thankful, as of now i read stuff from theoi on study breaks) but i cant promise anything bc i go off of vibes mostly lol

anyway golden girls esque the office sitcom slice of life it is!

im familiar with the crashing the wedding myth (shout out to osp's red for introducing me to greek mythology!) and suggest it be the straw that breaks the camels back;

like shes only *just* reconciled with zeus and maybe theyve even renewed their vows and hes off wooing someone else and she just packs her shit and leaves (i like this better than a grand gesture to win her back at the very end so well start with what was supposed to be a happy ending and watch it go from there)

adore the idea of hera tapping into primordial stuff (anon ur mind is so cool like what) spending time perhaps with the primordials kinda in parallel with how zeus was raised by gaia iirc, maybe she chills with nyx and tartarus and the primordial eros idk regardless

--

perhaps this experimentation and determination to carve a space for herself in the fabric of the world they inherited is what captured zeus' heart (in the mythos he was married to metis first and then themis and then after raping hera they marry in part due to heras shame but i need to go double check on that one. afaik he was ever married to leto.) anyway hera sees it as a power up that could be exactly what shes looking for and agrees to an affair bc she doesnt want to be held down

they is in loooove and its interesting to see their dynamic (as much as i love to dunk on zeus he was the god of fate law and justice etc afterall so id love to see how theyd work with eachother and grow into their domains alongside one another). this leads to their marriage and things slowly start to go down hill when heras experimentation makes him paranoid of her own infideilty (how ironic and hypocritical lol) he seeks to contain her and decrees her domains will be that of a 'traditional' wife and queen and the thrill wearing off.

her escapism is connected to the cosmos and the void she once strived to be a part of. she wishes to be set free of all that chains her down, but in her mind duty is above her own needs (its been drilled into her) and she knows opposing zeus is a losing fight (maybe this is after her attempted coup too so now shes just burnt out and tired of trying. or maybe shes just biding her time whos to say…)

super cool i think to have the goddess of maternity and marriage be conflicted about her own mother(s) and marriage i think its a great way to explore the complexities of both and makes for some commentary and possibly a side of comedy. identity crises hera halleujah amen

--

maybe iris says something in passing one day and shes just like you know waht fuck him and fuck this i too am a daughter of cronos and i inherited this earth as well, i shall do what i please everything and one else be damned. slay i guess lol

hera chooses a human form and stubbornly refuses to go back to her divine one and zeus likes chilling as a cloud except mortals cant see him in that form.. so basically visual comedy of goddess as a human living her best life and zeus in both fondness and exasperation tries to win her back but hes a poofy wisp of air. idk that dynamic has a lot of potential too lol

hera even as a human is still careless of sorts towards mortals (my girl is fighting her own demons aint nobody got time for their drama and shenanigans) but her maternal side comes out every so often when she sees a kid with dreams and less than encouraging environment and guides them behind the scenes in little ways. idk i want to see hera as more than a jealous and petty figure and more complexity in general.

--

i guess her first pit stop would be to hades, her brother hasnt seen her since the end of the titan age so hes shook and skeptical (what did zeus fuck up this time?) and shes like can i crash? *blank stare*

stoic persephone watches them whisper shout about 'order and responsibilities' and shes like u know what im taking u to nyx you two should have some tea and shit talk zeus and u will feel better. heras like bet.

iris and hermes take over the narrative maybe bc i need to see more of them together honestly, hermes gives intel from the heavens and zeus' goose chase and iris is so done with everyones shit but is also very close to hera and tries her best. shes a good friend to hera i like her ^-^

hestia being the family therapist hell yes! then maybe she snaps and tells everone off, hair bursting into flames and things melting around her and everyone agrees to a truce of sorts. idk im working on it

--

also this is what mortal hera looks to me:

(credits to SelahSketches on x) zeus fucked up so hard lol look at my girl!

[gt-supernova-art3mis]

Turkey, Takedowns, and Thanks

THANKSGIVING SPECIAL (fair warning, this has not been revised or edited since I originally wrote this)

It was the first Thanksgiving that Johnny Cage, Airlea, and the rest of the gang had spent together, and Johnny was determined to make it memorable. The large dining room in the mansion was filled with mismatched decorations—fake turkeys, paper garlands, and a few plastic pumpkins that looked like they came straight out of a bargain bin. But Johnny didn’t care about the aesthetics; he cared about the experience. And he was going all in.

Airlea, sitting on the kitchen counter, was watching Johnny and Liu Kang wrestle with a turkey that was far too big for their oven. “I don’t get it,” she said, her tiny voice cutting through the chaos. “You’re a famous actor, Johnny. How do you not know how to cook a turkey?”

Johnny shot her a grin, wiping his hands on his apron. “Cooking’s not my thing, kid. That’s why I brought in the pros,” he said, motioning to Liu Kang, who was currently trying to shove the oversized bird into the oven. “Liu Kang’s the one who insisted on doing everything the traditional way.”

Liu Kang, his brow furrowed in concentration, grunted as he finally managed to squeeze the turkey in. “It’s about honoring Earthrealm’s traditions,” he said, clearly proud of his efforts. “This will be a feast fit for kings.”

Airlea raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t think about how many people you’d be feeding before you bought a turkey the size of a small car?”

Johnny laughed, tossing a dishtowel over his shoulder. “Hey, we’re feeding a lot of people. And if we have leftovers, I’m all for it.”

Raiden, who had been watching from the doorway, chuckled. “Perhaps next year, Johnny, you should leave the cooking to others.”

Johnny waved him off. “I’m more of a ‘bring the wine and make the jokes’ kind of guy. You know, the important stuff.”

Meanwhile, Kung Lao and Kenshi were setting the table, their movements precise as always. “I’m not sure this is the time for jokes, Johnny,” Kung Lao said, adjusting the place settings. “The meal should be about gratitude and reflection.”

