#i just wanted to post this and then spend like a solid eight hours on my paintings because they have a really real and fast approaching

[veryace-ficrecs]

Maverick and Rooster Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

I Remember, Do You? by west00 - Rated T

A post-mission look into Maverick & Bradley's evolving father/son relationship. When Bradley gets hurt a few weeks after the mission, Mav wants nothing more than to get right in there and help him. Turns out it's more complicated than he expected.

anger is... (and love is, too) by actuallyitsstar - Rated T

Maverick taught him how to build a fire when he was eight years old. Now watch what happens, kiddo, he’d said, and Bradley had, attention rapt and gaze unwavering. The orange-yellow flame had started small and wavering, but it had touched the edge of a crumpled sheet from The San Diego Union-Tribune and the ink and paper had melted into a shrinking, retreating ring of ash and char, and it had sprung to life just like that- strong and hot and ever-growing. That’s why you never, ever play with matches, sweetheart, Maverick’s voice in his memories still warns him, but he remembers it- and he thinks about how unfair it is, that Maverick turned on his word. That Maverick came to play with matches. By extension, Maverick teaches Bradley how to really build a fire, an inferno, when he is eighteen years old. He doesn't learn how to let it go, how to want to let it go, until fifteen years later, when everyone else is letting go around him.

fight's on by little_versailles - Rated T

Maverick and Bradley's relationship, as adults, is defined by the fights they have and the ways they recover. Or, Bradley wants to call Maverick 'Dad'.

You Used To Talk To Me by west00 - Rated T

Extended scene: One-shot starting immediately after the beach football scene in TGM. Mav spends some time on the beach just watching them play, hopeful that this could be a breakthrough for him & Bradley but he's not really sure how to get there.

I saw beauty to the north by SortaLively (tiisis) - Not Rated

Not all injuries hit you at once. Some take a moment. Some take several moments. Bradley finds that out the hard way. Ice has been here before and there’s nothing he wouldn’t give to not be here again. Mav really thought it was just a headache.

Sticker Fever by DjDangerLove - Rated G

There’s a clatter of items being haphazardly discarded on the counter, something bulky bouncing around the curves of the sink. “Jesus, kid. How high is your fever? We checked it about a half hour ago.” There’s a comforting pressure despite all odds on the crown of his head and he thinks maybe if Uncle Pete just keeps tousling his hair with the back and forth motion of his fingers his brain just might stay solid.

Promise Me by PurpleArrowzandLeather - Rated T

What if Maverick and Bradley were on good terms from the beginning of the movie and have to hide the nature of their familial ties to avoid getting accused of a conflict of interest?

The Things I Can't Tell You About by west00 - Rated T

AU: Sometime during their 2-3 weeks in training for the mission, Rooster came down with a terrible stomach flu. Weak and dehydrated, he couldn't believe he was reaching out to the man he vowed never to speak to again. AU but takes place within the TGM timelines before the mission. Angsty Bradley POV.

I Need You to Live by PurpleArrowzandLeather - Rated T

When Bradley finishes playing his dad's song at the Hard Deck, he sees a familiar figure collapse on the beach. Thinking the worst, he does everything in his power to make sure he doesn't lose him.

Finding Calm After The Storm by west00 - Rated T

AU: During training for the Uranium mission, a major storm comes through and forces Maverick, Rooster and the Dagger Squad to shelter in place in the building. Yet another reconciliation-based fic! Tension between Mav & Rooster ensues and eventually goes south, Hangman and Phoenix get in the mix too. Rooster POV.

[teaberrii]

Chapter Twenty-One: The President's Burden

You and Cyno can’t be more different. He’s Akademiya’s perfect student council president. You’re a labelled, cursed delinquent who changes into a cat for eight hours when kissed.

When Cyno gets a complaint about you, he’s forced to take action, only for it to lead to unexpected circumstances.

Cyno/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on Ao3

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

"I'd rather not," you say flatly as Cyno takes your hand. If you're scared, you aren't showing it. Instead, you keep your eyes on the men as if challenging them. "But you can tell Scaramouche that he's not the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve."

When Jebrael steps toward them, one of the men nudges his companion. "Let's go. We're done here."

"And don't come back!" the goon shouts behind them.

Cyno puts his arm around you. "You did well, Catnip."

Jebrael walks up to you and Cyno and asks, "Will you join us for dinner?"

"I'd love to," Cyno says, "But my cousin is waiting for me at home."

"Is it Nahida?" you ask. Cyno nods. "The girl with the iron grip."

Cyno chuckles. "I guess she hugged you too tightly that day."

"You have no idea. But she seems like a nice girl. I'd love to meet her in person one day."

"Why not this weekend?" Cyno suggests. "Alhaitham is taking me to meet his friend, so she'll want someone to hang out with."

"She didn't want to go with you?" you ask.

"I told her about it earlier today," Cyno says," And I quote… that sounds kinda boring."

You laugh. "I can keep her company. But, who's the friend, then?"

"He's a lawyer." Then, Cyno looks at Jebrael. "He's the one who handled your case."

"Ooh, wasn't that guy like your only friend, Jebrael?" the goon laughs.

All it takes is one look for the goon to look the other way innocently. Then, Cyno's phone dings with a message.

Nahida: PIZZA'S HERE!

"Everything okay?" you ask. Cyno shows you the text.

"The classic pepperoni and cheese. A solid choice." You and Cyno look at the goon, who awkwardly clears his throat and looks away from Cyno's screen. "Sorry. It was food. Couldn't help myself."

"Maybe I can save you some."

The goon gasps and nudges you. "He's a real keeper!"

Cyno slips his phone back into his pocket just as Jebrael says, "We'll take her back."

