#the absolute mess of timers i have going for this right now is insane

[reformedpeasant]

some days you wake up and want to bake three different kinds of bread

[raibebe]

Love shot

Genre: Tooth rotting fluff Words: 8.590 Prompt: Hockey Player Jeno feat. best friend Jaemin, love letters? Warnings: none..?

A/N: This was written for @woahhwa​ for the @kafenetwork​ kafeholidays event! Hi Ru! I had so much fun talking to you when tumblr wasn’t eating my asks! I hope you liked this and it incorporates some of the things you said you liked. Also. Warning: I know absolutely nothing about hockey so please bear with me :] As always thank you to @burtonized​ for always listening to my rambles and telling me that my writing doesn’t suck. Also literally no one asked for me to put Johnny into this but I am a simple woman and miss him and his gorgeous hair. I am sorry for this horrible title...

The red numbers on the clock over the rink slowly counted down, the last minute of the game beginning. You had your hands tightly clutched together, sitting on the edge of the seat as you watched your home team in the orange and blue tricots trying to defend the last push of the opposing team. Mark Lee - on the defense - body checked the opposing wing player, who had been pushing forward, hardly into the banister, causing him to lose the puck. Quick on his feet like always, Ten snatched it from him and took a sharp turn to avoid the second wing player, using his smaller size to his advantage so he could push forward into the last third before the huge defender of the opposing team tackled him harshly. But like the genius player he was, Donghyuck had anticipated it, screaming Ten’s name at the top of his lungs so the elder had the time to pass the puck on to his wingplayer. Using his momentum from following Ten, Donghyuk pulled both of the opposing defenders towards him, leaving the star player of the team - Lee Jeno - free right in front of the goalie. A huge mistake. With a mischievous grin on his lips, Donghyuck waited until the very last second to pass the puck straight to Jeno who didn’t hesitate even for a second to take his shot: Hitting the puck with all his strength, he sent the rubber flying right past the goalie’s body, slamming into the net of the goal.

The crowd around you erupted in loud screams and cheers, everyone jumping up from their seats and celebrating the last minute goal as the red timer on the scoreboard ticked down to zero, the loud noise of a horn mixing with the cheers of the students. In the middle of all of this you were hugging your best friend, screaming loudly before turning back to look into the rink where the other boys had buried Lee Jeno beneath them, hockey sticks scattered around them. The other team had already angrily left the rink, collecting their stuff to make their way to the locker rooms when the boys finally let off and let their MVP breathe. Grinning broadly they took their helmets off one by one, shaking out their matted hair and just like after every game, the sight of Jeno’s midnight blue messy hair took your breath away. Once you could muster up the courage to talk to him, you wanted to ask if he had dyed it to match the color of their blue and orange jerseys. But even though you went to every single one of their home games and sometimes even went down to the rink to congratulate them, you had yet to speak more than three words with their handsome center forward player with the 23 on his back.

“Let’s go down to congratulate them, this was insane,” Jaemin said before already pulling you down the stairs against the tide of people that were already leaving. A couple of the player’s friends had already gathered at the rink, cheering them on and clapping them on their padded shoulders. You could make out the University’s heartthrob Johnny Suh - a volleyball player himself - fondly petting his best friend’s head which made Ten smile brighter than the harsh lights that illuminated the ice. A group of other boys from your year that you knew from a couple of your courses had rounded Donghyuck and Mark and looked like they were currently mocking the elder for his misplay that had led to the early goal of the opposing team, leaving their goalkeeper Yangyang almost no time to react. With a loud thud Jeno joined the circle, clinging to Mark’s back who cried out in pain from how hard the impact had been. The newest addition to the team, a tall freshman with the number 27 on his back, awkwardly shuffled on the ice before the team captain - Sicheng - pulled him over to where they were celebrating.

“Yooooo, boys this was sick!” Jaemin called out when he jumped down the last couple of steps before joining his friends who had stopped mocking Mark for a little while. But that wouldn’t be for long and you knew it. You had been their fan for quite some time now and knew that Donghyuck would not let Mark live and would bother him about it for a long time. “Watch your back, stupid,” you mumbled after your best friend who had been part of the team last year but had to quit playing for an undefined amount of time due to some issues with his back. He was the one who had originally gotten you into this sport which had led to your crush on Lee Jeno. So basically Na Jaemin was the reason you had the worst everlasting crush on a boy you barely knew and were way too shy to talk to even if he shared a ridiculous number of classes with you this year. But to Lee Jeno you must just be Jaemin’s weird friend he still knew from his childhood.

Slowly you approached the circle of boys, trying to hide as much of your face as possible in the bright orange scarf you had wrapped around your neck to shield yourself from the cold of the stadium. Jaemin was already retelling the highlights of the game in rapid-fire double time rapping speed, gesturing broadly and making the players laugh. “If you were to commentate the games they would probably be twice as fun to watch,” you spoke your mind when your best friend had to take a deep breath, making all of them stare at you which promptly lead to blood to rush to your face. “Yoooo, that would be such a good idea,” Mark broke the silence, his eyes wide, “Since you know all the rules and stuff.” “Also I wouldn’t be biased at all,” Jaemin just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he can’t just trash talk the other team during the whole game,” Sicheng threw in. “But it would be fun,” Yangyang mused. He had finally managed to get all of his extra protective gear off, his dark hair hanging into his eyes. “You should try it, Jaem,” Jeno also agreed. “I’d rather join you on the ice, you know,” your best friend mumbled, shooting the rink a longing gaze. “You’ll be back with us in no time once your back is healed,” Sicheng smiled, patting him on the shoulder with his still gloved hand, “Just give me a call and I’ll unlock the rink for you to make a couple of rounds.” “What am I, a short track athlete?” Jaemin grumbled but nodded his head anyways. He had been an amazing sprinter until he had exchanged the goggles and tight suits for heavy padding and a stick some time in high school.

“What’s this gloomy atmosphere? We won guys!” Ten shouted over from where he had been talking to Johnny and some other upperclassman, “Let’s get out of these uniforms and have some food to celebrate, Sicheng is paying.” “I am what?” The team captain protested but his complaints were lost in the cheers of the younger members of the team who quickly scrambled to get to the lockers to shower and change, their stomachs always bottomless holes after an intense game. “Let’s go home then,” Jaemin suggested, raking a hand through his caramel hair. You could tell he was still sad about not being able to be with his boys but he made an effort to hide his inner struggle. “Jaem!” A voice called you back when you turned to climb up the stairs and Lee Jeno skidded effortlessly over the ice to roughly collide with the side of the rink again. “You know you can join us, right?” A smile spread over your friend’s lips but he shook his head. “I can’t leave this one all to herself.” “The more the merrier,” Jeno just answered, looking you straight in the eye which lead to your heart missing a beat or two. He was covered in sweat and his hair was matted to his head, he should not have looked this attractive to you with his stupid half-moon eye smile and mole beneath his right eye. “I- I don’t want to mess up your all-boys time,” you tried to politely decline, scolding yourself for stuttering like this. You did not need to make an even bigger fool out of yourself. “It’s fine, really. Mark’s girlfriend is probably going to join us as well,” Jeno reassured you, “I’ll see you two outside!” He quickly added before crossing the rink again to disappear into the lockers, not leaving you two any more chance to decline.

“We’re not going to say no to a free meal, are we?” Jaemin grinned. “Wipe that grin off your face Nana,” you grumbled, scolding yourself for going for comfortable and warm clothes instead of pretty ones. What would Jeno think of you in your oversized blue hoodie and orange scarf? “Stop stressing, I can hear you thinking,” your friend whined, pulling you out of the by now empty stadium. “I look like a potato.” “No you don’t. You look fine. Jeno is not into the whole dolled up thing anyways.”  Slapping his arm hard, you looked around if any of the players had already changed and overheard his comment. “You better keep your mouth shut, Na Jaemin or may god have mercy over you,” you hissed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he innocently blinked his eyes at you. “Na Jaemin, I swear to god. If you make me look like a fool in front of my crush that I should have never admitted to you, I WILL make you regret it.” “You don’t need me to make a fool out of yourself,” your best friend laughed, just barely dodging the punches you threw at him.

“Please be nice,” you whispered when the boys came out from the locker after a couple of minutes, their hair still damp from the shower they must have taken, their bags slung over their shoulders. Pictures of what a certain forward player must look like beneath his heavy padding and jersey flooded your mind for a second and you had to fight the heat that threatened to creep up on your cheeks. Mark’s girlfriend who had arrived a couple of minutes earlier and who you two had already told about the game, raced to fling herself into her boyfriend’s arms, giggling loudly when he almost toppled over from being thrown off balance. Somehow that image tugged at your heart and you wished that one day when you were finally not too shy to talk to Jeno, this could be the two of you.

Dinner was filled with a lot of loud laughter and just mildly annoyed waiters at the restaurant that had the best hot pot in town or so Sicheng claimed. But you really couldn’t even blame the poor waitress that had to deal with the hyped up hockey players. You mostly kept quiet, listening to their bickering and their stories. Donghyuck only retold how Mark had messed up in today’s game about three more times until he earned himself a rather hard slap to the back of his head from both Mark and Jeno. During the whole time you tried to steal secret glances at the forward player, admiring how fluffy his hair got after it had dried and how his glasses would fog up from the heat of the food until he took them off with an adorable but also really annoyed huff, stuffing them into the pocket of his neon green hoodie that should have looked ridiculous but he could pull it off. At this point you thought that he would look good in a plastic bag. God you really had it bad for him.

“Alright children, it’s bed time,” Ten exclaimed after everyone’s bellies were full, clapping his hands, “We should leave quickly so Sicheng can pay for the meal.” The team captain just sighed and leaned back in his seat while the others quickly shuffled around to sort out their bags and their jackets to hurry out of the restaurant, muttering words of thanks to Sicheng. You felt bad for him and lingered behind for a little before pressing a note into his hands that he declined with a little smile. “It’s fine,” he shook his head, handing the money back, “One mouth more or less doesn’t matter.” “Thank you for the meal, Sicheng,” you smiled. “Thank you for your support, you’re at every of our games, aren’t you?” Flustered you followed him to the register where a woman took his card to pay for the meal. “I try to make it. Jaemin doesn’t like going alone when he’s not allowed to play and I really enjoy watching you guys play. Your freshman really did so well.” “Sungchan is really talented,” Sicheng nodded, “He is such a great assent to the team and he compliments Jeno well. He’ll give Jaemin a run for his money when he comes back.” Smiling, you nodded. “I hope he’ll recover fast, he really misses you guys.” Taking his card back, Sicheng grimaced at the receipt. “We all miss him.”

Stepping outside in the cold, you were glad you had brought your thick jacket, your breath came out in little white clouds and Jaemin’s nose was already red. “I thought you’d never come back out, I am freezing over here,” he complained. Rolling your eyes at your roommate, you quickly said goodbye to Sicheng who once again told Jaemin to give him a call if he wanted to use the rink to skate for a while. On the way over to your apartment a little off of campus, you both kept quiet, each lost in your own thoughts. Even through your thick layers of clothing, the cold began seeping into your bones and you buried your hands deep into the pockets of your jacket. But instead of the soft material of the inside of the pockets, your right hand came into contact with a neatly folded piece of paper. Confused you pulled it from your jacket and unfolded it. You didn’t remember stuffing that in there. In neat handwriting, a single sentence was written:

You look so pretty in blue.

What? You were so perplexed, you halted in your steps, staring at the piece of paper as if it would tell you what in the world was going on or how it had ended up in your pocket. Had one of the boys snuck the note into you jacket when they all had left before you and Sicheng? But why would any of them do that? What if... What if it had been Jeno? No, that couldn’t be. He was way out of your league and most definitely confident enough to tell you in person if he liked the honestly very much not special or pretty blue hoodie. “Hello? Earth to best friend?” Jaemin’s voice ripped you from your thoughts. He was standing a couple of steps in front of you, a questioning look on his features. “Did you just remember you left the stove on or something?” “N... No,” you muttered, shaking your head before shoving the note back into your pocket, catching up to Jaemin.

What you didn’t know was that would not be the last weird note you would find. The next one didn’t take long. You found it stuffed in your bag between your books on your second class of the day. Trying to not catch your friend’s attention so you wouldn’t have to explain the note, you carefully and secretly unfolded it to read the neatly written sentence.

You look great today, have a great start into the new week! Fighting!

Not unlike last time, you wondered who could have dropped the note into your bag. And when? Looking around the class you were currently in, your eyes caught on Lee Jeno’s midnight blue hair just a couple of seats in front of you. Had he been in your previous class as well? You couldn’t remember. But even if he had been, it was just wishful thinking that he had been the one to write the note. It was most likely a cruel joke someone was playing on you. Sighing you crumbled the piece of paper and focused back to what your professor was saying, trying to concentrate on taking notes instead of daydreaming while staring holes into Lee Jeno’s head like you had done way too often in this class. You weren’t very successful and when Jeno answered a question the professor had thrown at the class flawlessly, earning himself a couple of back pats from his friends that were seated around him, you couldn’t help but sigh. God, why did he have to be both smart and incredibly handsome? And on top of that a very talented hockey player.

A slap from your friend to your shoulder brought you back from your daydream to find the professor staring at you intensely. Shit. What had he asked? “Alright miss, I’d like a word with you after class. Now who can answer my question instead?” He spoke and you just wanted to ground to swallow you whole.

For the rest of the class you were just imagining all the worst case scenarios in your head of what the strict professor would scold you about. Would he make you do extra work for the class? Give you a bad grade all together? Or just humiliate you further? “Alright class, that will be it for today, you’re dismissed. Don’t forget to do the reading for next week and hand in your assignments on time,” the professor dismissed the class, immediately finding your eyes to nod his head sharply to indicate he hadn’t forget about you zoning out.

Discouraged after the scolding you had gotten from your professor about dozing off in his classes, you climbed the stairs to your seat to pack your stuff to go hide in your room until everyone would have forgotten how embarrassing the whole situation had been, especially Lee Jeno and his friends. But yet again another note was placed right on top of your notebook, seemingly written in a haste and carelessly ripped out of its original page.

Don’t take it to heart, it could have happened to anyone. Cheer up!

Okay maybe the someone who was writing you these notes actually wasn’t playing jokes on you and actually cared about you. You’d be lying if the few words hadn’t made you feel any better.

Over the next few weeks you found more and more notes. Some longer than others, some just a few hastily written words. Some were just a quick cheer up to help you get through a long day of class, some compliments about your outfit or your hair and some even little stories about the day of your admirer. Somehow you felt like you got to know him a little through his little messages. You even dared to say you looked forward to finding more and more notes.

One time your secret admirer even left you a coffee on your table at the library when you had gotten up from your seat to get more books to look up some information for the essay you were trying to finish. When you got back to your seat, you looked around quickly to see if the admirer was still around. But you only saw more students perched over books or their laptops, typing away. Just when you were about to get back to your own project, a white hoodie caught your eye between the dull lighting and brown colors of the library. Below a mop of blue hair, Lee Jeno shortly smiled at you from behind his glasses, toasting towards you with his own cup of coffee and you couldn’t help but notice that it was from the same shop the steaming cup in front of you was from. Picking it up, you toasted back and took a small sip to not completely burn your tongue before examining the cup which just said your name with a little heart on it. It could have been just a coincidence that Jeno chose to get coffee from the same place your admirer had. The shop was just a few meters from the library after all but the way Jeno had smiled at you, not his usual bright smile but something maybe a little more shy, made you believe it could actually have been him and you really hoped that he actually was.

But today you hadn’t found a single note from your admirer and for some reason that was really bothering you. He had managed to sneak you at least a little note every day for a while now. And you still hadn’t figured out how he did it. Or when. You didn’t leave your bag or jackets unattended for long periods of time and it seriously baffled by how sneaky he must be.

“Stop staring holes into the air and get back to work,” your coworker Yuta scolded you, clapping a hand on your back on his way past you. “I’m sorry, I was lost in my head,” you apologized but he just shrugged his shoulders as he collected the mugs a group of students had left behind. “Exams?” He asked as he came back, putting the mugs into the sink. “Something like that,” you lied. You really didn’t know the upperclassman well enough to vent to him about how someone you didn’t even knew who they were send you secret messages and somehow they hadn’t done it today yet. Before Yuta could ask any further questions, the bell on the door jingled happily, announcing the arrival of a new set of customers. “I’ll go, bring those to the back,” your coworker instructed you. Sighing, you bunched up your sleeves to stack up all the dishes that had been piling up in the front during the time Yuta and you had been too busy with orders to put them in the big dishwasher in the kitchen.

With a couple of freshly washed cups and plates you emerged back into the main room to see Yuta flirting with the group of girls that had just come in to probably order some way too overpriced season special with more sugar than actual coffee in it. Of course only after they had been completely charmed by the objectively speaking very pretty foreigner with a silver tongue. Rolling your eyes at the group, you instead made your way to where the customers were sitting to check if anyone new had come in while you were in the back. After most classes were over for the day, the cozy café usually filled up with students pretty fast; either to relax for a little before going to the library or to discuss group projects.

Today was no different and you easily spotted a group of boys from one of your courses squished together in one of the booths, your best friend smiling brightly at you when he saw you approach. “My favorite waitress is working,” he spoke, awkwardly hugging your waist from his sitting position. “You just want my employee discount,” you fondly rolled your eyes at a now pouting Jaemin, “So what can I get you.” You quickly collected all the boy’s orders including Jaemin’s horrendous deathpresso. “Oh, add another iced Americano, someone is still missing,” Donghyuck called after you when you had confirmed their orders, a knowing smirk on his lips. Quickly scribbling another one on your little notepad, you didn’t look where you were going and suddenly collided with a very solid chest and you were pretty sure you would have fallen if it was not for the customer’s quick reflexes. So instead of on the floor, you found yourself pressed against his chest, his perfume clouding your senses. “Careful where you’re going,” he said and you could already tell that your eyes would meet ones with the color of molten amber, hidden behind a cute pair of round glasses, before you even looked up to see Lee Jeno’s smile. “You... You too,” you stuttered, feeling your face heat up, quickly scrambling back a step. “Are you alright?” He asked, looking you up and down once. “Yeah, I was just taking your orders, I’ll be right back,” you tried to smile while trying to tell your heart to stop beating like you had just ran a marathon. “I’ll help you carry, we’re quite a few people.” “No, it’s fine really,” you quickly declined, “This is my job after all. “I feel bad for running into you though, let me help,” Jeno insisted, a slight pout on his lips that you really could not resist. When you ended up nodding, his whole face lit up with his famous eye smile and your insides might have just melted a little. While he was quickly putting his bag down and greeting his friends, you busied yourself with the orders. Yuta was still no help whatsoever, telling one of the girls an obnoxious story of how he had ended up at a university in Korea. You barely held back your laugh when the girls gasped, their eyes glued to Yuta. The story might have been impressive to you if you hadn’t heard it about 30 times already, always a little different but always pretty far from the actual truth.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Jeno ripped your attention from your coworker when he leaned against the counter to watch you work the big coffee machine. “I was working in a different shop a little off campus before,” you smiled, focusing on pouring the milk into one of the cups of coffee to form a pretty picture. “You’re really good at making them look pretty,” Jeno complimented you, his cheeks tinted a rosy color. “It’s just practice,” you mumbled, hiding your own shyness behind the counter to quickly grab the cake slices the boys had ordered. An awkward silence hung over the two of you while you worked on finishing the other drink orders (it always took a ridiculous amount of time to make Jaemin’s) and your brain ran on overdrive trying to come up with a topic to talk to Jeno to fill up the silence while willing your hands to not shake and make a fool out of yourself in front of him.

“Do... Do you work between classes?” You chose to ask in the end, scolding yourself immediately for asking what must be the most lame, basic question ever. “I hardly have time between classes and practice,” Jeno explained nonetheless, scrunching his nose adorably to push up his glasses,” I’m here on a scholarship so I have to show results in hockey or I’ll be out.” “Ooh, I didn’t know that. But you’re really good so it shouldn’t be a surprise,” you spoke your mind before you could think about the words but as soon as it registered, your face immediately was heating up. Jeno just laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his head. “I’m not bad I guess. It’s just a lot of practice, it’s nothing special,” he mirrored the words you had said earlier, an easy smile on his lips. “Even I can see you have an unfair amount of talent for hockey, Jeno.” At that he barked out a short laugh. “You should have seen me when I stood on the ice for the first time, I couldn’t even skate in a straight line without falling on my ass, no idea what the scouts saw in me when they talked to my mum to recruit me.” “I bet you’re just being modest,” you argued. “I am not I swear,” he laughed, “I was really bad but I trained a lot so I could make the team. I’m not like Donghyuck who can just skip half of practice because he’s hungover. I have to work for it.” “That makes it even more admirable,” you mumbled, not able to look him in the eye when you spoke the words even though you meant them with all your heart. “Th- Thank you,” Jeno stuttered and when you looked up at his face again, you could see that his ears were bright red. “I mean it,” you smiled and when he finally met your eyes you couldn’t help but get lost in his for a while.

“And you tell me to stop flirting with customers,” Yuta broke whatever moment you just had with Jeno and shoved you from the spot on the coffee machine. “I wasn’t,” you tried to argue but your colleague just clocked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I... I wouldn’t mind if you were,” Jeno mumbled so quietly you had almost missed it, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach and a smile to creep onto your lips again. “We should bring the drinks over,” you smiled, grabbing the tray that held the drinks so Jeno could take the one with the cakes. “Ye... Yeah, orders, drinks, sure,” he stuttered, grabbing the second tray and following you through the café back over to where his friends were seated. “I thought you would never come back,” Jaemin already whined, grabbing his deathpresso off of your tray. “It takes a while to make eight freaking extra shots of espresso,” you scolded your best friend while giving out the rest of the orders to the other boys who all agreed, joining in on telling Jaemin how unhealthy his coffee drinking habits were. “Let me know if you need anything else,” you smiled politely when everyone had gotten their respective drinks, leaving the boys to banter playfully.

Over the course of your shift, the boys stayed to study and ordered another round of hot drinks before they left just shy of the ending of your shift. Jeno threw you another shy smile and a little sweater pawed wave when they left the shop that almost send you into cardiac arrest. “I’ll clean that table and then head out,” you announced to Yuta who was glued to his phone, checking his twitter feed. Among the chaos of used napkins and dishes, you found a neatly folded piece of paper with your name neatly written on it, a little heart drawn in the corner that set you own one racing again. You quickly put it in your pocket and cleared the rest of the table, all but throwing the dishes into the dishwasher at the back so you could get out of your apron and take a look at the note your secret admirer had left. While you were changing into your warm jacket, you couldn’t help but to think and to hope that Jeno had left it for you. After all he had been at both the gatherings that had led to you finding these notes and he also shared lot of classes with you where he could technically have slipped you a note or two. And on top of that he had also been at the library when the coffee incident happened.

Once you stepped out of the café and into the cool air of the early evening, you sat down on one of the benches surrounding the building to read the little note in peace.

You look so cute when you’re concentrating on making pretty latte art, did you know that? I loved the little talk we had but I am too shy to talk to you. Can you tell by these notes? My friends all make fun of me for writing cheesy notes instead of manning up to actually talk to you. I don’t even know if you would want to meet me. But if you want to, then meet me at the ice rink tomorrow at 7pm. I’ll be waiting for you there, I promise.

You couldn’t hold in the little shriek of joy that made its way past your lips. It had to be Jeno. It couldn’t be anyone else. It had to be him. Holding the little note close to your furiously beating heart, you smiled and kicked your legs in joy before storing it carefully into your bag. Jaemin better be ready to help you choose an outfit for tomorrow and listen to you whine without asking too many questions about who you were actually going to meet.

When you arrived at the stadium the next day, clutching the note tightly in your hand, you double checked the time and carefully looked around before you tried to open the front door which to your surprise was actually unlocked. Taking a deep breath, you went in, closing the door firmly behind you before walking up to the second door that would take you to the bleachers. Slowly you pulled it open as well, hoping it wouldn’t make too much noise. The rink itself was just dimly lit, most of the lights turned off and on the ice there was a single figure skating around the perimeter, seemingly lost in their thoughts while aimlessly taking sharp turns that send pieces of ice flying, making the skids screech. You would have recognized that person between hundreds of other skaters, the midnight blue hair easily giving him away.

Jeno seemingly hadn’t noticed you yet and it gave you time to sort out your racing heart and thoughts. Had it really been him to write you all the sweet notes that you had begun to collect in a little box you hid from Jaemin in a box beneath your bed? Or was the universe playing a prank on you and it was just a coincidence that he was practicing right now, alone at night. But then again no one else was around and he really wasn’t dressed for practice, just wearing one of his big hoodies and jeans. It had to be his notes. And thinking back on it, he really had been the only person who had been at the same places, the notes had been showing up. From the dinner with the hockey team to the ones in your classes and at your work or in the library.

Slowly you made your way down the steps of the bleachers, keeping quiet so you wouldn’t disturb Jeno who was still skating around the rink. Once you arrived at the bottom row of seats, you took a seat next to a pair of skates and a pair of sneakers that probably belonged to Jeno. Sitting in silence, you watched his movements for a while. He was captivating to watch: Seeing him effortlessly glide over the ice before suddenly sprinting forward only to come to an abrupt halt or take a sharp turn. It was beyond you how he held his balance through it all.

Suddenly he halted in his moves completely to stare at the big clock on the back wall of the stadium that showed that it was fifteen minutes past seven already before he sighed deeply, raking a hand through his fluffy hair. Was he nervous? Nervous you wouldn’t come? Just when he was taking off, his eyes caught your figure and he stopped again, a big smile spreading across his face that made his eyes curl into the beautiful half-moon shape you adored. While you were busy trying to remember how to breathe, he was skating towards you, effortlessly jumping from the ice through a little door in the rink, walking towards you. “You came,” he beamed, kneeling down in front of you after he had grabbed the skates that were still lying next to you. “Yeah I did,” you answered, still not entirely sure what to make of this situation. With how fast your heart was beating, it must have climbed all the way up to your throat and you weren’t sure if you could have produced a proper sentence if you wanted to.

“I hope I didn’t misinterpret all of this,” Jeno mumbled while he carefully undid your shoelaces before slipping them off your feet, “And you’re just here to tell me to stop being creepy and not leave any more notes around.” The way he looked up at you from beneath his midnight blue bangs tugged at your heart and you couldn’t find any words to tell him just how okay you were with this, so you just nodded, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, the skin feeling way too hot against the cold of the stadium. Smiling brightly Jeno quickly prepared the skates to slip onto your feet and laced them up tightly, his nimble fingers working fast and efficient. “Is this alright? Not too tight?” “Seems fine,” you smiled back at him, experimentally wiggling your toes. “Alright,” Jeno smiled, extending a hand to you. “Come on, let’s go.”

Shyly, you took his hand to let him pull you upright. On wobbly feet, you followed him to the little door in the rink, letting him step onto the ice first. “I’ve never done this before,” you confessed, almost reflexive reaching your gloved hands out towards him which he took with a gentle smile, squeezing them reassuringly. “I won’t let you fall,” he promised, tightening the grip on your hands. “Okay,” you whispered, carefully stepping onto the slippery ice, unsure how to work with the skates. “You’re a natural,” Jeno beamed when you finally stood with both feet on the ice. “I- I don’t know,” you shied away from the praise, wishing you could hide in your big scarf. “Hold on tightly now,” the hockey player warned before he skillfully moved his legs so he was sliding backwards, effectively pulling you with him. A little surprised sound escaped your lips and you clutched his hands tightly, worrying your gaze to your feet where you tried to stabilize yourself and keeping the skids up right.

“Don’t think so much about it. Look at me,” Jeno’s voice cut through the soft scratching noises of the skates. “I’ll fall if I do,” you argued. Also your heart would most likely leap out of your chest if you did. As if it wasn’t already beating furiously enough now that you were basically on a date with your crush and he was holding your hands. “I told you that I won’t let you fall,” he promised, slowing down his own movements until you came to a halt. Steadying yourself on the skates, you took a deep breath before looking up to meet Jeno’s eyes. And just like that time stood still. Under the dimmed lights in the stadium, it felt like you two were the only people on this planet. You got lost in the deep brown shade of his eyes and adored how his nose and cheeks were tinted a pretty blush color from the cold. “Hey there,” he whispered, tucking your scarf neatly around your neck where it had come undone, the gesture so intimate, it made your breath hitch. “Hi,” you answered dumbly and it made him smile, his eyes curving into the beautiful half-moon eye smile.

