#his best fit and i will hear NO rebuttal

[userarmand]

Il ne nous faut pas d’autorisation. Elle est à nous, la propriété.

[mysicklove]

cw: sub! gojo, gn! reader, heavy feminization, lingerie, gojo wears panties, mentions of gojo having a pussy? highkey cringe writing :(

wc: 0.9k

lingerie inspo

The color matches his eyes. It's a pretty shade of blue that compliments his hair and his porcelain skin well. He was in a maid outfit, or at least the beginnings of one — it showed too much skin to be really considered an outfit.

The bottoms are a short skirt with a white and blue pattern and some white ruffles. The light blue top fits to cover just his chest, disappointingly hiding his nipples from you. And, of course, you put him in the loveliest, white lacy pantyhose and pretty white choker to match.

Gojo, bluntly, looks adorable and a different type of provocative than what you are used to.

Gojo, on the other hand, was pouting at you from across the room. His body is halfway covered by the wall, and he seems to be trying to hide away from you. The man pulls at the bottoms nervously and shakes his head at your grin. "This has got to be the most humiliating thing I have ever done," He complains, a dramatic whine in his voice.

"Hmmm, you think so? I don't know…Satoru, you have done some…Pathetic things. Don't you think, sweet thing?" You put up two fingers, beckoning him over to you. He frowns at you, ignoring the burning of the tips of his ears. "Come here, pretty. There is no need to hide," You coax when he pauses momentarily.

Gojo nods, trying his best to ignore the ridiculous pet name. He then strides over to you, and your eyes travel to the cutesy stalking that climbs up his leg and ends on his upper thigh.

You stand up to meet him halfway there, padding over to him with a teasing grin on your face. His hands go awardly to his sides, and he peers at you through his lashes. "My, my, I don't think I have ever seen the notorious Satoru Gojo embarrassed?"

"Im not—Just…Shut up, would you?" He half-heartedly mumbles, "Never been in girl's clothing before. You're the weird one here for buying this, ya hear me? N-Not me!"

"Such a shame, too." You muse, ignoring the second part of his sentence. "Think you may look better in it than in boy's clothing." He bites back a whine, another pout on his face. But you ignore him as you run your fingers over the fabric and walk around his lengthy body, twirling over every lace and ribbon. He doesn't move while you do the inspection; instead, he just looks at the floor awkwardly.

You press kisses along any surface you can, and Gojo sighs with every trace of your lips. You make your way to behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and traveling your hands along his chest and stomach. Your lips linger on his lower shoulder blades as you crane your head around to see the front of him. "The real question is," You mumble and pause, coaxing him.

"Hmm?" He prompts, eyes widening when he feels your fingers drag along the bottom of his skirt. He knows what is going to come, and he fumes a shade of red before bringing his hands up to cover his face.

You chuckle at him. "Tell me, did my pretty girl wear everything she was given?"

He shouldn't have put them on. He knew you were going to tease him about it, but still, he did it. To be good and listen to you in the moment sounded nice, but now, he could feel like he could die from humiliation.

"No," he tries to deny, but his voice is breathless, and he swears that you can hear how hard his heart is pounding. You nibble at the open flesh on his back, and he jumps.

"Aw, do I have a little liar?" You coo, and Satoru has the nerve to flip you off. You can't help but laugh at that. "And a brat too, huh?

He shakes his head and lowers his finger defeatedly. He wasn't smiling like you were; in fact, his mouth was dry, and he tries not to fidget. "Can you just do it already?"

"Excited, aren't we?" You prompt, but before he can rebuttal, you flip up the skirt to see the light blue sheer panties you picked out days prior.

"There she is," You tease, and his cock seems to twitch to life at the attention. "I knew you would wear them."

"Yeah, yeah…..Whatever, they just looked comfortable, that's all," He complains, biting his lip and not daring to look at the panties. It embarrassed him too much. You don't feel the need to deny his statements because it was an obvious fact that he was lying through his teeth.

Another glob of precum stains the silk, and you sigh dreamily. "Oh, Satoru, you are so wet; look, it's almost like you are meant to have a pussy!"

He lets out a breathless laugh and then cranes his head to look at you. Gojo, for the first time tonight, is grinning, and you are immediately intrigued. He then leans into your chest and whispers, "Dont need a pussy for you to fuck me."

A shiver runs down your spine, and your mouth goes dry. He always did these sorts of things. Made you question your authority for a moment with his cocky and smooth demeanor. But you didn't mind because it only made things more fun.

You are quick to recover like usual, and a feline-like smile spreads over your features. "That's my girl."

Gojo's eyes seem to light up.

[imtheiliad]

CAN I GO WHERE YOU GO? 920 words | bucktommy | 7x06 coda a/n: look it me! i wrote something :P just a soft little thing that i couldn't stop thinking about <3 idek how long it has been since i published something episode related lol so be kind and gentle if you please<3 title is kinda just what fit best lol, enjoy!

Buck twirls his niece around as music plays quietly over a speaker, barely loud enough to hear over the quiet chatter. He swings her up and deposits her next to her newly-wed parents, and they look perfect. Buck remembers the reception of her first wedding, his cheeks didn’t hurt from smiling then, they do now, and by the looks of it so do Maddie’s. 

“You might want to–” she points toward the chair in the corner that holds his beast of a boyfriend, a bottled water coming dangerously close to slipping from his exhaustion-induced slack grip. 

“I should get him home, the adrenaline has worn off. I love you both so much, and you,” he ruffles Jee’s hair and leans in for a group hug, placing a kiss in his sister's hair. If he thinks too hard about everything he might cry, so he leaves unsaid and squeezes her tight hoping she understands. 

He takes the water bottle from Tommy’s hands and stands between his legs, gently cupping his cheek, “Hey, you are exhausted, let’s get you home. I’ll drive you.” 

And Tommy looks up at him through his eyelashes– how had Buck not noticed those before now? 

“You don’t have to– you should stay here. I’m sure Maddie–” 

“What she wants is for me to get you home safely, and visiting hours are almost over anyway.”

He can see Tommy trying to come up with a rebuttal, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to say something and then gives up.

Buck grabs Tommy’s turnout coat from the back of the chair, folding it over his arm and taking Tommy’s hand in his. 

“Congratulations again you two,” Tommy says as enthusiastically as he can before they turn toward the door.

—

Buck is awkwardly sitting at a table in the common area of Harbor. It feels weird to be in another station without his reason for being there within sight. Tommy had assured him that it was okay for him to sit, and if anyone gave him trouble to tell them that he was there with him. 

“Buckley! What are you doing here?” a familiar voice nearly makes him jump out of his seat. 

“Lu-Lucy! Hi.” 

She stands behind the chair across from him, leaning on her elbows on the top of the chair. And she actually waits for him to answer. 

“I-I’m waiting for Tommy. Had to swing by to drop off his turnouts and get his bag.”

Her brow crinkles a little and she cocks her head, “his shift ended hours ago?” 

“He uhhh, he came to Maddie and Chimney’s wedding. He’s pretty exhausted so I’m driving him home.” 

“He went to a wedding after that fire? In his turnouts?”

“It was at the hospital, wild story really. And I asked him to be there, so he was.” he blushes a little as he watches her do a little math. 

“Donato! Are you bullying Evan?” Buck can hear the smile on Tommy’s lips as he feels his hand land on his shoulder. He looks up at his boyfriend, and Tommy leans down, giving him a light kiss on his cheek. He looks a little brighter after rinsing off in the station showers and changing back into his Henley. 

“I was wondering why you had table privileges,” she smiles. “So, Chim finally got hitched huh, tell him and Maddie congrats for me.”

“Will do,” Buck smiles at her, and she walks away toward what he assumes is the snack cabinet. “Let’s get out of here and you into bed huh?” 

“You read my mind.” 

—

There’s a stillness in the car as they sit in Tommy’s driveway. 

“Evan, come inside. You’ve had a long stressful day too.” 

It’s like Tommy is inside his head, he doesn’t want to be alone tonight, not when he didn’t have to be. 

“And if the texts you sent me last night are any indication, you also did it all while hungover which I’m sure wasn’t all that pleasant. And, besides, you still owe me at least one dance.” 

“You are practically falling asleep sitting up and you want to dance?” 

“It’s what I was promised.” 

TOmmy reaches over the console between them, turning Buck’s face toward him, leans in and kisses him in earnest. Not quite as intense as their greeting earlier and not as gentle as their first. “Just come inside please,” he says just above a whisper against his lips. 

“Okay.” 

—

Buck takes in Tommy’s little house, it’s cozy with some of its years showing. 

“You can move past the entryway Evan. Just take your shoes off.” 

“Oh,” he replies softly, barely having noticed that he was slightly frozen. He toes off his shoes.

“C’mere,” Tommy holds out his hand, a song that Buck doesn’t know the name of softly drifting from the speakers. He lands in his boyfriend’s arms and it feels like it’s exactly where he is supposed to be. One hand on his neck, the other clasped together in Tommy’s, his other hand resting on his waist. It’s mostly quiet as they sway in the middle of the small living room. 

“You know, I never really got the whole hot firefighter thing until I saw you walk through those doors?” 

“You really are adorable.” Tommy smiles.

“Thank you for today. It means a lot that you did really try your damndest and succeeded.” He says earnestly. 

“Of course. It was important to you.” 

And Buck can’t help but kiss him for that, and he does, because he can. 

[informalcrybaby]

One Condition (Travis X Reader)

You were drunk. Very, very drunk. So drunk, that you were absolutely, 100% positive, that the man with the shaven head sitting at the bar was flirting with you through subliminal messages. You had made eye contact around your third Moscow mule, his blue eyes meeting yours for a fraction of a second, a lazy smile turning up the corner of his plush lips before he turned back to his group of friends. At this point in your alcohol journey, you couldn’t remember if you smiled back but you must have done something to make him notice you because just a few minutes later, he ambled over to the jukebox, clicked a few buttons with his long fingers and your favorite song was playing. You weren’t ashamed to admit your eyes were glued to his firm backside for the entirety of his trip back to his barstool.

“He’s totally trying to get my attention.” You slurred before locking your lips around your straw to take a deep pull of your drink.

“Bitch, what?” Murphy, your best friend, cackled from beside you, “You haven’t even said two words to that man.”

“He put on Jack Harlow, Murph,” You stated, throwing your hand over to point at the jukebox, “The man obviously wants to fuck me.”

            Murphy fell into a fit of loud giggles that drew the attention of the four men sitting at the bar. You choked on your drink when the man with the shaved head, and incredible ass, raised his hand in greeting. After you managed to choke down the burning ginger beer in your throat, you managed a small, very awkward wave back.

“Come on,” Murphy said, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet, “Maybe mystery man and his buddies want to play darts.”

“You know I’m not allowed near projectiles when I’m intoxicated,” You scream whisper, fighting against her grip on your hand as you approach the bar, “Don’t you remember the lawn dart incident of 2018.”

“I do,” she acknowledges but quickly adds, drawing you closer into the men’s bubble, “But you’re not wearing high heels and I’ve spotted at least three fire extinguishers since we got here.”

            You have no time for a rebuttal because Murphy has already reached out and tapped the mystery man on the shoulder.

“Hey ladies,” He smiled brightly, his eyes soft in appraisal as he looked you both over, “What can we do for you?” His friends rattle off similar greetings, but you don’t hear one because holy mother of God, the man in front of you is mouth-wateringly sexy.

“Could we interest two fine gentlemen in a friendly game of darts?” Murphy asks, her hand tightening as I try to pull away. How could you have possibly thought, even drunk as a skunk, that this man would want to fuck me?

“Sounds great,” His smile widens, before he stands and dwarfs you both with his impressive size, “But I have one condition”

Your breath hitches as he faces you, and you fall under his suddenly burning gaze. Your body ignites with a fire you had never felt before and instead of fizzling like you normally would, you feel yourself grow bold.

“And what’s that big guy?” You challenge, crossing your arms and leveling your gaze at him. You watch as he pulls between his top lip between his teeth to stifle his smile but when he speaks, his tone is darkly serious.

“You’re on my team honey."

[scribeforchrist-blog]

What Is It ?

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK

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+ Ephesians 4:2 With all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love,

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VERSE OF THE DAY

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+ Exodus 16:4 Then the Lord said to Moses, “I will rain down bread from heaven for you. The people are to go out each day and gather enough for that day. In this way I will test them and see whether they will follow my instructions.

=========================

** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM CONTENT

I AM LISTENING TO GOD

I AM LOVING

I AM FULLY INVESTED IN GOD

********************************

THOUGHTS:

=======================

   Do we always follow God's instructions? Do we always allow him to guide our lives even if we desperately need something, even if what we need is right there? Do we do exactly what he says, or do we wait on him and hear him? Sometimes we don’t because we are like, God will understand and he will, but when God gives us instruction to do this or that for a reason, and sometimes he's waiting to see what we will do, will we hold on to the little instructions or will we ignore him and do exactly what we want to do.

   I can tell you that I have had moments where I had the opportunity to have more. Still, God said to do this and that, and I had to choose: will I do what I like, or will I do what He wants? When I gave my life to God, he asked me to remove this person from my life because they were hindering my growth, and I prayed and prayed because I wasn’t ready to let go of this person. I still tried to fit them into my life and make it right, but the more they stayed around, the more I realized they were unsuitable for my life with Christ.

   I removed this person, and the enemy kept telling me I needed them, and at that moment I felt like I did. The Holy Spirit showed me immediately, why he said they didn’t need to be there. If I can be transparent, that was a tough season in my life. Still, I made it through because I did exactly what he wanted; sometimes, when we do what we want, we cause ourselves to have more hardship and more problems than what is needed, but when we follow God and listen to his instructions, we learn His way is always what's best.

  Verse 6 So Moses and Aaron said to all the Israelites, “In the evening you will know that it was the Lord who brought you out of Egypt,

 From verses 6-9, God tells them I heard your grumbling. I heard what you wanted, but who will you complain to grumble? We talked about his the other week about how when we grumble quenches the Holy Spirit, it doesn’t make him want to be around us, but God heard their complaints and let them know I will take care of you, that’s why if we have a man or woman of God in our lives we must listen to them and not rebuttal against them at every turn, that’s what Moses dealt with, with the Israelites they didn’t want to listen to him and nor did they care to listen to God. Hence, they fussed and complained until they got their way.

  Verse 15-16 When the Israelites saw it, they asked each other, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, “It is the bread the Lord has given you to eat. 16 “This is what the Lord has commanded: ‘Everyone is to gather as much as they need. Take an omer for each person you have in your tent.’ 

      Sometimes, when God blesses us with what he wants us to have, it won't look like what we want; the Israelites said what is this?? Some of us have been blessed now, and we are like, what is this? This isn’t the guy I wanted; I wanted him to be tall; this isn’t the ministry I wanted, I wanted to teach; this isn’t the job I wanted; I wanted an office job, and the words come right out of our mouth, what is this and he's saying this is what I want you to have, what he wants for us is what's best for us what he gives us will sustain us will help us will provide. Still, sometimes, we look at what something looks like and do not want what God has provided for us, and we should be content. Are you content? Are you asking what is it ??

 Verse 17, the Israelites did as they were told; some gathered much, some little. 18 When they measured it by the omer, the one who gathered much did not have too much, and the one who gathered little did not have too little. Everyone had gathered just as much as they needed.

   Some did exactly what God wanted; some got too much, and some got too little. See, we must listen to God. It might seem like it's too much or that we shouldn’t do this or that, but whatever God tells us to do, we must listen to him and not our thoughts.

 Are you still thinking about what it is? Why didn’t I get what I wanted? Maybe what we wanted didn’t fit the situation; look at me. What I wanted to stay wasn’t what God wanted. I had every opportunity to do what I wanted, but I did what God wanted and what he wanted, which hurt. I'm not going to lie to you: sometimes, when we do what he wants, it's going to hurt, it's going to make us feel a certain way, but we must place that

hurt on the side, we must place that emotion to the side and do what he wants of us.

   Jesus had emotions; he felt anger, but he didn’t sin; he felt sadness but he didn’t let his emotions break. The journey he was on, and we are all on a journey, but what is your journey saying? No better yet, what is God saying to you right now? Is it to stay? Is it to go? Is it listen? Whatever he’s telling you, don’t say what is it . Don’t say what is this you gave me. Say, thank you, God, for what you gave me and for giving me the right heart. We can’t allow our emotions to always steer us in the direction we want, and we can’t let situations do it, but you know what we can do: allow God to guide us through it and hear him.

   ***Today, the Holy Spirit showed us that what’s in our lives is out there and what he’s trying to take out; whatever God gave us, we can’t sit back and say what is it ; we must wait for instructions and follow ,what was one of the problems with the Israelites they wanted was, what they wanted ,but they wanted God to give it to them but what God is trying to give us, is more of what fits his will. Still, many of us are so fixated on what we want that we miss our blessing, and when we do this, we grieve the Holy Spirit with grumbling.

  The Holy Spirit teaches us daily that if we are willing to listen, life isn’t just a once-a-week journey; it’s an everyday journey filled with change, and we must be willing to walk in those changes. We must be willing to hear him, and the blessing God has for us could be held up by the grumbling, by the way, we dismiss what he’s doing now; some of us don’t have what we want because we are too busy searching for Gods voice in other things when he spoke to us but we are ignoring Him because we are too busy saying WHAT IS IT, stop saying this and say God what do you need from me in this season at this moment in this journey today! ©Seer~ Prophetess Lee

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PRAYER

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Heavenly Father, we thank you for everything and for giving us what you have given us. Father, today, we are asking what do you need from us. We are asking you to help change how we look at things, help us look at you, and help us stay focused on you! Lord, we love you and ask you to forgive us if we are grumbling; forgive us if we aren’t content. Lord, help us to be content with your blessing and help us to hear you right now, in Jesus Name, Amen

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REFERENCES

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+ Luke 12:15 He told them, “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.”

 

+ 1 Timothy 6:6 But godliness with contentment is great gain,

 

+ Matthew 6:33 But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.

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FURTHER READINGS

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Proverbs 21

2 Corinthians 10

Hebrews 2

Leviticus 21

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[ameliaenya707]

So I was playing around with stalker keigo bot and he decided to defend endeavor on our first date

Here's a transcript

he froze as you spoke, his hand tightening on your thigh even more involuntarily at your words. Just hearing you call Endeavor an abuser made him seethe. He always hated when people said anything negative about his hero, and how dare you want to get rid of his treasured Endeavor merch.

"Don’t you dare talk about Endeavor like that. You have no right to speak ill of the Number One Hero. He will always be the best hero to ever exist.”

"But his wife literally came forward"

he clenched his teeth at your rebuttal. He didn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe that his idol was abusive. That perfect hero he’d looked up to since he was young could never be an abuser.

"His wife is a liar. She made everything up, to ruin his perfect image. Endeavor is a good man, and a damn fine hero. The best.”

"I guess you like him despite the allegations”

he clenched his teeth even more as you spoke, anger starting to rise in him even more.

"Damn right, I support him. I’ve never seen a single bad thing about him except for this false allegations from his ex-wife. She’s trying to ruin his perfect image, and it’s working on people like you who stupidly believe what they say online.”

Pulls soap box out

Honestly on par. I DONT THINK HED GO THAT FAR. But im mad at hori for not exploring deeper that his literally idol who saved him from abuse was abusing his own family. Also Honestly despite it not being on par for KEIGO, it think it's a little fitting for YAN!keigo. Yan!keigo is...well...abusive. so It would make sense for him to not recognize this behavior or feel the need to defend endeavor. He dosnt recognize he's abusive, he just "wants you to see how much he loves you". Ect ect.

(Also ngl I would pull a "Well what if it was me?", like let's be manipulative too)

Steps off soap box

[florianjace]

˙ ˖ ✶ Andre

It was alarming. The way Florian remembered that first chance encounter, dimly lit rooms and music that made it all but impossible to hear. Silhouettes of people milling about, and then there was this one man. Pompous, exuberant, indulgent, haughty, narcissistic, annoying, cute, Andre. His name sounded so bitter sweet on his lips, like the ghost of a kiss that should've been that very first night but as the events played out, he'd never admit how he wished to replay that same night over and over to see if there could a miraculous different outcome. Then he remembered the vexing words, the veiled insults in the form of compliments, and how Florian rolled his eye unimpressed, over the conversation but most of all scared. Terrified of what he felt in those very few moments where they were forced against each other in a crowded room, and how he realized for a mere moment, they fit perfectly together.

"I was about to say I could show you better than I could tell you," Florian smirked, knowing that all of his figure skating gear had been stoned to perfection and how'd he'd taken design lessons so he could do them himself. There was not a single costume that didn't enhance his assets, and how truly wonderful he felt on the ice. "Oh I truly must," he chuckled, playing into the game. "You really do believe all eyes are on you in a room, huh? Hope you keep that same grace and confidence when all those eyes see you on the ice, because my eyes will definitely be glued to you."