Kenshi, who had been quietly preparing the mashed potatoes, added, “And maybe less about chaos and disaster.”

Johnny smirked. “Hey, if we’re going to have a memorable Thanksgiving, we need a little bit of chaos. Besides, who else is going to entertain you guys?”

Airlea, now perched on the edge of the dining table, crossed her arms and looked at Johnny with a smirk. “I think we’re all entertained by how badly you’re failing at this.”

Johnny shot her a mock glare. “Alright, alright, kid. You’re just lucky you’re cute. Otherwise, I’d have you cleaning the dishes.”

Liu Kang, finally satisfied with the turkey, turned to the group. “The turkey is ready. Let us gather around and share what we are thankful for.”

Everyone gathered around the table, and the food was served. The turkey, while slightly overcooked, was still edible, and there were mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and a variety of pies. It wasn’t a five-star meal, but it was a meal made with effort and heart.

Johnny raised his glass of wine. “Alright, here we go. A toast to Earthrealm, to friends, and to family—whether by blood or by battle. And, of course, to me for making this whole thing happen.” He winked at Airlea.

Airlea rolled her eyes but smiled. “Yeah, yeah, you’re the hero of Thanksgiving. We get it.”

Raiden nodded solemnly. “It is important to be grateful for the small things, the moments of peace amidst the chaos. We fight together, and we stand together.”

Liu Kang added, “And we share these moments as a family, even if we are not all from the same world.”

Johnny raised his glass again. “To family,” he said, his voice sincere this time. “And to making it through the weirdest Thanksgiving ever.”

Airlea, not one to let Johnny have the last word, raised her own tiny glass of apple cider. “To the weirdest Thanksgiving, and to Johnny for making sure it was memorable.”

The group laughed, and the warmth of the moment filled the room, despite the occasional clinking of silverware or the muffled sound of the turkey sizzling in the oven. They ate, joked, and shared stories—some from their past, others about the future. It was a Thanksgiving like no other, and though they were from different realms and different walks of life, they were all united in the spirit of the holiday.

Later, after the meal, they all settled in front of the fire. Airlea sat on Johnny’s shoulder, sipping her cider as the rest of the gang lounged around. Johnny, leaning back in his chair, threw an arm around Airlea. “Next year, we’re doing this again,” he said, his tone playful but content. “And I’ll make sure the turkey’s a little smaller.”

Airlea snorted. “Sure, Johnny. Maybe you’ll even let someone else cook.”

Johnny grinned. “Maybe.”

As the fire crackled softly in the background, the group relaxed, full and content after their first Thanksgiving together. Johnny leaned back in his chair, his arms stretched out behind him, looking around at the group with a smile.

"You know," he said, breaking the comfortable silence, "this is actually kinda nice. I mean, who would've thought that a bunch of warriors, a few gods, and a tiny person like you," he glanced at Airlea, "would make such a great team?"

Airlea snorted, rolling her eyes. "You're just saying that because you’re full. You wouldn’t have said that if you had to cook the turkey."

Johnny chuckled. "Hey, it turned out better than expected. Right, Liu Kang?"

Liu Kang, who had been quietly enjoying his slice of pie, nodded with a smile. "It was a good effort, Johnny. You may not be a chef, but you are a good host."

Raiden, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, gave a slight nod of approval. "The meal was… acceptable. But it is the camaraderie that makes this day special."

Kenshi, who had been sitting near the fire, shifted in his seat, looking around at the group. "I’ve never had a Thanksgiving like this before. It’s strange, but… it’s nice."

Johnny grinned, raising his glass. "I think we’ve all got a lot to be thankful for. Earthrealm’s still standing, we’ve got each other’s backs, and—" he paused dramatically, looking around the room, "—we survived my cooking."

The group laughed, and even Raiden allowed himself a rare chuckle. Airlea, perched comfortably on Johnny’s shoulder, leaned in with a mischievous grin. "I’m just glad I didn’t have to save you from burning the house down, Johnny."

Johnny shot her a playful look. "Hey, I saved myself. You’d just be there to take credit for it."

She rolled her eyes again, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at her lips. "Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night."

The conversation drifted from lighthearted banter to more serious reflections as the evening wore on. Liu Kang spoke of his memories of past Thanksgivings in Earthrealm, sharing stories of his family and the simple joys of the holiday. Raiden, though more reserved, shared a rare glimpse into his own history, explaining how he had come to appreciate the small moments of peace in between the chaos of defending Earthrealm.

As the fire began to die down, Johnny stood up and stretched, a grin spreading across his face. "Alright, alright, enough of the deep talks. Who’s up for some post-dinner entertainment?"

Airlea perked up at the mention of entertainment. "What do you have in mind, Johnny?"

He winked at her. "How about a little game of Mortal Kombat? Nothing too serious—just a friendly sparring match. You know, to work off the turkey."

Liu Kang raised an eyebrow. "A sparring match? After all the food?"

"Come on, Liu Kang," Johnny said, grinning. "It’s not like we’re about to start a tournament or anything. Just a few friendly punches. What do you say, Raiden? You in?"

Raiden, his expression unreadable, glanced at Liu Kang, then at the rest of the group. "Perhaps a light spar would be acceptable. But we must remember to keep it friendly."

Johnny's grin widened. "Friendly? Sure. That’s what I meant. Just a little fun."

Kenshi, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow. "I’m not sure how ‘fun’ it’ll be when Johnny gets his face smashed in."

Airlea leaned forward, her tiny voice barely above a whisper. "I bet Johnny’s gonna get his butt kicked. He’s been talking big all night."

Johnny shot her a look. "Oh, you’re on, kid. Just wait. I’ve got moves you haven’t even seen yet."

The gang began to gather around, the excitement building as they prepared for the impromptu sparring match. Johnny and Liu Kang squared off first, both of them stretching and cracking their knuckles, while the others found places to sit or stand around the room, eager to watch the showdown.