Before you could do anything stupid like coo hat how pretty he looked, his smile turned into a mischievous grin and he quickly let go of your hands to skid backwards a couple of meters further towards the center of the rink. “Jenoooo,” you whined once you had found your balance again, glaring to where he was making a couple of sharp turns, creating indents in the smooth ice and sending pieces flying. “Come over,” he called, opening his arms wide. “You just want to see me fall.” “You won’t, have some faith in yourself. Just kick with your skates until you gain momentum. It’s like walking just with a little more glide.” “Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” “Just try it. For me,” Jeno smiled, sliding a little closer to you and opening his arms again. Sighing, you nodded, balling your hands into fists before you kicked your feet just how you had seen Jeno and the other’s do a hundred times before. Albeit very wobbly and slow, you were sliding over the ice. A smile slowly spread over your face as you kicked your feet again and again and you weren’t even mad when you noticed that Jeno steadily moved backwards to keep you going. “See, you’re a natural,” he beamed but just when he said that, you stumbled over one of the indents he had created earlier when he was showing off. You already prepared yourself to meet the cold unforgiving ice, making a complete fool out of yourself but instead two strong arms curled around you to pull you against a strong chest so you were stabilized again.

“I told you, I wouldn’t let you fall,” Jeno whispered, his hands steady on your waist. “Thank you,” you mumbled, slowly snaking your arms around him as well until your bodies were flush together. For a while you just stood on the ice, hugging each other until your breaths evened out, hearts beating in the same rhythm. “I’m so glad you actually came.” “Why wouldn’t I?” You mumbled into his neck. “Maybe you thought all my notes were creepy.” “I was really confused at first,” you admitted, “I thought it was a joke. I couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would write these to me. I was waiting for someone to bring up the topic so they could make fun of me. But deep down I really wished it was you who was writing them and that you actually meant everything you wrote.” The longer you spoke, the more you felt your face heat up. “I wish I had more courage to actually ask you out properly,” Jeno confessed, his voice quiet, “I kept seeing you around Jaemin and then you started to come to our matches. And then we ended up in so many of the same courses and guess what you’re not only very pretty but also incredibly smart. And I guess I kind of developed this huge crush on you with your big scarves and hoodies.”   “Me... Me too, Jeno,” you whispered, your heart making summersaults in your chest and a smile spreading on your lips. Beneath your fingers you could feel Jeno chuckle. “Will you let me kiss you?” He asked softly and who were you to deny him?

Slowly you lifted your head from his shoulder and he carefully cupped your face before he leaned in to kiss you until your noses were touching. His bangs were tickling your face but you wouldn’t have wanted to have it any other way and crossed the last few centimeters between you to press your lips against his slightly chapped ones. Like you had all time in the world you just stood on the ice, lazily moving your lips together only ever separating to heave in a couple of breathes of air and share a soft giggle before claiming each other’s lips again with hearts beating like one.

Eventually Jeno pulled back when you leaned in to kiss him again, a big smile on his lips when you pouted. “You’ll get another one when you manage to skate a whole round in the rink,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling. “You’re the worst Lee Jeno,” you kept pouting, “You’re hurting yourself just as much as me.” “Come on, it’s going to be fun,” he smiled, snaking free from your grip to skate around you in quick motions. “Show off,” you mumbled underneath your breath but tried your best to copy his movements to fulfill his quest.

In the end he had been right, once you got the hang of it and didn’t lose your balance every time there was a dent in the ice, it actually as fun to chase each other around the rink even though you knew he was purposefully letting you catch up to him at times to steal more kisses. It still somehow didn’t feel real that you actually were here with Lee Jeno and that you were actually allowed to kiss him just like this. After what felt like hours, Jeno helped you out of your skates and you just sat on the bleachers cuddled up together beneath a blanket, looking down at the rink. “Are you going to see the match tomorrow?” He asked. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?” Jeno just hummed, a blush creeping up his cheeks and ears, this one definitely not from the cold. What was making him shy all of a sudden? “Would you... I mean... If you wanted to... Would you,” he stuttered before he groaned loudly and grabbed your hands tightly, “Willyouwearmyjackettothegame?” “What?” “My jacket... Would you wear it tomorrow?” He asked again, slower this time but still not meeting your eyes, instead looking at your interlocked hands. “Do you want me to?” You asked him back, a big smile on your lips. “I mean... I understand if this is a little fast but... But I’ve had this crush on you for the longest time and... And I would really like to show everyone that you’re you know...” “That I’m your girlfriend?” “Y... Yeah,” he admitted, shyly looking at you from beneath his midnight blue bangs. “Of course I will,” you smiled broadly, throwing your arms around him to hug him close.

And you did. After you and Jeno had talked for a little while longer about everything and nothing at all (and maybe some more kissing) until you had yawned more than he found acceptable, he had quickly run to the locker rooms to fetch his jacket that he had promptly laid over your shoulders on your way home. In front of your apartment building he had kissed you goodbye and wished you sweet dreams before he walked away to his own dorm room that he shared with Donghyuck so you had found out. You turned the key as silently as you could so you wouldn’t wake up your best friend who was out cold on the small sofa in your living room, the Netflix ‘Are you still watching?’ screen illuminating the room. Shaking your head, you draped a blanket over the sleeping boy and turned the TV off before getting ready for bed as well. The next morning you had to explain why you had Jeno’s jacket to a screaming Jaemin at an ungodly hour but in the end he was just excited as you were if not more because he didn’t have to hear both of you pining anymore because he had promised Jeno not to meddle.

You slipped into Jeno’s big jacket when you and your friend where about to leave so you wouldn’t be late to the match, you couldn’t help but smile, snuggling deep into the collar until your boyfriend’s smell engulfed you like a blanket. “Stop being gross or the best seats will be taken,” your best friend complained, tugging you with him and filling the way over to the stadium with chatter. “There are so many people,” you exclaimed when you had entered the stadium, looking around for free seats. “It’s the highlight of the season, what did you expect?” Jaemin asked, tugging you further down when he spotted Mark’s girlfriend waving excitedly at your two. She also was wearing a jacket with the name ‘Lee’ on the back just that hers had a big blue 2 on the back and not a 23 like yours. “You and Jeno?” She excitedly jumped up and down when she had spotted your jacket and you could only nod shyly. “I’m so happy for you. Mark told me how Jeno kept pining after you.”

“What’s with all the Lees over here?” A male voice cut in before you could answer anything and Johnny Suh sat down next to Jaemin, not clad in his usual dark red jacket with his name and the 9 on the back but in a rather small orange one with a giant blue 10 on the back. “You’ll fit right in,” Mark’s girlfriend chirped, making Johnny blush and hide his face in his knitted scarf, mumbling something about how stupid it was that it had to be so cold to play hockey and how much rather he’d be in his heated gym. “The joy of dating Korean guys,” Jaemin laughed, jumping up and climbing in a seat the row above you, “Let me take a picture, this is hilarious.” “Ten and Mark aren’t even Korean,” Johnny argued, “But Leechaiyapornkul would have been a bit excessive to put on a jacket.”

The rest of his argument was drowned out by the cheers that erupted when the players came from their lockers, the starting 6 quickly rounding the rink, making a couple of sharp turns and going through moves with their stick. Being their center forward player, Jeno was in the starting team along with Sungchan and Donghyuck. On the defense, Winwin and Mark were checking their gear before the captain made sure that all of Yangyang’s protective gear was on right. In the meantime Jeno was searching the bleachers and you couldn’t help but feel shy before you waved at him, jumping up and down so he would notice you. Because of the helmet you couldn’t know if he smiled at you but your heart made summersaults nonetheless when you playfully put on the hood of the jacket to show him that you were indeed wearing it. You imagined him laughing before he blew you a kiss with an over exaggerated movement that made quite a few people turn their heads to see who he could have blown the kiss to. Before you could even think about hiding, Johnny gripped your arm tightly and hissed: “If I am out here wearing Ten’s stupid jacket that is way too small for me while he refuses to wear mine in public because he’s not some trophy wife, you will not hide now.” Not knowing whether you should be afraid of Johnny or laugh at what really sounded like something Ten would say, you just nodded at the blonde, straightening out your back. From the opposite side you could see Ten sitting in the exchange box, a huge grin on his face when he must have spotted Johnny in the crowd (which really wasn’t that hard, the dude was unnecessarily tall).

“They better win this game or I will be mad,” the blonde grumbled when everyone had sat back down and the referee had called both team captains over. “It’s going to be a tight game,” Jaemin filled him in, “The gorillas have been on a roll for the past couple of games. But I have the feeling that a couple of players might just try extra hard today, trying to show off.” At the end, he threw both Johnny and you a very over exaggerated look completed with wiggling eyebrows which earned him slaps from both of you. “Now shut your mouth, Na Jaemin, I actually want to see this game.” “Wow she gets a hot hockey player as her boyfriend and suddenly she doesn’t need my top notch commentating anymore, that hurts.” “Shut up, Nana,” you smiled, focusing back to where in fact your boyfriend was playing on the ice just now. And even if you loved to see Jeno playing, you couldn’t wait for the game to be over to be back in his arms to congratulate him.

[bokettochild]

Request: something with the doppels please?

I headcannon the dopples as being Legend's deviants in a similar way that the Colors are for Four, so that's reflected here.

I came up with this a while ago though, and while I'm not fully satisfied with it, I thought it would be fun to explore how the dopples react to the Four Sword.

Hence, Color and Dopple bonding/meeting!

If the item they grabbed in order to help someone else could not be cursed for once, Legend would be very thankful.

But since when did things ever go his way?

...Their way?

You know what, when did things ever go as planned? There, pronouns don’t matter this way.

Not that the pronouns really change much, they just become... plural...

Four would very much not like to believe their eyes.

No really, please, make this not be real.

There are four Legends; four of him, and the Four Sword has been split.

Sure, the enemies that sprung on the two of them while they were gathering kindling are now dead. Sure, Legend protected them when the attack had caught them both off guard. And yeah, all five of them are now bleeding and injured, but why does it need to be five?

Because Legend’s sword was knocked away. Vio reminds the rest of them. Because our sword was the closest at hand and he needed a weapon.

Picking it up shouldn’t trigger it though, it needs force, it needs power pushing through it to activate. Blue grumbles.

And what do you think Legend does with his sword usually? None of his items are exactly normal if you recall.

Blue huffs at that, but no one says anything else, Red is too busy cheering at having more brothers while Green is currently weighing the pros and cons of Legend knowing the secrets of the Four Sword.

In all honesty though, the vet is taking it rather well.

“Seriously,” The red Legend sighs, looking at his alternate selves and then at the Four. The man doesn’t even ask for an explanation, he’s just burying his head in his hands. “Of course, of course this happens.”

“Aaand that’s why it’s called the Four Sword.” the green Legend sighs, looking at the blade he still holds in his hands with a slight smirk.

“I’d wondered if it was fully capable yet.” Blue Legend hums. “I suppose it only needed some power to unlock it’s abilities.”

The last of the four Legend’s sits frozen, shining gaze locked on Four for a brief moment as they look back at him. It doesn’t last long. They aren’t sure how or why, but this deviant is smaller than Legend, and the second that they make any move towards their split companion, the yellow deviant squeaks and ducks behind the green one, bright eyes shining with absolute horror.

“Hello,” The blue deviant peers around his brother in confusion. “There’s a forth one?”

“Four Sword.” The red deviant grumbles. “It implies that there would be four.”

“There was never four before.” The green one muses, looking behinds himself with a cocked brow. “And none of us was that fearful.”

“You okay?” It’s clear Legend’s blue isn’t the same violently minded variant as Four has, in fact, he seems something more like Vio or Green, calm and observant, but not altogether unattached from the world.

“How-” The golden variant whispers, eyes still not leaving Four as the younger looking Legend stares out from behind his other deviant. “You’re dead!”

They pause, confusion on their face as they take in the uneasy way that Legend’s variants look at each other.

“You’re dead, you’re dead, YOU’RE DEAD!” The deviant shrieks, frenzied and frightened in a way they’ve never seen Legend before, hands gripping tightly to his counterpart as he stares at the Four-Who-Are-One with a manic sort of terror, confusing them and setting his brothers ill at ease.

What does this...child, intend by his words? Is it a threat? Is it a dream, a hallucination? Splitting can mess with the mind, especially for first timers, is this part of Legend just insane somehow?

“I killed you!” There are tears in the golden one’s eyes, and he continues to quake behind his counterpart as the other three exchange looks of recognition.

“Kid, calm down.” Red starts, brash and uncertain.

“That’s Four.” Blue adds.

“He’s our friend.” Green soothes, oozing charm and charisma that reminds them of Warriors.

“They tried to kill us.” Goldie whispers, clutching even tighter at the tunic in front of him.

“Um...no?” Blue is taking the forefront of their own mind, but Red holds him back from being too violent. Even so, their own variants know better than to push at something so fragile. The golden variant of Legend is like the metal he’s colored after, delicate and so easy to break, too harsh a movement or action will snap him in two, and they aren’t ready to deal with that split, not when Legend is already in four pieces!

“Ignore him, please.” The red Legend sighs, rubbing at his face in a tired manner, and when they look closely it’s easy to see that this variant received the burden of Legend’s eyebags- his tunic and cap may be red, but the bruises beneath his eyes are a dark purple that make the vet’s own gaze seem near black in comparison.

“It’s a slight mix up.” The green one adds, kneeling down beside his counterpart with an assuring smile that they have only ever seen directed at the youngest of their number, and even then, most of the time it’s meant for Hyrule.

The Blue, Red and Green deviants all stare at each other, eyes flicking silently and expressions twisting for a moment before there’s sighing from the Blue and Red, and the two of them stand and make their way over to Four.

“Let’s give them some space.” Red sighs, “Kid’ll be freaking out for a hot second yet.”

They can’t help the suspicious raise of their brows. “You do realize he’s part of you, right?”

The two Legends exchange another look before looking back to him.

“Not exactly.”

“He,” Red Legend jabs a thumb over his shoulder, “Is supposed to be dead.”

Four would like a moment to scream please.

“What do you mean?” Red takes control as a panicked glance is shot over to the small-Legend. “He’s part of you!”

“Part of us that died.”

“We’ve been split before.”

“Albeit in a different way.”

“There wasn’t four of us to choose from.”

“Not with our soul already divided.”

“The Four Sword had to dig up something that wasn’t there anymore.”

“It was either us or the blade.”

Four has been split for the last six years and even they don’t do this. “Why are you talking like that?” They hiss, looking between the two forms of their friend. Blue is screaming inside and Red is shivering, Vio is demanding answers and Green is contemplating the possibilities of learning to do this themselves, all of which at once makes for a very busy head and no space to process much of what was just said.

“Practice.” The two Legends echo, nodding en tandem.

“Like we said,” Red sighs again. “This isn’t the first split for us.”

“First time we’ve become four.”

“But not the first split in general.”

Four looks between them, curiosity winning out over shock as Vio takes the lead. “Explain.”

And they do. As it turns out, the fabled sixth adventure of the hero of Legend resulted in his mind being divided amidst three separate bodies, each of which took on a few of his qualities as their main attributes, but, for the most part, remained distinctly Legend.

“It’s not a clear divide.” Blue Legend explains. “We share memories, can speak with each other via a link of our minds, and in general we act like we would when together.”

“Some traits are stronger though.” Red Legend adds on.

The red variant, Crimson, it turns out, is Legend’s exhaustion and irritability. He’s the frustration and stress and takes the brunt of their experiences. The blue variant, Ocean, on the other hand, is the resourceful, experienced part of Legend that can spy opportunity and possibilities in most places. He is, in a way, like Vio, representing the creative and intelligence of Legend. The green variant, Forest, the two inform him, if the valor and strength of Legend. Like their own green, this part of Legend is dedicated to his tasks and to the people around him. Without the exhaustion, bitterness and calculating aspects being as prominent, it allows him to be more open and friendly when separated from his brothers.

“And the golden one?” They ask, eyes trailing back to where the deviants in question are still talking.

Crimson sighs once again, shaking his head. “Call him Lore.”

“He’s us, but much younger.”

“He died when we were young, so his memories, his experiences, that sort of thing, they don’t line up with ours.”

Ocean nods in agreement. “Last he knew, we were visiting our grandparent’s farm after our third adventure. He doesn't know about our experiences since.”

“Much less us.” Crimson adds on. “He’s the only Link as far as he's concerned.”

“But how is he dead?” Four presses, confusion eating at their minds. It wouldn’t make sense for a deviant to be able to die, not without affecting the soul as a whole.

“He’s Legend’s innocence.” Crimson answers, eyes too dark and too sorrowful. “He’s been buried so far and so deep that he’s ceased to be a part of us anymore.”

“And he’s scared of me because...?”

“Because you tried to kill me- I mean... us.”

Three heads turn to where the younger looking Legend stands, hand tightly holding onto the forest deviant’s hand. The youngster looks calmer now, if not considerably confused. “How are you alive? I thought-”

He's cut off by a hand over his mouth as Forest offers a pained smile that looks more like a grimace. “We all thought you came hundreds of years before us.”

“I do. What’s this about killing us?” Vio’s slipping, but none of the Legends seem to notice.

“Nothing.” Three voices chime at once.

“Right.” Ocean looks around them with a frown. “How do we change back? Splitting up always causes problems, and the sooner we reunite and get back to normal, the better.”

“The Four Sword should do the trick, if you can become of one mind.” They provide their brother- brothers? “Just touch the tips together.”

Legend’s deviants all nod, understanding in their gazes that shouldn’t be there.

“Why aren’t you freaking out? Most people would at least be a little shocked by this.” They ask, gaze traveling from one of the split heroes to another.

“We’ve wielded the Four Sword before.” Crimson explains.

“Not wielded, exactly-” Ocean corrects.

“We carried them.” Forest clarifies. “But only until we could put them back.”

Four looks between them, and as once, they answer. “Adventure number one.”

Okay then. “I have so many questions.” They sigh, looking between Legend’s deviants.

“Ask Legend. We’re him after all, so when we reform, we’re still there.” Ocean reassures them.

“Most of us anyway.” Crimson murmurs.

“Am I dying too now?” Lore sighs, looking up at his brothers with eyes so tragically sad that Four almost feels guilty for asking them to reform.

“Not dying.” Forest winces.

“You’re going back to sleep.” Ocean tries.

“Or back to Gramma.” Red adds. “She’s probably worried.”

Lore looks pacified, and it takes only a moment more before Legend is standing, as one, before the Four again, eyes shadowed and hand rubbing down his face as he hands over the sword. “Oy vey.”

“You took that well.” They respond, taking the sword back and not at all wrapping their arms around it protectively.

“Been split before.” Legend groans. “Speak no words, or I tell everyone about you.”

“Me?”

“All of you.” Legend glares, but their mischief in his gaze. “I didn’t study the legends of the Four Sword for nothing, I know.”

And somehow, that doesn’t worry them. Legend knows how they work, knows there are more than one of them, but he’s the same, in a twisted, strange and not Four Sword based way. “We’re talking later, and I want to know more about them if I can.”

“Only if you split too.” Legend challenges.

“We can do that.” Four agrees. “We really should split more anyways.”

“We?” Legend cocks a brow, straightening up from where he stands.

“Us.” Four gestures to themselves. “Four.”

The vet stares for a moment before chuckling softly. “Why didn’t you tell us we had your pronouns wrong? Plural they/them is fine you know, you just had to say something.”

“Would you like the same?”

“Heck no!” Legend winces. “I’m male, singular. The dopples are just parts of me, but that doesn’t make me a plural entity, just someone with a jumbled brain on some days.”

“Dopples?”

Legend rolls his eyes, stooping to collect the wood that he had dropped when they were attacked earlier, disregarding the way blood smears across it from the cut on his arm. “I’ll explain on the way back to camp.”

[swan-of-sunrise]

Spellbinding (Chapter Fourteen)

Summary: While dealing with a surprising new development in their relationship, Loki and (Y/N) are stuck in the middle of an explosive feud between Steve and Tony.

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I’d call this a filler chapter but I absolutely love writing about the Avengers as a whole! I also thought we needed a little break from the plot for some team bonding before things get too crazy lol I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen November 22nd, 2015 Avengers Tower, New York City (Previous Chapter)

“You read this book when you were how old?”

(Y/N) smiled mischievously and turned her attention back to reorganizing her closet. “I was seven. I checked it out from the library without telling my Aunt Evelyn and read it late at night; I couldn’t sleep without my nightlight on for months afterwards but I’m glad I read it, since it’s a literary classic and everything.”

Loki let out a half-laugh and turned the page of his book. “Well, if we’re ever blessed with children, I think we should wait until they’re at least twelve to introduce them to Dracula. Perhaps even fourteen.”

“Children?”

In an instant, Loki froze and it dawned on him what he’d accidentally said. (Y/N) was also frozen, her arm still extended to grab a hangar from inside the closet. “I-I…I just meant…I’d like to…” Loki cleared his unusually tight throat. “I, ah, wouldn’t mind having…you know, children. Someday. With…with you.” Dammit, I’ve made a mess of things again, Loki inwardly groaned.

They’d only been together for a little over four months and it was much, much too early in their relationship to bring about the subject of children. But after he acknowledged his love for (Y/N), it was challenging for Loki to envision a future without her in it and lately, the idea of a more permanent future with the woman he loved was all he could think about. He knew that his girlfriend liked children; back when she still worked at the New York Public Library, he’d fondly watch her helping them with their homework or reading to them and since officially becoming the Cosmic Sorceress, she’d visited the children’s ward at the nearby hospital once a week to cheer up the young patients. And despite what others might believe, Loki also liked children and the thought of being a father one day – while admittedly a little nerve-wracking – was not an unwelcome one.

Just as (Y/N), with her (Y/E/C) eyes widened in shock, opened her mouth to reply, there came the sounds of voices shouting angrily from the common room down the hall. In an instant, Loki and (Y/N) summoned their magic into the palms of their hands before sprinting out of her suite and down the hallway.

Steve and Tony stood on either sides of the common room and were fully engaged in a blazing argument by the time Loki and (Y/N) arrived. Skidding to a stop beside (Y/N), Loki’s first thought was that he’d never seen either man as angry as they were now, even during the Battle of New York.

“Because you flat-out refused to listen when I said to wait, three S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are at the hospital in critical condition!” Tony yelled.

Steve stepped closer and shouted back, “And if I hadn’t acted when I did, an entire apartment complex would’ve been demolished anyway and dozens of people would be dead! Those agents would be fine right now if you hadn’t hesitated to use your scanners!”

“You mean, if I hadn’t stopped to think the situation through?!”

“You’re acting like a civilian, Stark, not a soldier! Our job is to make the tough decisions as quickly as we can for the benefit of the whole, we don’t have the luxury of holding committees for every choice we make!”

“Bullshit, it’s better to weigh options instead of barreling in without a plan; that’s what you’re best at, though, isn’t it? If you hadn’t made the dumb-ass decision to crash that plane in ‘45, you and Carter-”

Before Tony could finish his sentence, Steve landed a punch on his jaw that sent him staggering backwards. Tony quickly surged forward to retaliate, but Loki used his magic to halt his movement while (Y/N) used hers to stop Steve. “Enough!” They dissolved their magic and with matching looks of contempt, both Steve and Tony turned and stormed away, leaving Loki and (Y/N) to gape at each other in shock.

“Yeah, that was a continuation of what happened on the Quinjet.” They turned and watched Bruce step out of the elevator with a weary expression on his face. “I’ll explain everything to you both, but can we do it in private? The rest of the team’s at each other’s throats and I don’t want all the fighting to accidentally trigger the Big Guy…”

After leading the scientist into (Y/N)’s suite and subtly lighting one of her calming lavender-scented candles, Loki sat beside his girlfriend on the sofa and listened as Bruce talked. “This arms dealer was holding an entire apartment building in Luxembourg hostage, said he’d blow the place up if his demands for more guns weren’t met. Fury sent Steve, Tony, Bucky and Clint this morning; the plan was to surround the building and find a way in before going after the guy, but he decided he didn’t want to wait any longer and turned an automatic timer on for the explosives. Cap sent the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in to clear the building and Tony said to wait for the agents to give word before ordering Bucky to take the shot, but Steve didn’t listen. Bucky took the shot, got the guy, but the explosives still went off.” Loki and (Y/N) exchanged looks of confusion, and Bruce continued. “There was a pressure timer hidden in his hand, they call it a dead man’s switch; Tony scanned and saw it at the last second, but Steve was already giving the order to Bucky.” Bruce started pacing as he ran a hand through his hair. “It’s like a civil war; Clint and Nat are taking Tony’s side, they think Steve could’ve waited a little longer, and Sam and Bucky are on Cap’s side.” He snorted in derision. “Thanksgiving dinner should be a blast this year.”

(Y/N) nodded, a saddened expression on her face, but Loki furrowed his brow. “Thanksgiving? You host a dinner of thanks on Midgard?”

“I’ll explain it to you later.” She flashed him a brief smile before returning her concerned gaze to Bruce. “Is there anything we can do?”

“You both should probably just stay out of it; they might come around faster if they see that you’re neutral in all this.” The scientist walked to the door. “I’d better go down and talk to Fury, so I’ll see you guys later.”

Once Bruce closed the door behind him, (Y/N) threw herself back against the cushions of the couch and sighed. “How could something like this have even happened? We’ve been such a strong team these past few months and now…”

“They’re both strong-willed men and stubborn in their own right, you know that. Each holds steadfast to their beliefs no matter the consequences; this is a trait of theirs I’ve both admired and admonished in all the time I’ve known them.” Loki admitted. “But Banner is correct, any attempt of ours to help may only worsen the situation for everyone.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Taking in (Y/N)’s troubled frown, Loki decided to try distracting her from their fighting teammates, laying down and resting his head in her lap so that he was staring up at her. “So, a feast of thanks sounds…quaint.”

As he’d hoped, she relaxed as she gave him a look of amusement and began running her fingers through his hair. “It’s more than that, silly. In America, it’s a day where we give thanks for our lives and the people in them. We sit around a table for dinner and let our loved ones know just what they mean to us, that we cherish and appreciate them, no matter any differences…we might…we might have…” (Y/N) trailed off, pausing a moment before gasping in excitement. “Loki, I think I may have either a brilliant plan or an insane one!”

“I know just what you have in mind, darling. Let’s go!” They both hurried to the living room closet and tugged on their coats and scarves; they had a long, long day of shopping ahead of them.

Although he’d acclimated fairly well to Midgard in the months since his arrival, one of the things Loki still utterly despised about the realm were its ‘grocery stores.’ They were crowded, lit by horrendous fluorescent lights and stocked to the brim with inedible, overpriced food; whenever he’d been asked to accompany one of his fellow Avengers on their shopping trips, he would come up with every excuse under the sun to decline their invitation. But he decided to put aside his displeasure for the benefit of his girlfriend and teammates, resigning himself to pushing the rickety metal shopping cart up and down the aisles as (Y/N) read off her hastily-written list.

Their shopping trip had gone far better than he’d imagined and in no time, they were carrying their bags into the lobby of the Avengers Tower.

“You know, we’re going to need an extra pair of hands to help us with the cooking on Thursday.” (Y/N) pointed out as they stepped into their team’s private elevator. “I’m not very good in the kitchen, as you already know, but I’ve always been able to bake pretty decent pies.”

Loki nodded. “All right, so who did you have in mind to help?”

At that moment, the elevator stopped and the doors opened to reveal the smiling face of his golden-haired brother. “Ah, there you are! The J.A.R.V.I.S. just informed me you had returned from your outing, was it productive?”

“…You could call it that.”

The tone of his girlfriend’s voice prompted Loki to glance over at her; she was looking from Thor to him, her eyebrows raised and a triumphant smile spreading across her face. Finally understanding her words, Loki’s smile morphed into a look of absolute horror. “Oh no, no, no, not him…!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wait, you guys cooked all this? Without burning the kitchen down?”

Loki couldn’t help but give Bruce a pained look. “Believe me when I say that it was not for lack of trying, Doctor Banner.”

Since they wanted dinner to be a surprise, they’d prepared each dish in one of the kitchens used by the new S.H.I.E.L.D. organization; unfortunately, in their attempt to be secretive they were forced into cramped quarters with rather primitive kitchen appliances at their disposal. And to add to Loki’s growing list of responsibilities, he was forced to babysit the love of his life and his brother in order to prevent the dishes from being ruined by their absolute lack of culinary skills. More than once, he had to use his magic to protect the food he’d cooked from (Y/N)’s over-zealousness with the spices and at one point, he was forced to quickly talk Thor out of using his lightning to rapidly cook the turkey. Hopefully it’ll all have been worth it, Loki tiredly thought to himself.

As if in-tuned with Loki’s inner monologue, Bruce nervously adjusted the sleeves of his coat and replied, “Well, I hope this works and doesn’t just end up making everything worse.”

“You and I both, Doctor.” His eyes were drawn to the elevator as its doors opened, revealing (Y/N) and a cart filled with the feast they’d cooked, and he hurried over to meet her. “Everything’s going to plan so far, they think that it’s only the seven of us for dinner.”

With the help of Bruce, they went about setting the enormous table. “I just sent Thor to fetch Team Cap, so they should be here any minute.” Once they finished, (Y/N) removed her apron and smoothed out her skirt, her anxious expression softening a fraction as she turned to the two men. “Now we see if our brilliantly-insane plan will work.”