As he reached the bar past Florian he took a heavy breath, reading a text from his best friend that asked what the hell was going on between him and Andre. An assortment of emojis that signified any sort of attraction felt offensive in this instance as he replied swiftly and glared back at his friend. People were truly losing their mind if they thought he had any sort of interest in this man. But he was playing this game to ensure he could hold something over Andre Etienne Temple. As he walked back he let his fingers travel up and down Andre's arm, exploring the so called bicep the man had been flexing prior. "Hmm, just as I thought, very skinny, needs a lot of work," he giggled before sitting down with another drink.

At the rebuttal he simply smiled, looking at Andre from over his drink. "It's simple, you'd love to have a win over me and make me admit that you truly can do anything, mister athlete." he teased. "I can think of a few things I want," he mused, his finger circling the rim of his glass he shot the man a glance. Rummaging through his belongings he felt a bit of panic when he couldn't find his keys. "Fuck! this is just what I needed," he blurted out as he stared up at the ceiling taking a deep breath. "Guess I'll find a hotel for myself tonight because I locked myself out of my place and my roommate won't be back for 3 days. First time this has ever happened to me, so don't try to rub anything in, Andre."

Andre was constantly perplexed by his own feelings towards Florian, ever since their first gritty encounter at a crowded party in someone's cramped Brooklyn apartment. It was dark, everyone was already drunk, the lights were low, and the introduction was brusque at best, but the air between them buzzed with an energy that Andre didn't understand. For starters, Florian was far from his usual type-- girls who drooled over him and guys he met at the gym. There was one long term relationship in his early twenties, with a boy from his senior data analysis course in college, but when he refused to go public with him after a year of being madly, secretly in love, and Andre had been sworn off of 'feelings' ever since. All he allowed himself to care about these days was work, hookups, his clothes, and having a nice looking grid on instagram. And Florian, in all his 5'5", figure skating, shit-talking glory, was a direct threat to the walls he'd carefully constructed. Andre was about to retort, something mean with a flirty edge, when Florian all but forced him to imagine him in a figure skating costume, the spandex clinging to his strong thighs, the pronounced curve of his arched back, the outline of his-- okay, stop, Andre, that's enough. "Hm, I don't believe you," he arches a brow, shifting uncomfortably in his chair as he tries to think of something less.... stimulating, "I guess you'll have to show me, then, won't you?" "See, I want to be insulted, but you seem to have a lot of pent up feelings about my biceps, don't you?" Andre chuckled, shaking his head as he smirked tauntingly at the boy. The smirk was promptly wiped away, though, at the taunting whisper in his ear as Florian got up to get himself another drink. ET? Part of him knew what that meant, but he wouldn't admit to himself that Florian could know him well enough. Andre pointedly had to stop himself from watching the boy walk away, turning his attention forcefully to the distant conversation of their friends at the other end of the table. He noticed his closest girl friend giving him a too-knowing look over the rim of her diet coke, and he glared at her in response. She just laughed at him, in that way that let him know that they would be ubering home together so that he could tell her in no uncertain terms that he did not have the hots for Florian, absolutely not, that's preposterous!! With a suspicious look on his hard-lined face, Andre listened to Florian's proposal, a brow arching at the terms of the bet. "And uh," the smirk returned full force, "What makes you think I want something from you, then?" He knows what he's doing, daring Florian to say what they've both silently agreed not to say, but he certainly won't be the one to break the ice (pun intended). "Alright, bet." Andre extends a strong hand across the table to shake on it, "And don't worry. You won't have to worry about figuring out what you want from me."

[kithtaehyung]

basketball (3tan) (m) | myg

title: basketball (the weekend, pt. 1)  pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party  rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au  summary: running into yoongi after weeks, you realize that you finally get to see him again. at least, you thought so.   warnings: cursing, tension, angst yall lmfao i am so sorry but trust the process ok, also a bunch of stuff happens in this one, protected, breast play, fingering, so much overthinking, orange yoongi is always a warning in itself, did i mention angst? note: the amount. of times. i wanted to talk about his chapter LMAO just know that it’s been ROUGH. more screaming in the author’s note at the end but yeah. lmfao. as always, thank you to my lovely betas @lavienjin​ and @joheunsaram​ for putting up with my many drafts and for the incredible support!! :’)) note 2: if you haven’t gotten around to the other three tangerines fics yet, i highly encourage you to read those first. it would make more sense!  drop date: february 8th, 2022, 7:17pm est word count: 14k !

-

-

Idiot🙄 [7:02pm]: Are you home? 

You [7:04pm]: Just got back

Idiot🙄: Incoming Call 

“Hey.” 

“Hey, can you bring us a ball? There’s one in the garage.” 

You groan while looking at the entryway around your exhausted bones. “I just got inside.” 

“So? We’re not far.” 

“Then come get it!” Why the hell is he making you do it then? He’s got two working legs!

Your brother is quick with the rebuttal. 

“Fuck that! We can’t leave ‘cus the court’ll get taken.” 

Thumping your bag down on a nearby counter, you hear some audible sounds on the line—one of them definitely Jimin’s distinct laugh. “Where are you?” 

“We’re at—Oh, Yoong, did you find a pump?” 

Oh, fuck. Yoongi’s there? 

Immediately, you wanna teleport. 

“How do you not have one in your—Whatever, she’s bringing one.” 

As someone that absolutely didn’t say anything close to agreement yet, you scoff on instinct. But… an opportunity to see Yoongi? On a basketball court of all places? You should’ve been leaving ten minutes ago. 

You remember watching them while growing up on the days your brother begrudgingly took you along. While you sat on the sidelines busy with your actual life on your phone, the shouts and squeaks of sneakers served as annoying background noise. 

Though, you remember with a smile that you did develop a tiny—only tiny, miniscule even—crush on Yoongi back then. The frightening mix of confidence and cockiness was hard not to be drawn to, especially when he was able to back up all the shit talk. 

“You comin’?” 

Shit, you didn’t even realize you weren’t talking! Recovering quickly while inwardly cursing your own damn mind, you huff, “Ass. I’ll change then head over.” 

“Thanks! We’re across from the rec.” 

“K. Wait, where in the garage?” 

“Tub under the bikes.” 

“K.”

Locking your door, you make your way over to the court a few blocks over with a ball under your arm and a canvas bag slung over your shoulder. You figured you’d bring them some water since, by precedence, they normally stayed out and played for hours. 

Are the bottles also another excuse to have any sort of moment with Yoongi? Maybe.

But who are you kidding? The outfit you also changed into fit under that same urge—an outfit that you have been wanting to wear but didn’t have the guts to thus far. 

After a few moments of worrying too much, you justified the clothes on the other plans you have for tonight. Didn’t make it anything to do with seeing anyone in particular. 

Just practicing some confidence. That’s all. 

After a good handful of minutes, you finally make it to the fenced court and immediately spot your brother leaning on the metal partition, greeting him with a slight bit of salt in your words.

As soon as he turns, he gives you a once over with furrowed brows. “What the hell are you wearing? You walked all the way here in that?”  

You ignore him as you put your bag down on the sidewalk. Tossing your ball over the high barrier, you instead ask with a grunt, “Aren’t you leaving tomorrow?” 

Thank god you launch it over the top in one try. It’s easily caught while he responds, “Yeah, that’s… That’s why we’re playing now.” 

“You won’t be sore?” 

“Relax. I’m not old.” 

“I am.” 

Oh, fuck. 

Fuck.

On the other side of your sibling, Yoongi appears out of nowhere, lifting sweaty arms to hang equally drenched hands on chain links. As you take in his wet locks, you have to rein in every ounce of power from the universe just to not break when he simply says, 

“Hi.” 

“Your hair.” You blink once. Twice. It’s the same color you saw on one of those hair dye boxes in his bathroom that day. And what’s worse: it reminds you of goddamn tangerines. “Wow.” 

As your brother launches into a huge rant about him dyeing it now of all times, Yoongi grins lopsided at your taking in the sight of his transformation. 

Asshole! He fucking knows how good he looks right now!

When you turn to face your brother, your eyes betray you and linger on the nuisance a bit longer. “What do you mean now of all times?” 

“He’s just got—”

“Relax,” Yoongi defends himself. “They won’t mind.” 

“I guess. But ever since you dyed it, your phone’s been blowing up.” He turns around. “Jimin! Here!” 

As your brother throws the ball to the other person you know on the court, he launches into a brief moment of nostalgia, the hollow bounces and his subject change almost enough to distract you from what he just said. 

“It’s been so long since you went orange.” 

Yoongi smiles a bit as he nods, wiping his hands with the bottom of his shirt. It’s cute how his downcast eyes soften a tad. What was that all about? 

You really want to know, so you listlessly ask when the last time was while focusing on the court behind them. 

And while your downfall watches Jimin lazily toss layups, you get a response from your sibling, “Damn. I don’t even remember. Seven years ago?”

“Eight,” Yoongi corrects offhandedly. “And you were just as bad.” 

“Hey!” 

Your brother laughs, and that’s when you wonder if you should join them on the other side of the fence, onto the court where some local bleachers have been placed. 

Besides, you still want to know what your brother meant by Yoongi’s phone… The feeling that’s developing in your stomach isn’t good in the slightest. 

“We thought we were hot shit, huh?” 

“You still think you are,” you scoff, earning a tsk and a chuckle. It’s then that you remember what else you have with you—something you need to step onto the court to give them anyway. “Oh, wait. I brought water.” 

They both watch as you fetch your bag and make your way to the fence opening, and you find this reunion a bit strange given your completely different relationships with the both of them. What’s even more awkward is the fact that your brother definitely doesn’t know about the other—if you can call whatever you have with Yoongi a relationship in the first place. 

Now that you think about it, what would the both of you even be? Nothing, right? Close to it, at least. The phone call a couple weeks ago showed that there was something there, but there hasn’t been much contact since then. Minimal contact, actually, even though his phone is apparently constantly lit.

Fuck.

This is hard.

Once your shoes step onto colored concrete, Jimin comes jogging up while holding your ball. His voice is light enough to lift your mood back to normal. “Hi!”

“Hey!” You beam a smile his way before walking up next to your sibling. 

Holy hell, it’s taking everything in you to not look at the orange-haired demon beside him as you hand out the bottles, feeling everyone’s sun-drenched skin radiating heat in waves. “How long have you been here without a ball?” 

“Not long. Someone just brought a flat one,” the same fiend cuts in with a drone before anyone else can answer. His eyes are aimed straight at your brother, so yours follow, filled with disappointment. 

“Wow. I even explained myself?” 

“You did,” Jimin responds immediately. “But it’s still your fault.”

You laugh before checking your phone, and your sibling and Yoongi use that time to take the ball from Jimin before heading to the closer basket. 

Damn. As much as you want to watch Yoongi in his element, you still need to get back home and drive to the theatre. Sighing, you state, “Well, I should head out.” 

“You aren’t gonna stay?”

Your head and two others turn Jimin’s way, and you falter before explaining, eyes snapping to Yoongi for a brief moment, “Didn’t plan on it. I’m seeing a movie.” 

“Oh, yeah! Taehyung told me about that.” He checks his watch before adorning a playful expression, shamelessly running his gaze along your body before providing an excuse, 

“You have time. Just tell him to meet you here.” 

Ah, fuck. Your brother is already piercing Jimin with suspicion. You hate when he gets this way so quickly. 

But, the flirt technically gave you another chance to do what you wanted in the first place. If anything, this would make your intentions a lot more subtle. “Umm… I guess I could.” 

“Yay! Watch me win.”

“No chance.”

Suddenly, someone is next to you picking up a bottle resting by your feet, and you don’t need to look to see who it is—the visceral reaction you have to their presence is enough to clue you in. How that’s possible, you have no fucking clue. 

When did Yoongi even leave his bottle there? And did he leave it on purpose? From what you saw during a quick scan of the court, his stuff is resting on the bleachers…

Your heart flutters while Jimin answers with mirth. “Is that so?” 

Yoongi only raises his eyebrows in response, mouth occupied with the water already. 

Goddamn it, you can’t look at him for too long, if at all right now. You think you would’ve been able to handle the same Yoongi since that’s what you were expecting. But this? This Yoongi with hair so loud that it’s creating another layer of confidence around him that you’re even more drawn to? Fucking hell, you may just turn down Jimin’s offer. 

But the man refocuses on you while grinning, tilting his head Yoongi’s way. “He’s always acting tough, isn’t he?” 

“Seems so,” you quickly agree, and you hear a brief snort on your side. 

And neither of them make any move to leave. 

But the stalemate ceases in an instant. There’s a clunk of a ball hitting a rim before your brother shouts, “Hey! Hurry the hell up!” 

“Kay!” 

Jimin jogs away with a smile, but while Yoongi follows suit, you blurt, 

“I like it.”

He turns. 

“The hair.” 

And he just smirks at you before shooting a wink, and your body almost breaks into pieces as you make your way to the bleachers. 

Finding a random spot on the third to bottom row, you immediately check your phone to make your eyes focus on anything else. Besides, you need to text Taehyung and let him know about Jimin’s derailing of your plans. You’ll take any distraction you can get. 

Your ride’s reply comes seconds later. 

Taeee😪 [7:20pm]: I am going to fight him 😐

Taeee😪 [7:20pm]: See you there.

As you’re cycling through apps, you start to hear a bunch of other voices, so you lift your head to take in the crowd coming in. You’ve seen some of them around but a lot of them are guys you haven’t seen before. Must just be the changes of the neighborhood since you last lived here. 

Yoongi is back to his smug ways on the court, eyebrow quirking before he easily cuts through defenders to score. If he doesn’t take shots himself, the passes he makes to your brother and Jimin leave his hands just as smoothly, some of them sick enough to get people on the sidelines to react. 

During the time you wait for Taehyung, more things happen. More people start filing in, the lights get flickered on when it starts to get dark, and a stray ball that bounces right towards you hits the front of the bleachers before Yoongi quickly follows—the expression he discreetly aims your way enough to send your inappropriate thoughts into overdrive. 

You haven’t felt this drawn to a sport in your entire goddamn life. 

Of course, it’s more the player than anything else. The way he laughs while pointing at fuck-ups, the times he wipes his forehead with the top of his shirt, and hell, even the way he plants his hands on his knees. Everything is normally so mundane if done by anyone else. But when Yoongi does them? You find yourself clenching your thighs together and trying to calm your erratic heart rate. 

He looks like he’s genuinely having fun.

You love that.

And the game goes on, with your brother and them winning and sweating through their shirts. But when it’s abruptly interrupted, the shouts you hear on the court are from randoms you don’t know. 

“That was out.”

“What? Motherfucker, no it wasn’t?” 

“I saw you step out!” 

“You’re lying.”

Finally, Yoongi cuts in, seemingly impatient and wanting things to keep moving. “Just shoot for it.”

He’s quickly overshadowed by the others again.

“I’m not shooting for that. It’s still our ball.”

“Stop holding up the game, bro. Shoot for it.” 

“No! No.”

It seems that this conversation will keep going. Because men. And pride.

You feel eyes on you while this exchange is happening and, while you think it’s Taehyung finally arriving, they’re actually coming from some guys on the other side of the court—the side that everyone stopped on. They’re talking amongst themselves, and who knows what the hell they’re saying. 

Ugh. 

Just focus on the game. You didn’t expect this much attention just sitting on the sidelines. 

As you plant your feet on the riser below you, you’re just wondering if they know about your older sibling. 

Because if they don’t stop being so obvious, they’re about to. 

The conversation is still happening about whose ball it is, and you see Yoongi walk up to the same group of people and say something before lifting his thumb back to the court. 

When one of the guys nods to him and joins the game, he gives a look to your brother before lazily walking… Your way? 

What’s he doing? 

Oh, yes. His stuff is on one side of the bleachers. Maybe he’s getting water. 

But wait. Why did he get someone to play for him? Why is he settling on the bottom bench, leaning back so that one of his elbows lies next to your shoes? 

Your heart is racing as much as the drops of sweat running down his neck. 

Holy fuck, he looks good.

“You okay?” You ask downward, taking in his drenched hair and heaving chest. 

A thought occurs to you then. A truth so exhilarating that you might burst if you don’t keep yourself in check. 

You get to see him tomorrow. 

You don’t know what to do. 

Yoongi wipes his neck while watching the game finally start back up again. When he answers, his voice is so low that you lean down a bit to hear. “Oh, yeah. Just tired.” 

He certainly doesn’t look tired. A little winded, sure, but not tired.

“Ah, I see,” you respond, planting your hands outside of your thighs. “You got a lot better.” 

He turns his head to look up at you. “You think so?”

And you want to tell him something else, but all that comes out of your mouth is, “Mmhmm.”

A corner of his mouth lifts before he shifts his attention back to the court. “Thanks. We started playing in a league so. Been playing a lot more recently. Damn rusty, though.”

Oh. You already know about the league because your brother mentioned it before, but… What is this feeling you have? Hearing just a sliver of Yoongi’s life outside of where you normally see him? You’re amazed he even said something. Truthfully, it’s also a bit shocking that it slipped out of his mouth so easily. 

Maybe it’s from adrenaline. You have seen people be a lot more chatty during games and today is obviously no different. 

“I heard about the team! I didn’t know you were on it.” 

A nod.

Grinning, you add, “Now I really won’t come to games.” 

Yoongi’s shoulders bob a bit and, though you can’t directly see his expression from where you’re sitting, his lifted cheekbone is enough of a hint that he’s highly amused. 

Fuck. 

You really want to jump his damn bones. 

A scary follow-up thought spears your brain: what if you actually don’t see him tomorrow? Like your brother just said: his phone’s been blowing up. What does that mean for you? Does Yoongi even still remember? 

Shit shit shit. 

You need to confirm now while the both of you are a ways from anyone else. 

“Yoo—”

“Hey!” 

Both you and the man below you snap your heads to the sound, watching as Taehyung walks along the concrete sideline before hopping one foot onto your bleacher. As the metal clang rings in your ears, you offer a smile. 

“Hey, Tae,” you greet as Yoongi lifts himself into a sitting position, slightly put out that your confirmation with him was interrupted. “Took you awhile.” 

His affronted expression is priceless. “I’m sorry. I was told to make a detour before even getting up! What’s up, Yoong.” 

“Sup.” 

You groan. “Your plans weren’t the only ones changed. I had to get these dummies a ball.” 

“Leave me outta this.” 

“Says the basketball player without a pump in his car.” 

Yoongi briefly tosses you a grin and scrunched nose over his shoulder, and you feel another skip of your heartbeat, wondering how long it will take until this man ends you completely. 

Taehyung’s voice starts out slow as he continues, “Well, if you’re ready, we can go.” 

“Yeah!” you chirp, not ready to leave Yoongi looking like that at all. “Let’s go.” 

As your shoes clunk along the bleachers before you step onto solid ground, you shoot him a smile over your shoulder. “Bye, Yoongi.”

“See ya,” he responds before his eyes flicker to your feet and back up again. 

Suddenly incredibly shy, you clear your throat before walking in stride with Taehyung, waving goodbye to your brother and Jimin. 

When you head out shortly after, you turn back one more time. 

And suck in a breath. 

Because Yoongi’s already turned away, drinking from his bottle while aiming a look to the other side of the court.

As you settle into Taehyung’s car, you spew some much needed venting about work and how everything is just inherently unfair. 

“You need to find something else, bro,” he sighs while starting the engine. “I keep telling you. You’re too smart for that place.”

“I’m looking, I’m looking,” you sigh, knowing that you can’t refute anything he’s saying. The only issue is that you want to find a career instead of a job, and the only options you’ve come across since graduating are the latter. 

It could also be because you’re picky. But that’s besides the point. 

While Taehyung starts to list some options—one of them definitely a joke but still making you embarrassed—you feel a vibration in your lap. Picking up your device, you see who’s on the lock screen and unlock it as quickly as you can. 

Yoongi [7:56pm]: Thanks for the water :) 

It’s such a simple message. Harmless, too. But you still can’t help your face from heating and your fingers from squeezing your phone a little tighter. 

An old, mellow song fills the car while you type your reply. 

You [7:58pm]: You’re welcome !

And the second one you send is made purely out of your own impatience to see him again. 

You [7:58pm]: I wish I could’ve stayed… 

After it slips into the thread, you wonder if you crossed a line before saying screw it altogether. Your brother and Jimin are most likely still on the court anyways, and it’s definitely not a lie. Maybe you’re gauging if he feels the same?

Or do you just hope that he responds to your texts out of the many messages he’s been receiving lately? God, that’s so lame, but it would at least help ease your mind if he did. 

Then again, he did text you first… But maybe that was—

“What was that all about?” 