As the fight began, it was clear that Liu Kang’s martial arts skills were a cut above Johnny’s flashy moves. Johnny threw a punch, but Liu Kang dodged effortlessly, countering with a roundhouse kick that sent Johnny stumbling back.

Airlea, perched on a nearby chair, leaned forward, her eyes glued to the action. "Told you," she muttered to herself, her tiny form bouncing with excitement.

Johnny, however, wasn’t one to back down. He grinned and charged forward, throwing a series of punches and kicks in rapid succession. Liu Kang blocked and dodged, his movements fluid and precise, but Johnny managed to land a lucky hit, knocking Liu Kang off balance.

The room erupted in cheers, and Johnny did a quick victory dance, though he was clearly out of breath. "See? Told you I had it in me."

Liu Kang smirked, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow. "That was a good hit, Johnny. But you’re not going to win this easily."

The rest of the gang took turns sparring, with Kung Lao and Kenshi getting in a few good hits on Johnny, who was starting to feel the effects of the food coma. But through it all, the laughter and friendly banter never stopped. Even Raiden, who was usually so serious, couldn’t help but smile as he watched the group enjoying themselves.

As the night wore on, they all gathered around the fire again, tired but happy. Airlea, now curled up in Johnny’s lap, looked up at him with a mischievous grin. "I guess you’re not so bad, Johnny. For a guy who can’t cook."

Johnny chuckled, ruffling her hair. "You’re lucky you’re cute, kid. Otherwise, I’d make you do the dishes."

She snorted. "Yeah, right. I’d have you begging for mercy by the time I was done."

Johnny laughed, looking around at the group of friends who had become like family to him. For all the chaos and danger that came with their lives, moments like this—simple, joyful, and full of laughter—made it all worth it. And as he looked at Airlea, who was still clutching his shirt with her tiny hands, he couldn’t help but feel thankful for this weird, wonderful, and unexpected family they had all built together.

"Next year," Johnny said, his voice soft but sincere, "we’re doing this again. And maybe next time, I’ll cook a little less… aggressively."

Airlea grinned. "We’ll see, Johnny. We’ll see."

[kootiepatra]

#FFxivWrite2024 - Day 21: Shade

[Wolmeric nonsense on the Island Sanctuary]

Since Aymeric’s first day on the island had fallen victim to poor weather—which made for a hilarious and unexpectedly romantic day, but not exactly the most idyllic one—he and Keimwyda began their second day with a zeal to make up for lost time.

…After a properly lazy morning of sleeping in, of course.

But she took him on the grand tour. They viewed her favorite vistas, sampled some of the islands’ fruits, and observed the wildlife of all sorts that flitted through the trees and ambled through the fields and along the shore. And the beach—of course, they spent time on the beach. Plenty of it, too.

Before the Calamity, Coerthas had its fair share of swimming holes and wading streams, but nothing like a proper beach, with sand so soft one did not need shoes, and waters so comfortably cool that one could wade, and swim, and splash about to their heart’s content without ever feeling a chill. Not to mention the fish and corals which could be seen just off the island’s shore: a colorful kaleidoscope unlike anything found in Eorzea’s freshwater rivers and lakes. It was a new experience for Aymeric, and one he was enjoying thoroughly.

“I am reminded that it has been more than five summers since I have had a proper swim ,” he marveled. “Nothing against the Firmament’s hot springs, of course. But to be outside, and unhurried, and free to explore…”

…Aymeric soon would soon also remember it had been more than five summers since he had spent so much time in the sun.

Keimwyda had been the first to notice. She had thought he looked flushed from the exercise, but then realized that the color was not fading. He insisted he felt fine. She ushered him into the shade of the cabin anyway, ordered the nearest mammet to supply him with all the cool beverages he desired, and nipped off to the gardens to harvest a few leaves of aloe and rinse them in the nearby stream.

By the time she returned, she found him sat on the edge of the chaise lounge, a mammet fanning him with a large palm frond, and him poking at his own shoulder and wincing as the spot went from red to white under his touch. It would seem that his time taking shelter was allowing the burning sensation to catch up to him.

“Oh, love,” she said sympathetically. “How do you feel?”

He looked up at her sheepishly. “I… may have overdone things somewhat.”

“Perhaps a bit. I fear you do not know your own limits, Ser.”

“And how is it you are not burned yourself?” he demanded with a wry smile. “Quite unfair of you.”

She shook her head and laughed, “I have had a bit more exposure than you as of late…” and then she pointed at the wide-brimmed straw hat she wore. “But I would credit this to go a long way towards it as well. We shall have the workshop make you one that you can wear tomorrow.”

Aymeric made a face.

Keimwyda laughed again. “What, should I be insulted? Do you not think I look well in it?”

“That is not it at all! ‘Tis just that… I mean, I can already tell I shall not be able to pull it off as splendidly as you do. Envy, you see.”

“Admirably recovered,” she smirked.

He shrugged. “I have just never been much for hats, myself.”

“Hmm. Well, may I humbly suggest that you now have sufficient motivation to make an exception. At least for your stay here.”

“Perhaps,” he sighed. He watched her strip open one of the aloe leaves, scoop out its jellied, translucent flesh into a bowl, and shake off the tendrils of slime that stretched and oozed after it. He made a face again. “…May I ask, what is that?”

“Oh, have you not seen it? It grows in Thanalan. As a poultice, it is quite effective for soothing sunburn.” She mashed the stuff into a gooey gel—which did not do much to make it look more appealing—and then came over and sat beside him.

She felt his forehead. It  had been spared the worst of the burn thanks to the way he wore his hair, but even so… “You do still feel a bit warm,” she noted.

“Aye, well, so does a gastornis after it has been roasted, I imagine.”