Loki had just enough time to lean down and press a reassuring kiss to his girlfriend’s forehead before the elevator doors once again slid open.

“Mmm, smells good in here!” Tony grinned, walking up to (Y/N) and handing her a bottle of wine. “I had Pepper ship one of my best labels over from Malibu for the occasion.”

Natasha did little to hide her amusement at his words. “You just couldn’t resist, could you? And you,” She turned to shoot Clint a glare. “If you don’t stop fidgeting, Barton, we’re going to have a problem.”

“I can’t help it, this stupid suit’s uncomfortable!” Clint grumbled; once Natasha returned her attention to the others, the archer rolled his eyes and whispered to Loki, “Damn straight jacket. (Y/N) forced you into one too, huh?”

“Yes, I-” The sight of Steve, Sam and Bucky entering the room behind Thor caused Loki’s words to die in his throat and as the others caught sight of them, he surreptitiously summoned his magic into his hands in case a fight broke out. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Thor and Bruce exchanging weary looks.

Steve’s face was a mask as he stepped forward. “Stark.”

“Asshat.”

All Hel broke loose; Steve and Tony lunged towards one another, their struggling forms barely held back by Bucky and Clint. A cacophony of shouting quickly filled the room as both sides began arguing with each other, but just as Loki raised his arms to use his magic, (Y/N) calmly stepped forward and walked in between the warring groups. The shouting and struggling instantly stopped as they gawked at (Y/N), but she merely smiled warmly at them as she spoke. “Thank you all for coming to our Thanksgiving dinner, Loki and I are glad you were able to make it. Bruce mentioned that you usually don’t celebrate together, but this is my first Thanksgiving with you all and I wanted to mark the occasion with my new family…all of it.” Her words seemed to have their desired intent, as both Steve and Tony relaxed their stances and the others backed away from them. “Now, we should start eating before everything gets cold!”

Needless to say, dinner was a tense affair. Where there was usually the sounds of deafening chatter and laughter, there was quiet murmuring and stoic looks. Loki watched (Y/N) with equal amounts of admiration and sympathy as she tried her hardest to engage their teammates in conversation with one another and with each failed attempt, he could see a little more of her heart breaking. After learning the difficult truth about her parents and having lived so long without a family, (Y/N) deserved to have a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner with her friends. They all did, really. This has gone on long enough, Loki thought to himself as (Y/N) silently stared down at her plate; after a slight moment of hesitation, Loki got to his feet.

“I’ve done a fair amount of reading about this country’s Day of Thanks, and the custom of expressing what one is thankful for whilst surrounded by their loved ones piqued my interest. So, let’s begin.” Loki swallowed thickly, looking around the table at his teammates’ confused faces before settling on (Y/N)’s. “I’m thankful for you, darling. You came into my life at a time when I believed I could never be deserving of love and you showed me not only was I deserving, but that loving you would make me a better man. You’re the love of my life, and believe me when I say that all our lives have been blessed since meeting you.” Loki and (Y/N) shared a smile and as he turned back to address the others, he felt her take hold of his hand and squeeze. “And I know you may find this difficult to believe, but I am also thankful for all of you. When I first joined the Avengers, I was bitter and filled with resentment at the prospect of serving out my sentence on a planet I despised with people I despised even more. But after a short while, once we’d come to understand one another, you accepted me as your teammate and friend. Well, some of you more than others.” His eyes flicked to Tony, who hid his small smile behind his hand, and to Clint, who gave him a small shrug. “I value our kinship above all else and on this Day of Thanks, I implore you all to remember our bonds with one another. Severing those bonds on account of a petty disagreement is something you all will come to regret in the future; take it from me, I have firsthand experience in that particular department.” He and Thor shared a knowing look as he took a seat; although he wasn’t comfortable expressing his emotions so openly, the look of pride in his brother’s eyes had made it worth it.

The table was quiet for several moments, until Steve cleared his throat. “Well, I’m, ah…I’m thankful that after coming out of the ice to an unrecognizable world I was able to find such great friends and teammates in you all.” His azure eyes flicked hesitantly over to Tony. “We may not get along all the time or agree on everything, but that doesn’t mean we should allow ourselves to become divided.”

Tony’s face remained unchanged throughout Steve’s speech and when he got to his feet, Loki could practically hear the others’ sharp intakes of breath. The billionaire held Steve’s gaze for a heartbeat before offering him his hand over the table with his trademark smirk on his face. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, ‘Roid Rage.” The two men shook hands and the room almost instantly relaxed; Loki exchanged looks of triumph with his co-conspirators as dinner continued, satisfied that their plan had been successfully implemented.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dinner was delicious, by the way.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, darling, though I’m not sure what the others thought of it.”

“Well, they were a little too distracted to hand out compliments on food, wouldn’t you say?”

The pair had decided to spend the night catching up on their reading but instead of utilizing the library, they had made themselves comfortable in Loki’s bed with their books and plenty of blankets. Loki sat up against the headboard, his legs stretched out across the mattress and his ankles crossed, and (Y/N) was leaning against his side, her head resting comfortable in the crook of his neck and her free arm holding Loki’s around her waist. They sat in comfortable silence as they read their own books, occasionally permeating the tranquil atmosphere with light conversation.

“Um, Loki?”

“Hmm?” Loki could feel (Y/N) shifting beside him, so he tore his eyes away from his book and watched as she marked her page and set her book down on the bedside table. Setting his own book aside, Loki adjusted himself so he could see her face better. “What is it?”

(Y/N) bit her lip and played with the sleeve of her sweatshirt before answering. “We’ve been so busy planning Thanksgiving dinner and trying to get the team back together that we haven’t had a chance to talk about what you said the other day.” Loki’s brow furrowed in confusion, and the corner of (Y/N)’s mouth twitched. “About wanting to, um, have children. With me.”

“Oh.” Loki felt himself pale; he’d completely forgotten about his slip-up and being reminded of it caused panic to flare in his chest. “I-It was stupid, (Y/N), I just…we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, I only meant-”

His explanation was abruptly cut off by (Y/N), who had covered his mouth with her hand and was shaking with suppressed laughter. “I always love those rare moments when you’re the one to get flustered; a little line always forms in between your eyebrows.” She leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss on the spot before moving her hand from his mouth to cup his cheek. “I was surprised by what you said the other day because I didn’t realize that you’ve imagined the same future that I have.” (Y/N) shyly looked down but she reached for his free hand and intertwined their fingers together. “I may not have much experience with relationships, Loki, but I love you with all my heart and if there’s anyone I want to share that wonderful future with someday…well, it’s you.”

A grin slowly formed on Loki’s face; removing one of his hands from hers, he gently took hold of her chin and coaxed her to look at him. “Really?”

She nodded, her (Y/E/C) eyes sparkling with happiness. “Really.”

Surging forward, Loki held her face in his hands and smashed his lips against hers. (Y/N) made a sound of surprise before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing back with equal vigor; Loki eventually found himself lying flat on his back while (Y/N) straddled his waist, one hand clutching her hip while the other traveled up and down her spine as they kissed. (Y/N) pulled her lips away from his and just as his throat made a noise of protest, she began kissing along his jawline and down his neck; needless to say, his annoyance quickly morphed to groans of satisfaction. Only when her soft lips brushed against a particularly sensitive patch of skin near his collarbone did Loki lose all restraint; he flipped them over so that (Y/N) was pressed against the mattress and after grabbing her hands and threading their fingers together, he held them over her head and hungrily attacked her eager lips with his own until an unfortunate lack of air forced them to break apart.

“I said I’d like children with you someday, Loki, not today!” (Y/N) exclaimed breathlessly, a dazed sort of smile illuminating her face as she looked up at him.

Loki let out a laugh before kissing her forehead and rolling off to lay on his back beside her; try as he might, he couldn’t keep the broad grin off his face. “Apologies, my love, but you’re entirely irresistible. If I’d known there were kisses like that in store for me, I’d have told you all that ages ago…”

Later that evening, (Y/N) was fast asleep against his chest and the sounds of her quiet snores filled the room as he stretched out on the bed in contentment. I suppose there’s only one thing left to do, Loki thought tiredly, pulling (Y/N) closer and glancing over at the bedside table that hid the engagement ring before sleep finally claimed him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Wow, that was a lot of fluff! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2wx8TZwpDN0l33tES3W3Nk

Chapter Fifteen

Spellbinding Masterlist

Tagging: @nexiva @ravenclawbitch426 @cminr @confusedfandomwriter @momc95 @nickkie1129 @austynparksandpizza @brooke0297 @destructivebliss @outoftheregular​ @itscomplicatedx​ @0-artemis​ @vivloki​

[annabethy]

living in winter, i am your summer

in which percy and annabeth are tiktok stars, and they make the most out of a tiktok date,, percabeth, i may have to make this a series

Annabeth fully expects Percy to call her. When he’d asked for her number, a promise to call, she hadn’t doubted that for a second. He simply isn’t the person to ghost someone, especially when he has over twenty million people watching his every move. It really shouldn’t be a surprise when he texts her, all things considered.

(5:45pm) annabeth!! please tell me this is you!!

She grabs her phone to respond but drops it on her face from the precarious position she’s in, head dropping off of the couch. She hisses and rubs her nose before typing out a response.

(5:46pm) that would be embarrassing for you, wouldn’t it?

(5:45pm) very embarrassing

(5:46pm) so about that tiktok thing. it would be an honor if you’d let me make tiktoks with you

(5:46pm) please🥺

(5:46pm) i thought we were “going out”

(5:46pm) we can do that too!🥳🥳

It makes red crawl up her neck. She can almost imagine him smiling into the phone as he types it out, and it has her feeling giddy. Then it has her mortified because she’d really walked outside and run into a tiktok star looking like a hot mess. Then she’s giddy again because he still asked for her number.

(5:47pm) when’s a good time?

(5:47pm) honestly? as soon as possible

(5:47pm) in a rush?

(5:47pm) i might be

Annabeth bites her lip as she waits for him to reply. It’s a few minutes of anticipation before she sees the typing bubbles pop up.

(5:51pm) i can do right now?

(5:51pm) in a rush?

The typing bubbles appear for a few second again.

(5:51pm) i might be

It’s not long after that that he sends her his address. She’s about ready to hop out of her apartment and head on down to his place, but then she’s suddenly filled with a million other possibilities. He wants to take her out too which means he has to have some attraction to her, or at least she thinks so, and she’d rather not ruin that quite yet.

Annabeth changes outfits at least five times, taking everything into account. What would Percy like? Would the twenty million people that follow him also like the outfit or would they absolutely grill her? Is it versatile enough for whatever they end up doing? She settles on a knitted sweater that’s one size too big, sleeves falling over her hands, and a pair of ripped jeans.

It only takes a frantic tiktok posted to her account, screaming about what may or may not be a date. A huge oversight on her part because that just happens to be the first thing he brings up when she walks through his front door.

“I hope I didn’t cause any emotional damage,” he says to her when he opens the door. Percy steps in for a hug, and she obliges. He feels really warm, and she finds that she likes his embrace.

“What?” she laughs out, pulling back.

“I follow you on tiktok. You seemed to be pretty concerned on whether this is a date,” he says, amused. The door shuts behind her, and it’s suddenly very real that she’s standing in the home of a tiktok star. It’s not like he’s a celebrity, but she’s still just a tiny bit starstruck.

“That’s… mortifying.”

He smiles. “It was actually really cute.”

Annabeth feels the heat rush to her face for what must be the tenth time that day. “It was?”

“Absolutely. But that might just be because you’re cute.”

“Stop it or else I’ll cry.”

Percy grabs her hand lightly and leads her to what she believes is the living room. “It couldn’t possibly be a surprise that you’re cute. You have over five million followers because you’re cute. Also you have a great personality.”

“Piper says it’s because I have a fat ass?”

“Piper?”

“My best friend,” she tells him. “She’s insane but I love her.”

Percy stares at her silently, biting his lower lip in a smile. As she sits on the couch next to him, she waits for a response that doesn’t come.

“Are you just going to stare?”

“I’m trying to decide if it’s disrespectful to agree.”

Annabeth blinks. “Oh.”

“I’m kidding, for the record. I have yet to look at your butt.”

“Really?” She tilts her head. “I’ve looked at your butt.”

Percy guffaws. “You have?”

“It was because of the tiktok you posted of you just shaking your ass in the middle of Walmart. I had to see if it was really that juicy in real life.”

“What was your conclusion?”

“Hella juicy.”

Percy wiggles his eyebrows, and she rolls her eyes fondly. She lifts a leg under her and leans against the back of the couch.

“So what’s the plan?”

“We film,” he says.

“But I mean what? You’re not exactly the type of person to pop out a suggestive dance.”

“I’ll admit I didn’t think that far ahead,” Percy says kindly. “I really wanted to get to know you. It completely slipped my mind to actually have a plan.”

Annabeth giggles. “So you invited me over to talk? Not even to go out?”

“I mean, we can still go out. There’s a good diner not too far from here. It’s the best place to go for a midnight snack.”

Annabeth glances at her phone. “We still have a few hours until midnight.”

“So we film until then,” he says, standing up suddenly. “You like making tiktok dances?”

“I wish I could say I didn’t.”

He extends a hand for her that she ends up taking, and he helps pull her up onto her feet.

“Then you can teach me,” he says.

“But you just said you don’t like making tiktok dances.”

Percy gives her an adoring smile. “But you do.” And so the next few hours are mainly composed of them hopping around. She pretends not to notice the way he looks at her, full of something that looks close to adoration and love. There are warm tingles up her back every time he brushes his hand against her. When it comes to a point that he needs to hold her by the waist, her breathing shallows.

Percy’s chuckle is low in her ear. His fingers curl over her hips, a light tickle. “Are you having fun?”

“Lots,” she breathes out. “I’m sorry you’re being forced to dance with me.”

“I don’t mind. If you’re happy, then so am I.” Percy’s hands slide off of her, and she finds she misses the contact.

“Is this going on your account?” she asks.

“If you’re alright with it,” he says. Percy goes to set up the timer again, looking at her over his shoulder. “We’re friends, and I like showing my friends off to the world.”

She decides to make a move because the past few hours have told her that he has to be feeling the same thing she feels. He is the winter to her summer, complementary, so opposite yet perfect together. He brushes against her, holds her hand when he can, looks at her with such blazing heat that this cannot just be in her head.

“So is that what I am? Just a friend?”

He presses the record button, stepping back as the screen flashes down from ten. When the screen is at eight, his hands find their way back to her waist. Six seconds, and he leans forward, his chest warm against her back. Four seconds, and his lips brush against her ear.

Two seconds, and he whispers, “You tell me.”

Annabeth turns in his arms, and Percy moves at the same time. His lips brush against hers once, a question of permission, and then he catches her in a kiss that takes her breath away. She can hardly believe that they’ve just met today because this feels so right. He kisses her like he’s known her his whole life, like she’s the only thing that matters in this moment.

Her lips tingle at contact, and she chases him when he pulls away. She is hardly aware when the camera cuts off because he’s sliding a hand down her side, lifting her legs so that she can jump into his embrace. They’re still lip-locked when he sets her onto the table, stepping into the space between her legs.

“What are we going to do with the video?” she breathes out when his lips find her throat. “Post it,” he jokes, a low rumble in his throat. He tugs at her lower lip, and she smiles into the kiss.

“Good,” she says.

And it makes her excited, the possibility of everyone seeing them together, knowing that they are together. They haven’t actually talked about what this means, but it feels right, and that’s all that she cares for.

They don’t end up at that diner for a midnight snack after that, but she finds that she doesn’t mind at all.

[frostedfaves]

I Don’t Feel Alive (4)

Masterlist

Pairings: Jake Peralta x sister!reader (platonic), Rosa Diaz x fem!reader (romantic), Jake Peralta x Amy Santiago (also romantic)

Summary: Jake shows up for your big moment and you’re there to comfort him for his.

Warnings: drug mentions and use, anxious reader, a bit of angst

A/N: so sorry for the wait on this part, but I hope it was worth it! I did a time jump because I needed to move forward a bit, not only for the sake of the addiction part of the storyline, but also because I need to introduce Rosa and Amy soon. anyway, lemme know what you think!!

Previous part

-

To say you were nervous was an understatement. You were about to host your very first art show featuring your own paintings, something that you’d wanted for a long time, but you didn’t expect it to feel this overwhelming when you finally got it.

“Hey, there’s my celebrity sister!”

You turned away from the mirror at the sound of the familiar voice, a relieved smile falling onto your features at the sight of Jake coming toward you.

“You came,” you breathed out as his arms enveloped your frame.

“Of course! I’d never miss this.” He pulled away from the hug and grabbed your hands with a grin. “So how does it feel?”

“Oh, it’s the worst! My head is spinning, and I can’t feel my feet anymore. Not to mention the heavy weight on my chest reminding me that this is all I’ve ever wanted since I realized that art is the one thing in my life that consistently made me happy and if I mess this up I could ruin my chances at a career--”

“Okay, okay.” His thumbs lightly rubbed across the back of your now shaking hands. “Before we go out there, why don’t we just take a moment to breathe?”

You nodded in acceptance of the idea, and he led you through a few cycles of inhaling and exhaling. By the sixth cycle your mind felt a bit quieter, and the knots in your stomach seemed to loosen.

“Feeling better?”

“Much better, thank you.” You leaned forward to sink into his hold again, smiling when his hands began to rub your back.

“You’re not going to mess anything up, by the way. You’ve already impressed so many people with your art, and when they realize how awesome of a person you are, they’re going to love you even more!”

“I hope you’re right, Pineapples.” A heavy sigh escaped you. “God, I wish Grandma was here to see this. How’s living at her apartment, by the way?”

“Weird, but it feels right at home at the same time. You’re welcome to visit anytime, you know, when you get a break from being a famous artist,” he teased you and you laughed, poking him a bit.

“Whatever. I guess I should stop by one day. And now that I can legally drink, I can visit that bar you like so much and meet your detective friends.”

“Oh yeah!” He pulled away quickly and you met his eyes that somehow seemed even brighter than before. “You have to meet my friend from the academy! She’s super scary at first and she doesn’t talk about her life so everything I know about her is purely based on observation but she’s great!”

“Sounds like someone I might like to know,” you told him with a chuckle. “Is she the detective that just transferred?”

“No, that’s Amy.”

“In love with her already, huh?”

“Wh-what?! Don’t be ridiculous. Yeah she’s intelligent, gorgeous, and an insanely great detective but it just wouldn’t work. We’re too different.”

Before you could tease him further about his instant “heart eyes”, an announcement came over the PA system that reminded you the art show was starting soon. You suddenly wished you could fast forward through the night, which Jake instantly picked up on and offered you a reassuring smile.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Little Carrot. I’m willing to bet all of my money on it!”

“You’re in crushing debt. That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Damn, you’re right. Well, see you soon!” He dropped a big and obnoxious kiss on your forehead before scurrying out of the room.

-

“For a first timer, this was incredibly successful, Y/N!”

“Thanks, Ken!” You smiled gratefully at the guy who helped you pull everything together as he approached you. “I can’t believe how many pieces I sold tonight!”

“I can believe it. You’re talented, and the world is finally getting to see it. Speaking of the world…” He grabbed your shoulders and turned you until your line of vision focused on a man on the phone in one of the doorways. “That well-dressed and extremely successful guy wants to hire you for a project and I would recommend accepting because he has connections to help you with your Paris goal.”

Your eyes widened at this, and you turned back to Ken. “Wait, seriously?! What are we waiting for?! Let’s go over there!”

After finding out the details of the project and gratefully accepting the job, you made your way to the back room to make sure you weren’t leaving anything important behind, briefly remembering your spiraling moment and feeling thankful that you were able to move past it. You were just about to turn off the lights and leave when the door opened and Erica entered.

“Congrats on tonight, N/N! I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, E.” You hugged her with a wide smile. “Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yeah. I would’ve approached you earlier but you were either talking to buyers or with your mom and detective brother, and I didn’t want to get too close with this.” She pulled out a little baggie holding a joint, bringing it into your line of vision. “Wanna celebrate properly?”

“Damn, I wish I’d had that earlier. But yeah, just give me a second to text Jake and then I’ll be ready.”

She left the room as you pulled out your phone, sighing when you saw Jake’s text wondering if you were coming down to Shaw’s. After wrestling with your conscience a bit, you ultimately decided to stick with your original plan. Today was super successful but incredibly draining, and you needed to wind down properly.

I’m pretty tired so I’m going to head home but maybe we can meet tomorrow so I can tell you about my new job! Thanks for coming tonight and I love you.

-

It was just a regular night for you, sitting in your apartment and painting whatever came to mind while music played softly in the background. You were so lost in your atmosphere that if your phone had been on vibrate, you wouldn’t have noticed the text from Jake come in.

need you to come to the precinct asap

You were on your feet in no time, sliding on shoes and grabbing a hoodie on your way out the door, pulling your arms into it and zipping it as you waited for your cab. Within minutes you were arriving at the 99th precinct, getting out of the car and approaching the building as Jake walked away from a brunette woman while holding a box.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted you while placing the box on the ground to hug you, pulling away to start typing something on his phone. “I just got fired and I really needed to see you.” He turned his phone to you and you read the screen.

its part of a plan for me to go undercover in the mafia for the fbi. could be gone for six months.

Tears instantly filled your eyes as you took in the message. Jake always made being a detective sound so fun that you forgot there were real dangers tied to his line of work. He’d be working among people that could kill him quickly or torture him slowly with one wrong move, and the thought made you feel sick. Not wanting to worry him further, you grabbed his phone and typed a response.

please be careful.

You hugged him after he read the words, both of you holding each other tightly as if you thought the world would collapse when you let go. You were quick to wipe away any escaped tears, smiling at him when you pulled away and gripping his hands in the same way he does to calm you down.

“I know it seems like it now, but this isn’t the end. You’re going to find something that makes you happy, and be just as good at that.”

“I hope so.” He squeezed your hands before pulling away to pick up the box again. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to drop this off at home and go drink away the sadness!”

He left you with one of his signature goofy grins, and you worked hard to burn the image into your memory, hoping it’ll last until you see it again six months later. Before you could decide what to do with yourself, your phone rang and you sat on the nearest bench as you answered.

“Y/N, hi! You don’t know me yet but I’m hoping we can change that soon! Tony Palmer here, and I saw your work on the HST project. Just wondering if you would be interested in spending a few months in Paris?”

“Absolutely I am,” you managed to answer, once the shock wore off a bit.

“Awesome! We can talk more about it in my office tomorrow.”

You saved his information in your phone, immediately heading over to your text thread with Erica when the call ended because you were curious about whether she knew any dealers in France. You weren’t sure you could handle being sober while worrying about Jake and living alone six time zones away for half a year.

-

Tags: @beeblisss @marie-03 @gaulty74 @xetherealbeautyx @makapaka11 @rosadiazswifey @ochrythum @halfofwhatisayismeaningless @hip-hopphile

[wholesomemendes]

what about shawn buying his wife lingerie

Author’s Note: Wow, me actually finishing a request, what? I’m sorry this took so long, but I actually kinda like how this turned out. There’s no actual smut in here, though it is steamier than anything I’ve written so I hope you guys like it! As always, feedback is much appreciated!

The smell of candles created a calming aroma that was in complete opposition to the bundle of excitement threatening to burst out of your chest. After four long months Shawn was finally coming back from the first leg of his tour and you could hardly wait, wanting nothing more than to have him back in your arms and place a kiss on his always soft lips. You had set up the kitchen table all nice and fancy, even going as far as to make his favorite dinner so it would be ready by the time he got home from the airport. Shawn had insisted that you didn’t pick him up yourself no matter how much you wanted to because it was always a lot of commotion with fans when you were there with him and since it was the end of tour, you both knew that many of his fans would be waiting for his arrival. You understood of course and even though you wanted to sprint into your husband’s arms the second his feet hit Toronto ground, you stayed home as he requested, instead making yourself busy in order to distract yourself from looking at your phone every two minutes hoping for an update from him. John Mayer’s Slow Dancing in a Burning Room filled the kitchen as you danced around slowly, imagining that Shawn was there singing it in your ear like he always loved to do. You were so lost in your thoughts, you hardly noticed the front door opening until a soft voice filled the room, “Y/n? I’m home.” A wide smile broke out across your face before you were racing into his arms, jumping into them and wrapping your body around him like a koala. A deep chuckle escaped his lips as he pressed light kisses to your hair, “Missed you so much, baby. Didn’t think I was gonna last one more day without seeing you.”

“I missed you so so much,” you told him, eyes beginning to water from how happy you were to be able to hold him again, “Please don’t leave me for that long ever again.”

“I won’t, I promise, that was far too long. Gonna make sure there’s more breaks next time so I can come home to see my girl.” One of his arms moved from where they were supporting your legs around his waist to lightly pull your head back to look at him, immediately noticing the tears welling up in your eyes. “Baby,” he cooed, wiping them away carefully and cupping your cheek, “No need to cry, I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just...I missed you so much and I’m so happy that you’re home again.”

“That’s right, I’m back home where I belong and I’m all yours.” He pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss that you immediately deepened, craving the taste of him that you had been so desperately missing. It felt like you were whole again after kissing him, for a part of you always traveled wherever Shawn goes. The sound of the timer going off broke you apart and you groaned, begrudgingly sliding out of his hold to grab the bread out of the oven. You maneuvered around the kitchen, placing various plates out to organize all of the food, a smile gracing your lips when you felt your husband move behind you. Your face heated up in a blush when his lips began to trail up your shoulder to your jaw, never failing to amaze you how after 5 years of being with Shawn, he still managed to give you butterflies in your stomach over the simplest things. “Whatcha making there, pretty girl?”

“Just that gluten-free pasta you really like.”

“The one where you make the sauce out of those white beans?”

“Mhm, that’s the one.”

“God,” he groaned into your ear, his grip on your hips tightening, “My sexy ass wife is making my favorite dinner? I’m truly the luckiest man alive.”

“Shut up,” you laughed as you tried to fight the blush off your cheeks, earning a teasing bite to your ear from Shawn. You swatted at his chest lightly to push him away while you focused on placing the food on their respective dishes, “Why don’t you help your sexy ass wife bring the food to the table?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He placed a quick peck on your cheek before grabbing the plate in front of you and heading to the table. The two of you spent dinner sharing the stories you didn’t tell each other over the phone and you enjoyed every second that you got to listen to all of the insane moments Shawn experienced on tour. You loved the way his eyes lit up every time he talked about tour, especially when he talked about all of the fans he was able to meet and hear sing back to him every night. As much as you wanted to be selfish and keep him all to yourself, you knew you would never take away one of the things that brought him so much happiness. When your plates were empty and your stomachs became full, you both headed towards the kitchen, placing all of the dirty dishes into the sink. Before you could even think about grabbing the sponge to start cleaning the mess, Shawn already had you spun around and pressed against the counter, lips attaching to yours feverishly. You moaned into his mouth causing him to smirk as you wrapped your arms around his neck so that one of your hands could find purchase in the curls on the back of his head. His hands roamed your body greedily, wanting to feel every inch of your skin that he had been deprived of for far too long. “God, I’ve missed this,” he practically moaned into your neck where he was busy sucking a purple bruise into your skin, “Nothing I do can ever feel as good as you.”

He lifted you up by the back of your thighs to place you on the counter, spreading your legs wide so he could stand in between them. The moment his large hands grabbed your ass to pull you flush against his skin, it was over for you and you threw your head back to give Shawn more access to your neck, basking in the pure euphoria of feeling him again. “Need you,” you whined, your hands trailing up his abs so he could lift his shirt over his head, “Need you now, Shawn.”

You were shocked to say the least when he disconnected himself from your skin, grabbing your wrists to stop your motion before bringing them up to his lips in a light kiss, eyes staring into yours the whole time. “Not yet, baby. I’ve got a present for you.” A smug smirk danced on his lips and you rolled your eyes, trying to pull yourself closer to him again.

“Can’t it wait until later. Please, I’ve missed you so much.”

“No, I want to give it to you now.” He released his grip on you and walked towards where his luggage was still sitting next to the front door, leaving you sitting on the counter as he leaned down to rummage through his bags. You stared at him curiously, wondering what could possibly be so important that it would make him decline having sex with his wife after having gone so long without her touch. Shawn produced a bright red box from the mess, a black ribbon tied delicately around its edges. The smirk never left his lips as he made his way back over to you, placing the mysterious box in your lap. His hands began to rub slow circles onto your thighs and you could hardly concentrate from all of the tension that was building between the two of you, “Go on, open it.”