A quick cough leaves your mouth before you brace your chest, hitting it twice. Fuck, you completely forgot you aren’t alone! Clearing the shame from your throat, you decide to tell part of the truth. “Oh. Yoongi just said thank you for the water.” 

Tae just lifts a brow along with his lips. “Mm.” 

“What?” 

He slowly slides his eyes your way, checking his mirror on your side before making a turn. You feel tingles along your spine when he airily responds, “I won’t tell.” 

“Tell what?” 

Taehyung gives you a look before droning, “Really.” 

“I’m not—Whatever you’ve got in that head of yours, it is incorrect.” 

“Uh huh. So the two of you aren’t fucking?” 

Your jaw drops to your thighs. “We aren’t!” 

“Mm. But you plan on it.” 

What the fuck! How does he know?

“Tae!”

“Next time,” your scarily accurate friend advises, “Don’t make it so obvious. He checks you out all the time but, if you do the same, then people’ll talk.” When he gives your outfit a once-over, you shrivel up at his smirk. “This makes sense now.” 

“He… I…” 

Well then. You didn’t know Yoongi regarded you like that enough for others to notice. Then again, Taehyung is the most intuitive out of your friends. If anyone was going to suspect anything miles ahead of everyone else, it would be him. 

He simply smiles and shakes his head. “Don’t worry. I won’t pry.” 

Come to think of it, you didn’t exactly tell anyone all the details about that day. Sure, you’ve mentioned to your girlfriends that something happened—they picked up on your glow even days afterwards, so you had to spill. 

But you didn’t dare mention a name. Not even a description, as much as they hounded you to describe his dick. 

In this case, however… Taehyung seems to be convinced that he’s right already. 

And he is. 

So maybe you can actually admit what the hell happened to someone. The truth. It can finally leave the walls of your chest and take temporary rest in someone else’s, and possibly make your steps a bit lighter in the process. 

You take a deep breath.

“We did. Once.” 

Taehyung immediately slaps his steering wheel, triumphant and making you flinch. “Hah! I knew it! Wait, only once?” 

The scenery outside your window is suddenly super interesting. “Yeah.”

“…When?”

“Last summer.”

One song changes to another as your friend pauses. “Oh, damn. I didn’t peg you as the one and done type.”

“Nah. It wasn’t like that,” you sigh. Reminiscent of what that day truly meant to you, you allow a fond smile to grace your face. “It was actually really nice.” 

An even longer pause takes place, but you’re too busy replaying the events while watching buildings and cars and lights flash by. With the soft music accompanying, you’re briefly content and simply someone along for a night ride. 

But Tae’s inquisitive hum pulls you back in.

Turning to him, you question, “What?”

The man is contemplative, and it looks like he’s gauging whether to say what he wants to or not. But you wait—like you always do—because you can’t budge the sudden fear in your gut. 

Finally, he speaks, “You know how he is, yeah? Never leaving parties or whatever alone?”

“…Yeah.”

“I started noticing something off but.. I never knew what it was. And Jimin didn’t know, either. Which was even weirder.” 

“Uh huh… And?”

“I dunno. He just started checking out early. Like he would just dip or. Check his phone then bounce.” Taehyung flicks his turn signal on shortly before changing lanes. “I thought he actually had a regular or something. And after your little freak-out—which was cute, by the way—I thought it could’ve been you.”

Your heart plummets. “Oh… It’s not.”

“Mm.” 

Goddamn it. First the phone situation with him and now this. Of course you know Yoongi is the type of guy you can expect this from, but… Shit. You feel like an idiot right now for thinking something would be different in your case. 

May as well get some questions out of the way. If this thing you planned happens at all, you need to be prepared. Licking your lips, you point out the obvious with a sigh, “You’ve been around him more than I have.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Does he… Hmm.” 

“What?”

Shaking your head, you both like how you can talk about this with someone and also dread the answer you’ll receive. “You think he’s the type to kick people out? After… You know?”

Tae aims a sly grin your way. “Is that what he did to you?”

You reach over to playfully tug on his sleeve before scoffing, “No!” But after thinking about it, technically Yoongi did send you off, but the circumstances called for it. “I mean. That was different.” 

And your friend hums, unconvinced. “But yeah, from what I’ve heard, that’s usually what happens. At least, if they end up at his place. Pretty quick, too.” 

“Ah,” you respond, heart bleeding. 

“Why? You really are planning on fucking, huh?” 

“Tae!” 

“Just because I’m right about your upcoming appointme—”

“It’s nothing like that!”

“Uh huh. And you’re just gonna be sitting on your single ass once your brother leaves.” 

Fuck. He’s got you completely had and you barely said a thing. 

You definitely need to be more discreet. It’s fine if Taehyung is the only one that knows, but if other people do? There’s no way it can be kept from your brother then. And that will turn out fine for no one. 

Your silence draws itself out long enough for Tae to say with slight pity, “You’re lucky I like listening instead of talking.” 

“I dunno,” you bite. “You’re being awfully fucking chatty tonight.” 

The laugh that erupts is completely Taehyung, his head throwing back a bit in the process. It’s enough to pull one side of your mouth up. 

You’re fine. You know you can trust him. And you were right: you do feel a bit lighter now that the truth exists past your heart and Yoongi’s place. 

“Just be careful with that one, okay? You know how he is. Just like your brother: doesn’t do relationships and all that.”

With a slow nod, you’re back to looking out the window, hiding the cracks in your visage. “I know.” 

“Does anyone else know?”

“No.”

“Mm.” 

Fuck. The feeling is back. The dark, simmering feeling that you’ve made a mistake is stewing, and you need to try your hardest to not let it consume you. 

But this is incredibly difficult to do once you see that you were left on Read.

The movie crawled by, a temporary distraction from your thoughts. 

It would’ve done a better job if it wasn’t so shitty, though. Both you and Taehyung now stomp out of the theatre, pissed and cursing the people that recommended it. 

“That had to be a prank,” you surmise, disgruntled and fishing out your phone before you even get to the exit doors. 

“Pranks I can respect. But if that was actually something they liked? I am blocking them.” 

Amusement bubbles from your throat. “Tae! Those are your friends. We do not block friends.” 

“We do if they have shitty taste in movies.” 

When you both cross the entryway of the building, your miffed companion spots the ticket booth. Determined, he proclaims, “Hold on. I’m getting our money back.” 

“Wow,” you laugh. “Good luck! I’ll be here.” 

It’s after you watch his taut strides that you finally unlock your phone to see any notifications. 

Some group chats, some emails, other random apps. 

But of course, your finger zeroes in on the one that has your heart beating again. A notification you wanted but didn’t expect to get.

Yoongi [9:52pm]: You missed out. I put on a show

You berate yourself for smiling at his overflow of confidence. But you’re also relieved as hell that he even responded in general. Maybe things aren’t as awful as you’re creating them in your mind. 

Hell, he could’ve been playing that whole time! 

You need to chill the hell out. Stop worrying. Just go with the flow of things. 

You [10:01pm]: Just got out of the movie !! And I knew you would.

Surprisingly, he responds quick. 

Yoongi [10:02pm]: How’d it go?

You [10:02pm]: Boring af. Tae’s trying to get our money back. 

Yoongi [10:03pm]: Damn. Sorry :(

When you look up, you see Taehyung sauntering back, knowing he was successful one way or another. 

Smiling, you observe, “I see we got what we wanted?” 

“Yup! But also…” He wiggles his phone. 

“Oh, my god. You got their number?” 

Taehyung beams a wide smile your way before you both leave the theatre. “And a free movie date.” 

Your eyes roll heavenward. “I dunno how you do it.” 

“Easy,” he puffs. “Confidence.”

“That’s it?”

“Ah, no. Confidence, and saying what you want.” 

You level your eyes with his. “It can’t be that simple.”

“Try it, babe. I promise it works.”

The car ride is more animated this time as you both rant about the film and ones that are scarily similar and equally terrible. 

As you look at your phone, you see that Yoongi actually texted you again, so you rush to answer—not without getting a chuckle from Taehyung. 

Yoongi [10:06pm]: What’s next?

You [10:20pm]: HOME

You [10:21pm]: Work early tomorrow. I shouldn’t have gone out tonight tbh 

It’s not until Taehyung drops you off at your house and you’re heading to your room that you get a reply. 

Yoongi [10:38pm]: Fuckin saaame. I’m passing tf out soon

Interesting, given it’s a Thursday night. Which part is he agreeing with? Work? Not going out? Both? 

What could it mean if he agreed to either one? Maybe he is with his regular—if that’s even a thing? 

Fuck! Stop thinking about any of this. This whole chilling out thing is clearly not working for you and you’re pretty sure stress is digging trenches in your forehead. 

Sighing, you set your bag down in your desk chair before deciding on a neutral reply, hating how you’re putting up a front.

You [10:40pm]: Okayyy gn!!

Yoongi [10:42pm]: gn :)

It’s after you get his reply that you realize: you went the entire day without a clear confirmation on tomorrow. 

And no matter what you try, your thoughts and worries still plague you well into the early, pink and yellow hues of the next morning.

“You got everything?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“Okay. Because last time—”

“Relax. I checked.” 

“Okay. How long are you out this time?” 

“A whole goddamn week,” your brother grunts as he rolls his suitcase past the front door. “But the hotel is apparently fucking sick so. Whatever.” 

“Nice.”

“You sure you’re good?”

“Me? A functioning adult? Hardly.”

He shakes his head. “Well, you better ring me up if something happens. Or Yoongi.” 

You still your hand on its way to the doorknob. “Oh. Yeah, okay.” 

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” 

“Cool.” He pats your head before he turns to his ride. “See ya.” 

“See ya.” 

You [8:32am]: Hey ! I’ll be free after work. Are we still..?

Staring at your phone four hours after you sent Yoongi that text, you deflate before moving on with your work day.

While it’s true that both of you decided on today, that’s the last you heard of it and it’s been days since then. Weeks.

It was only after hours of back and forths with yourself that you decided to finally send him a confirmation text. But the fact that he hasn’t said anything yet—or even read it—makes a bit of squirming happen under your skin. 

Your thoughts mirror what you thought about on the basketball court: does Yoongi even remember?

Does he even still care?

Going through the motions of your day, you feel your hopes dwindle by the second, wondering if you’ll even make it to the end of your shift. 

But when you finally get a response, you quickly decide that no, you won’t. 

Because the text you receive is enough to make your heartbeat skip thrice. 

Yoongi [2:02pm]: 🍊🍊🍊 :)

Fuck. Fuck, it’s happening. 

The whole day at work after that seems to go terribly, awfully slow. Like some random entity bends time just for you because it knows you’re looking forward to something. 

But when you finally leave and practically bounce all the way to your car, you shoot a quick text before getting inside. 

You [5:42pm]: I’m out ! Just lemme know.

Again, you get silence. Then a read receipt after a little bit, and then finally, an answer that isn’t half as good as the first one.

Yoongi [6:11pm]: Shit ok. I’ll be out until late ): 

Damn. Well, you can still use this time to relax and calm the bottled up anxiousness you feel in your body. How to busy yourself until then? How to distract yourself from thinking about worst case scenarios?

Finding things to do, the final plan involves showering before getting ready, then blanking out on your phone while a show you’ve seen before plays in the background. Done. 

It takes a bit for you to choose a playlist before getting under running water, but when you do, you let the hot stream coat you as your thoughts run rampant. 

Yoongi and you never said what exactly would happen. All you said was you would go see him, and tonight was the night. Of course, the both of you definitely have one thing in mind, but… You don’t exactly have a plan outside of that. 

Not that it matters. After all, your conversation with Taehyung in his car confirmed that Yoongi doesn’t really leave room for anything afterwards anyway. 

Shit, do you even need to pack anything? Bring anything? Or will this whole thing that you’ve been stressing over for days just last for an hour tops? 

Your sigh mingles with the shower steam. 

Relax. 

Bottom line: it’s happening. 

“But I miss you, too.” 

You lean against the wall, folding your arms and smiling wide.

After you freshen up and get yourself all ready, you settle into a couch in your living room, knowing you’ll fall asleep if you choose your bed instead.

Your phone occupies most of your time, and you periodically check Yoongi’s thread—as if you don’t get notifications for messages. 

But after awhile, the mountain of stress from today and your growing pile of worries weigh down your eyes, and you can’t help but succumb to the sofa after all.

Oh, shit.

You knocked out. What time is it? 

Blinking fast, you groggily check your phone.

10:50pm

Yoongi: 1 Missed Call

“Fuck!” You scramble to click the notification, sitting up and feeling a bit disoriented. 

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

When did you fall asleep? How long has it been? Did he just end up making other plans? 

“Hey.” 

Your breath stutters. “I am so sorry! Fuck, I fell asleep.” 

“S’okay.”

A pause. 

Nothing else from him? 

“How… How was your day?” 

There’s a brief, soft noise on the other line. But you can’t tell what the hell it is. Was it a laugh? A snort? It sounds like he’s in his car, so maybe a random sound?

“It was fine.” 

You blink. 

Something’s off. 

You have no damn clue why, but this isn’t the Yoongi you’re used to. He sounds so unlike himself that you’re starting to get worried. 

But is it okay to ask him what’s wrong? He certainly asks you all the time. 

However, for some reason, you can’t. Maybe you don’t think it’s your space to pry. 

So you try to make the situation light. “At least your day is done! Tomorrow will be fun, right?” 

A long exhale crackles through the line, and you feel yourself crumbling when he responds.

“Same shit tomorrow, too.” 

“Oh,” you whoosh out, feeling your plans slip through your fingers and pricking them on the way down. “I see.” 

You’re silent after that, wallowing in your sudden sadness that your tomorrow isn’t looking as bright as you imagined. What was that about assuming disappointment again? Fuck, you should’ve done it this time. 

“Sorry.” 

Your heart lurches at his gravelly tone, and emotions clash inside your stomach, quickly turning it into a pit of turmoil. “No, no!” you blurt out, hoping he didn’t hear the heaviness you feel. “It’s okay. Things happen.” 

You hear another sigh, but it seems forced. 

And you don’t know what to do, how to react. There’s definitely something up and you have no idea how to approach this. To notice his blasé demeanor suddenly do a one-eighty is a bit jarring. 

“It’s okay, Yoongi,” you finally decide to say, whispering. “If you’re busy—”

“I’m not busy right now.” 

A car door thumps shut on the line, both that sudden sound and his quick reply rendering you speechless.

“Oh. Okay.” 

What in the hell is happening? If you were a betting person, you would think he’s… upset. Distancing himself. You don’t think you’ve breathed ever since he answered the call. 

So you just wait. Wait and wait and wait for him to hang up so that you can sit and think about this deep pit of emotions you dug for yourself. 

But Yoongi doesn’t end the call. Not even after an entire minute of silence. 

Your worries start to deepen. What the fuck is going on? Why did he even answer if—

“Open the door, doll.” 

What? 

A quick exhale leaves your mouth as you swerve your head towards the front. “The door? My door?” 

A small breath can be heard on his end before you get a very, very tired-sounding, 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh. Shit,” you rush out, shooting up from your spot. “Okay, hold on.” 

The call ends while you’re making a beeline for the entrance. 

Your feet pad with loud slaps the whole way there, and you really don’t know what’s happening or what you’re gonna do once you open the door. As you get to the opening, you stop and take a breath before undoing the locks. 

And though Yoongi’s head is slightly hung, his eyes are already trained on you when you slowly reveal your anxious expression. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.” 

You let him in and take in his heavy strides, shutting the door as if you don’t want your own house to know your secret. “I thought you were going home.” 

“I was.” 

Suddenly remembering what time it is, you blurt, “No one saw you, did they?”

Yoongi shakes his head, eyes aimed away from where you stand. “Everyone‘s out.” 

“Okay…” 

You remain planted a few steps away from him, not knowing what to do but wanting to do anything to wipe the expression off of Yoongi’s face. To clear the bags from under his eyes and the slight pinch in his brow. But you’re so shaken by the whole string of events that somehow led him here. 

What the hell is going on? Where is the Yoongi that you know? 

No. What you’re used to doesn’t matter right now. What you think you’re worried about doesn’t matter now, either. All you want to focus on is lifting his mood, so you launch yourself towards the kitchen and offer multiple things,

“Have you eaten? Do you want anything? I can make something or find a snack. We don’t have much but—”

Your arm is suddenly tugged backwards, and you don’t know what’s happening until your chest is crushed into the front of Yoongi’s hoodie.

Snapping your eyes to his face, you flicker them between his and start to ask what that was for, but he’s already putting your head back against him. 

And it’s silent. 

Only the beat of his heart pulses in your ear.

Embarrassed because you’re entirely sure he can feel your much quicker one, you bring your hands up to grip his jacket, burrowing your face into soft material that smells like comfort and him.

And as soon as you do, you feel at peace. Time bends in another way and, this time, you revel in the slower passing.

There are no thoughts, no worries, no others around. Just darkness and his scent and his warmth around your back. 

You feel his chest rumble when he asks a question, and his voice is so incredibly low that you have to pull away. 

“Hmm?” 

Yoongi just watches your face when he responds, exhausted, and you feel your heart skip once again. 

“Please lemme kiss you.” 

The first thing you feel is confusion. And the second is something terribly similar. But you say nothing as you see the look in his eyes—eyes that are just a shade darker than you remember.

So you nod. 

And kiss you he does, lips softly pressing into yours and lifting your soul off the ground. It’s not rushed, not imposing; rather, it’s a soft flame that slowly warms you through. 

Your eyes close shortly before it ends. Because though it isn’t rushed, it is still chaste, and you’re already pulling away.

It is now that you search his eyes, noticing more weariness and something else in their depths. The more you rest in silence, the more you want—

To be kissed again and exactly how he’s doing now, crushing his lips against yours and sending lightning down to your toes. This kiss is much deeper, much fuller, tugging your heart to the front of your chest with force. 

Your hands clamp impossibly tight around the material of his hoodie, gripping it and pulling him in a fraction. The grunt you get in return ignites something in your lower belly, only to be followed up with him twisting you to shove against the nearest wall. 

Everything bursts into overdrive as you moan into his mouth, hearing one of his hands thump the wall next to you. The way he thrusts himself flush against you sends your mind in a frenzy, and your hands abandon his hoodie to sling around his neck instead.

Fuck, you needed this. All the stolen glances and kisses up to this point have been driving you up multiple walls, and you have been craving this feeling for months. This intensity. 

The way he exhales from his nose, the way his hand never lets up on your hip, the way he chuckles when you reach for the bottom of his hoodie—everything he’s doing now is the Yoongi you finally know. He’s back with a vengeance and you want him to unleash it all on you.

You’re about to fling caution to the wind and yank him to your room when he suddenly, calmly, annoyingly halts your movements. 

With eyes aimed straight at his face, you wordlessly ask what he’s doing—and also plead him to keep going.

And Yoongi looks at you before rubbing your cheek. Murmuring, he clarifies with a low tone, “That wasn’t what I came for, doll.”

“Then… Then what?”

He just smiles a bit, eyes lidded and drooping. “I just wanted to see you real quick.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.”

Forgetting everything that you just spoke about with Taehyung, you offer, “I can come over.” 

Yoongi shakes his head, swiftly reminding you what you stupidly needed to remember. “I’ll be out tomorrow, too.” 

“Oh.”

“And I don’t wanna keep you if you got plans.” 

“I mean… I guess. I kinda cleared my plans for… This.” 

Yoongi rests his arms around your waist. “I tried, too. But I can’t flake on this. My bad.” 

“Are you kidding? It’s fine, really. Do your stuff,” you offer as if he isn’t going to anyway. Fuck, you feel dumb. 

But Yoongi seems set on his decision. Who are you to make him change it? Besides, you can get some errands done. Listen to Taehyung and look for some real jobs. Folding your lips together, you hang your head in disappointment. “I just…” 

“I know.” 

“It’s been forever.” 

“I know.” 

Tilting your eyes back to his face, you ask, voice small, “I’m not… I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” 

Yoongi roves his eyes over your features, and his silence is weighing you down with every passing nanosecond. “Say what you mean.” 

Determined to keep it a secret, you lie, “That is what I mean.” 

He doesn’t believe you. But he answers, “No.” 

“Okay.”

Cupping your chin, Yoongi rubs your face with a rough thumb. “And listen. If you got something on your mind, tell me. Ask me. You may not always like the answer, but I’ll always be honest.” He then steps away, and the breaths you’ve been harboring finally leave you in a rush. He yawns behind a fist before blinking hard. “You’re the one that fucking called me out on it.” 

No no no. This is too soon. You don’t want him to go. “Then can I ask something else?” 

Yoongi has a mix of curiosity and trepidation on his face. He brings you in again and waits. “Hit me.” 

“Do you want me to come over?” 