“Hah. So it does. Drink some more water. And, I apologize in advance…”

“Apologize for wh…aaaaaah,” he gasped, as she applied some of the gel to his shoulders. It had been quite a few years since he had been sunburnt at all—even prior to the Calamity—and never had he received this exact treatment for it. The flaring sting of being touched leapt straight into the sensation of ice as the aloe layered onto his skin, which soon eased into a bizarre but effectively comforting coolness that washed over the area like a wave. “...Ah. I see. How… invigorating!”

“I’m so sorry, love,” she laughed gently. “But it does help, yes?”

“It does.”

So she continued, gingerly tracing over the reddened areas on his shoulders, back, arms, and chest, careful to keep a layer of gel between his skin and her fingertips. …Which did not prevent him flinching a few times, only to relax into the relief of the poultice as it set in.

“Look at me?” she asked, wanting to get a better sense of how his face had fared. He obliged.

Keimwyda felt her heart melt. Over sun-singed cheeks and nose, his glacial blue eyes shone despite his discomfort, looking soft, and teasing, and relaxed . It was good to see him thus. And she dared say it was long overdue. She smiled at him, and playfully dotted a daub of gel upon his nose. He squinted against it and laughed.

…His lips did not look burned, she thought. It seemed to her that they might benefit from… perhaps a different kind of therapy. His eyes met hers. He smiled mischievously. It seemed that he would agree.

It was probably for the best they did not remember the mammet still standing there with the fan.

[majorbaby]

How would you rank all the popular mash ships?

tbh aside from traphawk and beejhawk i don't really have a good grasp of what the popular ships are but based on my experience, aside from the aforementioned two there is also:

hawkeye/mulcahy

hawkeye/margaret

hawkeye/BJ/peg

hawkeye/charles

also keep in mind that the bar for me is "am i turned on by the idea of these people having sex?" if the answer to that question is no, then the most i can do is ship them in theory and my level of enthusiasm is nowhere near where i think it should be for me to call myself a fan of that ship.

tl;dr I'm only into traphawk and beejhawk and the latter is highly situational but when i love it i really love it. if you're really into any of the others then you may wanna skip this because i was very honest about how i feel about the rest.

Trapper/Hawkeye - my endgame Hawkeye ship if it's the case I have one... jury's still out. The lack of conflict in this ship means they should be boring but the chemistry, comedy and quality of acting and writing saves them. Also I like that Trapper is assigned wife at pilot. but ultimately the thing that gets me with them is that I think if they'd met anywhere else in the world, they'd be friends, and I have no doubt they would make each other happy because there's ample proof of them already doing that for one another in the worst place on earth.

BJ/Hawkeye - they are that post that goes "gay sex will not fix this situation, perhaps it will make it worse, i think we should try it anyway" and I think that's hot. if there was a wealth of this fic to be found, i would be a much bigger stan. if it's not that, then i am immediately taken out, and not even because i don't think it could work between them (although it is true, i don't think it could work between them), but because BJ never "grabbed" me as a character, which is a combination of him being poorly written and poorly acted. so, not technically his fault, it just is what it is.

Hawkeye/Margaret - I was a non-believer, but there's one fic that did them so well it converted me. and even then I think what really got me was Margaret's excellent characterization, and a thorough exploration of her character, the likes of which I almost never see in fic. so i'm not into it, but there is one exception to the rule.

Hawkeye/Charles - I ship it in theory, but not in practice. They have good chemistry, are very entertaining to watch, and I could buy that they stay friends postwar but... it doesn't get my dick hard ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I suppose if you crammed like, ever single one of my favourite kinks into a fic and put them in it then I would go here, but honestly it's difficult for me to picture them having sex and that's the biggest draw of shipping to me

Hawkeye/BJ/Peg - lmao rare case of I ship it in practice but not in theory, read: guy who loves threesomes. but like, my opinion of BJ is that he's not a very good partner to Peg or a good friend to Hawkeye and on top of this he is a jealous, insecure and territorial person so the idea of him in a healthy, happy, throuple is laughable to me. Also see: I think he's boring and I would sooner read a Hawk/Peg fic than a Hawk/BJ/Peg fic.

Hawkeye/Mulcahy - Hard pass. It turns me off in every possible way. I would rather read fic for almost any other ship.

[globodamorte]

there is so much to be said about the real politics going on in road 96. as much as I love this game it feels so shallow now that I'm more educated. let's just replace the guy in charge and everything will be fixed. it kind of uses the horseshoe theory (which is absolute BS) to justify things? like. hmmm. idk. crazy shit. can u imagine btw I'm gripping your shoulders rn. can u imagine if road 96 was made w a Marxist Leninist lens. I'm gonna throw up.

I always found it so silly that when you get the revolution ending, it's still Florres that takes over??. like wtf? lmao . a literal revolution happened but the person who takes charge still needs to be one of two presidential candidates. lmao??

watching mile 0 confirmed this for me. kaitos ending for if he's "too much of a revolutionary" just sits bad w me. he trusts John. in the end what he is fighting for IS right. why should he have to think "this is a trap actually", when he doesn't know Robert or how shitty he is. like. idk. in the end "ahh too much revolution is actually bad!!! let's settle for whatever the fuck"

I guess in mile 0 the horseshoe theory really gets put in practice, as zoe is in one end of the "spectrum" and kaitos in the other. Zoe can either become enlightened or a fascist while kaito can either become enlightened or a... revolutionary? ok I guess

but I wonder what lies in the middle . you got

🏡➖💡➖✊🏼

zoe gets the light to chauvinism while kaito gets light to revolution. what lies in the light I wonder. is it perhaps. voting for the right person? as if that would fix anything? aiaiai...

Robert also seems to me like the kind of revolutionary that hasn't learned anything ever and is just coming up w shit. and maybe that reflects on the devs but ok.

for them to use a Mish mash monstrosity of "dictatorships" alluding to the DPRK and the USSR but also trump! !!!1 is... ignorant to say the least. like just spilling propaganda at this point while looking subversive and, even worse, combative.

the fact that I still love this game should be an indicator of how good it is. even though the politics of it are very uhhh. like that.