You did as he said, carefully unraveling the bow and lifting the top of the box off, a gasp escaping your lips when you saw its contents. Shawn squeezed your thighs, clearly pleased with your reaction as he watched you pull out the lacy blue lingerie, admiring the way he already knew it would compliment your skin tone. The teddy was a deep navy blue with see through lace that left little to the imagination, but just enough that it would tease him when he saw you in it. The center was mostly bare to reveal your stomach which you knew your husband chose because he always loved to kiss all the way down the center of your body. It was absolutely stunning, as was all of the other lingerie he had managed to buy you or convince you to buy in the years you have been together, and there was no doubt in your mind that this would become one of your new favorite pieces. “Where did you get this?” you breathed out, for never in your life had he come home from tour with something as racy as this. Typically when Shawn said he had a present for you it was a souvenir gift from one of the countries he was in or some type of memento that reminded him of you while he was touring, something sentimental to show he was thinking of you while he was gone. And while this clearly told you he was thinking about you, it wasn’t in the same way he was when he bought you those heartfelt gifts.

“Berlin,” he answered simply, moving to reattach himself to your neck, making you let out a quiet groan, “Been thinking about how you’d look in it ever since I bought it, baby.”

It was hard for you to think straight when all of your thoughts were Shawn, Shawn, Shawn, but you managed to form a short sentence, “Berlin was one of your first shows.”

“I know, been thinking about it for a long time. How fucking sexy you’ll look in it spread out across our bed.” You couldn’t help but moan at the thought and Shawn wasted no time helping you off the counter, giving a slap to your ass as he pushed you towards your shared bedroom. “Now why don’t you be a good girl and go try it on for me, eh?”

You nodded eagerly and he gave you a satisfied grin, pulling you in for a searing kiss before releasing you to walk away. Just as you were about to close the door, a thought popped into your mind and you furrowed your brows in confusion, “Shawn?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you really see this in a random store in Berlin and decide to walk in while you were exploring with your team?”

“Why are you worrying about that now? Go get changed,” he laughed, shaking his head at how you always managed to focus on the weirdest things.

“I’m just asking…”

“Go, woman, stop procrastinating.”

You giggled as you closed the door, undressing quickly to place the teddy on your body. You had to admit that Shawn had amazing taste in this area, always finding something that he knew you would not only feel sexy in, but also confident. It hugged your curves in all of the right places and hid just enough skin that you didn’t feel like you were wearing nothing. Fixing your hair slightly, you took a deep breath, before peaking your head out the door, “Oh Shawn.”

His ears immediately perked up at your voice and he rushed over to the bedroom, opening the door wide to see you leaning against the dresser waiting for him. “Oh fuck,” he breathed out, hands extending to grab your hips and rub circles into your exposed skin, “I got you another present that I’ll give to you tomorrow, but I think this one is much better. You look more gorgeous in it than I could have ever imagined.”

A smirk formed on your lips and you brought your hands up teasingly to his shoulders as his hands began to roam your entire body, “You seem to have done a lot of dreaming on tour, why don’t you show me what’s been going on in that mind of yours.”

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he pulled you impossibly closer to him and you knew just by that look that you were in for a long night. “Trust me, baby, you’re gonna see just how much I missed you.”

[rydeszegras]

hospitals make miracles - r.donovan

hi guys ! this is my first fic and its not good whatsoever but figured id give it a shot haha, hope you enjoy !

wc: 1,623

warnings: minor swearing, mentions of injuries

-

you were a senior at andover high school on a roadie up to your annual trip in duluth. youve been taking this trip since your freshman year as you were one of the first players to ever make varsity as a freshman. that being said, this was your year, this was the year you had to show out. being named captain this season not only did you have to step up and lead the team, but you also had to focus on your game as it was your year to get scouted. you’d been looked at by minnesota-duluth, boston college, and minnesota, but all you wanted was to go to wisconsin, and this was your year to make it happen.

“y/n/n, are you ready to see all the hot duluth boys this weekend? i heard their varsity team plays at the same time of us and they have the wisco hot shot ryder donovan.” lilly said bouncing up and down in the seat next to you. you and lilly had been best friends ever since you met eachother at little wild camp 12 years ago. “y/n are you even listening”, “oh yeah sorry lil, just thinking about this weekend, did you know wisconsin scouts are gonna be there, i dont know if i can do this lil, i cant mess up, my future relies on this weekend” you exclaimed, trying not to freak out. “y/n/n you’ll be great i promise, but we should get some rest, weve still got 1.5 hours left and we’ve got a big game against east tonight.” you nod your head in agreement, dozing off into a deep sleep.

after an hour and a half of driving you arrive at the rink, getting up you fix your hair and adjust your sweats and parka and get ready to go grab your bag. after grabbing your bag, you start to head into the rink when you hear lil and ken start screaming, turning your head you see what all the fuss is about. and there he is. standing right before your eyes. ryder donovan. you’ve seen him in pictures as you followed him and some of his friends on instagram, but wow he was even prettier in person.

stumbling into the rink you make your way into the locker room gearing up to take the ice for warmups at duluth heritage. stepping onto the ice you complete your typical warmup of one-timers, slaps, and some stretching before noticing two big things in the stands. wisconsins top scout, and wisconsins top recruit, ryder. you didnt like it, but you just couldnt take your eyes off him.

the game begins and you take the ice playing your heart out making a clean goal through the five hole and racking in two more assists. after taking the ice to begin the last 20 mins of play, you get ready to take the faceoff for the third period. you win the faceoff clean and go to prepare to set yourself up to take a one-timer on the net. thats when tragedy strikes, when bringing your stick back to recieve the one-timer, before you know it you’re slammed into the boards on a cross check. tumbling down you hear a snap, a snap so loud that you watch the scout and ryder jump to their feet. as the athletic trainer scrambles to try and get you off the ice, you’re taken off the ice on a stretcher as you cant seem to put any weight on your right leg.

on the way to the hospital all you can think is why me, why now, why today. knowing it was probably your acl, you knew you were done for the season, that was it, it was over. scrolling through your twitter you saw your team won 5-2, which put your team in an excellent spot to start the season.

you arrived at the hospital and settled into your bed when a quite familiar but unfamiliar face walked into your toom. left speechless you see the 6’3 brunette standing in your doorway. “hey im ryder, i know you probably dont know me but i know you, you’re all the wisconsin scout has talked about for the past year and as im committed there i knew i had to see what the girls team is gonna have to offer and let me tell you, you looked incredible out there” ryder says shakily, messing with his fingers. you thank ryder and invite him into your room to sit on the chair. “trust me ryder i know you, youre all the girls have talked about after finding out that we played east this season, and youre committed to my dream school so theres that too, but theres no way the wisconsin scout wants anything to do with me, especially now that i have a double torn acl” you said, pointing down at your stitched up and wrapped knee, trying not to cry.

the next day, lil picked you up to bring you back to your hotel. on the car ride there you told her about everything that happened last night but when telling her you felt you sounded crazy, theres no way that thee ryder donovan went to visit YOU at the hospital and there’s absolutely no way that the wisconsin scout actually liked you. that was until you saw the instagram notification pop up on your screen... rydesdono would like to send you a message. you were shocked, theres no way that actually happened, but you opened the dm anyways to see what there was to say.

-

ryder donovan:

hey cutie, i never got your number last night and i was hoping we could catch up a little bit sometime if you feel up to it, i know with your knee it might not be easy, but i figured i would ask:)

you sat speechless. theres no way last night absolutely happened and there was absolutely no way he just called you “cutie”, but of course youre gonna meet up with ryder, no matter how much work it is

-

you:

hey rydes! id love to meet up with you again ! heres my number 952-***-****

-

thinking he might not actually text you because thats what hockey boys do, but sure enough you were proved wrong

-

maybe: ryder

hey y/n its ryder, pick you up at 6?

you:

absolutely, cant promise it’ll be easy with my knee and all, but i’ll make it work:))

rydes:

how about i pick us up food and bring it back to your hotel room, that way you can still have dinner with me but you can rest your knee at the same time;)

you:

that sounds great, ill make sure to leave the door unlocked

-

speechless you instantly call lilly and tell her everything, who freaks out the second you mention his name. as much as she doesnt believe it, you dont either. how is it that getting injured led you to a hot shot hockey player that is committed to the same school you are (yep thats right, wisco gave you an offer!!), one who’s actually genuine and nice AND insanely attractive. its mind blowing, but knowing theres no way this goes anywhere, as youd have to take the 2 hour drive back to andover in two days and probably wouldnt see ryder again until next year when you were both at wisconsin.

about an hour and a half later you hear two quiet knocks at your door, yelling “come in” at the sound. from your bed you see the cute hockey player who walks in from the doorway carrying the bag of food he got from grandmas, which happened to be your favorite restaurant in duluth. ryder sets the food on the table getting your food prepared so you didnt have to get up. he brings your food over to you and you invite him to sit next to you on your bed. you turned on your tv to the umd vs minnesota game as you rest your head on ryder who had just put his arm around you after you both finished eating. after talking for hours, that really felt like 10 mins, ryder decided that he should probably get back home and even if you didnt want him to go, you agreed.

for weeks after that you and ryder talked and talked for hours on end nonstop whether it was through snapchat, messages, or facetime. even though you only lived two hours apart, your schedules clashed too much to ever be able to meet up with eachother again. eventually after a year later you had completed your physical therapy and were ready to start your first year as a badger, but most importantly you were eager for ryder to get into town so you could hug the gorgeous brunette again.

when arriving at labahn, you were preparing yourself for the first day of practice and your next meet up with ryder, as the boys were using labahn as well as kohl center was undergoing some remodeling. you pull your bag out of your grand cherokee when you saw the brunette, and just like the first time you saw him your heart stopped. dropping your bag you ran in a dead sprint to see him as he dropped his bag and ran towards you wrapping his arms around your shoulders as if its been decades since youve last seen him as he held you for what felt like forever, when ryder whispered into your ear, “so hospitals really do make miracles happen” as he picked you up to kiss you before making your way into practice, knowing that without your injury you may have never found eachother the way you did.

[pixelatedrose]

Soulbound Part One

First | Next

Ao3 link

Masterpost

Word count: 1,328

Pairings: platonic LAMP, prinxiety, logicality

Warnings: none this chapter, it's really fluffy, though please please tell me if there's anything I should have tagged

Summary:

Roman Creetiv and Logan Lojick are soulmates. They're platonic soulmates though. They both have the same Soul mark to prove it. But they both have one other soul mark, binding them to one other person. And when they find Patton Morrale, it just so happens that they're both his soulmate. Logan being his Soulbound Soulmate, and Roman being a platonic soulmate. But something feels missing. And it feels filled, shockingly so, when they meet a certain someone a year and a half after they found each other.

Chapter One

"See, Logan! I told you we have the same birthmark!!" Roman shouted in his little seven year old voice.

  Logan sighed dramatically, pushing up his glasses. "Stop calling it a birthmark, Roman. It's obviously a soul mark. And fine," the dark haired boy looked away from the red haired one. "I will admit you were right."

  The two boys sat in Roman's room with their shirts off, a sprawling galaxy tattoo spreading over their left shoulder and covering a third of their back. The two had identical marks. Soul marks. 

  Soul marks tied soulmates together, whether they were platonic or romantic, it didn't matter. Roman and Logan both had two each; the galaxy one that they both bore, a countdown clock on Logan's right wrist, counting down to the moment he'd meet his soulmate, and Roman couldn't see color. His mother told him it was because when he met his soulmate, he'd be able to.

  Roman jumped up in triumph. "THIS MEANS WE'LL BE BEST FRIENDS FOREVER!!" He shouted loudly. A sudden wave of calm and nervousness over took him and he looked at Logan with a worried glance. "Right…?" He asked shyly.

  Logan sighed, but smiled all the same. "That's right, Roman," he stood up and linked arms with the other. "We'll be best friends forever."

~~•~~

  That was six years ago. Now, Roman stood bouncing next to Logan, who's timer was at one minute, 27 seconds remaining.

  "C'mon, Lo!! Would it kill you to be a little excited to meet your other soulmate?!"

  Logan looked away, walking normally. It was then that Roman saw his hands fidgeting endlessly.

  Despite having tried to not make a big deal out of the day, saying that he wanted it to turn out naturally, Logan had fixed his hair over a dozen times and had prepared his outfit days in advance, not wanting to be a complete mess when he met his other soulmate.

  But he still tried to act casual, despite it all.

  Roman had come over earlier that day, demanding he escort Logan to meet his soulmate, and Logan couldn't refuse, knowing Roman would just tag along anyway.

  Currently they sat in a cafe, Roman thinking it'd be so much more romantic than just wandering the streets.

  Roman eagerly eyes sued the timer on Logan's wrist. "20, 19, 18, 17-"

  Logan slapped a hand down on his wrist, the counting his friend was doing making him over-the-top anxious. "Roman please!"

  But inside he counted too.

  10, 9, 8, 7…

  Logan saw a short boy with curly blonde hair from across the cafe.

  6, 5, 4, 3…

  Their eyes met and something blossomed inside Logan.

  The boy ignored everything else and races full speed at Logan, startling both boys by throwing the dark haired boy into a hug.

  A shocked Logan could do nothing more than hold the cute faced boy in his arms.

  "You're the one…!!" The blonde boy said, his voice muffled, speaking into Logan's chest.

  The boy was warm and soft in Logan's arms, he fit there as if he was made just for that. His hair was soft and thick and Logan wanted nothing more than to bury his face in the golden locks. And it all felt so right. As if they'd known one another since the moment they'd both breathed.

  Suddenly the people in the cafe started to clap, a few cheering.

  Logan and the boy separated just slightly, though neither let go. They looked in shock at the people.

  "Roman, why are they applauding? What is there to celebrate? Did I miss something?"

  "Buddy," Roman said, clapping his friend on the back. "They're cheering for you!! It's not everyday that they get to see a couple of young kids meet their soulmate!!"

  "Oh my gosh, my timer!!" The blonde boy said looking down at his wrist as the cafe calmed down.

  Logan instinctively looked down at his own at the mention of a timer.

  Both their wrists blinked at 00:00:00:00:00 before both disappeared and were replaced by new text.

  Logan's now read, November 23, 2015, 2:34 PM. And underneath the date and time, In curly, cute light blue letters, a name was written.

  Patton.

  The blonde boy's wrist looked nearly identical, though the name written under the date and time was done in neat and pretty dark blue cursive, and read 'Logan' rather than 'Patton.'

  "Logan…?" The blonde boy asked. His voice was one that Logan had never heard before, but it felt warm and smooth and golden and so very right and familiar in his ears. That voice was meant to play in Logan's ears. It belonged there.

  "P-Patton?" Logan asked hesitantly, meeting his eyes once more. And this time truly seeing them.

  They were blue, like Logan's, but they held so much in them. They were happy eyes, and they were knowing. They were so deep and clear and pale and Logan was suddenly very scared of what would happen if ever stopped knowing this stranger.

  They hugged each other again, and there was no need for words.

  Roman and Logan may be platonic soulmates, but that was nothing to what Logan was feeling towards Patton.

  Logan and Patton were soulbound soulmates.

  Someone, and many people in fact, have more than one soul mark. They're friends that will last them till the end of time as well as romantic partners that will be as beautiful as the sun and moon on clear and warm day. You're friends may be your soulmates, but your partner is your soulbound soulmate. You can go your entire life never finding some of your soulmates, and live a relatively happy and normal life. Albeit spattered with episodes of depression and other mental issues in the later years.

  But you can go absolutely mad if you don't find your soulbound soulmate. In fact, it hasn't been heard of. Yes, some people go years without finding them, but they always do. It's the act of refusing a soulbound soulmate that makes one to insane.

  You're bound to them. There is no "I don't want my soulbound soulmate." You two are meant for each other.

  And that.

  That was what Logan and Patton had.

  Finally the two separated into flustered messes, realizing the scene they probably made.

  Patton held out a had to Logan shyly. "Sorry, I didn't introduce myself properly. My name's Patton Morrale."

  Logan took it instantly. "My name is Logan Lojick. Though I suppose you already knew that by now…" Logan said, turning Patton's hand over to fondly admire the tattoo on Patton's wrist, Logan's name forever inscripted upon it.

  Patton turned to Roman too, holding his hand out again. "Are you a friend? My name's-"

  Roman took it enthusiastically. "Patton! I kno-"

  And they both gasped and jumped away from each other, as if they'd been scorched from the touch.

  "I-I-!!" Patton stuttered as he looked around through his round frames.

  "Lo...Lo...Logan…!!!" Roman frantically battered at his friend, his green eyes frantic.

  "Roman? Patton! Are you Okay?!" Logan asked, gripping Roman's sleeve and clasping Patton's hand instinctively, though where that instinct came from he did not know.

  Roman and Patton turned to Logan and the two yelled at the same time; "LOGAN I CAN SEE!!!"

~~•~~

  As it turned out, Patton and Roman were also soulmates. For the three of them to all be interconnected? It was such a coincidence Roman amd Patton began calling it fate and destiny. Though Logan was having none of that kismet nonsense.

  A year and a half passed and Logan And and Patton had started dating, Logan finally getting over himself and Patton finally working up the courage to officially ask.

  And all the while it still felt like something was missing.

  None of them really knew what exactly it was.

  But right after they had made official, they met someone who seemed to fill the space.

Authors Notes 

Important!!!

This is the first part in a story I got permission to write based off of this post, thank you @ghostboi-bambi for letting me write this! I’m so excited and hope you don’t mind if I changed and added some details!! If you do, just tell me and I’ll be happy to change them!! Love y’all, bye!!

[iphoenixrising]

Check, Please WIP: Part 1-4

AHL!Bitty

I’m going to hell, but… Parse, Bitty, and Jack or PB&J as I’ve seen it, have some wonderful stories in the fandom, and tbh I’ve come to look at Kent Parsons very differently thanks to a few. You can probably check them out on my Ao3 bookmarks and such. 

Notes: 

I know shit all about hockey but damn if I don’t love Check, Please! Not everything is accurate and some details are mine. Like, I’m just going to pretend the Bruins aren’t in Providence, and the Pawtucket Rebels are the AHL team. 

But then, what if Jack and Bits didn’t get that kiss at the end of Jack’s graduation? What if they just stayed the best of friends, pining away at one another until Kent Parson comes back into Jack’s life. Now it’s not just Jack pining, it’s Kent too :D

And, well, after winning the Championship his senior year, bringing that back to Samwell, Eric Bittle might just think he hasn’t had enough Hockey after all.

Really, it’s time to put up or shut up.

** Pro

Of all the things on Kent Parson’s Wish List (winning the Stanley Cup, being on a team he loves, playing hockey for the rest of his life, having a pet and Kit meets all those criteria for so much cute and cuddly), getting his friendship back on track with Jack Zimmermann hadn’t moved down from number 1, ever. 

Things changed after that disaster at his college frat house, then later in Zimm’s first season with the Falconers, Kent wasn’t sure it could even be a wish. 

When it came to hockey, things were always too easy. They never had to talk about it, about what they were doing on the ice. All of that just came like breathing. Parse and Zimms, Zimms and Parse. The whole Zimmermann-Parson No-Look One-Timer was never something they discussed, it was something that just happened. 

On the ice, they were unbeatable, just like in Juniors.

Off the ice...was a different story. 

(Sometimes he dreams about it, finding Jack passed out on the bathroom floor of the hotel, foaming at the mouth, panic and adrenaline hitting Kent hard when he’s pretty sure his best friend, the man he almost-kind of-sometimes loves, is going to die on this floor.)

Jack’s problem with pills started early, around the time he and Kent got serious enough to play for scouts that started coming around with the promise of watching the son of Bad Bob. 

(He was always partially to blame for Jack’s downfall. Kent had been the closest to Jack back then, had seen the signs, had tried to pull him back whenever he could, had been the one to ease Zimms down before every game, to be the one sitting in a corner with the bigger Canadian, running his hands over Jack’s shoulders and holding his hands, checking his breathing, helping him work through the anxiety.)

But, but!

That’s all old history, something Jack probably never wants to revisit ever again (because he cut you out of his life so well–), even when he makes it to the Falconers. 

(After that disaster at his school, well, no wonder.)

And Kent just has to deal with that, has to accept it finally, and just move on. 

(He could have been an Ace, just that fast, playing with Kent’s team of awesome guys. And fuck did it hurt when Jack turned him down flat...)

Until this little shit came along.

** 1

Eric Bittle realizes he’s severely messed up when he doesn’t kiss Jack Zimmermann at graduation. 

For two years, they’ve played hard hockey for Samwell, have gotten close, becoming best friends. They’ve held checking clinics, hugged tightly in cellys, watched boring as hell history documentaries on that god-awful green couch, and pulled each other back from the brink of insanity during midterms and finals. They’ve spent time in the kitchen with Bitty cooking and Jack working at the table. They’ve spent time outside in the quad, bullshittin’ like the oldest friends, chirpin’ back n’ forth like they’re two peas in a pod. 

Jack somehow started being his best friend without even trying. 

The last game showed him how close they’d become when he’s going through the empty rink, making it to the loading dock, just a flash of jersey leading him to Jack hunched over, tears in his eyes. 

The utter agony right there had gone through Bitty like lightning, driving him forward to hop up on the pallets Jack was sitting on, and wrap both arms around those wide shoulders, hold on to ‘im as tight as he can. 

“It ain’t your fault, Jack. You did so good with us. I’m so proud of you, honey, you have no idea. You worked so hard, so hard, Jack.”

“Bits,” is soft and sad, Jack choking a little, but those big arms come around him, crush him against Jack’s chest and the pads he’s still wearing. 

“I know, I know. Sometimes it just isn’t in the cards, no matter how hard we fight. You get that, don’t you? Sometimes it just is what it is.”

“I can’t–” accept that is what Jack wants to say. 

“I know it’s hard, but sometimes all the trainin’ and plannin’ and best of intentions just aren’t enough to tip the scales in your favor.”

And Jack seems to get something there, tightens his arms a little more, and holds on. 

It’s a little while later when Jack’s stopped shaking like a leaf, “I wanted to bring home a Championship. Wanted to make my mark on Samwell.”

“Of course you did–”

“Thought after all this time, everything I owe Samwell and the team, bringing me here, giving me this second chance–”

“Oh Jack,” at this juncture, Bittle’s head is under Jack’s chin. 

“I finally felt like I’d stopped fucking up,” is rough and dark in the quiet of the rink. “I thought coming to Samwell was a...a punishment. I dealt with it because I thought my life was going to start after, when I finished up my degree and got back into the Draft. But that’s...that’s not how it happened. My life started the minute I met you and the team and I remembered why the hell I love hockey so damn much in the first place.”

And if maybe a few slow, shameful tears escaped Bitty, well, no one would ever know.

But they got even closer as Jack’s graduation loomed, and Eric Bittle stayed in his own personal hell of loving Jack so much it ached, but helpless to stay away to protect himself. 

Instead, when Jack pauses at his door, Bits knows what he needs and finds space to lounge on Jack’s bed, scrolling through Twitter while Jack talks about the negotiations with NHL teams or works on his last assignments. 

Watching Jack pack his things, preparing for the Falconer’s training camp, getting ready for the next stage of his life, all of it makes Bits so dang proud and so sad at the same time.

But, well, nothin’ lasts forever, now does it.

When Jack ran all the way back to the Haus just to see him, just to pull him in hard for a desperate last hold, it was all Bits could do to stop from sobbing his heart out.

“–and you’re coming to Providence this summer to stay with me for a while, and-and I’ll be down when I can. You’re going to Skype me all the time. Bits, promise me. All the time.”

“Okay, Jack. Okay.”

Something soft in French that he has no idea what it could possibly mean, but he absolutely imagines Jack pressing a kiss in his hair. 

“I’m sorry, Bits, but I have to go. I...I’ll text you, okay?”

“Okay,” is more watery than he’d like, but he can look up in Jack’s blue, blue eyes and at least feel warm that he’s had this man for as long as he has. When Jack’s hands slide out of his, he somehow doesn’t feel like he’s losing anything at all. 

** 2

And just like that, Jack takes a step in his life he never could have predicted. Like an hour away instead of across the hall is enough to keep holding on, enough that Jack comes to Madison over the summer, enough that he asks Bitty to show him how to use FaceTime and SnapChat. 

It’s enough for Jack to pick him up off his feet every time they meet up and bury his face in Bitty’s hair. It’s enough for Jack to Skype almost nightly while he’s tuckered out in his bed, talking about the joys and pitfalls of being a professional athlete. 

It’s enough that he gets to meet the Falconers long before preseason starts, and the amount of pies he brings is literally obscene.

(It all works out just fine in the end because he goes home with the empty pans. Not a single slice left.)

It’s enough when Jack talks more about life than hockey sometimes, and Bitty is utterly helpless to stop any of it. And it’s funny, he thinks, how he was sure Jack would just flitter out of his life after a while. That they would be reduced to a Skype call once a week maybe when they find the time, then once a month, then not at all, moving into texting once and a while until Jack would be nothing more than one of his best memories of Samwell. 

It’s funny how he thought Jack moving into the NHL, moving to Providence, moving out of the Haus, moving on with his life, would mean also moving on from Eric Bittle.

And my, how wrong he was about all that.

Watching Jack play with the Falconers from the stands with the Stanley Cup on the line is not really where he’d thought he’d be once Jack had graduated. 

But, if anything else, they’ve gotten even closer than before. 

And when the buzzer finally sounds and the Falconers win it, he’s among the crowd running out on the ice for the biggest celly of the year. 

Jack spots him immediately, grabs him up with a victorious roar, and skates around people holding Bitty like a favorite toy until Tater scoops him up from Jack yelling about “Nook pies!”

Marty skates by him, ruffling his hair with something twinkling in his eye. Thirdy hauls him up, too, though Bitty has no idea why all these hockey players are just throwing him around when they’ve just won the Stanley Cup, but he still thinks it’s awful nice of them to include him in their celebration.

He doesn’t go back to Georgia for the summer after all or the next one before he starts his senior year, but goes between staying in Jack’s guest room and the Haus instead. His Mama’s not happy about it at all, but he’s a grown man, so that’s all she can say about that.

So Bitty passes the summer of his Senior year training with Jack or at Faber when the ice is up for grabs, works on some chapters for his someday cookbook, and continues his vlog so everyone can see how superior filo is to choux in the right circumstances.

With the season over after winning the Cup, Jack is over at the Haus more than ever if Bitty’s not in Providence already staying in his guest room. 

It should be strange to answer the door at the Haus on Saturday morning during the summer and see Jack there in his trainers, sweats, and t-shirt, wanting to hang out for the day after he’d put in a few hours at the Falc’s stadium already. 

(“C’mon, Bits. Can’t slack during the summer. You’re the captain. Set an example.”

“Jack, it’s summer. Leave me alone until at least nine am for goodness sake!”

“Not going to happen, bud.”)

It should be strange riding the train or in the passenger seat of Jack’s SUV on their way to Providence while he fiddles with the music and Jack doesn’t complain about the selection. 

It should be strange to wake up on Jack’s couch, laying on a broad shoulder with a heavy arm flopped around Bitty’s waist and logs being sawed in his ear.

It should be strange to know Jack’s kitchen better than the back of his hand, and to be giddy every time there’s a new utensil bought with him in mind.

(“Jack, why in the world would you need a dough scraper of all things?” “Not for me, Bits.”

“O-Oh!”

“Yeah. Thank Tater. He went with me this time. He held up that and said, ‘oh does B have one of these? It looks important.’ I didn’t know so I bought it in case.”)

It should be strange to see Jack’s Skype requests almost every night before bed, or have his former captain sprawled out in Bitty’s full sized bed once Lardo, Ransom, and Holster are already moved out and the new Waffles are well into the first semester of his senior year.

(“Good Lord, Jack, scoot over!”

“Mm.” Jack scootches maybe a foot more so Bitty can climb in beside him, already yawning. “Comfy, bud?”

“Gettin’ there,” and he absolutely ignores how much easier he falls asleep when Jack throws a heavy arm over him.)

It should be strange for Jack to whip him on up in a big hug when he admits the boys voted him as the Captain, and Jack breathes out, “damn right,” too close to his ear.

(“I don’t know if I can do this, Jack.”

“Too bad, Bits. Looks like you’re already doing it.”)

It should be strange for Jack to chirp him about his thesis, about his struggle with Whiskey, about why this darn strudel just won’t turn out right.

(“Jaques Laurant Zimmermann, do not make me ground you from pie.”

“Haha. I know you wouldn’t do that, bud.”

“Oh? Don’t be so sure, Mister.”)

It should be strange to get an earful when his new video comes out and Jack had no idea the jam war was that serious while Bitty has been supplying the Falconers for nearly a year. 

(“Are you kidding? Aunt Judy is really that upset?”

“You have no idea, honey. It’s almost World War III down there.”

“Good thing you’re stuck at Samwell.”

“Good thing is right! I don’t want any part of that mess.”)

But somehow it never is. Strange, that is, to have Jack so much. Even though nothing could happen between them (“Never fall for a straight boy.”), Bitty still can’t let go of Jack, can’t deny him, can’t tell him no, can’t be the one that fails to respond when Jack reaches out for him. 

Even when Kent Parson shows up at a Falcs game and cheers himself hoarse, screams for Jack right there on live TV.