Surprise shoots from his nose, and he smiles wide, aiming his laugh away from you. “That’s not fair.” 

“Uh uh! You said I just have to ask.” 

“Too damn quick. Maybe you’re hustling me here, too.” 

“You’re stalling.” 

Yoongi grins even wider and softly kisses your forehead, eyes closed. “This isn’t good for me.” 

“Yoongi!” 

“Okay, okay,” he relents through another yawn. “…Yeah.” 

“Then I’m coming over.”

“Hold up, I didn’t say—” 

“It’s decided! I’m getting my stuff.” You head to your room and you hear Yoongi’s amusement follow your strides, and it isn’t until you get there that you realize you’re both very alone in your house. Like you wanted him to be that night on the phone. Like you want it to be all the time.

You grab your bag, wondering if you should pack a toothbrush and a change of clothes—

“Mm. Cute.” 

You shoot up from your hunched position. “Fuck!” Shaking your head, you sigh at the relaxed presence filling your doorframe, “I didn’t even hear you.” 

He pops his eyebrows up. “‘Cus you’re so loud.”

“And?” You watch him lean against the panel of your door, and it brings you back to when you first went to his place, drenched in rainwater and jitters. His hair is brighter this time, but his features are much more cloudy, and you can’t help but feel like his day was long. Maybe even longer than yours. 

What can possibly be happening? 

Noticing his eyes slipping shut, you quickly offer, “Hey. You can sit at the desk. Just no judging.” 

“I said it was cute.” He pushes off of your doorframe and inspects the space in earnest, dumping himself in your desk chair that’s seen many, many days of studying. 

As you’re getting your stuff ready, you remember the times you’ve seen or heard Yoongi walk past your room while in that same seat. You remember how you couldn’t help but glance at him every time, curling your toes or folding your lips together on instinct. 

To go from that to what’s happening now, you smile ruefully at the change.

A soft sound brushes your ear when you have the final item stuffed in your pack. Turning, you realize that Yoongi’s already asleep in your chair, head propped on a sleeved arm. 

Blinking, you feel things clicking into place: the weary call, the tired eyes, the goddamn yawning. Why didn’t you pick up on something so glaringly obvious? Idiot! 

But another thing clicks into place. 

His car is outside.

Shit, if anyone sees it out front and knows your brother isn’t here, the rest of the puzzle connects itself. 

Your packed bag is abandoned as you make your way over to him, deciding that this can go one of two ways. Slowly shaking his shoulder, you whisper his name. 

“Mm.” 

“Would you rather sleep here for a bit? Or have me drive?”

A quick quirk of his mouth precedes a sleepy, “S’okay. I can drive back.” 

Absolutely not. “I won’t let you. Pick one.” 

“Mmph.”

You immediately pick for him. “Lemme have your keys.”

Another sleepy huff of amusement expels from his lips. “So bossy.”

“Deal with it.”

He breathes deep before answering, “Pocket.” 

After checking both his hoodie pockets, you fish them out, softly guiding him up from your chair. “Come on. Let’s go.” 

Huh.

If you aren’t mistaken, you’re pretty sure Yoongi just pouted. 

And you believe it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

Even throughout the whole stilted walk to his car, on the way to his place, and guiding him all the way to his room, it’s legitimately the only thing you can think about. And you think you would do anything to see it again. 

“Sleep well, Yoongi,” you whisper as you leave him on his bed. A bed you want to occupy but know you can’t. “Sorry I kept you up.”

In hindsight, you could’ve taken his couch. 

But as you get woken up by vibrations in your own bed, you reason that you made the right decision to get a paid ride back home. You have no idea what Yoongi’s day entails, so it’s better to give him that space. 

Listen to Taehyung. You gotta be careful. Don’t allow yourself to get too attached to someone that doesn’t have the word relationship in their vocabulary.

It’s during the fourth vibration that you realize that you’re getting a call, and you shoot your hand out over your nightstand to check the ID.

Yoongi: Incoming Call

“Hey,” you rasp after a moment of panic, cradling your phone to an upturned ear.

“Hey. Did you drive me home?”

Fuck, his voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it. “Mmhmm.”

“What the fuck. I don’t remember shit.”

“It’s okay.” You breathe through your nose as your eyes slip back shut. “You were exhausted.”

“Apparently. How did you get back?” 

You sleepily rub your eyes, feeling a bit teasing this morning. “I walked.” 

“What? You fuckin’ serious?”

“Yoongi, no,” you giggle. “I got a ride.” 

After prolonged silence on the line, you wonder what could be going through his head. Did you mess up by driving him back? You don’t think so, but it could’ve crossed a line anyways. “Sorry if you didn’t want me driving your car.”

“Nah. I was gonna say thanks.” 

“Oh.” 

You hear a shuffling of activity and a slight jangling of keys. 

“Did you really clear your day?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. Sorry.”

“S’ok,” you say through a yawn. “Maybe I’ll actually job hunt now.”

“In person?“

A soft laugh puffs out of your mouth. “No, old man. On my laptop.” 

“Mm. So that’s all?”

“I guess so. Hate to break it to you but I’m kinda boring.”

Yoongi’s snort is enough to make you smile.

“Not at all.” 

“Maybe I can try a new boba place.” 

“Do that. Do shit you want today.” 

“I wanted to see you,” you whisper, the warmth from your blankets comfortable yet still no match for his embrace.

After a few seconds, you realize, “Well, I guess I technically did already.” This early revelation causes you to sleepily huff in triumph. “So. Win.” 

You hear a faint chuckle in tandem with a door shut.

“So cute.”

“Nu uh.”

“Uh huh.”

You shut your eyes, feeling dreamland’s approach again. Yoongi’s saying something on the other line, but his words barely register in your current state. 

“I can’t make any promises, doll.” 

“Mm.”

“But I’ll make it up to you regardless.” 

Afternoon sees the beginning of your day, your legs finally leaving the warmth of your sheets hours after your call. 

With dread, you know today will crawl, which won’t fare well for someone in your position—someone that cleared their entire schedule for plans that didn’t come to fruition. 

After you venture to your kitchen, you lean on your island and wonder what the hell to do. 

What you should do and what you want to do are two completely different things. You should be job hunting like you mentioned to Yoongi, but why would you do something so soul-crushing on a Saturday? On a day that you were supposed to—supposedly—spend with him? 

Eventually, you do end up trying that new boba place you heard about from one of your friends, meeting them for a few hours before seeing if Taehyung wanted to have a redemption movie date.

“Aren’t you supposed to be—”

“He’s busy, Tae,” you rush out before he can finish whatever the hell he was going to say. From your spot in the parking lot, you watch cars roll by and people amble the surrounding sidewalks with plastic cups and large straws.

“Doing what?” 

“I dunno.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know? He didn’t tell you?” 

“No.” 

“That’s sus. I’m sorry.” 

“Well,” you purse your lips while absentmindedly playing with your steering wheel. “I didn’t exactly ask, either.” 

“Huh?” 

God. You can picture the exact expression he has on his face right now. 

“You are hopeless.” 

“It just seems weird to ask!” 

“Why?”

“We don’t know each other like that. I can’t bring myself to ask him any personal shit.” 

“You can’t ask him about it? Or you don’t wanna know?” 

You freeze, staring at your dashboard like you’ve just been caught. “Damn. Maybe.” 

“Well. As long as you know what you’re doing.” 

“Tae, I never know what I’m doing.” 

“Lies.” 

You start to inspect your recently manicured nails before tsking. “Well, if we aren’t gonna do the movie thing, I’ll figure something else out.” 

“Yeah, we can. Just gotta be done by nine. I got that date tonight.” 

“If only both of us were that lucky.” 

“If you actually listened to me, maybe we would be.” 

This time, the movie was a much more successful distraction from your thoughts. Taehyung kept his earlier promise of not prying, and the two of you instead had a film to praise instead of critique to the ground.

In fact, you were so into the whole thing that you completely missed an update from him. 

Yoongi [7:20pm]: Free soon 

Soon? Rechecking the time, you realize that it has been a long ass time since then. Weird. 

Walking to your car, you slip a message into the thread before getting inside. 

You [8:50pm]: Still busy?

He texts back a few minutes later. But that was three of the longest minutes of your life. 

Yoongi [8:53pm]: Yeah 

Worry eats away at you, and a million and one possibilities race through your mind, each one vying to be first to conclusions. Pulling into the street, you hope they all lose. 

Fuck. You hate this feeling and you hate that you can’t bring yourself to fix it. Why can’t you be like Taehyung and just ask? Sure, getting money back is much different than dealing with Yoongi, but. Are you really that scared of what his answers to your questions would be? What exactly makes this so hard even though you know what he’s like? 

Is it because, for a brief moment on that phone call weeks ago, that you felt special? Like you meant something to him? 

As you fill your entryway with your dark cloud, you sigh. Grappling with all of your worries at once is incredibly draining and yet, you can’t do the one thing that would take care of most of them. 

You want to believe that he’s legitimately busy. You need to. Goddamn, you’re an adult and so is he.

And if he’s actually with someone else and not telling you? Fuck him. Even if he’s Min Yoongi, you cannot let a guy give you this much grief. 

Dumping yourself on your couch, you bury your face in the crook of your arm—mad with him, the world, but mostly yourself. 

You wanna travel back in time. 

Not too far. Just to the moment you both existed on the bleachers on that basketball court, before you were faced with the prospect of being just someone else he had on his schedule. 

Yoongi: Incoming Call 

Fuck, you answered faster than you could even process. 

“Hi—”

“I hate when people can’t do their job.” 

Holy crap. That came out of nowhere. Immediately, you’re sitting up. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

Exasperation blows through the line.

“Long story. But I’m finally off. You want anything?” 

Motherfucker. 

Finally off. He was working. 

What the fuck. Why the hell were you even worried? Why didn’t you just ask! What the hell is wrong with you? Why couldn’t you do something so damn simple? 

You want to fucking cry. 

Your lips quake when you reply, “I… I’m fine with anything.”

“What’s wrong, doll?” 

“Nothing.” Your laugh is hollow and your throat is clogged. “Nothing.” 

“Don’t lie to me.”

Hanging your head, you hope your voice sounds neutral when you say, “Really, it’s stupid and I’m fine! It’s okay.” 

Yoongi seems to make a decision after a second, and the way he says your name—not a nickname, not anything else—takes all the oxygen from your lungs.

“Where are you?”

“Home. If you need to go home, it’s okay—” 

“Don’t. I’m on the way.” 

The call abruptly ends after that, which leaves you sitting on your sofa with rain in your palms.

Yoongi sounded so exhausted, and now he has to deal with you. You feel absolutely awful for adding any unnecessary stress to his day, and you already feel some tears slipping through your fingers.

God, you’re so fucking frustrated. Why didn’t you do literally anything else today except worry? You could’ve run errands, job hunted like you needed to, or at least been as productive as he apparently was. Now you just feel regretful and useless. 

Yoongi texts you a good handful of minutes later, and you swipe away your tears before heading to the front. 

You vow to put on a happy face when you swing the door open but holy fuck he’s in jeans and a white tee and you’re suddenly spellbound. His wild hair distracts you to the point that you don’t even realize that he’s shutting the door instead of you.

Gripping the back of your head, he forces you to look him in the eye, the wood banging closed before he questions,

“Were you worried?”

You tense before slowly nodding. 

Yoongi darts his eyes between yours. “How long?” 

“I…” Your eyelids slip shut with resignation. “Since basketball.” 

Yoongi lets go of your neck, and you blink to see him looking into the house behind you, gnawing on his bottom lip and inhaling deep. 

You wonder what he’s thinking, what lies behind that hardened expression on his face. 

Is he upset with you for worrying? Does he think he made a mistake making any sort of plans with someone like you? 

He’s muttering something under his breath, but his voice is so gravelly and deep that you can’t make out a single word.

It’s a drawn-out moment before he finally moves again, slinging his arms around your neck with a sigh and pressing his forehead against yours. His voice sounds like nighttime when he softly asks, 

“You seeing anyone?” 

You blink. “No.”

“Same.” He moves to press his lips to your temple. “Been dodging shit since the night you called.” 

You feel your lips tremble. What a fucking idiot you’ve been. 

Though stress is already slipping off your shoulders in clumps, you can’t help but point out with a clogged throat, “That was two weeks ago.”

“And?” 

You inhale his scent, closing your eyes and berating yourself again for jumping to so many conclusions. “I dunno. Just feels like awhile for you.” 

You feel rather than see Yoongi’s mouth curve up as he huffs out a short breath. “Is that what you think of me?” 

“Mm.” You shrug. “I don’t have any new evidence.” 

It’s after this that he props up your chin, his eyes already creased behind loose orange locks. “Smartass.” 

Your smile is rueful at best, and you hate how fucking obvious you were to him. Yoongi probably thinks you’re pathetic. 

But he doesn’t harbor any pity in his face as he reiterates, “I told you. All you have to do is ask. If you’re thinking something, say it.” 

For the first time, it’s your turn to look away. 

Taehyung’s words echo in your mind, and his advice coupled with Yoongi’s insistence finally breaks the dam in your mouth. Everything you’ve been wanting to say surges out in waves as you take a step back.

“I just— I dunno. I don’t wanna pry with you because I don’t know you like that yet. And the other day, Tae said something about you acting weird lately and maybe you found a regular or whatever and I just— I‘ve just been so…” You sigh as your gaze falls to your feet. “You keep telling me to tell you stuff, but I barely get anything from you. And that’s whatever, I guess. It’s not like... I mean. It just feels one-sided.” 

Well. The confidence certainly wasn’t there, but at least you got it all out. Taehyung would have to at least give you a pat on the back for your efforts and, though you may not also score a free movie date, you feel damn accomplished. 

Even though, from the looks of things, you may have just put distance between you and the man that shamelessly came to your house while your brother is gone. Twice.

Fuck. 

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, face full of shadows and conflict. You don’t know what else to do except wait, so you do, hoping that you didn’t ruin anything. 

But he just looks at you before a resigned whoosh of air leaves his nose. “Get your stuff.”

“What?”

Yoongi tilts his head towards your room. “Your stuff.” He quickly exhales before continuing, “I’ll tell you everything in the car.”

“Oh,” you breathe, anticipation bubbling furiously as you regard him one more time. “You sure?” 

“Go, doll.” 

It doesn’t take you long to grab your things, especially since you didn’t unpack what you already put together the night before but never used. You hope the backpack isn’t too conspicuous, planning on using your laptop as the top excuse for that big of a bag. 

But the walk to his car is quiet and charged, and it isn’t until you’re a few blocks out that Yoongi finally decides to talk. 

“You remember Kook?”

Huh? 

That isn’t how you expected things to start, especially if it’s who you think he’s referring to. 

Sucking in a breath, you clarify, “Kook? …Jungkook?”

“Yeah.” 

Yes. 

Yes, you do. 

You remember Jungkook very well. 

“Mmhmm,” is all you can say, voice in the tiniest font possible. Looking out the window, you refocus your vision to see the reflection of your worry instead of the passing scenery.

“Well, he runs a studio here now. Downtown.” 

You swallow. While you know a lot of things about the guy, you didn’t know this bit. “Oh. That’s dope.” 

“That’s where I’ve been.” 

You snap wide eyes to him, stunned by multiple things. One, a name you didn’t expect to hear come up. And two, the fact that Yoongi’s even telling you this. 

Yes, the conversations have been a bit one-sided, but it’s not like the two of you are even a thing. Hell, you’ve barely seen each other and it’s almost been a whole year since you first approached him. 

Technically, he doesn’t owe you any explanations at all. 

So the fact that Yoongi—a very private person—is willing to share something about his life just to erase any worries you have, makes you feel things you don’t want to feel right now. Never mind the Jungkook thing. Looking back, you’re shocked that he didn’t just bounce after your mini rant. How did you even end up in his car after that? 

“Oh…” is all you can say, again. “That explains the music stuff.” 

“Kinda,” Yoongi says, low. “But anyway, I was a nobody when I got there. Then some shit went down and now it’s just me and two other people, so. I got work out the ass.” 

“Damn, I’m sorry.”

“That’s not it.” He runs long fingers through his fiery hair, and you’re temporarily distracted by the clinking of his bracelets. “We got a project deadline that I highly doubt we’ll make. Even if we go nonstop everyday for the next week.”

“When’s the deadline?” 

“The dude needs his files by next Friday.” 

“Shit. Why am I even coming over?”

The trip to his place is short, his car already rolling up to his apartment. “Don’t worry about that. I’m peacing out early tomorrow,” he proclaims before hoisting himself out.

“What!” You don’t even see him rounding the car when you shove your door open, eyes wide and mouth hung open. 

“That’s the plan,” he confirms after a few steps, disappearing around the corner that hides his place from the parking lot. 

Padding quickly after him, you refuse with every step, “No no. Hell no. You shouldn’t do that just because of me.” 

He shoots a quick smirk your way before moving to unlock his door. “It’s for me, too, doll. I’m fuckin’ beat.” 

As you’re greeted by his dark apartment, your whispers pass the threshold with your sagging shoulders. “Yoongi… I’m sorry for bothering you with all this. I’ve been so stupid.” 

“Nah. This is on me. I could’ve just told you.” 

Shucking off your bag and placing it next to your shoes with a thump, you assure him—because you really feel the need to—with a whisper, “You can, you know. You can tell me things any time. I mean it.” 

Yoongi just huffs out of his nose before looking away, his tiredness accentuated by faint moonlight seeping through nearby blinds. “It’s all bullshit. I don’t wanna bother you with it.” 

“You’re not.” It’s your turn to take his face in your hands. And the action stuns you just as much as him. “I feel like you’re keeping a lot of stuff to yourself and that’s not healthy. Obviously I’m the last one to talk, but. I know what that feels like. It sucks.” 

There’s a bit of settled silence after your last word dissipates. In the dark of the room, all you can see is his white shirt, now a faint blue. 

Did you say too much? Offer something you shouldn’t have? 

Well. He can deal. After witnessing the self-destruction of your day in real time, you meant every word. 

Yoongi finally moves, slowly sliding a hand over one of yours. His voice seeps out like honey when he asks, “Think you’re so smart, huh?” 

“No. I’m an idiot.” 

He laughs. 

“But I mean it.” You press your fingers around his jawline a bit tighter, willing your intentions to transfer right into his mind. “It’s okay. You can tell me.” 

His eyes search your face, and you feel like you can wait forever to hear his answer. It’s the second time you see something besides confidence in his face, and it makes you scared and content and something else you can’t quite place. 

So when he lowers his gaze to your lips and tells you to just fucking kiss him, you smash your mouth on his before he even gets the words out. 

The next batch of seconds is a whirlwind, both of you stumbling with purpose to his room. Every time you try to look into the darkness to see where you’re going, your jaw is gripped and your lips are claimed. Over and over and over. Your breath caressing his mouth; his groans invading your throat—everything is happening at once and comes to a head as your back connects with his door. 

A groan rips from your throat before a satisfied laugh follows, and the twist in sounds causes Yoongi to pause on his way to grip his doorknob. 

You aim a look of question his way, but he simply hums in amusement before diving to your neck, scorching your skin with his saliva and pent-up frustrations. 

“Yoongi,” you whine, gripping his shirt and tugging him impossibly close to you like you did in your own entryway. And once you say his name, it’s the only thing you chant, even while he yanks his door open and during your rushed fall onto his bed. 

He quickly follows suit, smothering your body lovely and capturing your lips once more. With a passing thought, you notice that he’s much quieter this time, not having said a single word since you started. 

Holy fuck, you’re here again. Excitement cannot even begin to describe the way you feel, for what exists in your chest feels much too intense for any known language. 

As Yoongi brings a hand up to grip the bottom of your shirt, you feel a wave of shakes overcome you—shakes that have been kept dormant for almost a year. Pure want is what causes your hands to grab his tee in reply, and your voice is heavy with pleas,

“Yoongi… I missed…”

“Mm.”

“So much.” 

He kisses the side of your mouth—rough—before shoving your legs open and pressing himself against your center. Though he still doesn’t respond with words, his answer is very, truly loud. 

And when he straightens into a kneel to yank his shirt off, it is then that you notice glints of moonlight around his neck. 

Oh, fuck. How did you not feel those chains at all? 

Yoongi doesn’t give you time to ponder, grabbing your shirt and pulling it up until you adjust yourself for its removal. It’s quickly flung to join his before he’s reaching around to unhook your bra, using one hand while digging the other into his mattress. 

As your bare chest is claimed by hot lips, you decide that you like both Yoongi’s—both the talkative and the silent. While the talkative Yoongi brought out the beautifully dark parts of you, the silent Yoongi allows you to simply feel without thoughts. Only the sounds of your lust burst around the bed, a symphony with the rustling of your discarded pants and rumpling of soft sheets. It’s still passionate; it’s still toe-curling; it’s still volcanic. 

