No, Jack Zimmermann did not need or want a soulmate. And then this little shit came along.

Imagine person A making person B a friendship bracelet, expecting person B to never wear it, but when it’s given to them person B puts it on and is rarely seen with it off. A group of marines charge, Zoro slices through them, and in that instant Sanji feels his own eyes grow wide. Because there, on the arm now outstretched towards him, steel glinting in hand, is the stupid bracelet he’d given Zoro. The bastard is actually wearing it.

“If it were me, and I was in your position, I wouldn’t let something that makes me happy slip away because it might hurt my pride to admit it.” Two years apart shouldn’t change anything. At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself. ZoSan

Ninety percent of everyone's problems could be solved by a robot that just texted NO to hockey players on a regular basis. Unfortunately, Sidney didn't have a robot.

The best way to get to the heart is between the ribs and up. But there are other routes, too.

“Person with designated prior consent in the case of medically severe aphrodisiac exposure?” Hizashi reads off the medical form, his eyebrows rising up towards his hairline. “Hey, Shōta, is this a misprint?" “Just put me down,” Shōta replies, making Hizashi’s brain short-circuit for a moment.

Two dorks raise a baby and don't even realise they're doing it together until it's too late Alternatively, Ryan Bergara is Trying His Best Thanks

Kirishima's sure he's the Prince Charming of this story. Bakugou is not exactly the princess he's been expecting. (spoilers through the 90s of the manga)

' "What," Hinata says, "like you're suddenly going to become a kabedon master?" The idea itself is hilarious. Kageyama has all the timing and subtlety of a tyrannosaurus in a china shop. Hinata sees no reason to be wary. "We'll see," Kageyama says darkly. "We'll see." ' -- When Hinata introduces Kageyama to the concept of kabedon, he isn't expecting to create a monster. But all origin stories have humble (sometimes very humble) beginnings...

Ameyuri and Zabuza get locked in a closet. It's maybe not an entirely terrible thing.

He noticed the way Clary’s hand would rub soothing lines up and down Simon’s back as they sat in meetings. He would watch, face hot with something like jealousy when Clary would kiss Simon’s cheek whenever she left the room. Jace saw it all. And to be honest, it was probably inevitable that he would start to watch Simon, too.

It's inevitable that Wen Ning would be influenced by Wei Wuxian's stronger emotions, inevitable that he'd obey an accidental command. That must be what happened, thinks Wei Wuxian. Wen Ning has always been too timid to make a move on his own, so what else could this be?

By the time Wang Yibo turns twenty, he's accepted that his dick is too big for sex, and he will be a virgin forever. Xiao Zhan begs to differ.

Mirio's always been enchanted by the luminescent displays of firefly squid coming to the surface of the water to spawn this time of year—who wouldn’t be? But last week was when he’d realized they’re edible, and he’d begged Tamaki to try. Tamaki had refused. Hero training is bad enough, with such a monstrous, inhuman quirk, he’d said. Let’s not go out of our way to make it worse. Mirio had dropped the subject and assumed that was the end of that. But it’s definitely a tiny, pickled squid that Tamaki pulls from the box, his throat bobbing as he swallows it whole.

Wang Yibo's message reads: who do you think like initiates the first time

Wei Wuxian's messiness comes back to bite him in the ass, a thousand years later. *** "Why are vampire stories always I Want To Drink The Sexy Neck Milkshake and never two vampires texting about the passionate letter one wrote to the other in 1863 but never sent that the other just saw in the Smithsonian’s fall exhibition on Love Through the Ages and what the fuck, Claude, why didn’t you say anything" AU, but with immortal cultivators.

A very specific part of Jin Ling's Yunmeng Jiang heritage makes itself known when he comes of age. His friends help him out.

Pat’s never really had anyone do this before– the gentle, almost rhythmic smoothing as Brian makes his way across one wing and then the other, seemingly in no rush to get to the main event, so to speak. He hasn’t touched Pat’s preen oil glands at all, but apparently Pat’s body has gotten the message that preening is happening now anyway. He can feel that the feathers closest to his back are slick with oil now, already noticeably heavier than usual. Brian seems to notice this as well, as he pauses mid-sentence to let out a soft “Hmm!” when his ministrations shift again towards the center of Pat’s back.

“Tell me I’m beautiful, Lan er-gege!” “You are well aware you are beautiful,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Wuxian trips over Jiang Wanyin and sends both of them to the ground in a tangle of limbs and bruises.