And while trying to get through his dang senior year, trying to get his team to the Eastern Conference, he watches how Jack and Kent start to move back in one another’s orbit.

...which is probably why he doesn’t tell Jack anything about the scouts from the AHL coming to see him after the game with Princeton.

** 3

The Pawtucket Rebels manager, Michael McLean, is the one that meets Bitty with a Standard Player Contract the morning he gets back from Jack’s place when they’re going to be starting in the Frozen Four if they win the next two games.

The weekend away was nice, but he hadn’t been expecting Jack’s intention to introduce him to Kent Parson of the Las Vegas Aces. 

“We’ve already met,” Bitty had filled in, still shaking Kent’s hand with a distant smile on his face, “at the Haus party when he swung on by.”

“Not my best moment,” the Captain admits sheepishly, eyes not meeting Bitty’s, and dang it if the boy ain’t at least a little bit cute. 

“I suppose we all have our days,” Bits just drawls out and gives him a wink. He holds out the plate of fresh cookies as some kind of peace offering. 

The weekend was still nice, being caught up in Kent’s manic energy and Jack’s easy acceptance. But, he starts seeing the signs pretty easily, when Jack’s hand goes to Kent’s shoulder after a good joke, the exchanged glances that linger, the slowly dwindling personal space that used to be there for them. How they start finishing each other’s sentences, and oh, doesn’t it just make his heart give a little beat when he sees them both happy. 

(But doesn’t that just break it at the same dang time. Not only does Jack like men, but he’s already got his sights set on his old boyfriend. It’s almost enough to make a grown man cry. Bitty consoles himself after breaking down in his room on Sunday when Jack and Kent dropped him off at the Haus. Only Senor Bun knew how much he’d ugly cried himself out that night.)

When Mr. McLean gives him the contract to peruse and a business card with his information circled in blue pen, Bitty almost picks up his phone to call Jack, talk about what he would need other than a lawyer to go over this thing. 

He thinks about Kent and calls Coach and Mama the next morning instead, promises to send scanned copies of the contract. Mama asks if this is something he really wants to think about doing after graduation. 

“It’s money, Mama, a lot of money, and who knows? Hockey might not be outta my heart just yet. I’ll still have time for everything else.”

He only feels a little bit bad when Jack Skypes him on a roadie, set-up in a hotel, asks how his darn thesis is going, and promises to be at the next home game. 

Kent joins the call while Bits is slid down all snug and sleepy-eyed, kids around with him by making kissy faces. 

“College is brutal, Bits. You aren’t sleeping enough.”

“Well, now that’s life, ain’t it?”

Bitty knows something’s going on between them because Kent is shaking a finger at the screen and lecturing him about procrastination while Kit snoozes on. He’d only known if Jack told him about it.

“Bits, your thesis is basically about baking. Baking is the thing you love that isn’t hockey.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier,” Bitty slurs tiredly, wondering how he’s talking to the man that’s swiping his unrequited crush right out from under him even though he doesn’t even feel too bad about it. Not when he sees how good Kent is for Jack now, even if that hadn’t always been the case.

(Long as it makes Jack happy, I can endure it. It’s tough, but I’m tougher.)

But really. Kent Parson is so different from his image as the Captain of the Aces, Bitty can’t help but genuinely like the man. 

“I’m so jealous. I love peppermint cookies and I’ve never gotten any sent to me!”

Sleepy time Bitty makes a note of that even when the world fuzzes out a little bit more.  

“God, he’s so cute, Zimms.”

“Euh. He really is, Kenny. We should hang-up and let him sleep.”

Or he might of just dreamed that part.

The Aces have a hard game coming up, and he’s got his outline done, so the Haus is finally going to let him alone long enough to bake one single, solitary pie. In the middle of it, he certainly doesn’t expect Jack to show up with a six pack of Molson Blue, apparently assuming they’re going to watch it together and cheer on Kent.

“But I expect you to cheer for the Falcs when it comes down to us and the Aces, Bits.”

“Oh honey, I always root for the underdog anyhow.”

The chirp makes Jack flop back on his bed and laugh hard enough for tears to be in his eyes. Bitty just goes back to the Aces on his laptop and drinks Jack’s awful beer with a smirk.

He stirs a little from sleep to Jack talking softly beside him in bed since “It’s too late to drive back to Providence tonight. Move over, bud.”

He mutters something maybe, sighing instead when fingers comb through his hair. 

“That W was perfection, Parse. You were skating your best life out there, eh?...sleeping right now. Yeah, senior year is a pain in the ass...you bet I miss you. Three weeks, we’ll be close enough to Vegas...yeah, I’ll try to get him to come along, but the Wellies are getting closer to the Championship...he would kill to bring it home for the boys.”

But he probably imagined all that, too. 

Still, he’s got a short break before the next round of games, and just five days until his deadline to let Mr. McLean have his answer when Jack shows up at the Haus and is apparently confused why Bitty isn’t packed for Vegas.

“What do you mean we’re going to Las Vegas, Jack?!” Because this is the first he’s heard about it, and how does Jack already have a plane ticket for him?

“Come off it, bud. If I go there without you, Kenny will never forgive me.”

“How does he even know I don’t have a game?” He frets while putting sleep shorts in a suitcase, wonders if he should bring one of his suits since Jack is already wearing one. 

Jack’s brows scrunch together, “Don’t you talk to him on that–that bird one? All the time? He says he always reads your updates.”

He pauses with a pair of boxer briefs and gives Jack his very best unimpressed expression, “Jack, sweet pea, please tell me you didn’t just refer to Twitter as that bird one?” He carefully does not say anything about Kent Parson checking his Twitter updates.

The soft smile and shrug in reply answers that now doesn’t it.

“I swear, what would you do without me,” he sighs, a little throb of love getting caught in his chest, and he just busies himself right on past it, going for at least one pair of flip flops probably buried under mounds of winter gear. 

“Honestly? If I didn’t have you these last few years, maybe it would have been like what happened when I was in the Q,” Jack leans back on his elbows on Bitty’s bed, right beside the suitcase he’s quickly trying to pack. Being stuck between two button-ups, biting his bottom lip because he’s already bringing so much takes a backseat when Jack mentions the days he was in Juniors, and Bitty feels his eyebrows raise. 

“When we started checking clinics, you and me, that was the most...balanced I ever started feeling after all that. The, ah, overdose. That...that might have been where I ended up if it hadn’t been for you and Samwell.”

With a breath (because Lord, here was Jack finally talking about it, in such a soft tone, his eyes so very blue, and just! Well, he’s not made of stone and this is Jack), he scoots the suitcase back and plops right down on the bed, reaching for Jack’s hand. He carefully looks at the closed door and rubs those big fingers with his thumb.

“You honestly think you would have made those same mistakes without me, Jack?” He tries to be nice about it, “because I sure as heck don’t.”

His fingers tighten around Bitty’s, a squeeze, a soft thank-you.

“I mean, I didn’t know you back then, so I can’t say who you were, but there are some parts of that Jack left in the one I know now. And the Jack I know now is someone that knows how to lead his team, and takes care of them, who knows how to inspire them. The Jack I know got up extra early just to help this hopeless case learn to overcome his fear and be able to play hockey better than he ever could have before. You helped me not just be able to take the check, but I’m a captain, a center, and I earned it because of you. The Jack I know is selfless in so many ways and selfish in just the right ones, and dang it, he’s my best friend, so you better not say anything else like that about him again.”

The bed shifts under him when Jack sits up, a big hand coming up to palm the side of Bitty’s face so Jack can lean his forehead in, look straight at him from just inches away with those stupidly big blue eyes, and be so warm and just Jack. 

“You were never hopeless, Bits,” and with his voice that low, being this close, Bitty feels his cheeks getting warm, his eyes helplessly sliding down to Jack’s mouth.

The errant thought Vegas, we’re going to Vegas shakes him out of the moment, and he pats Jack’s forearm, gently pulling back from the very intense, heart-stopping moment where his brain almost killed him when it told him to just go on and kiss Jack.

But his brain also knows it would probably be the last thing he’d ever do with Jack because Jack has Kent for that now, doesn’t he?

Mentally shaking himself, Bitty stands quickly, goes back to his suitcase, “All right, now for heaven’s sake, Jack, help me here. I’ve never been to Las Vegas–”

And it’s not nearly as hot in Georgia as it is in Las Vegas when they get off the plane, but everything else about it is incredible. 

(He doesn’t think about how nice it was to ride next to Jack on the plane, talking strategy and the team, the upcoming games and new plays they might bring to the ice. It’s nice to hear about the Falcs eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with hollers for more. The pies never last long and cookies are always a favorite.)

He might have worried for about a minute, fiddling with the Uber app on his phone to update his location, but Jack just lays a hand on his back and guides him out of the terminal. 

“Don’t worry about it, Bits, we’ve got a ride.”

And standing by a stunning red Ferrari is Kent Parson himself, grinning wide under his sunglasses.

“Oh my,” even if it’s a little breathless, he gives himself an out here because wow, it’s a nice car. 

(And he is not at all looking at Kent’s bare arms or muscled calves. Absolutely not. He’s already got one heartache, thank-you very much.)

He still squeaks a little when Kent literally picks him up off his feet and swings him around.

“There’s my guys! Falconers and Rebels!” Kent yells for half the airport to hear. 

Jack blinks and Bitty groans softly.

Those blue eyes aren’t accusing him of anything, but it’s that same confused look when he tries to figure out if the next song is Destiny’s Child or Queen Bey herself.

“Rebels?”

He doesn’t wince, but it’s a close thing.

“I’ll...tell you about it later.” He waves off, deflecting perfectly, and snaps up his luggage again now that he’s on his feet.

“Oh,” Kent looks from him to Jack and back to him, and his mouth opens probably to say something else no one else needs to hear.

“Thank-you for coming to pick us up, by the way,” he starts rambling right on, “I’ve never been to Las Vegas before. And we’re even going to watch a game? How exciting! Should I make something for your team? A good luck something maybe? Is there a grocery store close to your house? Can we stop? Maybe I could do a few apple pies and a strawberry one...?”

“You can make me food all day, B,” Kent smiles so wide and white down at him and just swipes his bag right up out of Bitty’s hand like it weighs nothing at all. “My favorite pie is peach, just in case you were wondering.”

Bitty slaps him right on the arm, absolutely offended. “Kenneth Virgil Parson the Third, like I wouldn’t already know what your favorite pie is! Why of all the nerve!”

And that is how Bitty talked himself right out of the AHL conversation with Jack. At least, for the time being. 

**

In the end, he makes two apples, two strawberries, and three peach pies, one for Kenny to keep at home.

Jack mutters under his breath about the Falcs needing a peach pie, and Bitty can absolutely do that once they get back home. 

The boys are wonderful at keeping him company in Kent’s big kitchen while he works, staying out of his way unless he directs them. 

“It’s not going to be a super exciting game. The Schooners are old rivals since before I came to the Aces,” Kenny shrugs, fish oven mitts on, and his own apron is really just Kit’s face blown up on a white background.

But the man’s fish oven mitt is–

Wait for it

– named Fish.

Because Kent is a master at naming things, obviously.

Kit Puurson is laying on the kitchen table from where Bitty banished her from walking along the counters while he’s baking.

“Now, don’t sell it short, sugar pie,” Bitty replies absently, makes the lattice on the last pie perfect. The A in the center is going to be great once the pie finishes baking. “It’s going to be exciting to see you play live no matter what.”

“Aw,” and Kent is smiling all nice at him now that he probably knows Bitty’s not gunning for his boyfr- for Jack, “you’re just saying that because it’s true.”

“Of course I am, Kent. It is true.”

“Any time you get bored of watching the Falcs, all you have to do is call me, Bits. I’ll have you on a plane in a hot minute,” and Bitty has to look over at him for that because it might have been a chirp at Jack, but the tone was a lil’ too serious for his taste.

“Who knows, Mister Parson, I might take you up on that someday.”

(When hell freezes over.)

“I hope so, Bits,” Kent’s eyes go to the masterpieces on the counter waiting for their turn in the oven, “I really hope so.”

*

At the game later that night, before the Aces take the ice, Bitty gets a Snap from Kent Parson. 

All the pie pans are licked clean. Not a crumb in sight.

Bitty sighs in unmitigated relief.

Even though he feels strange not wearing a Falconers or Samwell jersey when he’s at a hockey game, he can’t blame Jack for leaving their home team merchandise back in Providence. 

Earlier, Kent had tugged an Ace's jersey over his head and landed a cap as the cherry on top, winking at him while Jack was busy grumbling to himself about something or other. 

It feels odd to have someone’s name across his back other than his own (or frankly Zimmermann because Jack already gave him two hoodies and several other Falcs shirts, which was real kind of him, and they’re such nice clothes!), but his Mama would fly up from Georgia and whoop his butt good if she knew he’d refused a gift from a celebrity. 

So, even with Jack scowling, he accepts the jersey and hat for the game tonight.

He and Jack find their seats, right behind the bench, and it looks like they can finally settle in.

Jack keeps a running monologue of stats and predictions, leaning in to Bitty while eating the carrot sticks they'd packed in so Jack wouldn't be tempted with junk food.

This boy and his rigid schedule of cheat days. Honestly.

And Bitty is content to talk hockey and the upcoming season, is content to talk about the Samwell team and the next game coming up. 

He gets to watch Kent and the Aces make an opening lap around the rink to wave at their fans, laughs at the finger guns right in their direction.  

He settles on in to watch what will probably be a good game no matter what Kent said earlier, and of course, Jack chooses then to bring it up.

"Are you going to tell me about the Rebels anytime soon?” Jack is watching the game when he finally says it, something in his tone of voice that sounds a little closer to mad.

Bitty looks over, guilty as sin, and Jack looks back, all kind of calm.

“I...I didn’t make a decision or anything–” he starts then turns away from those blue eyes. “I-I should go get us something to drink! Jack, what do you want to–”

He’s halfway out of his chair, but Jack’s hand on his wrist stops him, pulls him back down to his seat.

“Don’t be mad!” Bitty sighs, loud and long, “I didn’t even know what to do when Mr. McLean came to see me.”

Jack hums, “You could have called your best friend who happens to be a professional hockey player.”

“That will be enough chirps outta you, Mister Zimmermann. You were already having a time with the changes to your medication, and I didn’t want to add anything else to your list.”

Jack guffaws at him, “that was two months ago, Bits, and my anxiety is under control. You could have told me anytime since then.”

“Well, I–” and Bitty has a moment where his mouth almost runs right away with him, and he almost tells Jack they ain’t datin’ so not everything has to be out in the open.

“You?”

And even though Kent has the puck, Jack’s eyes are all for Bitty.

“Jack,” he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You can tell me anything. You know that, right bud?” And that line between his eyebrows lets Bitty know Jack is actually concerned.

“Of course, Jack, I...I just. I don’t know, you’ve got your own career to worry about, and I don’t even know if I still want to play hockey after graduation, nonetheless with a team in the AHL.” He shrugs lamely, pretty sure Jack probably thinks he’s an idiot.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Bits. You don’t have to make a decision right away.”

“Well, I’ve got about five days until he wants to know if I accept their offer,” Bitty rubs the back of his neck, cheeks pink. 

“Oh. Well, you should let me read the contract anyway, eh? At the very least, it could help you make a decision if the offer isn’t for much.”

“If– I mean, if you want to? That would be real nice.”

“Euh. Tomorrow morning after my run, we’ll look at it.” Jack gives a sharp nod like he’s accomplished something, pats Bitty on the shoulder, and goes back to the game, just as pleased as pie.

**

The win was really something for the Aces, and he gets to meet Swoops, Poots, Scrappy, and Gopher when Kent tells them the baker of the pies is at the game.

“Oh my God, I ate like three pieces,” Swoops pats him on the shoulder and laughs.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it!”

“Oh totally. Gopher can’t help himself around sweets, so you might get a marriage proposal if you aren’t careful.”

“O-oh my! That’s mighty sweet, but I would hate to have to break his poor heart.” Bitty laughs a little and doesn’t notice how Jack’s eyes narrow. 

It’s entertaining as all get out when Jack groans at the amount of chirps he’s already gotten for being a Falc instead of an Ace.

“He’s got important...things in Rhode Island,” Kent had finally said to his team, which Bitty did not understand at all.

(But, it does make sense. Jack wants to stay close to Shitty and everyone from Samwell. He couldn’t be part of their nearly everyday lives if he had joined the Aces.)

They drop by Kent’s house to change clothes, and head out to celebrate the victory with the team, and all that fluttering around his room at the Haus is suddenly worth it when he looks damn good in his button-up with a black tank top underneath and a pair of shorts that look like they’ve been painted on his ass.

When he comes downstairs, Kent wolf whistles and Jack gets red in the face.

“Are you sure–” Jack starts, a little stuttery that makes Bitty preen.

“Mister Zimmermann, it’s best you do not finish that sentence,” Bitty snipes with his nose in the air.

It’s absolutely satisfying when two very cute boys dance with him at the club, grinding on him and having a heck of a good time.

He doesn’t notice Jack’s sour face until the third or fourth song in, and by then, Kent is making his way through the crowd. 

The hand on his arm pulls him out from between two different boys, and Bitty is just about to give whoever it is what for, but Kent just shifts to grip his hips and pulls him in, back-to-chest. 

And Lord help him, Kent is an amazing dancer. How does he even get himself into these things?

** 

Watching his favorite person, favorite people, dance is giving Jack too many Ideas.

He already has plenty when it comes to Bits. Even more when it comes to Kenny since they have history to fall back on, but for Kenny and Bits? His brain might shut down because Jack is even more invested in that. 

(Kenny hasn’t said anything, but Jack knows him, knows what the look in those eyes means when he watches Bitty. Instead of Kenny trying to talk him into asking Bitty for a date, maybe Jack should be trying to do the same. Or-or talking about if all three of them…?)

As is, Jack has a lot more thinking to do after this trip.

“I swear I take care of him as much as he lets me,” Jeff is saying, “it’s not like it’s his first year anymore. He’s way past all that, Jack.”

“I know,” Jack downs his beer, tries not to be too irritated at Swoops because of the attitude. Since he and Kenny have been talking again, he knows more about that first year with the Aces and Kenny’s struggles after the Draft than he’d wanted to know at the time. He hadn’t wanted to focus on the difficulties his best friend was having with a new career as a professional athlete, was more concerned about getting himself through rehab. 

He’s been finding out about those struggles and bad times, feels better knowing about all the things he’d missed out on back then because that means Kenny is talking to him again.

(“You cut me out!” Still haunts Jack sometimes when he thinks about how he did that to his best friend, his other half. At the time, it had seemed like a trade he didn’t have any other choice but to make, give up his best friend for the chance to get better.)

Jeff was the Ace Kenny billeted with his first year, and the two are close. Maybe even closer than Jack and Kenny had been in the Q. 

He doesn’t deserve to be jealous of that, but somehow, he still is.

“I did him wrong when he was in the Draft,” Jack finally admits to Swoops, “and I’m glad he had you and the team there when he needed you. I just...I just want to make sure he’s okay. Kenny means a lot to me.”

Swoops raises a brow over the beer he’s drinking. “He was pretty torn up over you that first year, Zimmermann. If I could have, I would have found you and punched you right in the nose for that kid.”

Jack shrugs a shoulder, “would have deserved it.”

“Yeah, yeah you would have,” but it seems like the salt has gone out of Jeff’s spine, and he slumps down in his seat across from Jack. “I had to tell the team not to mention your name for a long time. Not gonna lie, when you got picked for the Falcs, I drove over to his place and stayed the night in case he had a breakdown.”

And oh does that hit Jack right in the heart. 

“But, he was...not okay but okay? He was happy for you, is the point.”

Jack’s heart twists painfully at that, “Euh. He’s a better friend than I deserve.”

“You know, he told me about going to your college, right?”

Jack looks Swoops in the face, thinks he might get a little more clarity about that night of the Epikegster.

“Yeah, he did,” because Jeff can read the tell me more on Jack’s face, “and he beat himself up about it for months. Told me he ran off at the mouth because he was angry at you. Hell, you weren’t even happy to see him.”

At the time, no. No, he wasn’t. 

“It was...a shock. We both said some pretty harsh things, I think. But, we’ve come a long way since then.”

“I’d say so. He can say your name without looking like he’s going to start crying now at least.”

Kenny…

“I’m not going to do that again,” Jack feels like he needs Jeff to know this. “He’s stuck with me this time, eh?”

Swoops laughs and raises his glass for Jack to tap with his own, “here’s hoping, Zimmermann. Here’s hoping. But hey, at least he has someone to help pick-up the pieces.”

**

Kent manages to get them through the throng of people at the bar and get them bottles of water, bracketing Bitty in with his arms to keep people around from jostling them.

They’re both sweaty and panting after the last song, and Bitty doesn’t even know how he managed to survive pretty much humping a professional hockey player on the dance floor without embarrassing himself.

“That was so fun,” Kent leans down to talk in his ear since they’re so close to the music, “can we dance some more?”

“Of course we can, honey,” Bitty tilts so he’s talking in Kent’s ear, and it presses them closer together, “but do you need to check in with your team?”

The laugh is low against his neck and Bitty almost, almost shudders.

“My guys are big boys, Bits. They’ll be fine without me mother-henning them to death.”

“Well, all right then, handsome. You’d better get me on out on that dance floor before someone else does!”

And it’s another song or so before they get a slow one. Kent manages to maneuver them into a corner, and pulls Bits in for a slow dance.

“Lord, that was fun,” Bitty doesn’t think much of it, his hands around Kent’s neck. “I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in a while.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” and Kent gives him that big ole’ smile that makes his whole face light up, and Bitty can’t really blame just one bit for just how cute Kent is in that moment. “I’m glad you came with Jack, Bits.”

“Me too. I had reservations with how close we’re getting to playoffs, but I’m glad I could take the time.”

The hands on his hips squeeze once, and Kent’s face falls, his eyes darting away.

Bitty moves a hand from around his neck to his face and turns him right on back. “Hey, what is it? Should we go?”

“N-no, no. I was just–” and Kent looks back at him with a frown, leans in a little to talk quieter. “Do you still hate me? From when I came to your college?”

And oh. Oh my.

Well, looks like they’re going to have this talk, aren’t they?

“I mean, it’s okay if you do. I was...a dick, okay? I was a complete and total dick. Zimms and I talked about it some, so-so he gets why I said some of the things I said because I mean, he just–and-and I… There’s a lot is all I’m saying. It was awful, not-not all of it, but therapy kind of helps a little? Sometimes it helps I mean, dealing with it when I found him like that, and then later when Big Bob–”

Bitty gently puts a hand over Kent’s mouth to shush him on up. 

“Kent, honey,” he tries softly, misses how those eyes get wide above his hand, “I understand how someone can say mean things when feelings are hurt, and it seems like you and Jack have mended fences since then, right?”

Kent nods without dislodging his hand, but his eyes are shiny and just oh, that poor boy. Jack had talked to him about those days back in Quebec with Kent Parson as his right-hand man, Bitty knows Kent is the one that saved Jack’s life during that overdose. He knows how quiet and strained Jack’s voice gets when he talks about it, can only imagine how terrified Kent had been finding him, performing CPR, getting him to the hospital in Bad Bob Zimmermann’s car.

He can’t touch that painful past for either of them, wishes sometimes he can give that back when he hears how wistful Jack sounds, sees how Kent sometimes looks like he has regrets. No, Bitty can’t fix their past for them, give them back their innocent days, but he can help the people they are in the here and now, can’t he?

“Well, that’s good to hear. What’s really important is that you don’t do that again, all right? Don’t take your anger out on Jack even if he might deserve it sometimes, and don’t ever say those horrible things to him again. Okay?”

Kent blinks at him and his eyes go softly half-mast. He finally nods with Bitty’s hand still over his mouth.

“Good. Then, we’re all fine, right?”

Another nod and a squeeze to his hips.

“Wonderful. Now Mister Parson, we are going to finish this song and then go back to your boys to celebrate. Maybe if we’re lucky, they’ll play ‘Crazy in Love’ later because that is one of my favorites.” He takes his hand away and grins up at Kent while his heart beats harder at the soft smile looking down on him.

“Good plan, B. If they play it, you can only dance with me, okay?”

“Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?”

Sure enough, the DJ plays ‘Crazy in Love’ and Bitty is pretty sure Kent’s the one that asked for it. That absolutely doesn’t mean he gives it any less ass shaking than it rightfully deserves.

**

He’s happy to see Jack laughing with Swoops and Poots when they finally tear themselves away from dancing, and Bitty absolutely refuses to drink whatever fruity thing Kent offers him because he’s not twenty-one quite yet, thank-you very much Mister Parson.

But the Aces are so nice when they leave, thanking Bitty again for his victory pies. He waves them off and doesn’t mind Jack’s hand at the small of his back when Kent guides them out.

(Later that night, he pretends he doesn’t hear Jack get up off the couch and walk down the hall to Kent’s room and softly close the door. But at that point, he’s not sure if he’s still a little jealous, or even who he’s really jealous of if he’s honest with himself.)

He eventually gets a few hours of sleep, and still wakes up god-awful early anyhow.

Since he’s been in this kitchen for three days already, he automatically puts on coffee and pulls out what he’s going to need to feed two big hockey players. 

He doesn’t even register Kent in the doorway watching him until the first cup of coffee is gone and the second is on the way there.

“Oh my Lord!” He fairly screams when he notices Kent watching.

“Sorry,” is totally unrepentant, the ass.

“You sure look it!” Bitty chirps back after his heart has climbed down out of his throat. “Goodness sakes, were you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Nah, you just look cute in my kitchen, all busy and stuff. I like it.”

And well, that just takes the words right out of his mouth, so he goes back to make sure the bacon doesn’t burn while the quiche cools.

“Bits?!”

Jack is flustered and drenched from the shower, skittering almost right on the ground. He’s only got a towel around his waist and his hair is all over the place.

Bitty can resolutely say it’s the best morning in the history of mornings because that towel is awful short and Jack’s legs are awful long.

“I’m sorry! He just surprised me, we’re fine!” Bitty flaps his hands to shoo Jack out of the doorway. “Go on now and finish your shower. Breakfast is almost ready.”

Jack wipes water out of his eyes from his dripping hair and looks down at him silently.

“I promise, Jack. Go on now. Shoo! Naked is for the bathroom and the locker room.”

The slow grin is really just the nail in the coffin because no man should be that beautiful, it’s really not fair to the gay population. 

A glance at Kent’s shit-eating grin and he has to silently amend that statement. No men should be this beautiful.

While Jack trucks back down the hall, Bitty grabs paper towels to sop up the water he’d trailed, giving them up to Kent when he gets a frown for trying to clean up.

He tisks to himself and pours Kent a cup of coffee, mixing in the right amounts of cream and sugar, hands it to him when he throws away the wet paper towels.

He puts the bacon on another paper towel to get some of the grease while Kent sits down with his coffee. 

“I had so much fun last night. I can’t thank-you enough for taking us.” As he puts the quiche in the middle of the table.

“I had fun, too, B. Most the guys won’t dance no matter what, and you are awesome.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, sugar pie.”

Kent laughs at him, but reaches out to grip Bitty’s wrist before he can go back to the stove, “but, just so I know...you really don’t hate me anymore, right? We’re friends now?”

Oh, this must be the I need to tell you as Jack’s friend that me and him are datin’ talk. Lord, help him get through this conversation.

“Now, Kent. I already told you last night as long as you don’t hurt Jack like that again and have significantly groveled, we’re all fine.”

“Yeah, I know, but I mean, you and me. We’re fine, too, right?”

“Why of course we are.”

“Okay. Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure.”

Bitty pats Kent’s hand with the free one, “and you already know you can talk to me about anything, right? If things like that are bothering you, you can talk them out with me before you go and say something like that again, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Bits.”

“You’re welcome, Kent.”

He retracts his hand with another pat and goes back for the bacon, waiting for the something else that might be on Mr. Parson’s mind.

“Bits?”

Mmhm. There is it. “Yes, Kent?”

“You...can call me Kenny, too...I mean, if you want.”

The bacon plate in hand, and Bitty turns to look at the pink cheeks on Kent Parson, the way he doesn’t meet Bitty’s surprised eye.

(Even with all his team and the press coverage, he’s only ever heard Jack call Kent ‘Kenny.’)

“All right then, Kenny,” and oh is he grinning, thinking about chirping him just for fun. “I think we’re just about ready for breakfast.”

Nothing else comes of it, and Bitty’s not sure if he’s relieved or not.

 **

Jack slowly, methodically reads through the scans of the Rebels contract he’s got back at Samwell. Kent reads over his shoulder, eyebrows squinty in concentration.

Lord, they look so cute like that. It’s really surprising no one else has picked up on the dating yet because these two are absolutely transparent.

“So–”

He gets twin wait a minute fingers. 

“Well fine then,” and he meanders in the kitchen to see if maybe he should make those peppermint cookies after all. 