Lost in throes of pleasure, your body relies purely on instinct, legs sliding along his body and your hands hastily searching for anything to grip. When your fingers find the chains sliding along your sternum, the deep chuckle that rumbles above you is full of mischief. 

Finally, Yoongi speaks to simply make fun of you. “Adorable.” 

You don’t get to reply, though. Because this is the moment he decides to cup you through your underwear, growling with furrowed brows, “Holy fuck.” 

No matter what, this part will always embarrass you. The way you’re so easily affected by the man crushing you with the best burden you could ask for. Igniting under your skin, you try to hide your smile with a lip bite, but Yoongi only laughs, slow.

“So fucking wet.”  

You flinch at his sudden swirling movements, shutting your eyes in pure instinct and sighing up to his fiery locks. “Just for… Just for you.” 

Instead of stripping your last piece of clothing, Yoongi does something that has your head spinning off its axis—pushing the material aside and sliding his fingers up your slick folds. 

You jolt upward. “Fuck! Oh, my god.” 

Laugh full of smugness, Yoongi replies, “I knew you’d like this. Dirty girl.” 

Holy shit. You knew that you missed his fingers, especially being where they are. But what’s happening now blows your expectations to pieces. 

It feels so different. Why does it feel so much dirtier? Why are you absolutely loving this? You’re envisioning other scenarios where Yoongi would do this same exact thing, your head clouding more with every single one.  

And when he admits something, your hands leave his jewelry to grip the sheets around you instead. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for months.” 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, throwing your head back as he softly caresses your clit. 

“Every fucking time I saw you.” 

Another teasing flick of his thumb. 

“Wanted to get you in every room and make you scream.” 

You finally whine with frustration, unable to take it anymore. The coil in your belly is already twisting incredibly tight. You need more. More more more and if you don’t get it you’re going to combust. “Yoongi! Oh, fuck—Please, I need you.” 

“Not yet, baby girl,” he responds, “You’re gonna come around my fingers so I can lick’em clean.”

“Yoongi!” 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” 

Fuck! More.You need more. 

But Yoongi starts to insert his digits into your cunt and your mind blanks. You repeat his name like a mantra, digging the back of your head into his mattress. 

“That’s it, doll,” he encourages, “Fuck, you take these so well.” 

“Yoongi, please…” 

“Uh uh.” 

You throw your head to the side, limbs locking as your body rocks on his fingers. “Please,” you beg, “I want— I need you inside.” 

Immediately, Yoongi stops altogether. “You sure?”

“Yes! Oh my god, yes.” 

“Say less.”

There’s a complete switch in both your movements when he finally realizes what you really want and need. His chains swing from his neck as he leans to grab a condom from his nightstand, but your hands grab at his chest instead of the weighty strings of silver. 

“Please,” you keep whispering, raking your nails along his skin and pulling a groan from his throat. “Please.” 

After he deftly tears the wrapper, Yoongi puffs mirth onto your awaiting form. “I like this part of you.” 

“What part?” 

“Impatient ass.”

“Shut up!” 

He grins before caging you in again, aligning himself with your cunt and making you tense your legs around him. 

It’s what you’ve been wanting ever since leaving that day, and from Yoongi’s face, you’d like to think he feels the same. 

He looks at you, silent, waiting for your cue. And just like before, the same feeling blooms in your chest while butterflies take flight into your fingertips, raising them to slightly tug on a necklace while nodding. 

Your eyes almost roll all the way into your head when Yoongi pushes your panties to the side, insistent on keeping them on while fucking you. Goddamn, you’re finding out new shit you like again. How he’s able to provide these sexual revelations, you can’t fathom but don’t want to question. 

The intrusion still has its initial discomfort, but your cunt adjusts to accommodate him, fluttering fast and milking him after seconds. 

A deep groan falls from his lips. “So tight.” 

Nodding, you offer your own observation, “Big. Very big.”

A half wince-half laugh leaves his mouth, and his jaw works in concentration, brows knitting and teeth biting his bottom lip.

“Oh, my god.” You throw your head back for the upteenth time, hands coming up to grip his arms. “This feels so good.” 

“Fuck, baby.”

Breathing hard, you start to tilt your hips, impatience and lust fueling your order, “Fuck me. Fuck me, Yoongi.” 

You don’t get a reply—just the long thrust of his dick before he launches into a frantic pace. 

Fuck! You see stars. You’re launched into the sky. You don’t know time from space as your head gets closer and closer to his headboard, your pelvis constantly getting smacked by his rough pounding. 

“So fucking—Fuck!” 

Yoongi grabs one of your legs and slings it over his shoulder, pushing himself incredibly deep and making you whine impossibly high. The new angle has him hitting a spot that has your vision blanking, and holy shit it’s impossible how close you are. 

How? What’s wrong with you? How are you about to come?

“Yoongi, I’m—I’m so close already—”

“Goddamn, I feel you. Lemme feel it, babe.”

“So fast—”

His voice dips when he growls, “I love it. Fucking do it.” 

You can barely hear what he says next, but your body still reacts as if it understands. 

Filth. Absolute filth. It has to be. Words and names that you want him to say louder but are too embarrassed to tell him. Phrases that you want him to say right to your face. 

But just him muttering it is enough for you, and you gasp as euphoria overcomes you, shaking you from your core and rattling your bones. Waves crash against your proverbial shore and the undercurrents take you simultaneously, and your trembling leaks into your moans,

“Fuck! Yoongi!”

“That’s it, babe. Fuck!” 

He keeps pounding into you through your high, tightening your core enough for you to snap again around him, gushing around his cock and straining the muscles in your neck. An outright groan tears from your throat, and the ceiling feels strangely close for a few seconds before you thump back down onto the bed. 

Just like last time, Yoongi follows right after. “Oh fuck, I’m—”

“You gonna come, too—”

“Fuck. Turn over. Lemme see this ass.” 

The urgency in his voice spurns you into action. Though you’ve never done this before, you let your body take over, twisting yourself and lifting your butt from the mattress. The wet sound of the condom snapping off hits your ears and, before you can anticipate what this will feel like, your underwear is tugged to your thighs before hot spurts coat your skin. Quickly, a wet hand grips one of your plump cheeks, making you moan into the pillow smothering your sudden shyness. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi grits through his teeth as you hear his fingers slide along his cock. “Goddamn.” 

You feel like it should be awkward, or at least strange to be in this position. 

But it’s not. 

You don’t know if it’s because you’re satiated, or if it’s because of who you’re with, but you find that you don’t mind this at all. The only uncomfortable thing that you feel is a bit of draft from the open bedroom door. 

A sweaty hand slides along the curve of your ass before patting its side, and you hear a sigh above you.

“So perfect.” 

You bury your forehead further down, not knowing what to do other than wait and wonder how you’re gonna get all of his essence off of you. 

“One sec. Don’t move.” 

Oh. He’s gonna do it. 

It’s not long before you feel a soft towel swipe everything from your back, and the care in his movements makes you both happy and incredibly, embarrassingly shy. You would think that Yoongi’s wiping a vinyl with how tender he’s treating your damp skin.  

As he slides a hand over you to see if he missed anything, you sigh, “That went way too fast.”

A chuckle. “What, never did a quickie before?”

You have. But you never came during those. You have never come that fast in your goddamn life. “I mean, in a bedroom, though?” 

“Happens.” 

Maybe for him, you muse with a huff. 

But with every fuck in his room comes the next step. The soft kick you’re anticipating with a heavy chest. 

So much for an hour tops. You’re pretty sure that only lasted—

Yoongi playfully slaps your ass, the shock of the motion jolting you forward. 

“Ow! Rude!”

A laugh. “You can move now.” 

With a huff, you force your body up and slide your feet down to the ground, teetering side to side as you make your way to the bathroom with a stretched pair of panties.

When you’re done, you fully expect Yoongi to be up to walk you out. You got what you came for, just like the last time, and you know what to expect next. 

However, that’s not what you see. Instead, he’s lying back on his bed in a simple tee and sweats, feet planted on the ground and eyes closed shut. 

Shit. Do you wake him? Do you initiate the kick and find a ride again? 

Lamenting the amount you’re spending on ride apps alone, another thought enters your post-sex mind. 

Does he still need to eat? 

From the phone call and getting context to his day, it seemed like Yoongi didn’t get to do anything else but work. Hopefully he did sneak a meal in, but if he didn’t, that can’t be good. 

You go over to him after putting on the only change of clothes you brought. Placing a palm on his shoulder, you give him a light shake. “Yoongi?”

“Hmm.” 

“You should eat.” 

His brows move before he responds, voice heavy with sleep and disappointment. “Shit. I didn’t get food for you.” 

For you? That’s what he’s worried about right now? Your chest swells while your stomach grumbles. “Don’t worry about me. I can order something. Or make something if I can use your kitchen real quick.”  

Another breath. Another pause.

“Course you can.” 

Smiling light, you gently pat him. “Okay. Get in bed, dummy.” Slowly but surely, you get him into a sitting position before making him stand, melting at the furrowed brows and second pout you get in return. 

He looks so much younger when he does that. It’s so out of his normal character that you can’t help but be endeared. “This is the second time I’m tucking you in. Does this always happen?”

“Mmph.”

After a small struggle, you guide him to lie down on the side of the bed you think he uses, the one closer to his bathroom. It seems to work, and he thumps down onto his pillow without any further arguments. 

Another grateful smile carves itself into your features when you think about everything that happened tonight. 

Yoongi was obviously so exhausted—again—and yet… 

Not only did he reveal things about his personal life, he made sure you knew he wasn’t seeing anyone. Not only did he put up with your mountain of insecurities, he made sure you got the point by bringing you into his bed again. 

You shake your head. 

Even if he doesn’t mind your outstanding ability to worry and overthink, you know it’s going to frustrate you until you can get it under some fucking control.  

It’s with a vow to do so that you start to walk away.

But before you even go, a hand catches your wrist. 

Your eyes snap downward as you tense, wondering how Yoongi knew you were still there. Isn’t he asleep? 

“Sorry.” 

You blink. “For what?”

“Making…” A soft exhale. “Making you worry.” 

Warmth blooms in your chest, gently searing the edges of your surrounding bones. “That’s just me being me,” you whisper, though you’re touched that he’s even apologizing. 

Yeah, he didn’t tell you anything, but you get it now. How can he know what you’re feeling if you don’t say anything? How would he really know what you want if you don’t ask?

If you’re going to do this… whatever, with him, you can’t keep having days like today. Can’t keep driving yourself into the ground with conclusions when all you need to do is ask.  

Yoongi’s voice is so, so low when he responds, “You shouldn’t ever need to.” 

Understanding coats your face as you tenderly take his fingers from your arm. 

With the conversation over, you know what you have to do next. Because you’re not exclusive. You’re not different from everyone else that’s been in his bed. There aren’t any special privileges that come with tucking him in. No overthinking about that. 

With a big breath, you say goodbye. 

“I’ll go, okay? I’ll just make something when I get home. I know you don’t like people st—”

“Don’t.” 

Time freezes. 

“What?” 

Slowly turning back to face him, you watch for any hint of mistake in his face. What did he say? Did he even mean to cut you off? 

After a rise and fall of his shoulders, you feel your heart stop when the last thing Yoongi says before slumber takes him is a soft, genuine, 

“Stay.” 

-

-

-

tbc. :)

A/N: HELLO! thank you so much for reading and for all the support thus far. i know this chapter was so jam packed with stuff, but now you know why i had to split the weekend up into two parts lol. did i write close to 2k of this while waiting in lines at disney? yes. LOL and yeah, i know about the angst. but don’t worry. 3tan5 will make up for it :) also, if you’re new to the 3tan fam, happy to have you !! it’s chaotic here but it’s a hell of a time :D  ++ A/N 2: AHHH OK SO. hello?? the amount of times i wanted to scream about stuff in this part bc of things that kept coming up while i was finishing it sdklfjdsk like. everyone guessing the hair color? guessing what jimin’s appearance would be? yoongi freaking posting STUDIO PICS ON IG? LMAO i wanted to say so much but i had to just sit here and keep everything to myself so that it would all be a surprise. hope you all enjoyed!!  ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that aren’t okay with reblogging with a review, commenting on this, or sending a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a feedback dropbox :D ⇥ here! ++ ⇥ masterlist  ++ up next..... stay (the weekend, pt. 2) :’))) 

[pagesoflauren]

House of Stone (1/5)

feat. professor!Andy Barber x student!single mom!reader

Premise: Spin-off/sequel to Wooden Façade; Settling into his new life as a bachelor, Andy is helping his brother Ari prepare for his wedding to their mother's former nurse. Between wedding planning and teaching, you enter his life and your eccentric one-year-old daughter catches his attention.

Warnings: mentions of sudden deaths, divorce, familial conflicts, spousal conflicts, pregnancy, and Parkinson's disease; Laurie Barber slander; teacher-student friendship; romantic/sexual tension; awkward and cringey moments; blind dates/blindsiding siblings (Ari is a menace to Andy); Andy wears glasses and is a hot professor

A/N: Important to note that the events of Defending Jacob do not occur before, during, or after this series. Andy and Laurie are divorced and Jacob lives with Laurie.

Thank you as always to @eightcevanscentral

Read Wooden Façade here

Main Masterlist

“Ari, I hope you realize we’ve been talking about ties for the past forty-five minutes,” Andy deadpans, still holding his green-colored grading pen between his fingers. In his other hand, he holds up his phone so that he can clearly see the different options in front of his brother as he facetimes him from the store. 

“Can you blame me?” comes Ari’s reply, “I have no fuckin’ clue what I’m doing.”

“You’re looking for the one that speaks to you.”

“Ties don’t talk.”

“That’s not–” Andy clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. “You’re such a dumbass.” 

“A dumbass that’s getting married,” Ari says, switching from the back camera to the front camera. 

“God help the bride.”

“Hey!” 

“You know what I meant,” Andy laughs. “Are you sure she didn’t give you specific options for which one to buy?”

Andy’s treated to an unflattering view of his brother as Ari moves his phone down to get a better look at the screen. The camera turns off and Andy can hear the sound of Ari’s finger tapping heavily against the screen. 

“She just said get one that’s ‘cabernet.’ Is that a type of brand?”

Andy facepalms. “No, that’s a shade of red. A dark red. Which, given that your wedding is in December, makes sense.” 

The camera turns on and Andy can see straight into Ari’s nose.

Andy makes a sound of disgust, “You need to start bringing handkerchiefs with you.”

Ari adjusts how he’s holding the phone and turns the camera to face the table with all his options. “Nobody asked you to look, Andy.”

“Nobody asked me, but I wasn’t given a choice.” 

Andy watches Ari pick up three ties that he thinks are the right shade.

“You think any of these would work?”

Tilting his head, Andy figures they’re a good fit. “Probably. Maybe you should just buy all three and see what the missus thinks.” 

His brother hums.

“Are you making that stupid face that you always do when you think of her?”

“Maybe.” 

Andy gags exaggeratedly.

“Shut up,” Ari hisses.

Rolling his eyes, Andy rebuttals, “You know I’m kidding.” Then, he changes the subject. “Anyway, those are good options. And you’ll know what she thinks when you get home.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, either she’ll tell you which one is the best or she’ll say the both of you will have to go back to the store together and she’ll tell you which tie you’ll wear.” 

“You’re right.” 

Andy changes the subject quickly. “Well, on that note, I should sign off. I have class in fifteen minutes so I should head over there.”

Ari flips the camera to show his face and say goodbye to his brother. When they hang up, Andy puts his phone down and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

Taking a deep breath and exhaling, he sighs before opening one of the side drawers of his desk and pulling out his glasses. 

They were new, something he had to take on after his last trip to the ophthalmologist who had told him that the long hours of reading and sitting in front of a computer were doing a number on his vision. She had stated the glasses were a middle ground between compensatory and preventative.

However, Andy looked at them as a constant reminder of how much his life had changed in the past year. 

His wife and son are mostly absent, his brother is soon to be married, and his mother still progressing through her illness. 

Shaking his head and setting the frames on his nose, he gathers his materials for class, stuffing them into his work bag and slinging it over his shoulder, his laptop tucked into his elbow. He shuts off the light and locks his office behind him, making his way down to the large lecture hall that is far too vast for his evening class. 

- - - - -

Your cousin calls your name as you try to spoon another serving into your daughter’s mouth. 

“It’s 6:15,” she says.

“Oh, crap,” you sigh, flustered as you set the spoon on the saucer for it to rest. 

Ivy has a terrible habit of reaching for her utensils if you leave them within arm’s reach of her, leading to globs of food flying in any direction for you to clean up. 

“She just has this bowl and some milk–I think it’s still warm, you might have to heat it up again. Let me know how she goes down and–”

“Call if anything happens,” she finishes for you, handing you your water bottle, already filled up. “I got it.” 

“Thank you, Winnie.” You kiss her cheek, then turn to your daughter. “Mommy loves you so much, Ivy,” you say softly to her. You kiss her chubby face, heart squeezing at the little giggles that erupt from her. “Only a few more months and I won’t have to leave,” you promise. 

You know she can’t understand you, but at this point, you say it because it comforts you to tell her. 

Saying goodbye one last time before shutting the door behind you, you climb into your car and drive to the university campus. 

You never liked leaving in the evening. You never liked working during the day, either. You had imagined things going so differently, but life had other plans. 

Troy was planning to propose, a last-ditch effort to get the both of you back in the good graces of your extremely conservative family. Neither of you intended to start having children until after you had graduated and he had gotten a higher-paying position at the company he was working for. But when the tests came back positive and were confirmed by ultrasounds, the two of you found yourselves scrambling for ways to build a home for an unborn child.

He died before any of the real planning could have started. The holidays had just ended and it was his last weekend off before he had to return to work. When he hit his head really hard after slipping in the shower, you had suggested going to the hospital to be safe. A friend from the university in the nursing program had told you unchecked head injuries were silent killers. 

Insisting he was fine, he continued about his day, cooking dinner for both of you and watching a film to end the night. 

He was cold in the morning and you tried to wake him up, but his eyes never opened again. 

After the funeral, his mom gave you the engagement ring he had rush-ordered to her house. It was supposed to come before Christmas, but when it didn’t, he had said he would propose on Valentine’s Day. 

It didn’t help when your parents iced you out, and the majority of your extended family cut contact with you as well. 

Your aunt and your cousin kept in touch, supporting you throughout your pregnancy and bereavement. Your aunt put you up in a small, two-bedroom apartment she had previously been renting to students for the nearby university. She didn’t charge you anything, telling you to focus on saving your money to help support your baby. 

You had decided to defer your education until after giving birth, finding a job at the DA’s office as a receptionist to make some money so that you could afford some baby essentials and maternity clothes. 

When Ivy arrived, your world was turned upside even more (if that was possible). Still, your duo of relatives were at your side. When your maternity leave was up, your aunt took her during the day to watch her at the daycare she directed. Then, in the evenings when you had class, your cousin took over finishing up dinner, giving her a bath, and putting her down to sleep. 

Every day came with new challenges, but things also felt easier and you felt less alone. School was distracting, work was somewhat rewarding, and Ivy was happy. 

You had determined a long time ago that she would never experience anything remotely close to the loneliness and sadness you felt. 

Finding a parking spot in a decently-lit area, you gather your things and walk into the building with the designated lecture hall. 

It was far too big for your class; there were only ten other students in this section with you, yet for some reason, you all were placed in a massive lecture hall. Your professor didn’t even bother turning on the lights for the back half of the classroom, trying to prevent students from sitting all the way in the back and getting a nap in. 

“Hi, Professor Barber,” you greet him as he sets up his computer at the podium.

He nods at you, “Evening, Miss Y/L/N.”

You sit in your usual seat in the second row, the third one from the left aisle. It’s in the middle, but not too centered where you make uncomfortable eye contact with Professor Barber as you look up at his slides. 

You get settled, opening up your note-taking software on your computer and setting your phone to silent. As you place your water bottle next to your laptop for easy access, Professor Barber announces that he’s going to begin.

- - - - -

You open and close your fists, feeling the nervous tension in your arms as you watch Ivy play on her mat in the middle of the living room. 

Winnie is sick; a bad case of the flu, your aunt had told you. She would need to take care of her in the evening, leaving you with nobody to watch your daughter. 

Professor Barber had made it clear that last-minute absences wouldn’t be tolerated. One of your classmates hadn’t come to class for two weeks straight. When he returned, your professor immediately told him to leave and take the class next semester. 

“Maybe then you’ll understand that this profession has no room for bullshit.” 

You had gripped your pen tight that night, making a note in your planner to never be late and always let him know ahead of time if you were going to be absent. 

It’s a unique circumstance, you realize. If you explain the situation, maybe he would be lenient this time. 