[jasminebutintaiwansojiemin]

July 16th, 2024 - The Palace Museum, Mongolian BBQ, Chiang Kai Shek’s residence

I really enjoyed today’s programming. I surprisingly like museums a lot, and the one today was no . It was really cool getting to see all the historical artifacts dating back hundreds, if not thousands of years.

I woke up this morning around 4am and ended up in a meeting at 6am that none of my friends or coordinator thought I’d be at, but then bullied me for being awake so early haha. After my meeting (and getting GREAT news), I went down and got breakfast where I ate whilst being on FaceTime with my friends. Afterwards, I went to he hotel’s gym and recorded some dance tutorials for the dance I’m choreographing for the Asian American Student Assembly in late August. It was mildly frustrating because my phone/ipad kept running out of space but i got most of part 1 filmed. The uploading was also pissing me off so I left it till later.

I then went and took a quick shower before hopping onto the bus for the day’ activities. We first went to the Palace Museum and got to see a lot of beautiful artifacts. I ended up buying a acupuncture folder for my mom, a koi fish print, and two pairs of chopsticks. After the museum, we went to a Mongolian BBQ + Hotpot place. It was pretty cool watching them cook on the flat top stoves and the food was really good (that reminds me that i still have guava in my backpack that i should probably take out before I forget. After lunch, we headed to Chiang Kai Shek’s residence where we got to see a lot of his house and compound. It reminded me a lot of my grandmother’s house, especially with it being in lush tropical mountainside. We then took the bus back to hotel.

After a bit of resting and working on homework, I went with some classmates back to Ximendi to go to do some shopping and get dinner. We first stopped at this two-story thrift store that was filled with name brand expensive pieces, but we left without anything because the prices were astronomical. Then we went to H&M, where I proceeded to get myself STUCK in a dress and quite literally rip myself out (I thought I was gonna die in it). After checking out, we went and got chicken at this supposedly fried chicken shop nearby (we lowkey started beefing with one the guys who worked there) before hitting a Watson’s really quick to buy eyelashes for tomorrow’s bar crawl. Then we took the train home where we may or may have not encountered a fellow classmate with an unusual lack of clothing perched on a piece of furniture in a interesting place…..Then i took a shower and got ready for bed.

Academic Reflection

The reading by Yi-Chi Huang talked about the imagined national identity of Taiwan, which I thought a lot about while visiting the museums and memorials we’ve been to lately. In my major (international studies), I’ve spent a lot of time learning about and interacting with discourse on imagined communities and identities (such as being ethnically Han Chinese or what it means to be “Japanese”). I’ve also written a couple essays on the history of Formosa and the different foreign occupations of Taiwan. Therefore to me, it’s only natural that the country would have a mixed identity with it’s unique history.

However, when visiting the Palace museum today, I but reflect on how Chinese everything felt. Of course, the items in the museum came from the Forbidden City in Mainland China. Yet as I toured the museum, it felt like the pieces made it seem like it was also Taiwan’s history. If one didn’t know any better, they’d think that Chinese culture is Taiwan’s only culture—which is not necessarily true. Taiwan is a mix of Indigenous, Chinese, and other foreign cultures all mashed together. Even walking down the street in Taipei, I sometimes forget that I’m in Taiwan and not some miscellaneous U.S. city. Yet, after learning more about Chiang Kai-shek and his supporters on this trip, I feel like maybe that’s the point. Perhaps the intention is to promote Chinese culture as Taiwan’s native culture. It’s definitely interesting to think about, especially in relation to other countries with big issues with ethnic erasure—such as Japan, Australia, and Mainland China.

[fleetways]

chimera baby fact of the day: why you should vote for Mira aka Chimera Baby. An essay by me.

@sonic-oc-showdown

TLDR at end.

When it comes to original characters on the internet, there is perhaps no example more infamous that those of the sonic the hedgehog franchise. Since the franchise’s very inception, original characters have served as a cornerstone to the series’ identity, and everyone who could call themselves a web-user during the 2000s/2010s knows exactly what I’m referring to when I say “Sonic OC.”

Sonic, in general, has had gained infamy on the internet for being one of its favorite punching bags, and nothing exemplifies this attitude more than the reaction to the hundreds of thousands of original characters for the franchise that exist across the web. Everyone knows them, and everyone knows the common tropes: traced Sonic-X screencaps, crude deviantart bases drawn over in MSPaint, mary-sues that our main characters are hopelessly in love with, characters that are just mish-mashes of existing characters, and of course, fanchildren.

To the average person, the existence of Sonic OCs is a spectacle, a hilarious and cringe-worthy spectacle to the point where it’s become a game to search up “(your name) + the hedgehog” and spend a couple minutes laughing at how bad the results are.

Now, I’ve been a casual sonic enjoyer since I first watched Sonic X back in the mid-2000s, but I didn’t really get into the series as a fan until around 2015. If you don’t know, the early to mid 2010s was a point where Sonic’s reputation was straddling the fine line between “complete joke” and “complete irrelevancy.” The disastrous Sonic Boom had just dropped following a lackluster reception of Sonic Lost World, and the social media and marketing angle of Sonic had shifted entirely into “they’re not laughing at us, they’re laughing with us!” territory. The official Sonic Twitter account became a meme in itself during this time, and I believe is one of the earliest examples of a corporate social media account taking a “How do you do fellow kids” approach of using popular internet memes and hip lingo to appeal to an internet-savvy generation.

(^this last tweet is still up, btw. i will be getting back to this)

With the social media going full “sanic, gotta go fast, haha kissing princess” and the games mostly abandoning its serious tones and stories for a greater focus on meta-humor, Sonic had official entered what has been come to be known as the “Meta Age.” The public may see Sonic as a complete joke, but it’s okay because we’re in the know that he’s a complete joke! Wink wink. (—Sega marketing circa 2015-2017)

I’m getting away from myself. “John Fleetways,” you’re asking right now, “what does this have to do with Chimera Baby or Sonic OCs??”