A batch later and both boys come on in and sit at the table with the tablet between them.

Bitty absolutely puts the cookies in the middle and pours glasses of milk. Kent looks from the plate to him with wide eyes. 

Two seconds later, he’s already demolishing his third.

Boys.

“All right, you two. Give me the low-down.” Bitty waves a hand over his shoulder and starts washing up dishes.

Jack tells him how it seems to be a right fair offer for a rookie hockey player. The money could be better, but well, it ain’t too shabby. 

Bitty sighs because the money is utterly obscene. More than his scholarship to Samwell for all four years.

Kent has no problem finishing Jack’s thoughts when he trails off, longer in the profession than Jack. He gives more examples of what bad contracts would probably be and makes Bitty wonder if this isn’t his first time helping with these sorts of things.

Well, as Captain of the Aces, he probably has. Not to mention how he babies his rookies. 

“So,” Bitty finally bites on his lip, looking down at the tablet, “so if...if I wanted to keep playing hockey after graduation. This is a good opportunity, is what you’re tellin’ me.”

Both Jack and Kent nod at him, serious as a heart attack.

“This is a good opportunity, Bits.”

“But,” Kent looks at him seriously, “we aren’t agents, either. This is from our experience. For a professional opinion, I can suggest some guys, so can Jack, that can haggle the contract for you.”

He stands at the sink with soapy hands braced on the edges, just looking out the window into Kent’s nice backyard. 

Kit is lounging on a dishtowel right there on the ledge to get some sun.

And just like his worst tendency, Jack stands up with a cookie and saunters over to stand beside him, back against the counter.

“It’s a lot to take in, bud,” is all growly and soft.

“I never imagined playing hockey after this year,” he admits, “buying a bakery, sure. Learning under other chefs, maybe taking a turn in another culinary art, yes. But, professional hockey? Hell, I couldn’t take a check without passin’ out a few years ago, Jack.”

Jack munches on his cookie, watching Bitty’s profile with soft eyes. “True. But, couple years ago, you wouldn’t have thought you’d end up Captain, and be on your way to the Frozen Four, eh?”

Kent shuffles his feet a little but boosts himself up on the counter beside Jack. “The AHL is like, our version of boot camp, you know? The kiddie pool before you hit the NHL. And there’s a four-season standard for that reason, B. You’ve got four seasons to play your best game and see if the Scouts are interested. I mean, a lot of guys that get a bad break and don’t make it, they can renew their contracts every four years or join the practice teams. Guys that still want to play hockey, like a lot of the guys on the Rebs.”

“That offer is for one season, though.” 

“Sure,” Jack fills in, meandering back for another, handing one off to Kent. “It’s a chance to get your feet wet, Bits, see if you can make the first year. I didn’t get a four-year from the Falcs until I got through the probationary period.”

“Lucky they didn’t make you billet, Jack. That’s usually a requirement.”

“Nah, I was old enough. Marty and Tater kept up with me, though. And I had Bits,” Jack shrugs and promises himself this is the last one even as he eyes the full plate.

He glances over at the serious expression on Bitty’s face, thoughts turning behind his eyes because now he’s thinking about it. On one hand, yes, he wants his bud to stay close, be on their sister team’s roster. Pawtucket is only twenty minutes or so from Providence, even closer than Samwell. 

(Jack wouldn’t have to lose him if Bits accepts the offer, keeps playing hockey. Jack thinks he’s terrible for wanting that as much as he does.)

For Bitty, the eminent future is looking closer and closer as this year draws to a close. Getting this offer was terrifying because of all those what if’s?

Kent hums around a mouthful, leans around Jack to look at him. “Sure, but you never know, B. You take Samwell to the ECAC, and there might be more people coming to talk to you.”

“Sugar pie, I’ve seen what you and Jack are up against. If there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of, it’s that I’m not ready for the NHL, no matter how far we go this year. But–” he sighs a little.

“But what, bud?” 

“...the real question is, what if I’m not ready to give it up once the season’s over?”

Kent chuckles at him around the last bite, “then you’ll have a year with the Rebels to figure out if you’re done with hockey, or not.”

He catches his breath a little (could it really be as simple as that?).

“...that’s what I needed to know, thank-you boys.” He pats Kent on the leg and Jack on the arm, taking up the tablet, swinging right around to go back to the stove and wait for the next batch, hip hitched on the cabinets while he reads all over again.

He’s going to call Coach and Mama when he gets back to Samwell. Then on Monday morning, he’s going to call Mr. McLean and accept the offer.

 ** 

It’s not his fault most the people he’s friends with are so much taller than him. 

Really, it’s not. 

So when Kent just grabs him up before he and Jack get on the plane and hugs him tight for long minutes, Bitty’s feet dangle off the ground, but he’s pretty much used to it by now. Shitty broke him of it first, Holster helped.

“I’m going to miss you,” is said against his shoulder because he thinks Kent might just be tearing up.

Because of Jack.

Because Jack’s leaving.

Right?

With his feet still dangling, he pats the back of Kent’s head soothingly. “I’ll miss you too, honey. But, it’s not forever, right? We’ll see you again.”

Kent eventually put him down when Jack laid a hand to his shoulder and turned him in for a hug, and Bitty looks away when Kent wraps himself around Jack like an octopus, shoulders shaking just a little. 

Jack makes soothing circles on Kent’s back, talks softly in French, and just holds on for a few long minutes. Bitty makes himself busy by checking their luggage tags and slips away to get them some coffee from one of the twelve Starbucks in the airport.

A caramel frappuccino helps a little, and Kent just sweeps him on up again.

Jack keeps a hand on the back of Kent’s neck until the very last second, and something in Bitty’s chest tightens a little, but for the very first time, he’s not sure if it’s for Jack touching Kent like that or if it’s for Kent being all upset they’re leaving.

Something to think about another day.

As is, he’s got a thesis to write, a team to take care of, and a pair of professional hockey players that need fresh baked goods. His plate is pretty much full.

** 4

His vlog has always been somewhere to vent when he needed to, and even if he doesn’t have a huge following with millions of subscribers (yet), he didn’t think things would turn out this way.

But, the school newspaper he usually ignores puts it right out there for everyone to read.

Eric Bittle of Samwell’s Own Hockey Team is the First Out Captain in the NCAA

Dex is there to put a hand on his shoulder when he feels like he suddenly can’t breathe.

Someone watched his vlog and picked up on a few things apparently (“Never fall for a straight boy.” Those words are going to haunt him forever). 

He’s out to the team, but not the rest of campus. Good Lord. Hopefully no one pays it any mind, and they can just ride right along to the next game.

It does not go away.

Instead, the news catches fire, and before he knows it, his face is on ESPN as the first out NCAA captain. The rainbow background isn’t doing him any favors, but in between the panic in his brain, he thinks the yellow of the spectrum looks real nice with those shorts.

Chowder is the one that calls him in to look at the breaking story, looking over the couch to take note of Bitty’s face. 

He shows how much his reflexes have improved when he throws himself over the couch and latches on when Bitty’s knees fail and he almost sprawls himself all over the floor. 

His phone is in his hand, and Chowder is talking, saying something. He didn’t know when Ollie and Wicks, Dex and Nursey, Tango and Whiskey and Foxtrot, River, Hops, and Louis all got there crowded around him, but he just seems to blink and there they all are.

“I,” he starts loudly, immediately quieting everyone with a single word, “am going to make a pie. Everyone is welcome to hang out while I am doing so.”

So, he makes a pie and while he does, he makes a plan.

He talks out how this could affect the team’s chances of getting to the Championship, how this could affect how they play, how they plan to win the next few games. Bitty thinks it might be smart to step down as captain, being pragmatic as possible now that he’s not panicking about finishing the season and his senior year at Samwell. 

Whiskey, who he hadn’t been able to connect with all darn season (more n’ likely because he found Whiskey at that party kissing the Lax bro), smashes his fist on the table and says that’s a whole lotta bull. Bitty’s the one that got them this far, and he’ll take them the rest of the way.

(Bitty still has several talks in the next few days. With the coaching staff, with Samwell administration, with the entire gathered team. He gives all of them the same option. He’ll give up being captain or all out quit the team if this would hurt their changes to go to the Frozen Four. He gets the same denial, loud and belligerent from his whole team –which warms his heart, honestly. They’re all such good boys.)

They decide to handle it one game at a time, and break for the night. In his room with coppery fear still in the back of his mouth, he holds his phone and stares at the contact information for Home. 

He’s almost pressed it when a FaceTime request comes from Kent.

Almost at the same time Jack doesn’t bother to knock, but just throws his bedroom door open, looking like he’d run miles.

Throwing himself to his feet, both hands up, he probably looks terrified because Jack scared the absolute heck out of him. 

“Bits,” and now it’s Jack that’s got both hands up, coming at him, “Bits, it’s okay. It’s okay, bud.” And he really means to say something, but he’s just all caught up in Jack. He smells so good and feels so nice, he’s strong when Bitty feels weak and shaky, picking him right on up and sitting down to fold over him like a big Canadian blanket.

“What a horrible way to be outed,” he laughs through the shakes, but his voice is hoarse. “This is absolutely awful, Jack.”

“God, it really is. I’m so sorry this is happening to you, Bits.”

“Lord, I’m making a fool of myself. What’s done is done, I suppose.”

“Still, I want to be here for you.”

“Oh, honey. I appreciate it.”

And he just lets himself sink into Jack a little, burying his face in Jack’s neck, just tries to breathe.

His phone goes off again, and this time Jack picks it up, sees who it is, and taps the top of Bitty’s head with it.

He thumbs the request without looking, just keeping his face right where it is. This is the best he’s felt since that awful ticker tape just laid out his biggest secret, and put a big ole’ target right on his back.

“Hi Kenny,” and he’s proud his voice sounds as steady as it does.

“Hey B,” is so soft and concerned, his heart gives a little patter. 

Jack holds the phone for him with one hand, and squeezes him tight with the other. 

“This sucks so hard, B. I’m so sorry ESPN gives a fuck about college sports enough to do something shitty like this.”

He raises his face just enough for Kent to see half his face out of Jack��s bulk. “One of those silly human interest stories, I guess. Too bad they got a little too interested, huh?”

“You can totally sue the shit out of them, okay? B, I know a guy. He could get you millions.”

“That won’t make everything right, Kenny, but thank-you for being here with me.” He gives a shuddering sigh, “I’m still going to have to deal with the backlash, and as much as I hate it, so will the team. I haven’t talked to the administration or the coaches, but it might be smart if I step down for the rest of the season, maybe quit outright. Then the boys might still be able to make it to the Frozen Four…”

“You’re two games away, B. You can’t give up now!”

“Agree. You got them here, they’ll have your back, Bits.”

“Kenny, Jack this is hockey. Everyone we go against from here on out is going to be gunning for us. The things they’re going to say to the boys–”

“They’ll handle it. Trust me,” Jack soothes, “they won’t let you give up either.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll see come Monday,” he’s tired, but there’s no slowing down right now, even if Kent is petting Kit and Jack’s lap is absurdly comfortable.

“Besides,” Kent continues, “you’re not alone, B. Plenty of us in the NHL. We’re just not like, out out. Maybe to our teams and stuff, not like, outed on ESPN or anything, fuck those guys. You seriously don’t want me to contact my guy for you? He got 6.8 million dollars for a celebrity case–”

“So you’re out to your team then, Captain Parson?” He blinks because the way Kent just came out with it, not a stutter one, shakes him.

“Huh? Well, yeah, of course I am. I’ve been on the Aces for years, Bits. These guys are like my family, so yeah, they know.”

“O-oh.”

Kent blinks at him, pauses. “Ah, I didn’t come right out and tell you, but yeah. Me too, so it’s okay, B. You’re not alone.”

It’s that moment when Jack leans down, shifting so Bitty’s looking up at him. “You’re not alone,” Jack repeats softly, “I kiss boys sometimes, too. None of that changes how good you are at hockey, and none of that changes you, okay Bits?”

And Lord above help him. He throws both arms around Jack, biting his lower lip between his teeth, and shaking like a leaf in a wind storm.

“Jack...Kenny…thank-you, boys. Just when I need you, and there you are.” He chokes a little, and there’s Jack folding down around him, there’s Kent holding Kit closer to the phone, sending virtual purrs and cuddles.

He doesn’t feel that bad wrapping his legs around Jack’s waist shamelessly, locking his ankles in the back, and just not facing the world for a while. 

It gets a little better when Jack tries to squeeze into a pair of his shorts while Kenny is brushing his teeth and talking about the camp they had at a local rink, running drills and plays with some of the high school kids from around the area. 

But everything in the world absolutely pauses when Jack clears his throat awkwardly

And really, God Bless Canada. 

The little sigh that comes out of him is echoed from his phone, and yes Kenny, they do have good taste.

“I can’t sleep in these, Bits, ah, sorry.”

But that color blue stretched taunt against Jack’s big thigh is just the best sight he’s probably ever seen.

“I’m sorry, but that’s all I’ve got to offer. I can go talk to Dex?” Because Chowder has wider shoulders like Jack, but is about a foot shorter.

“Eh, not necessary.”

And well, yes. Bitty knows Jack wears cute little briefs. They were on a team together, have spent time in the locker room, have seen the occasional moment before towels go on. It’s men’s sports for crying out loud. 

But none of that, absolutely none of that, prepares him for Jack shimmying out of those shorts for black briefs that absolutely mold to his behind and cup the front of him. The real coup de gras is that t-shirt coming off, and heaven help him, it’s muscles for miles. 

Only those little briefs between Bitty and what the Good Lord gave Jack, the definition of fine walking across the room like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. 

Bitty unabashedly watches, lips parted, cheeks a soft shade of pink. 

Jack closes the bathroom door, smirking where Bits can’t see, muffled noises as he roots around in the bathroom for a spare toothbrush. It gives Bitty can just take a second to himself to take in this whole situation. 

He’s been outed on a national sports network that may or may not take the question of the Rebels right out of the equation

Chances of going all the way to the finals is looking slimmer and slimmer the more he thinks about it

Jack and Kenny confirmed some of his suspicions and it’s an absolute crime and a blessing that they’ve found each other again

Jack has gotten bulkier than Bitty realized in the last year and a half playing for the NHL and his ass should be marked as a dangerous weapon

He hasn’t answered any of the phone calls from home

Still, Coach sent him a text, Call your mother. She’s worried about you.

 And top of the list, Jack Zimmermann is in his bathroom, shirtless, barefoot, after just having verbally come out to him.

If there was ever anyone that deserves to be up for Sainthood, it’s this good ole’ Georgia boy Right. Here. 

With his head in his hands, he groans softly, and scurries to throw on his own sleep clothes, stripping down without a thought more than those short on Jack and those shorts off Jack.

“I absolutely feel you,” a breathy chirp, and he forgot Kenny probably saw the entire thing.

Bitty spins, almost ready to start getting on a boat down that river called denial when he realizes Kenny is giving him the most devilish looking smile.

“It’s really unfair that he’s a hockey God and blisteringly hot to boot.”

“We are the best of friends, I’ll have you know Mister Parson. Jack doesn’t even see me that way, even after tonight. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s got his eye set on someone prettier than little ole’ me.”

He throws the covers back to busy his hands, but can spare a second to put some charm into it and look back at Kenny with a wink. 

It’s either the best or the worst timing because Kenny gets this look on his face, opening his mouth for something that might have been good or bad, when Jack comes out of the bathroom smelling like mint and looking like a touch could burn you down to the ground.

Kenny looks at him for a few long seconds while they’re climbing into bed, and chirps them about hands above the comforter and hockey bros cuddle like champs before he yawns and finally hangs up for the night.

The sheet gets maneuvered between them so he’s not going to be tortured most of the night with only his sleep shirt and pants between them–

(and those sinful underwear, he’s never going to forget those)

–so it’s suspiciously easy to drop off with Jack’s arm around him and snoring in his ear.

**

The next two games are utterly brutal. 

Ice bags are wrapped around his shoulder while he sits in his spot in the locker room, forearms on his knees to just hurt while Chowder is talking at his right and Dex at his left.

The bruises tomorrow are going to be beautiful, but heck, what’s some bruises when Samwell is officially in the Frozen Four.

Lord, they made it.

And he will start celebrating, right after he can raise up his arm again.

Oh, that’s going to be sore tomorrow. Making pies for the campus captain club is going to be awful, isn’t it?

He manages to get the ice bags off in time to walk with the boys back to the Haus, Ollie already scooping up his bag and Chowder, bless his heart, hovering anxiously right by him the whole walk there.

They don’t make him do a keg stand this time, thank goodness, but the party celebrating their win is well underway in less than an hour.

It’s real nice when the Lax bros bring in a stack of pizzas and slap him on the back in congratulations, like he hadn’t just been outed on national television. (He loves Samwell so much.) Chad L. says a whole bunch of something that Bitty tries to follow and ends up handing him a plate with pizza and accepting a piece of pie in exchange. 

The fire extinguisher is in plain sight to remind the footballers what could happen if they don’t behave, and at least two of his boys hang around him most the night, bracketing him on both sides to keep an eye on him. Ollie and Wicks pop around the corner periodically anyhow.

He catches Chowder taking a picture for social media, has a second of panic, almost tells his sweet son not to do that because everyone knows, but shuts his mouth last minute and straightens up to grin for the next one.

**

The night the news came out, Bitty changed his social media to private, hoping to avoid some of the homophobic comments. Since the morning after (and it’s a crying shame he missed seeing those little black briefs again since Jack was already dressed by the time he got up), he’s been talking to pretty much everyone.

Most of all, his Mama and Coach...and Mr. McLean.

Jack squeezes his hand, and Bitty bites his lip, but still, “I’m afraid I don’t think I should accept your offer after all. This isn’t going to blow over any time soon.”

“Mr. Bittle. I’m interested because you’re fast, you’ve got soft hand, and you’re a good fit for the Rebels. As far as I understand, this isn’t going to change any of that.”

“O-oh!”

“If you want to play hockey, Mr. Bittle, you can do that with us.”

And it’s there when he looks in Jack’s blue, blue eyes, when he thinks about Ollie and Wicks, when he thinks about Shitty being so kind when he’d come out to the first person on the team. It’s there when he thinks about being terrified at that first check practice, when he thinks about how dang far he’s come in four years.

(It’s tough, but you’re tougher.)

“I want to play hockey, Mr. McLean.”

“That’s the spirit Mr. Bittle. I’ll send you training camp information in the next week or so. Welcome to the Pawtucket Rebels.”

If Jack holds him tight while he almost shakes apart once he hangs up the phone, well, only Chowder and Dex will ever tell a soul because they fell on him and Jack like a ton of bricks, hugging him and laughing.

**

Shitty, Ranson, Holster, and Lardo make the trip from Boston to show up on the Haus doorstep before they’ve even finished clean-up from the party the night before.

Before he knows it, he’s got Shitty crying all over him, telling him he’s so proud and Bitty’s just the best little captain there ever was.

It’s so nice because Shitty is silly as hell, but he’s an amazing friend in times of need. 

And he can’t say it isn’t nice when Shitty picks up the loud speaker and starts shooing the rest of the hanger-oners out.

“Frozen Four!” Ransom crows, “our guys are going to kick some ass.”

“You said it, bro,” Holster warmly pats Bitty on the shoulder with one of those big hands while this pie is just coming along easily enough.

The flinch when the bruises ache is enough for more ice bags to get wrapped around him, and Shitty to shake a finger in his face, talking about taking care of himself. It might not be a concussion, but they’ve got serious games coming up, and he needs to be tip top if he’s going to take them all the way.

Bitty takes it to heart and lets them baby him for a few hours.

It does get worse when Dex and Chowder see Holster pulling the neck of his shirt up a little to check how bad it is, and then he’s got more hockey players in his kitchen butting in. Luckily, Dex is getting just as good at making pie as Bitty, and finishes up the lattice work perfectly.

He talks strategy with Ransom and Holster at the kitchen table while Lardo makes another pot of coffee, and Chowder subtly slips the bottle of ibuprofen next to him. Whiskey listen to them strategize for the upcoming games, and my, don’t it feel so normal.

He hugs Shitty again, holds on just as tight as he can, and thanks the Good Lord for such amazing friends.

**

Mama and Coach are more understanding than he ever would have imagined, taken in account what a shock it is just to come across the television like that.

“Dickey, honey, now you know,” and she has to pause because Lord, his Mama is crying, “you know you can always come home. Always. No matter what. We love you. We love you and everything else, we can figure all that out.”

And so, since he’s never said it, only thought about what could happen, he tells her, “Mama… I’m gay.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know and that’s-that’s fine. We can figure it all out. But, you can come home sometime before the semester ends, can’t you?”

“N-not while we’re close to the Championships, Mama. I-I can’t–”

“Junior.” 

And now he’s glad he just called instead of trying to FaceTime. So glad he doesn’t have to look Coach in the face right now.

“You’ve done a heck of a job this year. Been a good captain. You know me and your mama are proud, don’t you Junior?”

And there goes his lip all trembling, his eyes getting hot. Only Jack squeezing his hand keeps him together at all.

“Y-yes, Daddy.”

“Good. You just keep fighting. We’ll be here cheering you on, all right?”

His breath hitches in his chest, “yes, Daddy.”

“That’s my boy. You can do it, Junior. They’re tough–”

“–but I’m tougher,” and he’s covering his eyes, shoulder hunching down. Jack goes from holding his hand to pretty much lifting him up enough to slide on Jack’s lap.

“That’s right, son. You sure as hell are.”

He sighs out, a soft noise. “I am, Daddy. We made the Frozen Four.”

“Go get ‘im. Me and your Mama are behind you all the way.”

And even if Coach gets squicky when it’s time for I love you, Bitty manages to get it out anyhow.

“Love you too, son. Now you gotta stop, or else your mama’s gonna drown me.”

The thick laugh is so much better than crying. Jack thinks so too apparently, squeezing tight while Bitty’s sitting on his thighs.

If he thinks there’s a kiss pressed to the top of his head, well, he’s just going to blame it on being emotionally overwrought and leave it at that.

**

He didn’t bother with pads, just pants, sweatshirt, gloves, stick, helmet, and skates. The ice is quiet as can be in the morning light bouncing off Faber, making it beautiful.

Kenny’s far enough ahead of them that he’s on a break from practice, already home making brunch. “Big Red is going to be killer, B. Cornell is ruthless. Fighting Hawks from North Dakota.”

His skates cut through the ice until he’s gliding, hitting the long stretch, pumping as fast as his legs can take him, cycling the puck. 

He doesn’t reply to Kenny, just listens while his muscles burn, his mind works, he sees the next move like a playbook. 

Over the past four years, he’s gotten stronger, faster. Sure, he’s smaller than the average hockey player, but that don’t mean weak. Everyone they’ve played already figured that one out now didn’t they?

His arms and shoulders burn when he swings high, throws some muscle in it when he slaps the puck right in the sweet spot of the net.

“No fair, B. I want to watch!”

“I’d have to set my phone in the stands, sugar pie.”

“If that means I get to watch you do suicides, I’m on board.”

Bitty laughs out loud because Lord, he sounds like Jack. 

“Trying to kill me before practice?”

“Captain’s prerogative, babe.”

Obligingly, Bitty sets up his helmet, laying on it’s side, throws a t-shirt in it to hold the phone up, and FaceTimes Kenny.

He gives the captain of the Aces a wink and then takes off to the blue line. He’s got his game face on, stick balanced perfectly, moving like his ass is on fire.

After a good turn out, he skates back to the stands where Kenny is very close to the screen. 

“Well, there you go, Captain,” he snickers, scooping up the whole thing so Kent goes around the rink for some easy, cool-down laps with him before the boys start meandering in for practice. “That what you wanted to see?”

“You? Are fast, B. That was incredible.”

“Oh, sugar pie,” he grins down at Kent’s face in his helmet, “you say the nicest things.”

“Hey, I’m not being nice, Bits. I’m saying as a professional hockey player that you? Are fast.”

“Well, so are you. Short guys like us have a tendency to out-maneuver the big guys.”

“I’ve based most of my career on being the fast guy on the team, B, but I don’t know how I’d hold up against you.”

“Mmhm. I also haven’t been playing professionally for the last few years, tearing the fire out of my knee, Kent.” Very serious because he’s counted how many nights he’s seen ice bags over that knee in the last few weeks.

“Also true. It might be surgery for me this summer, but that should do a lot. I’ll have maybe ten years instead of five.”

“So you said. Your doctor is talking about it again?”

“...yeah. He says it should do wonders for where I’m at right now, and this might be the year to just do it and get it over with.”

“Three-time Stanley Cup winner is where you’re at right now, sugar pie.”

The laugh is nice, but now he’s wondering if he can convince Kenny to come to Providence and stay with Jack during his recovery. That’ll let Bitty be close enough to come over and take care of him while his knee heals. He’s already thinking it over when his third lap is coming up.

“B.” Startles him right out of his thoughts.

“Kenny?”

And something is there in the way Kenny is looking at him from the screen. “Be careful at the game tonight. Watch out for the Minnesota D-Men, okay?”

“Thank-you, sugar. You watch on out for those Rangers.”

“I will. Just send me a text when the game is over, even if I’m in overtime, okay?”

“You know it, honey. Now go on and get a nap. We’ve both got a busy night tonight.”

**

This could be the last time he steps out on the ice. This could be it. All of it could end right here right now. 

They’ve got to play their hearts out. He’s got to give it everything he’s got. For himself, for the boys, for Samwell. 

It comes down to this, facing Minnesota’s line like there ain’t no going back.

**

He sits on his bed, faggot and fairy in his head from the game earlier. He doesn’t accept Jack’s call because his face is a mess.  

Well, serves him right because Jack just shows up at the Haus an hour later when Bitty has finally got it together.

**

The check is absolutely brutal. 

He used to be floored by it, curled up in a little ball on the ice, couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely breathe. 

But not this damn time. Oh hell no. 

It’s fast when he’s back up on his feet, shoving his way through bigger men than him and stealing that puck right on out from under them. 

He feels like he’s got wings on his feet when he glides by them like they’re just standing still. 

**

Mama and Coach are here because they’ve come down to the last stand. 

This is it.

Jack and Kenny are both there and where in the world they got #15 Bittle jerseys, he will never know.

Number #82 has already been gunning for him, but the last one is the very last of Eric Bittle’s patience running right on out.

His heart is racing, his legs burning, skates cutting ice as he steers around players, gritting his teeth against the ache, and for the first time, he’s gonna stand up, holler out that no, he’s not gonna take that nonsense lying down.

The moment slows down for long enough that he feels weightless when he pushes off, is airborn, shoving all his weight right into #82 just as they’re at the Samwell bench and shove the both of them right in with the boys.

It’s a tangle of arms and legs and skates and sputtering. 

“Try me again, asshole,” Bitty sneers in #82’s face with the face guards the only thing between them. 

“Homophobic prick!” One of his boys shouts.

Coach and the boys pick him up (shocked because he doesn’t usually have a need for potty mouth thank-you very much), want him to go get checked out while the ref blows the whistle just after Whiskey gets the puck, and now it’s all on Samwell.

He doesn’t get a penalty, thank goodness, and argues loudly with Coach to let him back in the game, he needs to get back. It’s not like he lost a tooth, just some scratches from going over. It’s a long look in his eyes before Coach just throws up his hands and shoos him back. 

And Bitty’s not thinking about Jack and Kenny and Shitty and Lardo and Ransom and Holster and Mama and Daddy and everyone else up in those stands screaming for them when he hits the ice again. He’s not thinking about how badly he hurts or the scratches on his face. He’s not thinking about his thesis or graduation or his spot in Jack’s guest room. 

He’s only thinking about the tied score, the next play, and how they’re going to show these away boys exactly who’s house this is.

**

And his arms strain when his stick comes back, when he slams that puck with every ounce of strength he has left. His heart thuds hard in the back of his mouth when their goalie’s hand shoots out, tries to catch the puck, just the tips of his gloves skimming the surface.

The alarm blares and the scoreboard changes so fast, Bitty’s not really sure what happened until his boys slam into him, gather all around him, screaming.

He’s dazed, fingers limply holding his stick, eyes still stuck on the scoreboard even when they lift him up, stick and all.

The crowd takes to the ice, and he gets his helmet off in time to get hugs from Mama and Coach, in time to accept the huge trophy, him and Coach and Dex holding it up with all the boys around them just a hooting and a hollering all over the place. 

Ransom and Holster catch him right up off his feet, crying all over him when they tell him how proud they are.

The interviews shake him out of the daze and he tells the viewers at home that the team fought hard for this and earned it all themselves. He’s proud to be their teammate and captain, he’s proud to be a Wellie, and darn it, their hard work paid off.

Just as he turns, sees Chowder going past with three of their guys behind him, singing the Samwell song at the top of their lungs, he catches Jack and Kenny standing on the ice by the boards, watching him with soft smiles on their faces, and his eyes get hot abruptly, get full as can be.