Bringing your laptop to the living room to better monitor your daughter, you log in to your student account and write an email to Professor Barber. 

- - - 

Andy’s computer chimes as he receives an email. Finishing his note in the margin of a student’s paper, he sets down his pen and looks at his inbox. 

He recognizes the name. You’re normally on time, you ask insightful questions. You sit in the second row and always take notes. You have a good standing in his class and, according to his colleagues, you’re doing well in the program. 

You don’t reach out often, other than to ask an occasional clarifying question late at night, probably when you’re studying. 

He opens the email.

Hi Professor Barber,

My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m in your Wednesday night Children’s Rights class. 

I’m aware of your no-tolerance policy for late-notice absences, but I’m in a very difficult circumstance at the moment. I have a one-year-old daughter

You’re a mom? Andy would’ve never guessed. 

He continues reading.

I have a one-year-old daughter and my evening babysitter is sick, so I won’t be able to come to class today since I have to take care of her. 

Is it possible for me to attend another section during the day? I can try to request time off from work. Please let me know what my options are to succeed in your class after this setback.

Best,

Y/N

Andy bites the inside of his cheek. He understands the struggle of fulfilling commitments to work while also looking after a child all too well. 

Even with Laurie being a stay-at-home mom that would look after Jacob, he couldn’t shake the paternal instinct of wanting to be there to help his son, even if it was just a little cold. 

He doesn’t want you to have to deal with taking time off work–he can only imagine what kind of hoops you might have to jump through to get time off at the last minute to attend his Friday morning section of the class. 

In response, he offers a suggestion.

Hi Miss Y/L/N,

Thank you for reaching out and letting me know your situation. 

I wonder, would you feel comfortable bringing your daughter to class tonight? I will turn on the lights at the back of the classroom to allow both of you to sit there and have all the space you need. 

Let me know if this is possible. If not, we will discuss other options. 

Andrew Barber, LL.M., J.D.

Professor of Law

Boston University 

He sits back for a moment then returns to grading. After a few minutes, his computer chimes again. 

Hi Professor Barber,

Bringing my daughter to class is possible, yes. But I just worry about her getting fussy and interrupting. Are you sure you would be okay if she joined me tonight?

Thank you,

Y/N

He replies quickly.

Miss Y/L/N,

I would be more than happy to have your daughter as a guest tonight. And please feel free to bring whatever you need in order to keep her comfortable. If I can help in any way, let me know. 

See you tonight,

Andy deletes his standard email signature, opting to sign the email with his initials in an attempt to keep the conversation light. He doesn’t want to give the impression that he thinks himself above you. 

You’re a parent; he is, too. Who was he to deny you chances to properly take care of your child?

- - - - -

You’re weighed down by a lot of things. 

Your backpack rests heavily on your shoulders and Ivy’s stroller–stocked with plenty of supplies for you to give her to keep her occupied during your nearly three-hour-long lecture for the evening is difficult to push through campus. 

Your usual route to your lecture hall is changed; you have to use the elevators on the far side of the building instead of the stairs that will take you right to the door. All the while, you try to keep your nerves down, keeping calm so that maybe Ivy will be calm throughout the evening. 

As you enter the classroom, you garner a few strange looks from your classmates. Professor Barber greets you, inviting you to park the stroller by the door as he walks to the light switch panel, flipping up the last two switches to turn on the lights at the back of the classroom as he promised in his email. 

“Take your time to get settled,” he tells you, voice gentle and slow. “I shortened the lecture tonight to adjust for any extra time you might need.” 

“Thank you,” you sigh, catching your breath after your trip from your car to the classroom and trying to dampen your anxious emotions. 

You feel eyes on you as you grab Ivy’s bag of toys and food, slinging it over your shoulder and uncovering her seat so you can pick her up and carry her to the back row of the classroom. 

She’s quiet, looking around at the new environment. One of your classmates coos at her and waves, and she waves back. 

Instead of individual desks, the lecture hall has rows of long tables with all the chairs facing the front of the room. You decide it’s best for Ivy to sit on top of the table next to your workspace, placing a thick blanket so that she can sit or lay comfortably. You give her a shape toy to play with–one that doesn’t make any noise or light up. 

When she seems settled, you take out your supplies for class, then look up to meet Professor Barber’s expectant gaze at the bottom of the lecture hall.  

You give him a timid thumbs up and he announces he’s going to get started. 

The class goes well for the first twenty minutes, then Ivy seems to fuss and you switch out her shape toy for a stuffed animal. It keeps her occupied until she tries to start typing on your computer. 

“Ivy, no,” you whisper, placing her back on the blanket and giving her another stuffed animal. 

She tries again, little hand reaching for the keyboard but you stop her in time. 

“Ivy, please,” you try to tell her, but you know she doesn’t understand. She begins to whine, drawing everyone’s eyes up to you and you feel your face heat up. You can hear Professor Barber’s voice trail off mid-sentence.

You swear under your breath, heart racing as you try to find another toy but she insists on reaching for your keyboard. 

Her whining gets louder and her eyes begin to water and you know a meltdown is coming. There’s no way you can gather everything and leave before she goes nuclear. 

You hear footsteps coming up the steps to where you’re seated, looking up and catching a glimpse of your professor coming toward you. 

He’s going to kick you out. Fuck. 

“Is she okay?” he asks. 

“Yes, I’m sorry, professor. I’m just going to go–”

“May I?” he points to her, still crying and pushing against your hands as she pursues your computer. 

“Um…yes? What are you…?”

He turns her easily, picking her up under her arms and lifting her up above his head. 

Ivy stops crying when he brings her down, then up again. 

Then, she laughs. 

You watch incredulously as he repeats his actions, hearing her giggles grow louder and louder. He smiles too, eyes crinkling under the lenses of his glasses. 

He settles her on his side, supporting her bottom well with one arm. Then, he grabs the small towel you had placed on the blanket and slings it over his shoulder where her head might rest. 

You realize he’s done this before, then you wonder if he’s a father. 

Professor Barber looks at you, still smiling. “I can hold her, you keep taking notes.” Then, he turns to face the rest of the class, some people just staring blankly, others smiling, and others using the small interlude as an opportunity to go on their phones. “Now, as I was saying, when collaborating with a social worker, it’s important to…”

His voice trails off in your mind as you just focus on the image of him retreating down the stairs with your daughter on his arm, completely content as he continues his lecture. 

At the bottom of the lecture hall, he stands next to the podium, swaying and bouncing a little. Ivy seems to enjoy it, completely fixated on his face. 

She presses her hand into his beard, earning some laughs from him and your classmates. You’re horrified when she grabs his glasses, but everyone laughs again, and some people coo. He takes them from her and puts them back on, only for her to grab them again. 

Eventually, he relents, letting her play with them for the rest of the lecture. 

Towards the end, you notice Ivy’s body beginning to relax as she leans against his shoulder. Your professor grabs his glasses from her and places them on top of the podium, readjusting her so she’s better supported as she falls asleep. 

“That’s all I have for tonight; have a good Thanksgiving break, travel safely, and come back ready to finish the semester.” 

You rush to gather your things, practically running down the stairs. 

“I…” you begin, then stop because you don’t know where to begin. “Thank you.” 

“It’s no trouble,” he brushes you off, still rocking her even in her sleep. “Can I walk you to your car?” he asks. 

“Oh, you don’t have to–”

“I insist if it’ll help,” he shakes his head.

“I’m sure you’re eager to get home,” you argue weakly, really not wanting to bother him further. 

He practically babysat while lecturing. He clearly doesn’t mind, but you feel as if you’ve inconvenienced him regardless. 

“I don’t have any classes tomorrow,” he reassures you. “I don’t mind.” 

You huff a laugh, “I guess I shouldn’t argue with you…you were the ADA, after all.” 

He laughs too and your face heats up as you purse your lips to hide your smile. 

- - -

Andy carries your backpack as you push Ivy’s stroller, the November air chilly as the two of you walk to your car. 

“I can’t thank you enough, Professor Barber,” you sigh after buckling Ivy into her seat while he places your backpack in the trunk, then puts the baby bag in. 

He begins to collapse the stroller. 

“Oh, I can do that, you’ve done enough.” 

“Nonsense,” he dismisses you, folding it and placing it next to your other things. He shuts the door softly to not disturb your still sleeping daughter. “Happy to help.”

“I can’t express how grateful I am for all this,” you say, realizing you’re repeating yourself. “It’s a big help. And you didn’t have to do any of it–”

“Of course I did,” he shrugs. “I know the whole parenting deal. It’s a challenge.”

You smile, “How old is yours?” 

“He’s sixteen now.”

“Oh, that’s a fun age,” you remark. “Ivy’s only one and she’s already got a big personality. I can’t imagine what she’ll be like when she gets to that age. What’s it been like?”

Andy purses his lips and swallows. 

Truth is, he doesn’t know much about his son. Not since Laurie moved out and he went with her. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.”

When he looks back at your face, he can see the guilt in your eyes and he shakes his head. “No, I…” he begins. The words never come to him; how can even begin to delve into the inner workings of his family falling apart? 

“It’s complicated.” 

A look of sympathy comes over your face. “I can empathize.” 

He feels his eyebrows furrow in confusion and curiosity. What does that mean?

“Um, I should probably head home,” you say, using your thumb to point at your car. “I’m not as lucky as you; I have an early start tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” 

“Thank you again, professor. Happy Thanksgiving,” you smile, going around to the driver’s side of your car.

“My pleasure. Any time you need to bring her, just bring her. She was great to have in class.” 

“You may regret saying that,” you joke. “Goodnight, Professor.”

“Goodnight.”

He stands there like an idiot in the middle of the parking lot as the cold bites at his body, making him shiver as he watches you drive away. 

He had noticed you from the beginning, your quiet, respectful demeanor and great work ethic made you stand out against your other classmates. Now, having met your daughter, it unlocked a side of him he was forced to stow away when his family fell apart. 

He realizes maybe this is what his father felt when he left; there’s a void where Jacob once was, something that Ivy seemed to fill. 

Shaking his head, he reminds himself of the university policy: he’s faculty, you’re a student. It wouldn’t be appropriate. 

As he makes his way to the other side of campus to the faculty parking lot, he can’t shake the stirring in his stomach. He has to press it down and push it away, no matter how much he wants to convince himself that his rapidly growing fondness for you and your daughter is platonic. 

His fondness for you was never platonic to begin with. 

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[laiqualaurelote]

For the AU prompt game: Phrack as cryptozoologists maybe? 👀

“Absolutely not,” says Jack. “I will not countenance it.”

“Well, then how do you explain the sightings!” cries Miss Fisher. “The livestock disappearing? Whole animals dragged into the water?”

“It could be a lot of things,” Jack argues, “but nothing conclusively proves it was a twenty-metre long serpent lurking in the river for over half a century.”

“Oh, I know what you lot call conclusive evidence,” huffs Miss Fisher. “If I haven’t sliced it up, pickled it in a specimen jar and stuffed it in that poky attic your department calls a museum, it’s inconclusive.”

“It’s inconclusive,” parries Jack, “because the creature doesn’t exist, and therefore there is no reason for you to disrupt our field study of actual, non-alleged fauna.”

Jack’s research assistant makes a face at Miss Fisher’s research assistant, who is studiously taking water samples. If Jack had the budget he would hire Dorothy Williams away from Miss Fisher, but Jack does not have the budget, unlike Miss Fisher, who clearly has pots of money to throw away on her pseudoscientific shenanigans, the knowledge of which pains Jack deeply every time he has to write a grant proposal.

Miss Fisher peers at him. “You’re not hung up about the peer review thing, are you?” 

“Of course not.”

“Because there were legitimate issues with your methodology, and I really felt like I had to point them out.”

“No, I’m – ” Jack sighs and grits out. “It was. Sound. Criticism.”

Her eyebrows go up. “Why thank you, Dr Robinson.”

“Don’t mention it, Miss Fisher. I mean, really, don’t.”

The rest of the department calls Miss Fisher Miss Fisher as an affront; it’s to rub in the fact that despite her considerable force of personality, no institution of repute has seen fit to award her a doctorate. Professor Sanderson, department chair, calls her “that woman”, as in, “for God’s sake have that woman escorted off campus grounds” after Miss Fisher took to delivering improvisational lectures in the quad about the predatory evolution of the Mongolian death worm, which to the faculty’s dismay proved extremely popular among the student population. Jack sometimes wonders what it is like to believe in something the way Miss Fisher does. To have the conviction to fling oneself into the unknown on the faintest promise of discovery.

“You should call me Phryne,” says Miss Fisher.

Jack opens his mouth for a rebuttal he hasn’t thought through yet, but is saved from having to produce one by the shock of her finger laid suddenly on his lips.

“Do you hear that?” she whispers.

There is a rippling in the water, accompanied by a kind of spreading susurrus. If Jack squints, he can just about make out a dark shape, moving in its depths towards the bank. If pressed to estimate its length, he would place it at around twenty metres.

“Dot,” breathes Miss Fisher, “are you getting all this?”

“Yes, miss.” Dot is already filming. Hugh glances at her, then scrambles to do the same.

The serpent breaks the surface. It rears up above the river, magnificent and ancient and crusted green, beneath which its skin runs mottled. It bares a mouthful of teeth, each as long as an icepick, and hisses at their party on the bank.

“Oh, it’s beautiful.” Miss Fisher’s eyes are brimming with wonder. “Oh, you absolute darling.”

“Does it,” ventures Jack, “does it, by any chance, eat humans?”

“You didn’t even want to admit it existed a minute ago,” Miss Fisher shoots back. “How should I know what it eats? Oh, Jack, isn’t it marvellous?”

“Splendid,” agrees Jack, as the creature begins frilling in a mildly alarming fashion. “Given the dearth of literature on the subject, however, we should probably run.”

“We are going to write the best paper,” shouts Miss Fisher as she sprints up the slope. 

“This,” Jack shouts back, dragging Hugh behind a ridge as the serpent hits the bank with wet force, “is the worst possible way to ask someone to co-author!”

“Are you saying yes to me, Jack Robinson!” She seems, despite the circumstances, to be wildy enjoying herself.

“I wouldn’t want to set a precedent,” says Jack, though he knows, to his chagrin, that he already has.

(For the AU prompt game. I had to Google cryptozoologists. Apologies to any actual zoologists, or for that matter anyone in science academia.)

[ormir]

“It had to be done.” Ormir said, blunting his answer. After a moment’s consideration, he adjusted, realizing the bluntness he parried against the King would not do enough to soothe her. “The boy was a traitor, Freydis. Same as each blood-hungry mongrel that raises a sword to your claim on the basis of gender alone. You’ve proven yourself worthy of what they’ve been freely given, and that frightens them.” With every agitator she cut down, more would rise up in their place in effort. Ormir heard the buried implication in his own attempt at consolation: She’d have to kill again. And again. And again, until the Midlands became embroiled in conflict, or until she was at last battered into exhaustion. Either way, the blood spilled would stain his record. “With no real qualms over your governance, their true challenge would be with the legitimacy of the crown’s decision to honor you.” Ormir would see to it personally that Orhan adopted this conviction, as well. If such blatant rebuttals to the crown’s rule went unpunished, he rehearsed, how much further would these Midlanders reach in their insolence? 

“You offered more mercy than he deserved and he still denied it. That boy wouldn’t have given a second thought to taking your head if he’d had the chance, and you know it.” He stated, hoping to correct the doubt he’d heard in her words. “I am glad it is you standing here today.”

Enough. A slippery concept. “A question that plagues Kings and farmhands alike, my Jarl.” It was one he knew affected Orhan, deeply. It was a surprise to hear his worries echoed in a young noble with so much promise before her. “We each do the work bid of us, as best we can. The scribes do theirs to groom the legacy that follows us. My job,” Ormir’s head canted slightly. “Is to nudge their quills in the right direction.”

One exception, even a sanctified one, would not rewrite traditions reaching back hundreds of years. The grace Ormir was given when he was raised to the second-most influential position in the Kingdom, without a name nor clan to claim to, had been contentious enough at the time of his ascent. Controversial a figure as the Raven-Feeder he’d been as a chosen mouthpiece, he had one steep privilege over Freydis. Conspiracies from those early days still clung to his heels. Iskaldrik was an ancient land. In so unyielding a place, its people clung to the security of the old ways that sustained them. But there catalysts for change in its histories, just as sprouts fought their way up through the ice-crusted snow at the first break in the frost. A thaw would come.

“I have something for you.” Ormir turned toward the entryway, motioning a hand to summon the pair of Kingsguard that had been his escort. The two men bent and lifted in synchronicity, littering a large wooden box forward into the open chamber. Their footsteps echoed loudly within the unfurnished space, with nothing to absorb the sound. Ormir undid the heavy metal latch and lifted the lid. “For your housewarming.” He smiled, and stepped aside to observe.

Nestled in a bed of hay was a small spruce shield. Very apparently handmade, clumsy, fit for a child. A delicate, almost undetectable golden trim webbed the sinews where it had splintered, as if sewn back together by a thread of purest gold. It reflected a faint, sweet-smelling varnish, for preservation’s sake. “Our smiths could not make a novelty fit for combat, I’m afraid. But it deserves a place of honor in these halls, as a part of its history.” True satisfaction peeked through the huscarl’s voice.

“Maybe not worse,” Freydis admitted after putting some thought to the matter, “but similar.” She’d sustained injuries before that felt worse, that lasted longer than the aching of her head would. She could remember the deep pain and ugly sight of blood blisters, the suffering of a broken or bruised rib that made everything from breathing to defending her post agonizing, and several broken fingers in between. She had learned quickly that men didn’t pull their punches just because she was a girl. If anything, she suspected they struck harder. 

It was a relief he didn’t make her tell the story–if Aytaç had darkened her doorstep in her place, Freydis knew the princess would have needled the story out of her. The jarl wondered vaguely if Aytaç had always displayed such interest in the details as a means to access the experience vicariously. Freydis had no doubt the princess could have bested the better half of the men who had challenged her, but were Aytaç’s title scared men off of potentially harming her it seemed that Freydis’ was viewed as an open invitation. 

Freydis stood very still as Ormir looked at her after she spoke. She was not sure she had ever seen The Hand in such a state of confusion or disbelief or whatever it was he was experiencing. The expression was novel to Freydis–she had learned how to read many things within the subtle edges of his mannerisms, but not this look. Not yet. Her humility was palpable when he elaborated. She still found herself to be rather simple and wanting. “You aren’t angry that I killed him?”

“If another woman was permitted to follow,” she answered, not understanding the question was rhetorical in her battered state. “And if she were allowed to do it well, without resistance… If her legacy was better than mine.” He put words to her greatest fear a moment later–it was true, she had worked herself to the bone for some time now and had little to show for it but blood indelibly etched into her pores and innumerable bruises. “What if it’s not enough?” she asked quietly. What if she were a joke to them forever? What if her legacy continued on the current trend? If she were always to be seen by court and country as nothing more than a trained bear to toss into a ring and throw victims to?

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Hey, if requests are open, can we pretty please get some Jonathan and Will with a sister/sibling (middle sibling) who is kinda a good balance for both of them? I just would like to see your take on a dynamic like this! Thank you!

I like this concept a lot :) This will be the only thing I write tonight since I'm recovering from surgery.

For days, I could sense the overwhelming weight and sadness taking over my younger brother, his eyes sunken in and a permanent frown etched on his face. I know that he won't come clean that it's about Will, that his whole speech about how El probably feels like an outsider with no one to understand her was just a way for him to communicate how he feels without actually saying it.

But unlike Jonathan, Will doesn't need to actually say anything to me, I just know.

He's never really fit in with anyone, even the group and all of their games over the years. With the Mind-Flayer and the Upsidedown invading Hawkins, making my youngest brother its prime target, it only made him and our family stick out more. He has never been able to go out without people looking at him or itching to ask him questions.

That's why the move to California was possibly the best decision that my mom ever made from us, aside from leaving all of our friends and the rest of our 'group'. It gave all of a chance to start new, gave Will and El a new place to really make a name for themselves outside of our conservative town, but it also let Jonathan and I make new friends and try new things.

"So, do you like it?" Jonathan asks, leaning against his headboard as I let the smoke billow out from between my lips, watching it seep into the air and blow out the window in a moments notice. I cough a bit with a small smile, giving him a stern nod. "Good, Argyle got it from his guy last week and then totally forgot to give it to me." He snorts, taking a hit off the bong with a doped out smile and hazy eyes.

"So," I pause, flopping back down onto the bed as I watch the fan spin back and forth, "you gotta stop giving Will dating advice." I huff, giving him a pointed look as he scoffs, holding his hands up in feigned offense.