And to that I say this; I am currently soaking in the bathtub and thought I would use my day off from work to finally air some of my thoughts regarding the era of Sonic the Hedgehog I’m most familiar with. But also I think providing context is helpful in understanding why I think it’s so cool Chimera Baby made it this far in a poll like this. Moving on.

In 2015 I was in middle school, a horrible period in many of our lives. Middle schoolers are at that perfect age where they’re old enough to know cruelty but haven’t quite fully grasped empathy yet, so as the “Sonic Kid” during this time I’m sure you can guess how popular I was. Genuinely, I was very ashamed of my love for Sonic. This very blog I’m writing on now started in 2015 as a quarantine for me to keep any inclination of my fondness towards the series hidden away under lock and key. I reblogged fanart with no commentary, lest others think I was some kind of weirdo who had OPINIONS on SONIC THE HEGDEHOG. It took months for me to work up the courage to post my own art, and any shipping art was absolutely out of the question (because now THAT was cringe!!).

With time, I became more involved in the Sonic Tumblr community around 2016-2017 leading up to the release of Sonic Forces (which could be a whole essay in itself). There was one thing above all else I noticed at this time—something unique to the Sonic Tumblr scene as opposed to other Sonic communities on the internet. That is, of course, how much less homophobic it was.

Homophobia (and transphobia) has been a notorious problem in the Sonic fanbase, particularly in the mid 2010s. It’s an issue I’ve talked a little about on this blog before, but it’s really hard to describe just how prevalent it was on every site outside of tumblr unless you were there at the time. Folks, it was bad, especially in comparison to other fandoms. Much like the simple act of making a Sonic OC, “making Sonic characters gay” was “cringe” in itself. Hugely popular Sonic fanartists and bloggers (some of which are still active on Tumblr to this day) would openly express their opposition to “homosexuality” and the depiction of it, and this was a fact no one seemed like they wanted to address (or if you did, you’d be accused of “starting drama.” Sonic Tumblr was better by a long shot than any other site for queer fans, but it definitely wasn’t perfect).

The worst part was that the official Sonic social media team seemed to have no problems reinforcing these attitudes. For those unaware, “identifying as an attack helicopter,” as seen in the tweet above, is a transphobic joke that was used by right-wingers and edgy 4chan users to invalidate transgender and non-binary identities.

The Twitter takeover following the release of Sonic Forces included questions regarding two Sonic ships. When proposed with the concept of Sonic and Amy in a romantic relationship, the voice actors act coy, embarrassed, but in a good-natured manner. It’s a clear hint-hint wink-wink nudge moment trying to appeal to the fans of a popular pairing. As for the equally popular gay pairing, though, it doesn’t quite get the same treatment. No, when presented with a question about Sonadow (one they did not have to answer, they chose to answer this question out of hundreds of others) the actors can only respond with disgust and horror.

There was some backlash on tumblr following this exchange, but for most people it just made sense that Sonic Official would treat it like a joke. After all, this was Sonadow! A lot of people hated Sonadow because it was gay! Sonadow was a joke because it was gay! It was hilarious to a lot of people that Sonic Official seemed to know just how weird it was, and in turn those people felt validated by the company for their hate! And just to cover my ass here, I am not saying that people who don’t like Sonadow are homophobic. didn’t even like Sonadow that much at the time this stuff was happening, but no one is gonna tell me it wasn’t homophobic as fuck for them to pull that shit. And as a young queer fan who was deeply hurt by a lot of the homophobia surrounding a series I loved, it left an impact on me that I feel to this day.

Luckily, today things are much brighter as far as lgbt-friendliness goes than they were a few years ago, from both the fandom side and the company side of things. The days of Sonadow being treated as only a joke are pretty much gone, and regardless of your opinion on the pairing, it’s awesome to see that the official sonic sources seem to be taking steps to treat their queer audience and queer pairings with respect. In addition to this change, mostly gone is the era of self-referential, punching-down humor of the mid 2010s, and instead what I’ve seen is a new resurgence in genuine love for the franchise and it all it has to offer, including original characters!

And now, we have the Sonic Oc Showdown—a tournament whose purpose is to celebrate the original characters that for nearly 30 years have been considered the butt of the joke of the internet, aka “peak cringe.” Upon examining my history with the fandom, starting off as a kid horrified by the prospect of enjoying Sonic even in private, I’ve recently begun to strive to wear “cringe” as a badge of honor. Yes, I am cringe, but in the words of some tumblr user at some point: “I may be cringe, but I am free.”

This year has been particularly freeing for me. Like a lot of people, I made fanchildren back in the day. There’s something undeniably fun about taking two blorbos and shoving them together and drawing the resulting hybrid. There’s a reason fusions, like fanchildren, are such a popular trope in the Sonic fanbase. One result of there being so many fanchildren, however, is how tropes begin to emerge within the tropes. For example: A lot of Sonadow fankids look the same. It’s just the truth. Black hedgehogs with blue stripes or blue hedgehogs with red stripes, an amalgamation of recognizable traits from both parents that immediately tells you exactly all you need to know about the character (but still manages to be more creative than the offspring present in official sonic media [looking at you Archie]). I am no exception to this rule.

Circa 2018, I had made my own Sonadow fanchild. She was a blue hedgehog with red stripes named Maria—it really doesn’t get more cliche than that. Over the years I had completely forgotten about her, only to remember her once I stumbled across some crude sketches of her on some scrap paper I found while cleaning my room. There was an earnestness when I looked at them, a nostalgia I think we can all relate to when we look at our old art, and I took some time to whip up some redesigns and leave it at that. “Maria” faded to the back of my mind once more. I moved on.

“Maria” c. June 2022. Like Shadow had Terios and Silver had Venice, this was Mira’s beta design in a way^. Yikes. Look at those McDonald’s shoes.