In which there’s a jewellery thief on the loose, Tang Fan plays dress up, gets a mild concussion and also a boyfriend.

The beginning of something

“It’s Friday night,” Yanli says, a warm teasing note in her voice. “Shouldn’t you be doing something more fun than studying chemistry?” “What are you doing?” Wen Qing asks, stung. “You’re just hanging out in your dorm, right?” “Mm,” Yanli says, the warmth still in her voice. Wen Qing can almost imagine her stretching like a cat as she says it, one of those long dancer’s legs lifting high. It’s a hot night; maybe she’s wearing those tiny grey stretch shorts she wears when she comes right from dance class to the dining hall, barely peeking out under a long t-shirt. Wen Qing has thought about those shorts a lot.

“Don’t worry A-Cheng, this is the kind of party that expects everyone to be using fake names. It would be horribly against the rules for anyone to acknowledge who you actually are, even if they do recognise either of you. Trust me, there will be far more interesting things going on than watching Chifeng-zun and Sandu Shengshou tonight. All you have to do is play it cool, make it seem like you’re there for the same reasons as everyone else, and nobody will meet your eyes. Piece of cake!” Huaisang sounds positively chipper, which means Jiang Cheng is almost certainly going to have the worst night of his life tonight. Or: Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue steal a sex party

sea_salt_waves said: I've been having all these feelings lately about a human Geno falling for sexually-repressed incubus!Sid who pays sex workers to jerk off for him and has never been in a relationship before, with all kinds of insecurities and pining… ... I didn't stick to the prompt perfectly, but it was definitely my inspiration. I hope you enjoy!

Sid refuses to be jealous of something that's two and a half feet high and can't play hockey. OR: The Pittsburgh Zoo named some penguins after the Penguins, and no one will let Sid forget the one named after him has its shit together, because all his friends are assholes. Also there's pining.

The NHLOmega GroupMe isn't particularly helpful or professional, but the gossip (and the dick pics) make it worth the headache. Olli's just glad to be here.

Zhenya nudges Gonch with his elbow. "Who is that?" he says in urgent Russian, jabbing his glove at the now retreating zamboni. "Who?" Gonch follows the line of Zhenya's gaze, blinks when it lands on the zamboni. "What, the driver? Him?" Zhenya nods vigorously, his eyes fixed on the zamboni. Gonch stares at him for a few seconds before answering with hesitation, "That's...Sidney."

Eight years, four months and change, and that's the moment the bond snaps into place.

Jamie remembered the first time he spoke to Tyler Seguin, or rather, Jamie remembered the first time Tyler Seguin spoke to him. He hadn’t even been fully aware of the situation, sitting and waiting for their names to be called at the All-Star Game, even then he’d kept catching himself glancing at Tyler from across the room even though he hadn’t meant to. It was just that Tyler Seguin happened to the the best thing he had ever smelled in his life. “Look, I’m sure you’re nice guy and all, but I don’t really do Alphas, you know? You’re all way too demanding and stuck in your ways so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop looking at me like you’re a starving dog and I’m a steak okay?” Tyler had said.

“So I’ve noticed something,” Sid says, and Zhenya makes a face. Sid is using his Serious Captain Voice and he is using Personal Discussion Introductory Phrase No. 3. Fuck’s sake.

It hits Sid first, because of course it does. He’d been talking with Phil, discussing their first power play unit, when he gets distracted by Geno’s ass in spandex. “I don’t know why everyone’s always going on and on about my ass, when you’re around. Fuck, man. It’s fucking incredible.” “Whose ass, now?” Tanger shrieks gleefully and Sid realizes with a dawning horror that— “Did I say that… out loud?”

A fill for this prompt I saw on tumblr: plot bunny: hockey player of your choice comes out to his team/comes out to his new team/has always been out but is generally quiet about it. his team is cautiously supportive of his sexuality. they are, however, astonished and outraged to learn that dudes do not often consider their out teammate a catch.

Sidney looks from Flower's arm to their handcuffs to the little nest on the floor where he assumes Kris slept. There's a giant, empty champagne bottle on the table in front of the couch, he's pretty sure the same glitter that was on Kris's face is also on his jeans, and his head still aches. "Okay," he says loudly, "I know I'm kind of stating the obvious here, but what the hell happened last night?"

Sid’s standing in the hotel hallway, already in sweats and a t-shirt. “Hi G,” he says, already pushing past Geno to walk into his hotel room. “I couldn’t sleep so I thought we could watch TV or something.”