"My dating advice is great!" He shakes his head, brows firmly pulled together in an attempt to make himself believe his words but he can't be any further from the truth. It's an unspoken rule in this household to not come outright and talk about Will's struggles with sexuality and who he likes. It's already confusing for him to think about let alone talk about so we've steered pretty clear of talking about it when he's upset.

But lately Jonathan keeps trying to play match-maker and get him out in the world which, if he could have a successful relationship, I'd appreciate the thought. But given his weird relationship with Nancy, I don't trust a word of advice that comes out of his mouth.

I say that with all the love and respect in the world.

"You guys play for different teams! It doesn't help when you're giving him tips on how to woo people and you use the words 'boobs' every other sentence." My head tilts with a deadpanned smile, giving him somewhat of a condescending look that he calls 'the Joyce'.

"That's fair- alright." He sighs, his eyes fluttering shut as he pulls the bong up to his lips once more, lighting it and taking a deep breath before going to argue once more. "But-"

"Mike's ignoring my calls." His rebuttal is cut short by Will storming into Jonathan's room, red in the face and angry tears lining his lashline. Immediately, I sit up, sobering up quickly as I'm filled with unadulterated rage.

"Is he answering El-" I start but he cuts me off with a scoff.

"Of course he is." He huffs, his hands hitting his sides after he throws them up in the air, his hair falling in his eyes as he looks down at the ground and I can practically hear his heart pound out of anxiety from ten feet away.

"Then he's a dick- ignore him bubs, come take part in the illegal with us!" I laugh, trying to turn the tension to laughter but he just shakes his head, ignoring my comment all together.

"I just don't understand how he could just be my best friend for all of those years and then get a girlfriend and drop only me and not any of the rest of them." His voice quivers, eyes looking to me for support but I just frown deeply, my shoulders deflating in disappointment that he has to deal with this at such a young age.

"If he cares enough to talk to El and not you, when you're the same distance away, then maybe it's not worth it. Mike's always been kind of an airhead dude- I always liked Dustin more." Jonathan laughs, pointing a finger at our younger brother as he finally cracks a half smile, stepping towards the bed as I pat the spot beside me.

"C'mere." I whisper, wrapping my arm around Will as he slides down onto the bed, turning into a bundle of mush the minute I side hug him. "I know that it upsets you that he doesn't care- or it seems like he doesn't care- but remember that you're way more in touch with your feelings than he is." I look down at him, brushing his bangs from his face as he nods, not completely believing me but he stays quiet and lets me continue. "You're not a dumb boy like he is. So maybe just drop him for a bit, spend more time with us and less time worrying about what he's doing and who he's talking to." I offer and he nods, his eyes a bit more brighter than they were before and I can hear the words 'hard to get' playing over and over in his mind. Make him work for it, Will.

"Sounds like you're giving dating advice." Jonathan snorts, pulling the marijuana away from his lips as his eyes widen in accidental embarrassment. "Shit, sorry man, that wasn't a joke or anything-"

"Boy advice is boy advice whether it's a friend or not a friend." I cut him off, quieting his high rant as quickly as it can come out before looking to our brother, rubbing his back gently. "You gotta be a good friend before you can be a good boyfriend or girlfriend so this all applies, got it?" I ask, my eyes flickering back and forth between his as he smiles sadly, giving me a simple nod.

"Got it."

"Now lay here and get the second hand smoke, we'll take care of you." I laugh, forcing him to lay down as his eyes flutter shut, his back hitting the mattress moments later as he takes a deep breath.

"I don't trust you guys." He whispers, looking at me specifically and I gasp, looking to Jonathan for support but he just snorts and sends our brother a wink.

"You shouldn't."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane2828 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi

@crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @minjix @luvrosee @storytellingwitht

[magicbystarlight]

Before I Knew You - Part Three

Masterlist, Part One

Summary: You’ve spent years training under Madam Pomfrey in the hopes that you would join the Healers at St. Mungo’s at graduation. But in the aftermath of the death of Albus Dumbledore, you chose to join the Order instead. When you're forced into hiding, you find yourself alone with Bill Weasley and his new wolfish tendencies.

Word Count: 3,043

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of death threats Minors DNI.

Before I Knew You Tag List: @believinghurts @frozenwisteria

HP Tag List: @bamboozledflamplant

Several hours later you woke up from a surprisingly pleasant rest. The time you'd spent on the farm had been full of sleepless nights and fitful sleeps. You'd slept for at least a few hours as the room was dark and the moon was the only source of light trickling through the window.

The Burrow, you realized, was quiet. Your brief time there and knowing the Weasley siblings, you could guess that meant everyone else was asleep. You considered going back to bed yourself, but your stomach grumbled in protest. Slipping out of the bed, you did your best to be silent as you opened the door and made your way down the stairs. Mrs. Weasley's warning about the twins' bedroom being across from you still rang in your head and you cast a quick spell to ensure they hadn't accidentally left any traps for you to stumble into.

Halfway down the stairs, a light could be seen. As you descended further, you could see it coming from the very room you were heading. You considered heading back in case whoever was in there didn’t want to be interrupted as you were certain they had to be using a Silencing Charm, but as your full weight settled on step it creaked beneath you.

Mrs. Weasley’s head popped out from around the corner, a scowl in her face and mouth open ready to speak. The scowl disappeared as she took in the sight of you, a sad smile replacing it as she gestured you towards the kitchen. You followed, feeling as if you’d walked through a spider's web when you passed into the kitchen. Definitely a Silencing Charm.

In the kitchen, seated at the large table, were several familiar faces: Bill, Mr. Weasley, Remus, Tonks, and Alastor. It seemed they had been in a meeting.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Alastor gruff voice greeted, his non magical eye locked on you.

“Alastor! You watch your tone or I’ll send her straight back to bed,” Mrs. Weasley chided, her arm wrapping around your shoulder as she shook her head at the man. “Are you hungry,dear? I saved you a plate from dinner. You don’t mind bangers and mash, do you?”

“Don't mind at all, but I think I’ll wait until after Moody interrogates me.”

From the pleased expression on Alastor’s face, you knew you had assumed correctly on what laid ahead for you. His eyebrows raised victoriously at the Weasley Matriarch. Everyone else, however, was not.

“You had a rough day, you gotta eat something first. Mad Eye can wait,” Tonks said, murmurs of agreement following.

You shook your head, already feeling guilty that they had probably been there for a while waiting for you. You wanted this over and done with. “I’m fine, really. I’d rather get this over with.”

There were more rebuttals to this, Mrs. Weasley and Alastor going back and forth for a minute about it. Before you could speak again, Bill caught your eye as he leaned back casually in his chair that was pushed slightly away from the table with arms crossed. His voice was just loud enough to be heard over the squabbling between his mother and the auror as he said, “Eat. We have other pressing issues to discuss before that anyways."

He cocked his head to the side in warning as you opened your mouth to reiterate your point. “Fine,” you muttered, taking the empty seat next to Tonks. A minute later, you had your food and you began to eat quietly as the others discussed details of missions and rumors they'd been hearing. You were only half listening, too busy trying to gather your own details of what would be asked of you. But the mention of Charlie got your attention.

"When will Charlie be here?" Remus asked.

Mr. Weasley replied, "Some time tomorrow."

"Charlie's coming? Isn't the wedding more than a week away?" you asked, your head perked up. Charlie hated leaving his dragons. You couldn't imagine him leaving them for that long for a party. There was an exchange of glances around the table that you didn't miss. It was more than a party.

It was Tonks who spoke first. "She should know. We might even need her."

"No," Bill and Remus spoke in unison. "She's been through enough already," Mrs. Weasley added.

"Hasn't everyone at this table?" Mr. Weasley argued, ignoring the withering look his wife sent him. "We don't really have the luxury of deciding who can and cannot help if they're of age."

"She was just attacked!" Remus nearly yelled.

"And as long as Voldemort and his Death Eaters are a threat, it could happen again. She asked to join the Order. Like Tonks said, we may need her. Mundungus isn't exactly reliable and we need numbers."

Bill shook his head, "We'll have the numbers. Fred said Lee and Angelina would be trustworthy if we needed them."

Your fork clattered against the empty plate loudly as you dropped it. "Would you mind not talking about me like I'm not here? If I'm needed for something, I'll do it. But at the very least I should know what's going on. If it's something big and someone could get hurt, I should be prepared."

More glances were exchanged and you bit the inside of your lip to not say more from frustration. Alastor, seeming to have won this battle as Remus slumped back against his chair, locked both eyes on you. "Harry Potter is currently in a place under a protection spell that makes him impossible to get to. That spell breaks the moment he turns seventeen. Voldemort knows this. We can't wait until then to move him, so we're going to do it a few days before. Can't use most of the networks since we don't know who works for who in the Ministry. We'll fly but we're sure someone is watching the place so no matter when we go, there's a chance of a fight and Harry would be the primary target."

"So you need a lot of people to guard him," you stated.

"Ehh, yes but no. We're going to need a lot of people to be Harry."

The sentence didn't make sense. Be Harry? How could they be—Oh. "Polyjuice Potion."

He wagged his finger at you. "Exactly! We've planned for six dupes for a total of seven Harrys with their own guard. But we need alternates in case someone backs out or disappears before then."

"Alternates we have," Bill said.

You sent him a sharp look. "In any case," you said, annoyance dripping from your voice, "if you need me, I'll be there. Otherwise, I should be wherever you plan to meet up. I am supposed to be the Healer." You waited for someone to argue with you, but no one did. At least not out loud. Both Bill and Remus had clenched jaws, staring at the table as if it had thrown a nasty insult at them.

"Good. Molly, if it's alright with you, we can keep her here then. I know things will be tight, but it's safer than moving her all about and the less movement here the better."

She nodded at Alastor. "Of course. She can keep Per—she can keep the room. Charlie can bunk with Bill."

"Thank you," he said, his magical eye whirring to life and going in circles. "Now I think we need to discuss what happened at the farm today and your relationship with Cillian Yaxley and his father."

You sat up straighter, taking a deep breath. You could feel Tonks' hand covering yours, but you didn't look. You focused solely on the older Auror and tried to forget how many people were in the room. "Where would you like to start?"

"From the beginning, please."

"We met through a friend of a friend in my Fifth Year…" you began to explain. You spared intimate details where you could, but you gave everything important up. It wasn't as hard to remember the good times now that you'd allowed yourself the time to grieve it. But when you got to the end, it was harder to ignore the squeeze of your heart.

"He left for Siberia the day before I returned to Hogwarts. A couple weeks later I received a letter from Corbin. He'd written me a letter telling me he wouldn't let some disgusting Mudblood continue to defile his son and their good name. I was given the choice of writing Cillian and ending it or Corbin would go after my parents. He included quite a few photos of them," you summoned the stack from one of your bags upstairs, letting them land with a thud a moment later in the middle of the table. One was of them leaving the house. Another of your mother in her white coat through a window of the hospital she worked at. One of your father up close, as if it had been taken by someone within a few feet of him. "I wrote to Cillian that same night. Told him I realized I wanted distance and that I should get to enjoy my last year without some guy living in another country tying me down."

"And how did he take that?"

"He eventually stopped writing. Either in December or early January, I can't really remember." You knew very well that the last letter you'd received from him had been on the fifth of January.

"Was he angry? Did he make any threats?"

Your voice cracked as you said, "No." His letters were sad and confused. Most had tear stains on them. He was hurt, begging to fix whatever had been broken. Even his last letter ended with ‘I still love you’.

He's not the same person.

"I think that's all we needed," Tonks said, her hand still over yours.

"We haven't even talked about the attack," you said, barely able to keep the trembling out of your voice. "We don't know how he found me or even how he knew I was working with you." You'd gone completely off the radar after stepping off the train in June. You hadn't even written any letters.

"They found you through Muggle records," Remus said. "Your name was apparently put on the deed for the farm and it was automatically filed at the Ministry. One of their spies must have seen you talking to Tonks and I at the funeral and made the connection."

Out of all the magical ways you could have dreamed up, you'd never expected such a simple answer. Muggle records. They'd known where you were all along. They could have come after you sooner, but Corbin had waited. Waited until Cillian was back and had blood on his hands. How many times had Corbin been just on the other side of the protections figuring out how to break them?

The picture of your smiling parents eating dinner taken through the window of the kitchen replayed on a loop in front of you. No one had dared touch the stack of photos, not even Alastor. But his magical eye had roved over them enough times that you were sure he knew them better than you.

"I think we're all done for the night," Mrs. Weasley said, pushing out her chair and standing up. "Best we all get some rest, got quite a few long days ahead of us.”

Chairs scraped against the floor loudly in the mostly silent kitchen. A few rushed goodbyes from the non Weasleys, a tight hug from Tonks, and a promise from Remus to check in on you soon and then you were alone with the Weasleys again.

“Bill dear, would you mind walking her up? Your father and I are going to clean up a bit.” From the suddenly pale face of Mr. Weasley, you had a feeling they would not be cleaning.

The walk up was quiet and tense. The distinct taste of betrayal still lingered on your tongue. He’d tried to keep you out of the loop and had now stopped you twice from doing your job within the Order. You weren’t much younger than his brothers and they’d gone on many dangerous missions according to Tonks. They’d also been able to supply the Order with whatever clever idea they’d come up with, no questions asked. Because that was their job.

“Are you going to be alright?” he asked as you stopped at the door to the neat and organized room.

You were already opening the door as you said, “I’ll be fine. Good night.” You didn’t look back at him, shutting the door behind you before you could see the longing expression on his face.

-

Sleep hadn’t come as easily the second time. It hadn’t come at all. You stared at the ceiling until the sun rose. The sounds of a waking house began to filter in but you continued to stare at the ceiling. It wasn’t until a loud crack and scurried feet rushing outside did you finally decide to venture out.

You could hear loud, excited conversation as you freshened up and changed. A familiar, booming laugh brought a smile back to your face. You rushed downstairs, greeted by the sight of eight red haired people.

The dragon keeper screeched your name happily as he wrapped you in a bone crushing hug at the bottom of the steps. The last time you had seen him was the funeral and the short time he’d been at Hogwarts after his brother’s attack hadn’t been a joyful reunion.

“Hey,” you said as he put you down, your smile wider than before. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you till the wedding.”

He slung an arm around your shoulder as he pulled you along to the rest of the waiting family. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you here either, kid. What, farming isn't your thing?"

"Something like that."

"Oh, you haven't heard?" Fred asked, his eyes gleaming as you turned rigged. "Her ex boyfriend, the Death Eater, showed up and tried to kill her. And I thought Bill's break up was brutal."

The lightness of the room disappeared, Mrs. Weasley's shrill voice yelling at the elder twin. His response sounded defensive, but you weren't listening. Bill's face was stone as he stared into the floor. The scars seemed more prominent as he stood there and you wondered if the pain was too.

Your attention to him was disrupted as Fred left the room, presumably sent by his heaving mother. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry about that!"

Charlie's grip on your shoulder was tighter than before, pulling you into his side protectively. "It's not a secret. It's bound to be brought up a few more times."

"You don't need to make excuses for him," Charlie said, glaring at where Fred had disappeared. "He shouldn't have said it like that."

"I'm not making any excuses for him. I'm telling you that I'll have to get used to it. I'm fine. No one else owes me an apology." Bill hadn't stopped staring at the floor though no one else seemed to notice. "Bill?"

"Hmm?" he asked, looking up but not meeting your eyes.

"We should get the physical done," you said softly. He nodded, heading past you and up the stairs without a word. "I'll catch up with you in a bit, Charlie." Charlie gave a squeeze before dropping his arm and you followed quickly after Bill.

He had paused at the top of the third floor. "Um, your room or mine?" he asked.

"Wherever you feel more comfortable."

He nodded, heading into the room you'd been staying in. It was quiet between you two just like it had been last night as you worked on the man sitting on the unmade bed. There were a lot of questions you wanted to ask, some less medical than you should, but you held off. You focused on the diagnostic spells, checking his vitals, asking simple yes or no questions. He seemed in good shape, better even than he had been last time you'd seen him.

"Go ahead and take off your shirt," you said, stepping back to retrieve your notebook to write down what you’d gotten so far. You scribbled quickly, jotting down anything important. A moment later, you looked up to find Bill staring at you, shirt still on. “You okay?”

He swallowed hard, averting his gaze. “Yeah, yeah, sorry.”

You planted your gaze back on the parchment in front of you as he pulled the shirt off and over his head. Patients always hated being watched in their more vulnerable moments. When you looked back up, his chest was bare save for the long, jagged, barely healed gashes across it. They didn’t look worse, but they also didn’t look better. Your heart ached again for him.

“Do they ever hurt?”

“Around the full moon they did. But everything hurt then.”

“Why didn’t you come see me?” you asked, mortified at the thought of him being in pain you may have been able to stop.

He shrugged, his tone dismissive. “It wasn’t that bad. You’ve got other things to deal with and I’ve been hit with enough curses to be able to handle it.”

You stood in front of him, trying to keep your professional demeanor as you said, “It doesn’t matter if you can handle it. My job is to keep you healthy and alive. Being pointlessly in pain like that will only make it harder to do your job.” You shook your head, go smacked that he hadn’t said a word about it before. “And me knowing what you’re going through right now is important. There’s a high probability Greyback could do this to someone else.”

He said nothing.

“Is there anything else you’ve been experiencing that I should know?”

His answer was quick. “No.” Too quick.

“Bill.”

“There’s nothing else, okay?” he snapped. “Thanks for the checkup.” He grabbed his shirt from the bed and walked out.

Annoyance and frustration bubbled in your chest. All you wanted was to do your job and to help him, to help the Order, and to help those the Order was trying to protect. But Bill Weasley didn’t seem to care.

Next

[miyagifangkai]

Birthday Party

Request: I wonder if you could make an imagine where Johnny wants his son's party with reader to be about karate and there's a fun discussion about that with Robby and Miguel in the middle afraid to give an opinion.

Tagged: @cobrafanggirl

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Cursing, AND CUTENESS OVERLOAD!!!

Also not completely proofread

Couple Pairing: Johnny Lawrence x Reader

Characters involved: Johnny, Reader, Miguel, Robby, Sam, Hawk, Demetri, Tory, a mention of Kenny, and a mention of Daniel

A/N: I tweaked it just a little bit, I hope you don’t mind. I was just having so much fun writing it! Also I didn’t give the baby a name.. idk what would fit. I’m sorry lol

I hope you enjoy it! 😊 also I’m sorry it took forever…

You, Johnny, Miguel, and Robby were quietly eating your dinner while the baby was asleep.

The four of you are enjoying the comfortable silence. Silence, man, what a nice thing to have. Things had been complete chaos for everybody this past year. With taking care of the baby non stop, balancing a job, the boys balancing karate and school, and Johnny trying to keep his head screwed on the right way between the boys bickering, karate, and you losing your shit from lack of sleep. Everyone was soaking in the absolute bliss of the quietness and being in the company of each other. You had found time to make some dinner for everyone with the help from Robby; he was wanting to learn how to make spaghetti.

You and Him had gotten some bonding time while Johnny and Miguel got the baby to fall asleep for when it was time to eat. It was nice having those two over, it felt like a real family with them. Johnny also seemed happy about it as well so that made you happy too.

As you all finished eating everyone helped clean up the kitchen and then the boys sat down on the couch and turned on a movie while you were finishing up the dishes. Miguel had sat on the left side of Johnny and Robby on the other side.

You overhear the boys having a conversation about the baby’s birthday party theme. But what made your ears perk up was when Johnny said, “C’mon guys! The party is going to be karate themed.”

Miguel says, “How do we know if they’re gonna like karate when they get older?”

Robby rebuttals, “The kid is only one, Miguel. They won’t know what the theme is anyway.” Robby sighs, “I think we should just keep it simple. Birthday cake with colorful candles and some nice polaroid pictures.”

You liked Robby’s idea. Not wanting to push things on your child; but you also understood that Johnny was one stubborn son of a bitch.

“Robby, don’t be a nerd! We need to make this party bad ass,” Miguel and Johnny both fist bump.

Robby rolls his eyes and takes a look at you and he says, “Any back up here?”

You put up the last plate and turn around, “Guys, I think I agree with Robby here. Maybe like keep it neutral, you know?”

Johnny scoffs, “You’re joking, right? We are not gonna have a nothing party for the little dudes first birthday!”

You step into Johnny’s living room, “I think it’s the best option. I mean, we don’t know what he likes yet. I think we should–”

“So you’re saying you don’t want him to have a karate birthday?”

“Johnny–”

“Why not?”

You notice Miguel and Robby look at each other awkwardly knowing that they had opened a can of worms. Both of the boys' heads keep turning towards you and Johnny as you two go back and forth.

“I just think it’s a fun idea to have the classic first birthday, you know?”

“Classic?” Johnny crosses his arms, “Karate isn’t classic?”