Center ice, just like with the Stanley Cup. And this ain’t that now. This? This one is all his.

He feels his lower lip tremble just a little, puts his hand up to stop it, but dang it if Jack and Kenny aren’t just easing across the ice toward him with those smiles and his name across the back of their shoulders.

He gets a hand on the back of his neck and a shoulder to hide his face while the whooping and celebrating gets loud, loud, loud.

Lord, he’s going to vlog the hell out of this tomorrow.

**

Shitty is naked. 

While it’s not new (they’ve been to Haus 2.0, and yes, Shitty was naked there too. Good times, really), Bitty has always had reservations about him being skin-to-fabric on that dang couch. Who knows what he might get. Well, all that spilled tub juice probably goes a long way to sanitize. Or so he says to keep his revolution to a minimum. 

Watching Kenny get his ass handed to him from Lardo is hilarious. Watching Jack give in and have a chugging competition is even better. 

He’s lucky the ECAC playoffs beat the NHL by almost a month. Jack and Kenny have another week before they start getting serious. 

Ransom and Holster are talking animatedly with the Waffles, back slaps all around. He’s pleased as can be when Shruti, Sharon, Edgar, Chad L., and some other captains drop by to say congratulations and have a piece of pie. He doesn’t see Jack pause over his shoulder while he talks up a storm, doesn’t see the considering look on Jack’s face.

Something about this Bitty hits him harder than the last four years, makes that perpetual tightness in his chest mean something completely different than anxiety.

He should have realized it long before his graduation, should have been terrified of it all happening again. 

Bitty affects him in so many of the same ways Kenny does, and it’s an amazing yet terrifying thing for Jack Zimmermann. Feeling like this person you’re looking at is literally made for you. 

And just as he starts taking a step forward, pushing himself in to stand at Bitty’s side like he’s done the majority of their friendship, Kenny ducks out of nowhere and takes him by both biceps. His expression is desperate.

“You’ve got to stop her. Zimms. Zimms, be on my team. Right now.”

It’s so absurd because it’s Kenny and also because he knows no one is beating Lardo. 

Ever.

Anything else is wishful thinking.

He casts a wistful look at Bitty, animated with his big win, and if Jack literally has his heart in his eyes until they’re out of sight, then only Chad L. from would have seen it.

**

Later on after the captains have said good night and some of their...guests have started staggering out, cheering for Samwell, for hockey, for tub juice, and for pie. 

For this one, Bits really couldn’t take credit because Dex really made most of them, bless his heart.

Moving around the party-goers with a spare trash bag to pick up a bit, he spots someone sneaking upstairs, pauses to squint up in case he needs to charge on up there and firmly remind people the upstairs is off limits. 

Or break out the fire extinguisher.

Either way.

...but he knows that ass in those jeans, and gasps softly as Jack’s plaid is bouncing up the steps ahead of Kenny. 

And, he can let out a sigh, catch just a little bit of bittersweet. But, if there is anything Eric Richard Bittle prides himself on, it’s being a good friend. If Jack and Kenny needed a-a wingman or whatever, then he’s just going to dang well be that.

He keeps an eye on the stairs for the rest of the night for more than one reason. No one, no one, is going to disturb them when they’ve finally come this far, and even if he silently dreads it, hopes they at least used his room instead of a bathroom for heaven’s sake.

[yeojaa]

TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why.  Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds.  When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you.  "Yes."  Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic.  Always had been.  It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary.  You use your one brain cell for love.  It doesn’t always end well.

pairing.  who knows, honestly.  the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.  

tags.  blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy, fluff, slow burn, smut, pining, unrequited love.

rating.  ... 18+? 

word count.  ~5200

note.  THIS GETS REAL NON-PG-13 REAL QUICK.  I'M SORRY.

chapter 6.  

You don't think you'll ever get used to it.  The kisses pressed to your crown, over your eyelids, coaxing sandman's dust from your lashes.  The saccharine laughter muddled by sleep and swept into messy sheets, threaded into stitches and saved for another day.  His hands and his warmth, all over and everywhere and yet never enough.  He was like a straight shot of adrenaline and you were a junkie, desperate for the thrill. 

Every day was like some wonderful dream - some quietly whispered wish come to life.  

And it was all thanks to Taehyung.

Since that first night, you'd fallen into an easy routine.  Good morning texts and on occasion, more, his deep drawl acting as a lullaby rather than a wake-up call.  Flowers at your doorstep when he knew you didn't have class;  a coffee and boxy smile ready when he'd meet you after your last.  Date nights every Tuesday, because your lectures ran late and you didn't have time to cook on those days.  Your favourite meal from the nearby mom-and-pop shop memorized as easily as his own name.

He was so good to you. Too good to you, you insisted, only for him to brush you off.  

Because he'd swept into your life like spring rain and where there'd once been monotony - pretty but boring shades of grey - there was now colour that blinded you.  Swaths of red and blue and yellow you'd never seen.  Some kind of King Midas, you thought.  

"Are you hungry yet?"  You're partially inclined to believe he's speaking to someone else - whoever's on the other side of his voice chat - but fail to realize he's behind you, broad frame curled around you as he traps you beneath him.  His arms span either side of you, palms planted firmly on the tabletop where you've made a bit of a mess.  There are notebooks and loose papers, a textbook with dogeared pages that looks like it's on its last legs.  There's even a half-eaten stick of Pocky sticking out from its container, lonely and forgotten.  

You turn and peer up at him, trying to focus despite your swimming vision.  You've been working on the same composition for the better part of three days and it's been hell.  No matter what you do, it doesn't come out right.  

When you almost go cross-eyed in your vain attempt to reconcile the two figures in your line of sight, he's slipping your thin gold-rimmed glasses over your ears and off your face, setting them down gently beside your pencil case.  You think he's frustrated - you would be, too, if you'd been invited over only to be ignored all night - when his hands find your jaw.  You know he isn't by how gentle he is, pad of his thumb pressing soothingly over your bottom lip. 

"Take a break, okay?"  It's a demand dressed as a request, seducing in its tenderness.  You know he's not going to take no for an answer.

You hesitate nonetheless, ready to present your first, second, and third excuses.  He silences them before they can see the light of day, coaxing them back into their hiding spots with the sweetest graze of his mouth.  Cheater.

Before you know it, you've forgotten yourself and all the reasons why you'd been so ready to return to work, fingers curling over the backs of his hands.  It's a makeshift handhold, your way of finding balance after being swept up in the storm that is Taehyung.  "Not fair,"  you chide, not unhappily.  You draw his hands to your lap, ignoring the awkward way his body shifts to accommodate the movement.

"I'm just looking out for you,"  he responds, like that's a good enough reason.  You huff.  He rolls his eyes but there's no venom behind it.  

"What do you want to eat then?  I think we have some kimbap leftover from yesterday."

"I ate that earlier when you were having a mini breakdown."  You ignore the teasing in his tone because there's adoring understanding too, and a hint of concern.  He's not part of your world but he's trying to be.  You appreciate that.

Unfortunately, your gratitude doesn't fill hungry stomachs.  "How about jjapaguri?"  

Taehyung's brow quirks and you know he's going to make some bad joke before it leaves his lips.  You recognize the tell-tale signs in the little twitch of his mouth, the way his cheeks tighten and release as if he can't hold back the absolute genius that is he.  It's only been a few weeks but you can already read him like a book.  (Also, he's a really easy book, like Goodnight Moon.)  "Are you trying to tell me you're hiding your husband in the basement?"

"Damn, you got me."  You're as deadpan as possible.  There's more tonal variety in dry toast.

You stare at each other for half an eternity and then you're both giggling.  The sound curls out of your mouth and flits into the air, dragging weight from your shoulders as it ascends.    

"You're the silliest."  It's meant to be a compliment as much as a rebuff.  Darling Taehyung takes it as only the former, beaming proudly.  He pulls gently at your hands, coaxing you to straighten with him.  He's got you where he wants you now, cradled to his chest like porcelain, and you can't help but relax into the welcoming embrace, cheek pressed to the velveteen cotton of his Celine shirt.  When you speak again, it's muffled.  "Thank you."  

You feel more than hear his laughter, his shoulders reverberating with the motion.  "Nothing to thank me for, jagi."

When he uses the term of endearment, poppy red sprouts across your skin, blooms prettily from the tip of your nose to your temples.  You still weren't used to it and you're grateful for the cover of your hair, the expanse of his chest that you're burrowed against.  "I'll go make food.  You stay here."

Then you're gone, scurrying from your bedroom before he can say another word.

Your setup is perfect.  From your chair - functional yet pretty, you'd boasted the moment he stepped foot into your bedroom - to the custom-built aluminum keyboard with cat paw esc key, it's a gamer's paradise.  Your mouse has all the sensitivity he's used to and it shifts dreamily through the colours of the rainbow, moulded grip lightweight in his palm.  (He wishes it were a little bigger, but that's a him problem.)  Even the tri-monitor display soothes his secret nerdy itch, filling the void of being away from home with it's insane resolution.  The fact that there's thousands of dollars worth of studio equipment in and around it doesn't even deter him.  He appreciates that you trust him enough to be seated here. 

Pulling your headphones over his ears, he aimlessly reaches for the attached microphone before remembering it doesn't exist.  That was something he was still getting used to.  He's not really sure where or how the sound is being picked up - maybe by one of the two microphones positioned strategically on either side of your desk, though he can't bother to figure out which - only that it is, and it's good enough for him.

"Ready?"  He prompts, watching as his user tag lights up to indicate his question.  

 JKMKNAE lights up below him.  "To kick some ass?  Yeah." 

Overwatch loads, the FINDING GAME screen sliding into view.  The timer rolls on, seconds dragging, and he makes small talk over voice chat while he waits.  No one else is on yet - their usual group of near and far online friends still showing offline on Discord - so it's just the two of them. 

"Are you going to that party?"  He's referring to the little get-together being thrown by Hoseok's new girlfriend.  Honestly, he can't remember her name - Gahyeon?  Dohyeon?  She was nice enough and his friend was clearly smitten, but given that he'd met her in passing only once, he hadn't committed it to memory.  He'd learn it before Friday, though.  Maybe.  H'd have to, if he planned on introducing you.  

Couldn't really say 'Jiyeon, meet Hoseok's unnamed girlfriend.'

"Don't know."  The response comes indistinct and he imagines Jungkook is shovelling ramyeon into his mouth - can practically hear the slurp slurp slurp through your state of the art earphones - while they queue up.  It makes his stomach growl.  "What was that?"

"What was what?"

Slurp.  Swallow.  Response.  "It sounded like a freaking animal."

Had Jungkook heard his stomach?  No way.  "That was me."

This seems to surprise the maknae, who takes a moment to cease his endless eating noises.  Thank god - Taehyung had been worried the call was about to turn into a full-blown ASMR session, complete with smacking lips and clinking chopsticks.  It wouldn't have been the first time.  "Did you get a new headset?"

"Uh, no," comes his response after a beat.  It's enough for his friend to latch onto, bowl of noodles long forgotten in favour of the unravelling string of his hesitation.

"You do sound clearer actually.  Which did you get?  Sennheiser?"    

"I didn't get a new headset."  Taehyung sounds a little as if he's frustrated with having to explain himself and that only makes the other all the more curious.  He should've known.  Since they'd been teenagers, Jungkook had been like this.  Endlessly curious, tripping over his own feet to be included in whatever news their friend group had to share.  It was almost always endearing.  

"Then are you wearing a mic taped to your stomach?"  

Another pause, punctuated by a sharp exhale. 

It's only been a few weeks - three as of this weekend, in fact - and Taehyung's still not sure where you stand.  Even when you were opening yourself up to him, there was always another layer.  You were an enigma.  An enigma wrapped inside a burrito.  He chuckles at the thought and reminds himself to use the comparison later.  He's sure you'd laugh and he loved the sound - like it was the most beautiful song in the world.

When Jungkook doesn't get an immediate response, Taehyung can practically feel the chagrin rolling through the chat.  As much as the youngest liked to tease his hyungs - and he did it often,  whether with words or action - he'd never purposely upset anyone.  He didn't have a bad bone in his body.  

Before he can apologize, Taehyung's cutting him off with a rush of words, like it's the greatest secret ever spoken into existence.  "I'm at Jiyeon's."

He'd expected some sort of excitement or downright bro-like congratulations.  It was how Jungkook operated, his bravado presented for all to see.  Anything to hide that big soft heart of his.  (He was different like that - hiding his sensitivity whereas Taehyung and Jimin paraded it around, shouted it from rooftops.)

Instead, there's silence.  Because what he doesn't see is Jungkook looking like he's been sucker punched, dealt a straight shot to the gut that he hadn't expected.  And why hadn't he expected it?  He'd known you were seeing Taehyung, heard about your frequent dates from his friend himself.  He'd had to smile along, offering congratulations like the mere thought wasn't burning him from the inside out, like battery acid hadn't replaced the blood in his veins. 

"That's great, hyung."  It sounds off to Taehyung's ears, cutting over the connection.  For a moment, he wonders if he's jostled a cable.  You'll kill him if he has.  Then there's a bang, an ear-splittingly loud crash.  "Shit!  I have to clean this up."  

Then there's the sound of a participant exiting the channel and he's left to queue all on his own.  

"Four packages was two packages too many."  You're groaning into your hands, your arms, anywhere you can bury your face.  The cold glass of your coffee table is soothing against your cheek, your heated breath forming condensation across the surface.  

Above your head, somewhere on the couch behind you, Taehyung laughs, the sound punctuated by chewing.  "I could've told you that."

You're not sure how he's still eating, diligently working through his bowl of noodles when you feel like you might explode like some scene out of Alien.  It's hard to breathe - in fact, you think you can feel the tail end of a noodle at the top of your throat - and you bite back a gag, shoulders shaking a little with the exertion.  

You're being overdramatic, you know.

"I thought I was hungry!  I thought you were hungry!"  A hand is flying up, wrist weaving bonelessly through the air as if it'll help you drive your very poor point home.  

"I am hungry."  More laughter.  You reach behind you, flailing wildly in the direction you know his legs are, and huff in triumph when your knuckles collide with the sharp bone of his shin.  You ignore the fact that you've somehow hurt yourself, too.  "You probably haven't eaten today so your stomach is the size of Po's."

As if on cue, the feline sweeps into the room, sniffing curiously at your prone figure before flouncing off to the kitchen in search of more interesting things.

"Why are you so reasonable?"  You croak like a dying woman or a frog. 

Somehow, against all odds, Taehyung still finds you adorable.  He sets his bowl down on the side table, careful to place the chopsticks neatly across the rim, and bends at the waist to fix his hands under your armpits.  You can already feel the upward momentum but whine nonetheless, the sound tipping out of your mouth like some sort of Dickensian street urchin. 

"No!  Stoooop."  

"Come here,"  your not-boyfriend boyfriend coos, dragging you onto the couch.  You slump against the cushions when he releases you, rather than falling into his side, eliciting another crinkly-eyed smile from him.  It's hard to resist when he's like this, playful and enticing.  Still, you try.  You pretend like it's nothing, curling your arms around your middle as you stare up at the ceiling.

"I don't feel good."  It's a statement that demands payment. 

Taehyung happily gives it, peppering kisses over the delicate bones of your face, his broad chest encompassing your frame.  He locks his arms around you, sliding them into place around your own, and holds you recklessly close.  You don't think you could run if you tried.  Whether it's from the noodles you've all but inhaled or the hazy desire that blooms beneath each of his kisses, you're not sure.  Maybe both. 

"I can make you feel good,"  he purrs, his mouth feather-light and teasing.  He's focused on the sensitive dip by your ear, right where your pulse throbs, and you swear you hear him chuckle before you lose all sense of your surroundings.  

The flat of his tongue presses against that sweet spot, laving hungrily at the skin like he might be able to taste the copper that sings beneath it.  You whine, louder and higher than you'd meant to, desperate even to your muffled ears.  You hear his laughter more clearly this time, breath hot against the outer shell of your ear, and you're not sure whether you're burning up on the outside or just internally.

"See, aren't you feeling better already?"  Every word from his mouth is honeyed and intoxicating.  You chase the sound, turning your face just in time to feel his lips against yours, more forceful than you'd anticipated.  As much as he teased you, he was a kind and forgiving lover, bending to your will as easily you did his.

"You're terrible."  You mean it like an insult but, in true fashion, he accepts it like the greatest compliment he's ever received.  He preens with it, tossing his head back, causing his hair to fall prettily over his eyes.

Eyes that threaten to swallow you whole, if you'd let them.  They're so dark, the ring of his iris all but engulfed by the desire that presents itself in the void of his pupils. 

Your heart stutters in your chest.  Your breath catches, hitches and careens into a gasp.  Somewhere, just beyond the realm of comprehension, you recognize a familiar fluttering in your core.  He's looking at you like you're the most beautiful piece of art he's ever seen and he wants to bang - hang - you on the wall, where you belong. 

"Do you want me to stop?"  Despite whatever war wages in his mind and the thrum of want that skitters up his bones, he's genuine in his delivery.  He wants you to want this as bad as he does.  He won't hold it against you if you don't.

You owe it to him to be honest.  "I'm not sure."

You don't miss the way his expression slips, fall just an inch.  He's so careful to retain his composure, offering you the most heartfelt smile you could ever hope for.  It doesn't quite reach his eyes, despite his best efforts.  You feel awful.  Worse then awful.  Like you'd shut the sun out.

You reach for him all at once, long fingers framing the edges of his face, thumb sweeping just beneath his eye.  He blinks once, twice, and says nothing. 

"I want you,"  you start.  It's not clear where you're going with this but you hope you find it along the way - for both of your sake's.  "I like you, Kim Taehyung."  His eyes sparkle when you say his full name and you want to give up this conversation and smother him in kisses instead.  "I really, really like you.  But I'm also scared."  You say it out loud, though you're certain he already knows.  

He presses a kiss to the pad of your thumb that's drifted and found a rhythm in soothing circles at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm an assa."  You don't seek pity or understanding.  You'd chosen this;  you liked it this way.  "I don't let people in often.  Those I do, I trust explicitly."  Your hand slides to his chest, palm flat down the column of his throat to the expanse hidden just beneath his shirt.  You settle there, over his heart, and tap experimentally.  "I don't want to ruin this - whatever it is - because I expect too much.  We deserve to be on the same page.  I don't want to ask for more than you can give."

Where the words have come from isn't clear but they spill forth, settling like lead into your veins.  He's only been good to you, accepting all of your quirks and flaws in stride.  From the first time you'd lashed out - irritable after a long night of rearranging notes - to the time he'd found you half-asleep in front of the fridge at 3 AM, he's accepted you without hesitation.  Time and time again, he'd proven his capacity for kindness, for giving you everything and asking nothing in return.

But you can't help the little voice in your head, the same one that demands love in the same breath it rebuffs it. 

"I'm right here with you."  As if to drive his point home, Taehyung's hand finds yours and squeezes.  He's so heartbreakingly handsome like this, unwavering in his sincerity.  "But even if I weren't,"  he indulges your worries, because he knows he needs to face these demons with you, lest they steal you away,  "we'd still be reading the same book.  You'd just be a few chapters ahead and that's okay."

Not for the first time, you're reminded of how overwhelmingly good he is.  It makes your heart swell ten sizes and you crash your lips to his because you want to and he wants it, too. 

"You're so poetic,"  you muse, withdrawing just enough that your words don't get lost.

He grins and does that same toss of his head, chin cocked as his tongue swipes over the soft pillow of his bottom lip.  "O, Juliet, Juliet, wherefore art thou, Juliet?"  He's inching closer, like it's a game, and you're nearly stumbling back, though you have nowhere to go.  "Deny thy father and refuse thy name."  There's mischief in this expression, setting his smile aglow.  "Take all of me."

You only manage to get your taunting response out, a snarky "that's not how that goes" before he's upon you, devouring you whole.  

Despite the hunger in his kiss, the way his mouth slants over yours in a demand, it's anything but rushed.  He takes his time in coaxing your mouth open, seeking out the warmth with tentative passes of his tongue.  You hum appreciatively when he chases yours with his own, catching your bottom lip between his teeth as some sort of punishment for getting away.  You think you could do this forever. 

So you pout when he withdraws, out of breath and delirious.  You think you must look the same, can see it reflected in his blown out pupils.  

As if to sooth your ache - it's not enough - he caresses your jaw, the delicate line of your neck, capable hands running the gamut of hot and heavy and soft and searing.  He's sprinkling weak kisses where his hands go, following the paths they carve over your exposed skin.  When he dips his tongue into the dainty turn of your collar bone, you keen, chasing the sensation when he exhales cold breath over it.

"We have lots of time,"  he parrots with a grin so smug, so salacious, you want to cry.

You're pouting, fingers curling into the silk at his nape, tugging none-too-gently on the hairs there. 

He seems to find that funny, his nose brushing the collar of your shirt, the valley of your chest that he aches to explore.  "Patience is a virtue."  

"Who says I'm virtuous?" 

You're meeting his surprised stare with big doe eyes, a coy smile playing over your kiss-swollen lips.  Taehyung almost considers giving in.  Almost.

Instead, he returns to the task at hand, trailing open-mouth kisses across the front of your shirt.  He's grateful for the flimsy cotton, the way it drapes over you like wrapping paper begging to be torn apart.  You're reclined against the cushions but it's not enough - there's no more space for him to nose past your rib cage.  He stops;  you whine.

"Tell me we can keep going."  The words are nearly lost into your skin.  He's holding you so intimately, the curve of his cheek pressed to the underside of your breast.  He can feel the scalloped trim of your bra.  It's not nearly enough.  He wants what's underneath, exhales his need in a throaty moan, lips seeking out his hidden treasure. 

You don't immediately respond and his head snaps up, a little concerned.  But you're not looking at him, lost to the ceiling above and the heavens beyond.  You look so hot.  He feels his cock twitch and he has to remind himself to wait, to hold out for your breathless yes. 

The moment it comes, you're in his arms and your eyes snap to his face, bewildered.  He's an anomaly beneath you, equal parts hard and soft.  The planes of his stomach are taut but comfortable;  he's lean muscle beneath a yielding layer.  You've never been this close, body pressed recklessly against his as he carries you to your bedroom.  Your ankles lock around him, heel of your bare feet digging into the expanse of his lower back.  He says nothing, simply nuzzles into your softness of your neck and smothers you with affection.

"What was wrong with the couch?"  It's meant to be mocking but it loses its edge when Taehyung releases you atop your bed, eagerly slotting himself between your knees when your hold on him releases.  

His hands are driven, making quick work of your tee shirt, and then he's feasting like a man-starved, taking in every line of your body like he can commit it to memory.  "You're so beautiful,"  he says in response, diving into your skin that begs to be touched, soft as silk and unblemished.  He hums happily against your throat, licking a wet stripe from your clavicle to your ear, pausing to bite thoughtfully on the lobe.  The sounds you make should be illegal.  He wants to hear them forever, until the day he dies.

The strap of your flimsy bra - pretty periwinkle lace, he notes with a quirked brow - twists around his finger and he can feel you staring at him, expectant.  When he lets it fall and you huff, he wants to laugh.  He doesn't, though, choosing to drop his head to follow the trail of his hands over the swell of your chest.  Thumb and then mouth catch, teeth nipping at your nipple in a way that makes your back arch.  He flicks his tongue out, circling the pebbled bud with precision, and he thinks he might be stealing the breath right out of your lungs by the way you're coming undone beneath him.

"Sensitive?"  He drags the edge of lace down between his teeth until the fabric is caught beneath your tits, showcasing them proudly.  He leans back on his calves, catching your wrists with ease when you try to cover up.  You're so pretty like this, head thrown back, body on display.  Like a piece of art.

He wishes he had his camera.  

"You're a tease, Kim Taehyung."  You don't know how much he loves it when you say his name like this, a little authoritative and full of want.  

Your own personal Adonis settles over you once again, kissing you as if his life depends on it.  He swallows you whole, taking all of your moans and pleas like they're prayers and he's your deity.  Maybe he is.  "Patience, jagiya."  You can feel him grinning against you, sweet as sin.  You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, dragging the edges of your teeth over the sensitive petal.

Now it's his turn to whimper, hand fisting into your hair before relaxing, fingers soothing the roots he'd just pulled. 

"I said patience,"  he repeats.  You don't have time to test him again, suddenly encompassed by the feeling of his warmth pulling away, drifting lower.  You miss the weight of him, his chest pressed to yours. 

But you like this, too, his hot breath fanning over your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.  You like it even more when he licks a strip down the valley of your cleavage, inhaling your scent.  You're sure you're coloured like a neon Christmas sign, rouge blossoming over your skin where you want more - need more. 

"I'm going to be so good to you."

How he manages to be so unrelentingly sweet, even while mouthing sloppy kisses over your bare abdomen, you're not sure.  He does it so well, like this side of him is only for you.  It makes you see stars.  They flicker brightly in your vision, sparked to life with each pass of his lips, each concentrated glide of his hands.

"Look at me."  It seems almost impossible that his voice has dropped even further, the lower octave simultaneously exciting and surprising.  It sinks like weights in your stomach, forcing your eyes to his face.  He's at the edge of the bed, his head ducked against the swell of your bare thigh - when had that happened? - eyes half-lidded as if swept up in dreams.  You know he's paying attention when he nips gently at the sensitive flesh, manipulating your softness with firm, unyielding hands.  "Do you know how crazy you drive me?"

You thought you'd had a clue - had spied it in the way he kissed you in the morning, held your hand in his - but you were wrong.  You realize that now, watching him watching you.

"Show me,"  you all but whisper.  An appeal, a wish, a begging demand. 

When he looks at you, it's as if your words are the keys to his heart.  He smiles that blindingly handsome smile and dips forward, shifting your calf over his shoulder.  You think you might die from the sight alone but you're sure you do - heart stopped and all - when you feel his breath at the juncture of your legs.  

He inhales deeply and you blush scarlet, the desire to clamp your thighs shut twitching your limbs.  As if he can sense your sudden shame, he redirects your attention with the tip of his tongue.  You nearly buck at the sensation, somehow already wound so tight that the feeling is a harsh constriction of the coil in your stomach.  You need him.  "Tae, please."  The sound is a garbled whine, half bitten into the pillows you're buried in.  

Luckily, he needs this just as much as you do.  He's generous with his love, spreading you wide open and nearly groaning at the sight.  You're already dripping, inviting him to sink his tongue into you.  He alternates between long, languid strokes along your slit and teasing, penetrating delves of his tongue into your hole. He dutifully ignores your clit.  You writhe beneath him and he mimics the motion, grinding his straining erection into the bed.  He feels a little bad when the motion jostles you but he thinks you don't care, too far gone in your own blissful heaven to notice.

"Tae,"  his name barely registers, so caught up in the taste of you and the way you coat his tongue, his lips, his chin.  "Tae.  Baby.  Please."  You're keening, teetering dangerously on the edge of ecstasy.  You hadn't known how badly you needed this and now it's eating you alive, burning you from both ends until you're left in ashes.

"What, jagi?"  Taehyung's the devil in disguise, pausing his ministrations to suck a wet kiss into your thigh.  Wet from his own mouth or your juices, he's not sure.  

"I need more,"  you whine, the neediest he's ever seen you.  He's so turned on.  He curses his choice of pants, the soft cotton too inconsequential against him and his useless rutting.  He needs a zipper or your hands or better yet, your mouth.  But this isn't about him. 

This is about you.  He'd come later.  Literally.

"Is this more?"  The last word disappears, a shot in the dark as he wraps his lips around your aching clit and sucks, simultaneously sinking his middle finger into your feverish core.  He groans when your hips undulate with the pressure, seeking out more like the greedy kitten you are.  He pumps into you once, then three more times for good measure, before adding his ring finger, endlessly proud of the way you take him to the knuckles without an ounce of hesitation.  "You're doing so good,"  he praises you as if he knows you need it, laving at the sensitive bundle of nerves with unrelenting attention.

He can feel it before you're able to verbalize the words, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your plea careening off your tongue.  "Please don't stop.  I'm so, so close."  A hiccup.  Your voice is wet.  "Tae, please."

So he doesn't, instead twisting until he finds that spongy spot at the front of your pelvic wall.  He rocks against it, fingers tapping with brutal precision.  It's what sends you over the edge into an Earth-shatteringly strong orgasm that he fucks you through with tender care, rolling your clit over his tongue and basking in the feel of you soaking his hand (and face and chest).

Your head's still in the clouds when he pops up, triumphant.  Even in your fucked-out bliss, you recognize he's drenched.  If he didn't look so proud, you think you'd be mortified.  

"Well, that's a first." 

notes.  as @fortunexkookie and @taehyungforreal (two of my main reasons for writing, tbh, and people i fangirl over from afar) once said, kim taehyung remains the reigning king of lovemaking.  i hope i did him justice.  xo

[thethistlegirl]

Return to Cairo

Jack’s met genocidal war criminals he likes better than James MacGyver. “You can’t be serious.”