There was a newly-uploaded picture, one that hadn’t been there yesterday. Sid tapped it open. The only lights he’d bothered turning on were the down-lights above the kitchen island. He moved closer until he was standing directly beneath them, the better to see this latest picture. It was of a newborn. Or at least, a newborn’s hand, tiny and curling around Geno’s index finger, the Love for Lokomotiv wristband he never took off distinctive and visible at the edge of the frame. There was no caption.

Lots of people watch Geno. Like most people, really, at least let their eyes linger for a few seconds. For starters, he’s six foot three with a penchant for thick-soled combat boots and carefully sculpted hair arrangements that together can easily add 5 inches to his overall height. Then there’s the eyebrow ring, the purple streak through his dark hair, the smudged eyeliner, and typically, the tightest pants Geno can pour his fabulous if-he-does-say-so-himself ass into. All of those would be enough, any given day, to make people stop and stare. But today he’s also the guy most of North America watched in Prime Time last night, kicking ass and taking names as he as he swiped the Men’s Singles Gold from the clutches of that whiny fucking sore loser, Plushenko. So. Yeah, lots of people are watching him, but Sidney Crosby is not lots of people. He’s Sidney fucking Crosby.

It must happen during the Stanley Cup locker room celebration. Sid walks in, and sweeps the Cup up over his head amongst an eruption of champagne spray. Sid is so brilliantly, incandescently happy that he doesn’t even notice that not all the joy he feels is his own.

“What is it that you do, Omega Malkin?” Sid says eventually, tired of the guessing game. Apparently, he’s asked a controversial question. There’s a tension in the air. Mrs. Malkin starts giving a very particular look to her son and Omega Malkin shifts in his seat and straightens his spine like he’s gearing up for a fight. “Hockey,” Omega Malkin says evenly. Sid’s fork slips from his grip and clatters against his plate. He looks up and across the table at Omega Malkin. -- or; Sidney Crosby is an unbonded werewolf. So is Evgeni Malkin.

“Best baby need best jersey,” Alex says blithely, which doesn’t actually answer the question. It does, however, tell Nicklas whose jersey it is, and sure enough when Alex lifts it up to put it back in the bag Nicklas can see the 8 and the 'OVECHKIN' emblazoned on the back. or, nicklas finds himself responsible for a baby. alex approves.

It isn't, Alex reflects inanely, the fact that Nicky isn't wearing his cuffs. They aren't even cuffs but magic-infused braided and inscribed leather bracelets, one on each wrist—Nicky pushes them up his forearms during every game. No, it's Nicky's anguished face when he takes them off.

Nicky scores a hat trick, and gets an orgasm. Or three.

When your love for someone or something changes, you get love fever. When you get love fever, you usually get a love rash: a nasty, persistent itch in the shape of flowers or birds or your lover's hands. Alex has always noticed that Nicky doesn't get love blisters, just like he's noticed how Nicky fumes after losses, and prefers lasagna to ziti, and likes his girlfriends to cut his hair. He just assumed Nicky was one of those lucky people, the ones who don't get the rash.

Connor McDavid and Dylan Strome are going to the Toronto Maple Leafs together. Even if they have to get married about it.

Mitch keeps it to himself most days, the fact that he carries around Dylan’s handprint.

Brady only realizes how sore he is when Kevin slaps his chest, both of them coming off the ice after practice.

Connor’s experienced some weird fan interactions since he’s joined the NHL, but nothing surprises him quite as much as when a little girl raises her hand during a fan Q&A and asks him if he’s married. Not because it’s a particularly outlandish or rude question, but because his first instinct is to say “Yes.”

"So you're gonna take me to prom, huh," Dylan says, testing the words out in his mouth. "Which one?" "Not McDowell's," Connor says, like he's given it a lot of thought. He probably has. Jesus. "Ideally we'll still be in the playoffs, so we won't have time." "Ideally," Dylan echoes, and takes another bite of burrito to calm himself. Whatever, it's not like prom's a huge deal to either of them. They could go as buddies. People do that. "What should I wear?" If anything, Connor just grins wider.

Auston’s ex-girlfriend didn’t need to warn him off. He’s never met a girl who was so obviously, so completely, so spectacularly out of his league as Mitch Marner.

The girl on Tinder is typing again. why don’t you show me how good you are with a cock Tyler coughs and drops his phone. That’s—wow. He did not expect her to go there.

For the record: Travis does hook up. A completely normal amount, even.