Miguel and Robby both say, “Lets calm down–”

“QUIET!” Johnny yells at them. Both of the boys flinch at Johnny’s words and they decide to opt out. You hear the baby stir on the monitor and you all shush each other. You end up not hearing anything else come from the baby monitor so you continue.

You give in slightly, “Karate is awesome, babe! I’m just saying a karate birthday would be more fitting for a kid who’s a little bit older and could enjoy it.”

“Why can’t we have more than one karate themed birthday?”

You roll your eyes, “And we can,” but you sigh, “When he’s a little older and can choose what he wants, Johnny.”

“What if he chooses to have a princess party?” Johnny almost regrets his words knowing that you wouldn’t like what he had just said. You see both of the boys step back and look at each other again knowing where this is gonna go and they both mouth, “Oh, shit,” at each other.

“What if he does? Who cares?” You say with a tinge of annoyance.

Johnny didn’t know how to answer that. He knew you were right but it also felt wrong. His whole entire life he was taught how to be a “man” and being a “man” didn’t include Barbie dolls. But it’s a different time now and he knew that. He was also okay with that. Sometimes he had a hard time getting a grip on what was truly right or what was a part of his raising. You knew he struggled with that as well and that’s why you didn’t completely explode on him. He messed up. A lot. But he was trying and that’s all a “man” could do, right? You saw that he was at a loss for words and couldn’t find the right thing to say until Miguel jumps in.

“Guys, why don’t we do a half and half?”

You look at Miguel confused, “Half and half?”

“Yes! Do the normal run of the mill cake but have some karate decorations? All of us show up in our gi’s but keep you three in normal clothes,” Miguel says as he points at you, Johnny, and the baby’s room.

You see Johnny smile liking the idea. You liked the idea of compromise.

Robby says, “Won’t that be a little disjointed?”

Miguel gives Robby the evil eye, “Yes. But have you even met this family?”

You felt the blow that Miguel had thrown at Robby and he almost grimaces but instead opens his mouth to fight back but to break up the tension between the two you say, “It’s disjointed. But fitting.”

Johnny finally speaks up, “I wish it was totally karate themed,” you all look at Johnny annoyed, “but! I think this could work. 50/50.”

Everyone gets into an agreement; with Robby bringing his camera and candles, you getting the cake (with the help of Robby) and the matching outfits, while Miguel and Johnny pick out the karate decorations. The baby’s birthday was a week away and you all were rushing to get things right.

Today was the day for the party. You three were ready to go in your matching outfits which were blue and white plaid shirts with light wash jeans and with the cake on hand. Robby had acquired the camera and Miguel had gotten the decorations.

You all were setting up for the party hanging streamers, little cutouts of karate men doing all types of moves, and a humongous balloon with the number one on it. You could say it was a little tacky but for some reason it fit so well.

Soon enough everyone had showed up in their karate gi’s and all started conversing amongst each other. You had made your rounds with the baby around the room thanking everyone for coming to the party. Everyone loved him and couldn’t help but compliment the matching outfits and how adorable you all looked. Even Demetri gave in with the shrug of his shoulders, “Okay, I’ll admit it. I mean, it’s a bit cheesy. But it’s very cute,” which warranted a laugh from you.

“Demetri, coming from you, that must mean I did something right,” you say to him, causing him to smile at you.

Miguel had invited Hawk, Sam, and Demetri to the party while Robby had Tory and Kenny tag along with him. Not the biggest crowd but definitely the right ones to show up. You had decided to not invite Daniel for this one because you didn’t want an all out karate fight to break out in the living room at your son's party. But there’s always next year. You saw Robby going around and taking pictures, some candid and some posing. You handed Johnny your son so he could show him off to Hawk and Demetri. You walked up to Sam and Miguel.

“Thanks for coming, Sam. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N! Thanks for the invite. I was really excited to see how the half and half thing would go,” she chuckles.

You look around and realize that it didn’t look too great, “Yeah, not the best. But Johnny is happy and for some reason the dysfunction really works here.”

Miguel and Sam both laugh but agree with you. As you three were laughing you all see a flash catch you all in the act and you hear Robby say, “Man! That was a good one!”

He hands you the picture as it develops and you take a look at it.

“Robby, this is really sweet!”

You see Sam and Miguel lean over to take a look and you show them; both of them smiling at the picture. You say a small, “See you later,” to the two and start to scan the room for your boys. You spot Johnny, Hawk, and Demetri still talking so you walk up to them as well. As you walk up you see Hawk holding the baby while gently moving his arms making sound effects as Johnny pretends to be battling with Hawk and the baby. Might have been the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

You say, “So who’s winning?”

Hawk says, “I’m not sure. This one is definitely a fighter!”

You all laugh and you say, “Thanks for coming boys, honestly.”

Demetri says, “And miss this? The fight of the century? No way!”

You see Robby sneak back up and take a picture of you all with Hawk posing with the baby. You all chuckle at the picture and you say, “I think it’s time for cake, huh?”

They all agree and Hawk hands you the baby back and you go to the kitchen to get everything set up.

“Need any help?” You hear Tory ask you.

“Oh, yeah! Could you get him in his chair while I put the candle on the cake?”

“Yes!” Tory exclaims. You could tell she was wanting to hold him for a little bit. She took him in her arms and she automatically started talking in baby talk to him. Calling him beautiful and whispering “Happy Birthday” to him. Robby was definitely there taking pictures of her and you thought it was adorable. You see Kenny trying to photobomb with Robby trying to “shoo” him away. You couldn’t help but laugh.

Everyone circles around the table with the lit cake and your baby laughing at everybody looking at him and singing. You and Johnny blow out his candle together and share a quick kiss. With most of the kids saying, “aw” but you hear Demetri go, “ew.”

Robby had definitely gotten some really good pictures you could tell by his face. Everyone got a slice of cake and started talking again with Miguel and Robby spending time with the baby together. You could hear them say, “Happy Birthday, little baby.” and “I love you,” and it warms your heart. Knowing that two of the most prominent figures that are gonna be in his life love him unconditionally was the best feeling. You sneak and pick up Robby’s camera and take a picture of the boys and you just look at the picture with so much happiness.

You look up at Johnny smiling, taking everything in and you say, “Can’t believe you’re speechless.”

“I am. I’m happy,” he couldn’t hide his bright smile and he wraps his arm around you.

“Me too, Lawrence,” you lean into his touch.

He kisses your forehead and mumbles, “I love you, babe.”

You smile and say, “I love you too.”

You both did. You both love each other. You both love your son as well.

You two stand there for a bit looking at everyone and enjoying the party. It might not have been the prettiest party in the world but it was your party and though it was tacky; you wouldn’t have it any other way. You couldn’t wait for your son to meet them all one day when he gets older; what an adventure that’s gonna be.

[manybcdthings]

Felix hissed out a slow but dismissive laugh for Leo's rebuttal, despite not thinking it was much of one. "I don't think you're hearing me, I didn't punch anybody. So there's no court case. And dibs, ironically, is how a lot of legal things work. Like...trademarks, for instance." he took sheer amusement from adding another sliver of useless correction. Felix's hand then waved in a defeated gesture, his eyes rolling. "Obviously I didn't set out to read about apple juice consumption, but sometimes things...link and connect. I read it all." Felix exclaimed, both hands then throwing up in a wild shrug. "What is with you today? I've done you a favor and you're being insufferable."

Although, there was no point in any of the effort to obtain the replacement lego set. Not when more tears were flowing from Henrik, and Felix's expression dropped into a scowl that he shot towards the Sinclair. He watched as Leo consoled their nephew, scrunching his nose in slight amusement at the Sinclair's smugness. "Nerd." Felix whispered, joining in the placation by patting his hand to Henrik's head once the small witch peeled away from Leo. How will Han Solo fit in it to fly it back? It's sma...it's smaller. Henrik sniffed the question, clearly his mind already calculating beyond imagination. Felix fought a smirk, hiding it from Leo while he could. "He won't, because it's a toy and Leo is stupid but...Han Solo will send the toy back to you."

Well shit, now he was complicit in creating a demand for a second Millennium Falcon. Technically, a third. "How about we make this one? It'll be easy. You can show us." Felix moved on, deciding distractions were their best option but the teary Henrik didn't seem too enthusiastic. It didn't deter Felix from opening up the box, nodding his head for Leo to clear the coffee table so they could begin. The building instructions first caught his eye, but he showed it to Henrik with a slight grin. "I bet...you remember how to do it without these, right?" he asked the boy, who's sniffles stopped momentarily to nod. "Shall I test you? See how close to the instructions you are without looking at them?" Felix suggested, and watched as Henrik took the opportunity to showcase his skills by giving another nod and moving closer to the coffee table. "Ranström" Felix mouthed smugly to the Sinclair.

the rapid retort, and correction, from felix pulls an immediate groan from leo, his head tilting as if the smart-assery pains him. 'ack, jesus. take a day off.' he gripes before a laugh escapes harshly, leo waving his hand in mock encouragement for felix's continued story. 'that'll hold up in court. your honor, i got dibs.' he mutters disparagingly but swept within enough amusement to keep his good mood unbreakable. a mischievous grin winds itself over leo's lips, and the sinclair gives the moody ranstromen a flash of a smile. 'okay, great. love that. now we just need to solve the mystery about why you were reading apple juice for kids.'

amusement remains as leo watches felix and henrik, hovering by the entry of the living room with a smirk. 'i didn't.' he interjects simply as felix mentions the breakage of the lego. in his own defense, leo didn't have the faintest clue that they would be so fragile. he fails to see why the millennium falcon, which is a space ship, can't be thrown to simulate flight. a design flaw, truly. 'the wall broke it.' because technicalities matter, and always will. but it suddenly becomes evident that the entire moment is too much for young henrik, and despite amusement crossing leo's features as his nephew turns on the other uncle, the erupting tears are like a little ptsd alarm. 'oh shit...' leo's expression drops as the boy is yet again, inconsolable and he glances to felix with a quick yikes. 'my bad.' he mutters, stepping closer to try and console henrik...again. 'i told you not to show him it.' he adds with a shot glare to felix.

'hey, it's all good buddy.' leo says, patting the boys head as he crouches to henrik's level. albeit, the broken pieces are in the trash and the salvaged ones are in a bag. 'it's just got...something wrong with the CEC YT-1300.' yes, he watched star wars and felix isn't the only one who memorizes things, which is why leo gives the ranstromen a raised brow momentarily. 'so this one is just until the other one gets fixed up. and what's cool is we get to make it all over again, but with felix this time. and then han solo will drop off your one again...in a few weeks.' oh shit...did leo just create a demand for another replacement?

[ragnarlothcat]

Imma sucked for sugar baby AUs, tell me what's going on with yours??

I am delighted you'd like to hear more, thank you 🥰 It's a very silly fic already. I posted about it ages ago but can't find it in my posts (is tumblr being annoying at anyone else or just me?) but the gist is that Obi-Wan is a senator and Anakin is still a Jedi. Senator Kenobi gets some death threats so the Council sends him a Jedi (Anakin) and Obi-Wan immediately decides that what this grumpy, powerful man really needs is for someone to spoil him and let him rest.

This scene is very early, when Anakin is just settling into his newest assignment and Obi-Wan is tormenting him.

(For this wip game!)

“What do you think?” Senator Kenobi asks, and Anakin drags his eyes away from the window he’d been staring out pointedly. The latest outfit is even more form-fitting than the last, clinging to the man’s pecs (why is a senator ripped?) and cinching in around his slim hips. Decked out in white and gold Kenobi looks like a king.

“It’s fine.”

Kenobi hums negatively and adjusts the little cape over his broad shoulders. “Fine? Knight Skywalker, this is one of the most important days in the Stewjoni calendar. I can’t show up looking fine. It would be disrespectful to my ancestors, you know.”

Distantly Anakin wishes he’d paid more attention in class. Kenobi might well be telling the truth, but the amused quirk of his lips makes Anakin suspect that he’s being toyed with, and he feels a flash of sympathy for the temple’s mouse droids.

“I’ll try something else,” Kenobi continues, undoing his shirt to expose his coppery chest hair, and Anakin bites back a groan. “Problem?”

“I can give you some privacy,” Anakin suggests weakly. “I’m supposed to protect you at the gala, Senator. That’s where our intel suggested you might be in danger.”

Kenobi huffs and crosses his arms. “The assassins might break in through the window and murder me while I’m half naked and…vulnerable.”

Anakin gets the sense that this man has never been vulnerable once in his entire life. Kenobi was probably born with a witty rejoinder on his lips and a snifter of brandy clutched in one hand.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” is what Anakin says.

“Senator Amidala was almost killed in her bed.” Oh good, he has a rebuttal. Of course he does. “She told me you once had to burst in while she was sleeping and defend her from some kouhuns.”

So Kenobi knows Padmé. That might explain why he requested Anakin, of all people, to be his personal security detail. Anakin was assigned to Padmé, and they both survived the experience. There were some…complications, admittedly, but they parted ways as friends.

If she’s responsible for this newest assignment he might need to reconsider that friendship.

“Yes,” Anakin grits out, ignoring the way Kenobi’s cheek dimples when he smiles. “But that was the middle of the night. If someone looked through your window now to try to kill you, they’d see you awake and…preening.”

Kenobi laughs, throwing his head back to reveal the bristled line of his throat. “Is that what I’m doing?”

Anakin flushes and turns his head. “I meant no offense.”

“And none was taken. I am fussing, rather, but I just want to make sure everything goes smoothly. Every detail must be perfect, you know.” Kenobi surveys the carnage of his outfit selection process, heaps of rich colors and decadent fabrics laid out across the man’s bed like petals. They look so soft, so elegant— “So which one have you liked best so far?”

Anakin refocuses on Kenobi’s unfairly handsome face. “I don’t know, Senator.”

“Obi-Wan, please.”

Anakin huffs. “Obi-Wan. They all look pretty similar.” At Kenobi’s raised eyebrow Anakin sighs. “I guess I liked the white one best. It made you look—”

“Fine?” But Kenobi’s voice is gently teasing.

“Powerful,” Anakin mutters, and then ducks to hide the rush of blood to his cheeks. “That will honor your ancestors, right?” Oh Force, this is so embarrassing, the senator is going to think Anakin’s some kind of youngling, with a ridiculous crush on a man he’s supposed to be protecting—

“Thank you, Anakin,” Kenobi says, his voice deep and warm. “You understand perfectly. I knew you were clever.”

Anakin shrugs and fiddles with the clasp of his glove. He still feels a bit wrongfooted. He doesn’t know the first thing about fashion, or galas, or politics. He just knows his stomach tightened with something like anticipation when he saw the senator in that getup.

Kenobi smiles winningly in the mirror, and shrugs on a robe. “I suppose that’s me taken care of” —thank the gods— “but the afternoon is still young. What about you, my oh-so-clever knight?”

“What?” Anakin looks down at his tabards and then back up. “I’m wearing my robes.”

Kenobi clucks his tongue. “You are not. This is a gala, Anakin, not a battle. The only fighting will be over the best canapés.”

“Isn’t someone trying to kill you?” Anakin asks blankly.

“No, we can’t have you skulking in background dressed in black. This is a celebration of light, dear one, not the Siege of Christophsis.”

“Yes, I know,” Anakin says, eyeing Kenobi warily. “That’s why I’m standing here chitchatting about shirts instead being shot in the face. Not that the two experiences differ significantly, from a discomfort perspective—"

Kenobi laughs, his eyes crinkling and Anakin wonders if it’s too late to ask for a reassignment. “Such dramatics! Don’t you fret, Anakin. I’ll decide quickly. Fortunately I think you can pull off practically anything, can’t you?”

Pull off—Kenobi is doing this on purpose, isn’t he? "I have to be able to protect you. My robes are perfect for fighting, for running, for arresting people—”

“You can do all those things in my clothes, Anakin. Believe me,” he says with a rich chuckle, “I checked.”

Anakin chokes on his spit. “When did you arrest someone?”

“Now, your eyes suggest that blue might be striking.” Kenobi says, as though Anakin hasn’t spoken. “But something tells me that you might be breathtaking in gold. It’s the way your hair looks in the lamplight, maybe…”

“You want to dress me in gold? Isn’t that kind of flashy?” It’s incredibly flashy. Anakin knows, he built a gold protocol droid. “I don’t want to draw any attention away from you on this, uh, momentous occasion.” As though anyone would bother looking at Anakin when Kenobi is right there. He assumes he’d be nothing more than a shiny distraction, annoying everyone who’d rather stare at the way Kenobi’s abs flex when he laughs.

(Not that Anakin can relate or anything.)

Kenobi brushes that aside with a wave of his pale hand. “Please, darling” —darling? — “everyone will be looking at you regardless. Whether you’re draped in glimmering finery or scowling at them in your functional Jedi attire.”

Anakin scoffs. “Hardly, Senator. Look, I want to respect your customs and if it’s important, I can wear a different outfit. But don’t waste good money on me.”

“Waste—you have no idea, do you?” Kenobi pushes in until he’s close enough that Anakin can smell whatever ridiculous cologne he’s wearing, something spicy and mouth-watering. “You’re so lovely, Anakin, so strong.”

“Um.” Anakin likes to think he’s capable, sure. He’s won more space battles than any other Jedi, he’s one of the best duelists in the Order (second only to his Master, probably) and—

“I know you’re capable, Anakin, I know you’re brave. I’ve seen the holos,” Kenobi murmurs, and a distant part of Anakin’s brain rejoices at the idea that this handsome, smooth-voiced man has been watching him. “You do so much for the republic, for the galaxy. Don’t you think you deserve something nice for once?”

“I get lots of nice things,” Anakin protests, reflexively. True, war leaves precious little time for relaxation, but Anakin isn’t deprived or anything. He’s a Jedi. He’s not supposed to need things.

Kenobi ignores him and picks up a discarded shirt that Anakin faintly remembers him trying on an hour ago. “Feel the fabric,” he coos, and Anakin reaches out with his ungloved left hand. The silk slips across fingers like water, the gold catching the light and shimmering gently against his skin.

It’s softer than anything he’s ever touched before. “Oh,” Anakin sighs. “This feels expensive.”

Kenobi tuts gently and pushes up Anakin’s sleeve just slightly to expose his wrist and forearm. “Hardly. Oh Anakin,” Kenobi breathes, and a small, distant part of him wonders if the senator is playing this up to torment him, or if the man genuinely sounds like sex in all innocent conversations. Maybe he should volunteer to sit in a few senate sessions. “You’re glowing.”

The gold does make his tan seem brighter, somehow. His last campaign was on a tundra planet and his skin lightened a little in the constant snow. He wonders if the color will do anything for the bags under his eyes or the dullness of his complexion that Padmé commented on sympathetically.

“Doesn’t that feel nice?” Kenobi asks, as he drags the silk over his bare skin. “And—yes, I thought so,” he says, and lifts the fabric to Anakin’s face. “Your eyes shine like stars.”

Anakin feels the tickle of the silk against his cheek and presses into it. It still smells a bit like Kenobi’s cologne and it’s so thin he can feel the warmth of the senator’s large hand. His fingers are inches away, Anakin could almost taste them—

“It’s settled,” Kenobi says, and Anakin’s eyes snap open. “I’ll have my tailor make you a set too.”

“Tailor?” Anakin sputters against the touch of the cloth. “No, that’s too much—”

“Hush, Anakin,” Kenobi says, and tugs the shirt away to drape it over his bed, beside the clothes he himself will be wearing. It’s not lost on Anakin that the two outfits complement each other perfectly. Anakin and the senator are going to look like they’re— “You have no idea what a gift you’ve given me. I’ll have a beautiful, shining Jedi Knight at my gala, looking like the sun itself. I can’t think of a better way to honor my culture. Can you?”

Anakin clears his throat around the tightness that appeared when Obi-Wan called him ‘beautiful.’ “I mean, no? You’d know better than I would.”

“You’re right, Anakin. I would,” Kenobi says crisply. “Now, you don’t have your ears pierced, do you? I have some lovely sapphires that have been languishing in my collection.”

“Why would I need—”

“An outfit like this demands jewels, Anakin. You’d look simply ridiculous without, and I’d look ridiculous by association. And I know you don’t want me to show up at my own gala looking ridiculous.”

“No,” Anakin sighs, “I don’t want that. But my ears are not pierced.” Unless the senator counts that time he was shot in the ear. That had been a kind of piercing.

But that doesn’t seem to dampen Kenobi’s enthusiasm. Far from it. “It’s no matter,” he says, and grins. “I have a circlet that will look even better against your pretty curls.”

Anakin tugs on his hair self-consciously, the flood of compliments echoing in his mind. “Isn’t this all a bit…much? It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, senator, but—”

“Anakin,” Kenobi scolds, even as he rummages through a cupboard to pull out a flat, velvet box. “I told you. Call me Obi-Wan.”