James doesn’t seem to be aware of the actual gravity of the situation. “I told Webber not to involve you. Specifically.”

“Matty didn’t call me.” Actually it was Riley, but Jack has no desire to throw his girl under the bus. “And all I know right now is, Mac is missing in freaking Cairo, on freaking Cairo Day so you better tell me what the hell is going on.”

At least he didn’t have to fly far. He was after Kovacs in Libya when the call came in. His team knew better than to argue when he grabbed his gear and left. All Riley was able to tell him was “Mac’s in trouble. In Cairo.” But that’s all he needed to hear.

“First of all, Dalton, that insane superstition is ridiculous. It’s just a day. Statistically no more dangerous than any other day of the year.” James’s voice carries an edge that tells Jack Mac probably came to his father with the same protest. James is too logical to believe in the curse of Cairo Day.

“Angus was in the middle of an infiltration when he went dark.”

“And you’re not doing a damn thing to get him back?”

“The only reason he was infiltratingthe compound rather than us making a full scale raid was because they are heavily guarded and now will be even more so.”

“So what…”

“We have no guarantee that he’s even been captured. It’s possible he felt the need to disable his comm unit for some reason.” It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Mac’s destroyed every available communication device. But it’s Cairo.Jack is not taking chances.

“Where was he going into?”

…

James isn’t willing to be forthcoming with any information. But Jack has allies. Between Matty’s secret handoff of the mission brief and Riley hacking Mac’s comms for last known location, Jack has a location. And a plan.

Apparently this terror group took over an old factory as headquarters. There’s a large machining floor, but the underground level is divided up into a boiler room and storage spaces. And the boiler room vents to street level through a grating.  

Jack really hopes this isn’t the way Mac went in. If it is, there might be someone waiting for him to do the same. Or maybe they’ll assume no one else is dumb enough to try it.

He quickly realizes that this wasn’t Mac’s entry point. The vent shaft is mined. Fortunately, he’s spent the past several weeks working very closely with the crews disabling Kovacs’s work, and it’s brought back his memories of what he learned as an EOD Overwatch.

When the devices are disabled, he makes his way into the boiler room. It’s pitch black and cool, the engines haven’t been run in years. He unlocks the door and steps out into a hallway. He has no idea which of the storage rooms Mac might be in. He’s just going to have to try them all. Matty’s voice in his ear is telling him that they have motion at the building, trucks are being loaded and pulled away. He hopes they’re not taking Mac with them. He also hopes Mac isn’t dead.

Matty assures him there are no more heat signatures on the upper level. They can’t get a read into the basement, not with all the metal upstairs, but Jack hasn’t seen any guards. Which means he doesn’t need to bother being quiet about getting through doors.

He clears three rooms before he kicks down a door and hears a shuddering breath accompany the movement. He pulls out his flashlight and scans the whole bare room.

Mac is curled up in a corner of the room, shaking. Jack feels his stomach flip over. What did they do to him? The kid’s barefoot, his once light blue shirt is crimson, and he’s shivering. Jack takes a few steps closer, then stops when Mac apparently hears his steps and tries to curl up tighter, a keening whimper slipping out.

“Mac, it’s me. It’s Jack.”

“J-jack?” Mac looks up, his face is a mess of blood and bruises. And his chest…the shirt is shredded off him and that’s where all the blood is coming from. Or at least that’s what Jack thinks until he gets a little closer and realizes the kid’s back is in the same condition. They whipped him or something, and made sure he wouldn’t be able to lie on his back or stomach. The only comfort Mac can find is to be on his side. “You s-shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m here to get you out. And don’t worry, Matty told me everyone in here is gone so we’re home free, hoss.” Guess they figured he was in no condition to escape. “They must have taken off with the bomb, the backup tac team is tracking them now.”

Mac shakes his head, struggling to sit up. “No, Jack, they left me here because this is ground zero for their explosion. The bomb is here, in the building.”

Oh hell. “Man, I told you, working on Cairo Day is bad luck.”

“Tried not to,” Mac mumbles. But James wouldn’t listen. Jack wonders how the man will react when he sees the torture Mac’s been through. Probably brush it off like he has everything else about the kid.Mac is far too skinny, and Jack feels terribly guilty for leaving him alone with all of the things that have happened since he took off.

“I saw it, before they grabbed me. I can disarm it.”

“No, we’re getting you out of here.”

“There’s not enough time.” Mac shakes his head. “It’s nuclear. Big enough to take out this whole city sector and contaminate the rest.”

“Wonderful. Then let’s go.” Jack lifts Mac to his feet, trying not to put any pressure on his flayed back. Oh kid that’s gonna be a mess.There’s no way he doesn’t come out of this with lasting scars.

…

The bomb isbig. It’s been pushed up against some of the factory equipment, hidden from easy view but not less deadly. Mac’s muttering under his breath, Jack’s familiar with hearing that through the radio in the Sandbox. He’s doing his thing.He has complete faith in Mac, even as the timer ticks down from 1:43. Mac grabs a tac knife from Jack’s belt, without permission as usual, and pries off the front plate of the bomb, getting at the tangle of wires behind the timer. He pulls a red one to the front and examines it, then puts it back, grabbing a blue one with a wry half-smile.

Mac snips the wire and literally collapses, falling backward into Jack. And the timer stops at 0:22.

…

Jack feels a little guilty that Mac looks surprised when he wakes up in the hospital and sees Jack beside him. “I thought you…”

“Were chasing a terrorist?” Jack shrugs. “Turns out I do a lot better accidentally running across them with you.” He shakes his head. “Remember when you turned in your resignation to Phoenix last year?” Mac nods solely, clearly still out of it on the drugs they’re pumping into him. “Well, turns out you never formally came back. You said you’d stay till we got Murdoc, but you never actually filled out the paperwork. So technically…you’re a literal free agent.”

Mac frowns. Clearly his brain’s not keeping up. “What…?”

“You don’t belong to Phoenix. And they can’t order you to do anything.” Jack grins. “Boy was James pissed when I told him that.” He leans in. “I know you don’t remember a lot about what happened back there in Cairo, but that man was gonna leave you to die. He didn’t care about you, all he cared about was the mission. And I’d rather die than see you continue to get dragged around by him.”

“But he…”

“You owe him absolutely nothing, Mac. Nothing. I’ve already cleared it with my task force. They’d be happy to have a former EOD tech and trained agent on the team, and they’re willing to give you the recovery time you need. And let me stay.”

Apparently that Mac does understand. Because his hand slides across the blanket to twist into Jack’s. “You’re staying,” he mutters, simplistically, but it’s the simple things in life that mean the most.

@macgyvercairo

[datauthorress]

Our Final Hour [ Chapter 3: Questions and Answers ]

Pairing: Albert Wesker x Original Female Character (Shelby Hartford)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: A gamer from another universe gets sent to the world of Resident Evil, to the volcano where Albert Wesker was killed. To her horror, the madman survives and the two fall into each other's lives, as much as they didn't want to.

Notes: This chapter is kind of boring, more of a filler than anything else. No warnings, besides Wesker being a dick.

Shelby woke to the sound of the motel door opening, and she groggily opened her eyes, blinking to get the sleep out of them. She saw just blurs for a moment, before her vision cleared and she turned her attention upwards, as Wesker closed the door and locked it behind him.

“Hello, sleeping beauty. You were out for quite some time.” the blond spoke, walking around her bed to place the few bags he had on the little table in the corner.

“What time is it?” she asked, sitting up slowly and rubbing her eyes from sleep.

“1 in the afternoon.” he replied, searching through the bags. He pulled out a bag of McDonald's and also had a four tier tray with only two large cups in it. He brought over the bag and handed it to her, as well as the cup. “I was not sure what you liked, so I got you hamburgers and fish sandwiches. I can guarantee you are starving.”

“Thanks.” she yawned quietly and took a sip of the liquid, tasting the bitter taste of black coffee. She normally liked sugar in her coffee, but black wasn't bad. She set the cup down on the night stand next to her, and pulled out a hamburger, unwrapping it to eat.

“We'll be changing our appearances today. I got you red hair dye, and myself black. There's no need for contacts for either of us, since I can change my eye color.”

“You.....what?” she asked, her mouth full of hamburger.

“My body has accepted the virus inside me. No longer will I be held down by a serum every day, and such the serum won't affect my abilities. This means I have complete control over the virus inside me, as well as Uroborus.”

Shelby suddenly began choking on her food as the older man said that. She coughed and hacked, finally able to swallow down the food in her mouth. The blond turned his head to look at her, arching a curious eyebrow.

“I-I'm good....” she coughed, quickly taking a sip of her coffee.

Wesker went back to rummaging through the bags, and Shelby felt her chest tighten. If he was infected AND bonded with both the prototype virus he first injected himself with, and the Uroborus virus....then that might've been the reason he survived a fucking lava pit. This made her nervous. What if he turned his back on her? He could kill her with just a flick of his wrist.

But he didn't seem malicious towards her. She couldn't really describe what this really was. Was she even a prisoner? A hostage?

She took the next half hour to think and eat. When Shelby was done eating, Wesker called her into the bathroom and she sighed, getting up and going into the bathroom. She was wearing just a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top....and no bra.

I don't think he would.....he's a guy for fuck's sake. But he hasn't tried anything so far....and it's been a day. She thought, shaking her head before she entered the bathroom, and glanced at the chair Wesker had set up for her, in front of the sink.

“Sit.” he said.

Shelby didn't bother protesting and sat down in the chair that was placed in front of the mirror. She was quiet as he laid a medium-sized towel across her shoulders, his bare hands just barely brushing against her pale flesh. She quietly thought to herself as he mixed the bleach together and slipped on a pair of plastic gloves. Once the substance was mixed up, he poured a considerate amount into his hand and began to soak her locks in the wet substance.

Shelby felt goosebumps form on her flesh from the contact. Her head was incredibly sensitive and it was an easy way to get her to calm down or fall asleep. Wesker's hands were insanely warm to the touch and she had a hunch that was from the mixture of viruses in his system.

“This will be easier than expected, since your hair is rather short.” the blond spoke, smoothing her bangs away from her forehead as he got them coated in the substance.

Shelby didn't speak for a moment, only tilting her head when she was told to. It wasn't until he was halfway done with her hair that she began to get curious, and finally spoke up. “Why am I here?”

Wesker paused, and his covered eyes seemed to glance down at her since he had tilted his chin down a bit. “A rather interesting question. Why are you here?”

“Don't be so cryptic.” she muttered. “Am I a hostage?”

“No.”

“A prisoner?”

“No.”

“Then why am I here?”

“You already know the answer to that question.” he replied.

Shelby rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly. “What do you want?”

“However do you mean?”

“Just answer the question.”

“What do I want?” he repeated the question, thoughtfully. “More or less, to find that organization that wants myself, and you.”

“Any idea why they would want me?”

“I haven't the slightest clue. Perhaps because you appeared in a volcano and have no idea where you came from.”

Yeah, and it happened to be the same volcano that you supposedly died in. Shelby thought with a scoff.

“Why did you appear in the heart of a volcano, girl?” Wesker's voice broke through her thoughts.

“How should I know?” she sighed. “My memory is fuzzy....I don't remember much except I know who you are, and what you've done.”

“It seems to be rather suspicious that you know who I am, but not where you came from.” he said, running his hands through her locks once more before he pulled his hands away. “1 hour. I will set a timer.”

Shelby got out of the chair and went back into the other room, sitting on her bed. She watched as the blond cleaned up the mess from the bleach kit, and put the remaining items into a small zip lock bag. She remained quiet for the briefest of moments before she spoke again. “What's going to happen?”

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

Her stomach churned.

His question, or comment made her rethink her actions. He sounded quite annoyed with her questions, and it made her insecurities bubble up to the surface. She always had been a bit sensitive to the way people thought about her, or when she had heard them whisper about her behind her back. She once had a friend who pretended to be her friend for an entire year, and had spoken about her behind her back the whole time, causing Shelby's massive distrust in strangers.

Wesker was no stranger, but he didn't know her, and she didn't know him personally, only who he was through a television screen.

Nonetheless, his comment made her go quiet and she went to her notebook.

Once the timer went off, Wesker called for her to come into the bathroom and she did so without speaking. She was quiet the entire time her hair was rinsed, and the silence was absolutely deafening. But she couldn't bring herself to speak up. It was only when they were putting the red dye in that he finally broke the silence.

“You're awfully quiet. Is something wrong?”

Yeah, you're an asshole who doesn't care about anyone else's feelings but your own. Shelby thought, but refused to speak up.

Wesker didn't ask her again. He remained quiet as well, working on her hair until it was coated in the red dye and put a timer on for thirty minutes. She went out to the other room while he worked on his own hair, and it wasn't moments after that he called for her.

“I'm afraid I need your assistance.”

“Fine.” she said, walking into the bathroom and searching for the plastic gloves. “Is there another pair of gloves?”

“I have them on right now.” he spoke. “I'm afraid there's no spare pair.”

Shelby sighed in irritation. Her hands would be fine, but dye was a bitch to wash off. “Just sit down and don't move.”

To her surprise, the blond didn't argue and sat down in the chair. She came up from behind him and squirted some of the dye into her hands, and began to scrub the substance into the blond-turning-black locks. It was going to be odd seeing Wesker with black hair. Now all he needed to do was grow a beard and nobody would recognize him.

She felt his gaze on her when her fingers remained a bit close to his forehead. She swallowed the lump in her throat and had to resist the urge to dig her thumbs into his eyes.

That red, cat-like gaze unnerved her.

A while later, Wesker came out of the bathroom, hair completed. She blinked and he arched an eyebrow at her. “It just looks odd. Blond suits you better.” she said.

“Hm.” was all he said and walked to his bed, cleaning up the mess from the dye kits.

Shelby finished writing down her thoughts in her notebook and closed it, snapping the pen into the binding and tossing the notebook onto her backpack on the floor. She heard the older man shuffling around as he cleaned up, and her hazel gaze slowly maneuvered around the room, and then stopped.

There was a gun sitting on the end table next to the chair by the window.

Shelby side-eyed the older man, and when she realized he wasn't looking, she turned her gaze back to the gun. The safety was on, but she knew how to use a gun, so she could easily turn the safety off without making a fool of herself. She glanced to Wesker again, and she stood up when he turned towards her slightly.

“Something the matter?” he asked.

Shelby didn't speak. She bolted. The fingers of her good hand wrapped around the gun and she picked it up, her index finger resting on the trigger (of course, after she took the safety off). Her body turned towards Wesker, and she saw the slightly surprised expression on his face, before it softened to a calmer one.

“And what do you plan to do with that?” he questioned, arching an eyebrow.

“I don't know yet. But I feel safer with it.” Shelby replied.

“You won't pull the trigger.”

“Try me.”

Wesker went quiet for a moment, before he spoke again. “You wouldn't survive on your own.”

“I have, and I will. I don't need protection.”

“You do seem perfectly capable of defending yourself.” he commented. “However, this is not a mere thief we are dealing with.”

“I know. But I also know that you're equally as dangerous as the people after us. Who's to say you won't just kill me after this is over.”

“I have no intention of killing you, girl.”

“Shelby. Not girl. But again, you don't care about anything except yourself.”

“You happen to know an awful lot about me for someone who lost their memories.” he said.

Wesker began to approach her, and Shelby swore she saw a flash of red from behind those sunglasses. It unnerved her to no end, even though he wasn't supposed to exist.

“Stay back.” she warned.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No. Don't come any closer. I'll shoot you.”

“If you are so informational about me, you know that a bullet won't hurt me. It will only annoy me further than I already am.”

Shelby paused, considering his words. A bullet wouldn't hurt him, but he could hurt her if he wanted to. Hell, he already did. A broken arm and part of her shoulder gone. She was snapped out of her thoughts when she felt hot, calloused fingers curl around her wrist in a firm grip. She froze upon feeling suffocated, and remained frozen when his free hand slid up her left shoulder, fingers curling around the back of her neck and brushing against the short hairs there.

Wesker was too close and it made her anxiety rise to dangerous levels.

“You're trembling.” he spoke softly, yet in such a tone that made her realize she was shaking.

“No.” she said quietly.

“Perhaps you're afraid of me, but you're too prideful to admit it.” he said, and she could feel his breath hot against her earlobe.

Her fingers trembled. They loosened the hold they had on the gun. Her fear grew.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No....I'm afraid of what you can do.” she admitted.

“Is that so?” he asked. “And what do you believe I can do?”

Shelby is quiet for a moment. She's not sure how to respond. She doesn't want to tell the truth, not yet.

“I don't know.” she murmured.

Wesker released her, taking the gun from her grasp. Shelby finally turns away from him, now actually noticing her trembling.

“I would suggest you sleep. We'll be leaving at midnight.”

Shelby closes her eyes, and exhales shakily. She wasn't sure if she could sleep after that.

[sawyer-smith]

September 9th, 2019

Today has been a series of technological mishaps that have each primed me for suicide in their own special way. I have to rant about this, apologies.

It started with my not being able to tell the time upon awaking. I glared at the clock on the microwave. 2 in the afternoon? That can’t be right. Someone had forgotten to clear the timer. A minor issue, but a bad omen of what was to come.

When I arrived at class, I found my internet wasn’t working. I had meant to submit my work for class the night before, but it slipped my mind. This meant I had to send it in before class started, but with the internet on the fritz I was pretty much completely fucked. I would have to plug my computer into the monitor when it came to be my turn to present. Lo and behold, it wasn’t working. Who’d have thunk. I explained the situation to my professor and he was thankfully understanding, but the whole thing was so embarrassing. I looked like an idiot in front of my whole class.

Worst part is, no one else seemed to have issues with their internet. I put in the correct username and password countless times, I tried all sorts of variations, but to no avail.

After class, I went to Target to pick up a few things. A giant pack of toilet paper, some tide pods for laundry later in the day, and the thing that made me regret getting out of bed: a 12 pack of Dr. Pepper. I genuinely don’t know what came over me. I had not gone in planning to buy it, yet here I was. The walk home was a goddamn nightmare. Constant fear that my arms would collapse, and I would drop everything I was carrying. Too fucking heavy.

When I got home, I figured I would do my laundry. I was running low on clothing, so now was as good a time as any. I brought my bag of clothes down to the basement and encountered the row of machines whirring and shaking violently. I had to buy a card that would grant me access to one of the machines. Fair enough. Here’s the thing: you need exactly $5 to get a card. Not in singles, mind you, how on Earth could the machine process 5 singles? Are you insane? No, you need a 5 dollar bill. Anything else and it would spit your money back out at you with disdain.

Alright, so I’ll get some change. No big deal. It’s fine, I’m fine.

I go out and buy a couple snacks from a nearby deli and get $5.23 in change. Fairly simple. I returned to the basement and purchased a card. Success! I brought my clothes over to one of the machines and began to fill it. I closed the door on top and inserted my card. 0 available it said. While it seems fairly obvious to me now, I had no idea what that was supposed to mean. I kept pulling out and reinserting the card like a fucking asshole. The place was filled with people who knew what they were doing and not wigging out.

Eventually I figured it out. I needed to add funds to the card. It seems that buying it doesn’t actually put anything onto the card. 5 dollars gets you the card itself, not 5 dollars worth of credit for the washing machines. Alright, well, I was out of cash at this point. Guess I’ll haul my clothes back upstairs and take care of it when I have some money. 

Onto my next class. I tried to put this all behind me and just not think about anything for a while. I really enjoy my Experimental Game Narratives course, so I figured it would be a nice way to keep my mind off of the horrors of the day. Of course, the monitor wouldn’t work, which had us spending a solid 30 minutes of class trying to figure it out. It felt like a total waste of time. It’s a good thing I like that class.

Afterwards, I figured I should stop by the bank to get some cash for the washing machines. This should be easy, I just go in, set up at the ATM, and retrieve my hard earned dough. Of course the fucking thing doesn’t work. Why would it work? Why would anything work? I try both ATMs in the lobby, nothing. Teller’s desk is closed, so I’m shit outta luck. I decided I would just stop in some convenience store and use the ATM there. Ultimately it wasn’t a huge deal, but it was certainly frustrating.

So, tired and hot, I returned to my room. I just wanted to lie down in an air conditioned space and relax for a little while. I inserted my key card into the handle, and (no points for guessing what happened) I get a blinking yellow light. I had been locked out of my dorm. What a mess. Thankfully it wasn’t too much of a hassle to get my card reprogrammed. Just had to go down to the student help center and have them rejigger it.

This whole saga concluded with me successfully loading the washing machine and getting it to run. I write this now with about 10 minutes left to go in the cycle. Hopefully the dryer decides to work when I load my clothes there.

What did we learn from this? A series of minor inconveniences absolutely sapped my (already quite low) lust for life. I’m worn out, and I just want to eat. Maybe I should have waited to write this once the day was truly over, but I’m just fed up. I feel like such a loser for writing such a long post about all of this shit, but it really got to me. I feel awful. 

All that being said, I love you with all of my heart. Keep on fighting.

[nammies]

Forgotten

Roman sat on his bed watching the new instagram video Logan posted about how Virgil was never around when he was. Normally that wouldn’t bother him but the fans were going absolutely insane about this. All of them were freaking about that stupid video.

He knew that Logan has gotten a lot more popular than him lately. Sure he’s been pushed to the back burners, even Virgil was more popular than him. It did more than hurt his ego and pride, he already tried so hard to please Thomas and the fans but he always fell short. Virgil always found a way to criticize his ideas and Logan would shoot it down instantly. Patton would try to sway them but it never worked. Roman just wasn’t useful anymore.

Roman groaned and threw his phone on the pillow and fell back. He was just as useful as the other sides! He was creativity! He heard chuckling and he shot up and narrowed his eyes “Deceit.” he growled and glared as said person stepped out from the shadows. So that’s why he was feeling so negative, the snake’s been watching him this whole time. “Get out of my room you villain! How’d you even get in here in the first place?”

Deceit smirked “I totally didn’t just walk in here because you locked the door.” he sat down on Roman’s bean bag chair and looked at him with a sinister glint in his eyes. Roman glared at him and crossed his arms over his chest, he hated how the snake lied but he always complimented him! He was so nice to Roman.. Even if it was just lies. Deceit sighed “You look amazing Roman, just dashing.” he said in a smooth tone that made Roman flinch slightly. He grit his teeth and looked at Deceit “I know you are lying to me, snake.” he growled.

“You don’t want me to tell you what the other sides are totally not saying about you right now Roman? You would hate to know.” he stood up and walked towards him “Roman, why can’t you just make a rational and practical idea for one?” his voice sounded like logan.. Oh dear.. “Really Princey? Why do you have to be such a clueless moron? Do you want Thomas to get hurt?” Roman tried to cover his ears as Deceit used their voices to attack him. Deceit didn’t seem to be letting up.

“Kiddo… maybe you should think of a different idea? This one’s a little extra..” Patton… Roman felt tears build up and he jumped up  “How dare you use their voices!” Roman drew his sword, and aimed at Deceit. He dodged easily and tripped Roman “Roman you know that this isn’t the truth. They love you so much. You’re the favorite side after all.” Deceit laughed as Roman tried to hit him “I won’t see you again Roman.” he said then disappeared. Leaving Roman a broken mess on the bedroom floor.

MEANWHILE IN THE MINDSCAPE

Logan smiled at the fan’s reaction to his video. It was pleasing to see that he was making something they enjoyed. He sat back in the recliner chair and pulled out his book, starting to read. Patton was in the kitchen when he popped his head out “Hey Logan!  Have you seen Roman today?” He asked curiously, his head tilted slightly. Virgil looked up from his phone to Patton “I haven’t seen him since breakfast. He’s probably in the imagination again.” He said before turning his attention back to his phone.

Patton went over to Logan and leaned over his shoulder “Have you seen Roman today Logan?” Logan sighed and set his book down before looking at Patton “no I have not seen Roman today Patton, it appears that he has been avoiding me ever since the crofter’s musical and even more so that the fans are paying more attention to me instead of him.” He said before going back to reading his book. Patton frowned slightly and went back to the kitchen, Roman wouldn’t be avoiding Logan because the fans are showing him some love, right?

The oven timer went off and patton turned it off before taking out his homemade cookies. Maybe some cookies would cheer Roman up? Virgil would probably tell him to leave him alone because he might be thinking of ideas or even in the imagination. Patton set the tray down and grabbed a glass plate, once the cookies had cooled off he put them on the plate and set them on the table. He might have stolen one in the process. He walked back into the living room and sat down, the quietness was a little unsettling. Usually Roman would be sitting in here talking loudly about his latest adventure, now it was just quiet.

Virgil seemed to notice Patton’s discomfort and took out an earbud “you okay Patton?” he asked, Patton looked at him and smiled “yeah i’m okay kiddo.. Just worried about Roman is all” Virgil nodded and went back to whatever he was doing on his phone. Patton looked at Logan and sighed “Logan do you think that maybe does feel left out now? Since the fans don't really pay attention to him?” Logan looked at Patton and set his book down “Patton I can assure Roman knows he’s not left out. Just because I’ve been getting more attention lately doesn’t mean we love him any less. He’s still our prince.”

Patton smiled “you’re right. I'm just being silly.” he said and relaxed into the couch. Roman knows we love him, he has to! Patton shows his love all the time and virgil does in his own ways. Even Logan tries to tell or show that he loves Roman one way or another. So he doesn’t need to be so worried about Roman feeling left out….right?

But Patton couldn't hear the laughter from Roman’s room.. And the broken sobs that shook through Roman's body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote a story! Me and my best friend @callmetea worked on this today and I finished it. I hope you guys like it!

@sandersstudies @milomeepit @colorsandwords @a-lil-freakin-nerd @markiplier-egos @theinvisiblespoon @randomslasher @all-da-fandoms

[the-firebird69]

And the streets are horrible and we like this idea we're going to get some old timers in there 5150s and bring it back to life and ourselves back to life get Hell's Angels together I'm going to Target the psychiatry symposium what do you call those things where you seminars and their talks and they're gatherings and the doctor we're going to beat this s*** out of them take the stuff and haul them off and get some answers I'm going to do it right now but he's so fun about it these people are making me angry and they're making me nuts in the hospital and I couldn't stand them and Bob came to visit and I'm like oh my God if you know what I mean you'll see what I'm saying I'm very wrong and mathematically and he said I had that feeling put a bomb or two in the building I said let me out and blow the s*** out of you and they did and he's into it the whole time and his idiots kind of holding in they put bombs all over the place now that's trying to regret it and they know why and it was a psychiatrist to encourage you and it's treason and he was within his rights to threatening them because they were not supposed to do that and they were outside the dod regulations they broke the law they could have shot all of them and we were threatening them I'm trying to get them to get them out and it didn't work and he had the military pull him out of UMass Worcester military caravan came down told him you released him today or you're all dead and they did and that's what's required absolute force or they don't do it then they started messing with him he calls him and says you have permission to fire these people are committing trees and it's remember the dod tag move so they found me and they said You released us to fire on them and why it said because they're committing treason now outline which articles and then they said they're also cohorting with the enemy and they found the stuff and he said why are we using this it's insanity and you can use it today and we're going to we're going to ride in there as Harley guys and we're going to have the military behind us I'm going to take these assholes apart so hardly have any defenses and then didn't see it in Deadpool you can't stand him anymore and go parents for your dad he had an organ there or someone did and they ran it on you and you ran it on them and that's how it happened we don't know who did that we think it was you and your people because you're insane and that's what he says he agrees your people did this to you and they f themselves and that's how you are and you're worse than corky because he wouldn't f himself if he can help it but these shrinks went around and haven't went under their influence and truthfully that's what happened usually cork is dangerous now it's just like weird guy throws people into holes cuz these a holes in the hospital I said someone I want bja to ask Sebastian for some help so you can try and stop the lost and stop you from harming me this Sebastian knows me and going and read some hospitals morlock style and people see that and it'll be a huge revolution it will change everything and then going to buy as many of these 50 and 50s as they can but they're going to make barbers as far as the eye can see they're going to buy bike seats and cram them into every Honda that there is

And that's what he says and it is how it works folks if you do an example when you get it out there there's almost nothing that can stop people from doing it because it says it's okay and what we're saying is this is my dodegregulation this is by the rules and regulation of the United States of America's military and we're putting out procedures and things that you're to do you're to not harm citizens or patience and you're not to make a mistake and miss one that's hiding as a patient but you really have to understand we are after these people in particular I got to set up the guidelines this is how I get Georgia out I bet because there's some quirky things that must occur but holy s*** John C Reilly now I see why he's fascinated by him and happy and someone fighting for freedom just like in Vietnam fighting to oppression of the promise and it's real and for crying out loud it's really a lot of fun so he's saying well you know when Bob gets his Roadhouse together and I get my 50 to go down there I'm going and everybody and we'll meet up and I said I said Bob I made it it's because of Bob Brown Jr and Bob Brown senior and this bike and say I know I have one too it's going to be fun

Thanos