And then, everything would change at the end of 2022 when I first found that image of the bootleg sonic and shadow plush. It was incredible: a design that perfectly encapsulated every cliche I could think of when it came to designing Sonic x Shadow fanchildren. The concept of a chimera character followed shortly after, and mainly on a whim I took some old sketches of “Maria” and turned her into the chimera baby we know today. I decided to post her on my blog, and to my shock, the post blew up. And soon, I found a familiar feeling creeping over me as more and more people gazed upon her.

“Uh oh, am I gonna be known as the sonadow chimera kid guy now?”

Suddenly I felt 14 again, hiding all my sonic stuff in a side blog where no one could see it. It was a little embarrassing, but the thing is, a lot of people liked her! Just half a decade ago, I could see this concept being submitted to one of those “cringe” blogs dedicated mostly to making fun of mostly young and beginning artists trying their hand out at an oc for the first time. But instead what I got was a lot of love! People saw this oc i made based off a joke, a bootleg plushie of Sonic and Shadow sewn together designed to be a parody of all the common fankid tropes and said “this rules.” And you know what? It did rule.

I would now like to address the elephant in the room. I know there are some who are not happy Chimera Baby made it this far into the competition, and that’s fine. As a fankid, and a “joke” one at that, some may not see her as being worthy as some of the ocs she beat. It’s tough to see, but that’s the thing about tumblr polls—you never know how or why people are gonna cast their vote. Over the course of these weeks, I’ve had to root against some fantastic characters, and now, Mira is here, but she’s not the same character as she was at the start. Yes, she is still a parody sonadow fankid based off a bootleg plush, but before she was just a concept more than a character. Now, I can say she’s a character with a backstory and hobbies and skills and weaknesses and a personality and relationships! This is the first time I feel like I’ve ever had a fully fleshed-out oc, and it’s been a blast to share her with the world. She’s become real—you, dear voters, have made her real.

In a tournament like this, a tournament celebrating Sonic ocs rather than making fun of them, I think it’s incredibly cool that a character who epitomizes a lot of the aspects considered by many to be “peak cringe,” (fankids, fusions, and lgbt shipping) managed to make it this far. I want chimera baby to be a bastion for all those who like me, were once too embarrassed to share their oc designs, fankids or otherwise for fear they would be seen as cringe. I’m here to tell you that no, you are NOT cringe. It rules, and I want everyone who ever made a silly little fankid especially to know this.

So while Chimera Baby making it this far is already a big win for folks like us, I think her winning this would genuinely be a great Fuck You to the years of fun and whimsy cringe-culture tried to take away from us. Also I think it would be really funny.

ANYWAYS THATS ALL VOTE FOR CHIMERA BABY SONADOW NATION AND ALLYS AND PPL WHO WANNA CAUSE A LITTLE CHAOS RISE RISE RISE!!!

Tldr: sonic OCs have been the poster child for “cringe” for like 30 years so it’s cool that a fankid based off a lot of these “cringe” concepts has made it this far in a tournament celebrating the positive side of sonic ocs, and I think it would be a great fuck you to cringe culture if she won and also really funny

SONIC OC SHOWDOWN FINAL ROUND

Mira belongs to @fleetways

Squabble belongs to @sonic-adventure-3

Find out more about them below!

Chimera Baby "Mira":

Chimera Baby is a chimera (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chimera_(genetics)) and the oldest child of Sonic and Shadow. Mira was raised in the Chao Garden where she ate fruit and engaged in frequent karate matches and races and was very happy. As a young child she was very sweet and loving to her fathers but as she got older she has begun to experience latent Black Arms patricidal urges (exclusively towards Shadow).

Mira is the slowest in her family (but faster than you!), but has a very strong connection to chaos energy making her quite the powerhouse. However, she still has a long ways to go before she can actually hope to defeat Shadow. In her teen years Mira has become somewhat of a delinquent, speaking very little and preferring to get her messages across through action alone. She is the older sister of Mochi, who often acts as a mediator whenever she randomly tries to attack Shadow in the Costco.

Squabble the Pigeon:

incredibly cheerful untrained pilot and mechanic for a trio of freelance postal workers/hitman. LOVES airplanes and explosives and tinkering and package delivery, is a chronic pipe bomb maker, and has a boundless joie de vivre. she operates on cartoon physics, and has a messenger bag that functions as a hammerspace where she keeps her exposives, revolver, second identical revolver that pops a flag, bazooka, and everything else including the kitchen sink. incredibly cheerful and completely lacking in common sense or a coherent moral compass. about twelve, and on the short side.

[charnelhouse]

What if Lloyd was “sad” for a moment seeing Court fingering 33 (using the fingers he no longer has), and they noticed the change in his mood and focused the moment totally on Lloyd, to make him feel ✨better and special✨

A/N: Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader x Court Gentry (Six). Smut. Jealousy. Insecurity.

“I love you.”

Lloyd said it to his mirror. He watched the way his lips rounded about the vowels. He had stared death in the face time and time again and yet he struggled with this simple statement. 

I love you.

They were celebrating Thanksgiving in the French house. Six was pleased. He didn’t say it, but Lloyd could see it. The stupid fuck’s mouth curled into a playful smile when 33 told him that she’d be cooking the full meal. 

It started a few days ago. She had crawled into Court’s lap, her hands skating along his jaw. “You haven’t had a real Thanksgiving dinner have you?”

The blonde lifted his brows, surprised that she would think of that. Of course, he’d never had a Thanksgiving. He’d been in jail where they served him canned sweet potatoes with cold, chalky marshmallows and slices of dried turkey. Watery mashed potatoes from a box. Packaged dressing. Post-prison, he’d probably been overseas for any other Thanksgiving.

Lloyd assumed all that. He felt it. He’d bet his other fucking hand that Gentry probably had one single sad childhood Thanksgiving with his shitty mother and that was the pitiful memory he nursed at night. So saccharine. So angsty. 

Still, Lloyd watched as 33 stroked her thumb across Court’s cheekbone, her mouth brushing his own as he spoke to her in a quiet, rumbling voice. Their girl had no doubt just managed to break Court’s heart a little bit more. It was a good break. A tender break. She had shattered his hard surface. The man was enchanted and it sometimes pissed Lloyd off.

They had something sweet. Suburban. Normal.

Lloyd had her blood and her teeth. He had her anal virginity so there was that.

But - what else did he possess beyond her darkness? Did she love him?

He thought she did. She looked at him like she did. 

From upstairs, he could smell the roasting onions and carrots. The butter and the turkey. He could taste fresh chives and creamed spinach and balsamic vinegar. There’d be pie and whipped cream and maybe he could eat it off her cunt.

Lloyd turned to his mirror again. He scraped his mutilated hand over his jaw, the rough scratch of his beard. The scars were ugly. His fingers gone to joint. 

He parted his lips. 

“I love you,” he practiced.

***

Perhaps, he should have realized it when he was feet away from the kitchen. He knew her moans - her soft, blushing songs of pleasure. Still, he was slightly taken aback when he stepped through the doorway and found Six finger-fucking 33 on the counter.

It was a sight. Propped on the counter, she was in the sexiest little getup: thigh-high black suede boots, a rust-red velvet mini skirt, a cream sweater that clung to everything. Six was between her spread legs, his cheek firmly pressed to hers as he whispered something in your ear. His hand was working her pussy in urgent strokes. He’d ease his fingers out of her before adding another and sinking them right to the knuckle. 

“What else do you want, baby?” he growled into her ear. “You wanna come on my fingers? Can’t wait to eat that pretty little pussy after this. Look at everything you made for me.”

She was a mess, whimpering and crying out as she fisted his hair and dragged her teeth across his jaw. Her eyes still shut, her brow knitted in pleasure. 

“Let me touch your clit, sweetheart.” He grunted. “Spread your legs for me.”

He twisted his hand, his thumb finding the apex of her sex. She was soaked. Lloyd’s attention remained pinned on where Court was working her. The crotch of her lacy underwear had been wrenched to the side, her folds glistening and raw from his touch. Even under the smooth treble of Frank Sinatra swirling from the speakers, Lloyd could hear the wet suck of your cunt accepting Six’s fingers over and over again.

Six’s fingers. All of them. He could play her perfectly with one hand and something in Lloyd’s chest grew tight. Fuck. Why was he hurt? Why was he upset?

Six was never one for dirty talk. Obviously 33 cooking him an elaborate holiday meal like a darling wifey, had made the normally stoic stick in the mud’s blood run hot.

It was at that moment that Lloyd realized she was staring at him. Her lashes fluttered and her lips quirked into a soft smile. “Lloyd,” she cooed. Six turned his head, glancing at Lloyd over his shoulder. He too looked blissed-out, drunk off 33’s pussy that was no doubt gripping him.

Lloyd bolted. 

***

“Are you on crack?” 

Lloyd whipped around. “Come again?”

She was hot on his heels, still tugging her skirt down as she followed Lloyd out into the garden. It was cold. The air tight with a chill. The ash-gray branches had few leaves left. He felt a frost coming.

“Are you high?” she snapped.

“No,” he scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. He needed a jacket. His thin wine-red sweater was not doing shit. 

“Then why’d you run like that?” She rested her hands on her hips, her expression bewildered.

“I needed some air.”

She arched an eyebrow. 

He glared down at her upturned face. She really had to look like that right now? Her eyes wide and beckoning, her lips berry-dark and glossy. The moon was high in the sky and it illuminated her, stuck to her like a spotlight. “Tell me,” she implored quietly.

He huffed, his gaze darting anywhere, but at her or the house where Six was probably stuffing his fat face with pie. 

“What’s wrong, Hansen?”

He fucked up. Reflexively, his eyes fell to his ruined hand that was curled against his sweater. 

“Oh,” she gasped. “Oh Lloyd.”

“Shit,” he groaned. “Shit - no - it’s not that.”

She was on him. She collided with his chest, snatching his fist from his body and peppering it with kisses. 

“Babe…” he started. “Seriously - it’s not-”

She peeked up at him through her lashes, her lower lip shiny with spit. Wordlessly, she put the nub of his ring finger into her mouth. She sucked on it, her little tongue swirling around the scar tissue.

It was so weird and yet it made him hard as a fucking rock. 

His other hand clasped the back of her head, urging her closer. Her breasts were warm and full against his sternum. He felt her fingers trailing along his belt buckle.

“We’ll freeze,” he croaked and she drew away. He almost wanted to force her back on it, lick every part of him, but it was really cold.

On her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and sealed her lips to his. She kissed him fiercely and he returned it. “You don’t need all your fingers to please me,” she murmured. 

He rolled his eyes. “I know…I was being dramatic.”

She combed his hair back, her breath was visible as it puffed lightly against his mouth. “If I tell you something, you promise not to rub it in Six’s face.”

He blinked at her before squeezing her ass cheek. “Go on.”

“You’re better at going down on me.”

He laughed and she yelped, her palm flying to his lips to muffle it. “Shhh - fuck, man! He’ll hear.” 

“God!” He beamed down at her. “A Christmas miracle! What a gift.”

“It’s not Christmas.”

“Yeah - but now I know what you’re grateful for, you little slut,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Oh my god,” she groaned and snatched his wrist to drag him back into the warm house. 

Halfway down the stone path, he stopped abruptly, jerking her with him. Over her shoulder, she looked at him, her brow furrowed. 

“Yes?”

“I-I just -”

She nodded.

“I love your ass.”

She wrinkled her nose, turning back around and yanking him with her.

He parted his lips and mouthed what he really wanted to say. He traced every vowel with his tongue.