Just before parting ways, Cyno kisses your hand. Then, he heads into the car and tells Nahida that he's on his way back.

◆◆◆

As soon as Cyno enters the house, he smells something delicious. Nahida comes out of the kitchen, holding a large jug of juice and smiles at him.

"If you were any later, I would've eaten the entire pizza myself!"

"Yet, you still got me a plate," Cyno says.

"So, you better make it up to me!"

Cyno joins her at the table and puts a slice of pizza on a clean plate. "Well, what if I told you that Catnip's going to spend the weekend with you?"

Nahida gasps. "Really?"

"Didn't you say you want to meet her?"

"Well, yeah, but… I don't know. It's not every day you hear someone wanting to spend time with a kid."

"That makes you sound more mature than you are."

Nahida's about to bite into her food when she says, "Don't make me throw my pizza at you."

"You wouldn't waste food."

Nahida takes a bite. "Not good food." Cyno and Nahida eat in silence for a little while until she wipes her fingers on her napkin and asks, "Do you want to hear some gossip?"

"About what?"

Nahida reaches for another piece. "One of my classmates is acting a little strange." She puts the slice on her plate and sighs. "I overheard him talking about something the other day… and I think it's why he's been skipping classes."

"What did he say?"

"... He'll stop at nothing until he gets the money. That's who Scaramouche is." Cyno almost drops his pizza. "I heard some people saying that his father got into debt, but I don't know…."

"Don't get involved," Cyno says sternly.

"Oh, of course not! I don't have that much time on my hands to get involved in someone else's business. But it's just… sad, I guess."

"Is your teacher doing anything?"

"Well, because he's always been late lately, she talked to him a few times. But he doesn't seem that comfortable with her." She scoffs. "Let me rephrase that. No one really seems that comfortable with her."

"Why not?" Cyno asks. "I thought you said you liked her before."

"You never know what you had until it's gone," Nahida sighs. "We got a new teacher halfway through the semester. And she doesn't like teaching. It's pretty obvious." She takes a bite. "Okay, maybe that's going too far. But she does the bare minimum, which I'm trying to get at, I guess."

Just as Cyno finishes the rest of his pizza, Nahida looks at him. "You turned kinda pale when I said Scaramouche," she continues. "Do you know him or something?"

"He's a student at Akademiya."

Nahida drops her pizza onto the plate. "You're joking, right?"

"I wish I was," Cyno says.

"Then… have you met him?"

"I wish I didn't," Cyno answers quietly. "Let's just say he's not someone you should mess around with."

Nahida finishes the rest of her pizza and puts her plate down. "What's a person like him doing at Akademiya…? Heck, how did he even get in?"

"Well, according to Alhaitham, the school wants to be less discriminatory."

Nahida rolls her eyes. "And do you believe that?"

"It's not like we can do anything about it," Cyno sighs.

"I guess." Nahida stands and picks up her plate. "You be careful. I don't want to hear about how he's giving you trouble."

If only she knew.

After dinner, Nahida says she's going to work on her assignments. Yet, Cyno can easily hear her singing a pop song in the living room. He's about to put his earphones in when his phone goes off.

As soon as he answers it, he hears Nilou's voice.

"Hey, Cyno. Are you busy?"

Cyno spins around in his chair. "What is it?"

"It's… about Catnip," she says quietly.

"What about her?"

"I… well… Scaramouche told me something that I think you should know."

Cyno frowns. "Is this about her being part of some criminal organization?"

"How do you know?"

"What else did he tell you?" Cyno sighs. "And… why didn't you tell us Scaramouche talked to you?"

"I couldn't just accuse her like that with everyone around. It's… awkward. Besides… it might not be true. That's why I went to see her. The three of you have become such good friends after all."

Her last statement makes Cyno raise a brow. Is she jealous of your friendship with them?

"It's like she replaced me," Nilou finishes quietly.

While he and Nilou have been friends for years, he's never seen this side of her before. The Nilou he remembers is always so cheerful and energetic. Yet, it's like she's changed… and not in a good way. Is it because she's forced to give up on her dreams? Maybe she's looking for comfort, and finding out things have changed while she's gone must've rattled her more. Regardless, Cyno doesn't want to deal with this. Does that make him a bad friend?

"You don't need to focus on Catnip," Cyno says. "How have you been doing? Your performance got cancelled because of your injury. Weren't you also going to start teaching at a studio?"

"... I got rejected."

Oh. Well… "Keep trying. I'm sure you'll find something."

"Would you believe me if I said Scaramouche said he'll help me?"

That doesn't sound suspicious at all. "With what?"

“Sumeru Studios is looking for a ballet master. I’m a little underqualified, but he said he could help me get the position.”

"And you believe him?"

“He knows the owner… He showed me proof.”

There are so many things wrong with this that Cyno doesn't know where to start. "I doubt he's helping you without getting anything in return. So what does he want from you?"

“He just wants to warn me about Catnip,” Nilou says quietly. Cyno almost scoffs. Right. Okay. “She lied to me that day at the library.”

“Her business is none of your business, Nilou. Leave her alone.”

“I’m worried about you, Candace, and Tighnari. The three of you have become such good friends. I just don’t want any of you to get hu—”

"None of us will get hurt," Cyno says sternly. "If you keep badmouthing her, let's not be friends anymore."

“But I’m not! I—”

“If you truly have good intentions, you wouldn’t go about it this way. Also, the Nilou I used to know wouldn’t use cheap tricks.”

"Cheap tricks?" Nilou asks incredulously.

Cyno sighs. "Scaramouche helping you is your business. Not mine. But stop trying to 'warn' us about Catnip. I know everything, so your good intentions are useless."

"... You really hurt me, Cyno," Nilou says quietly. "Fine. I see they aren't appreciated." Cyno rolls his eyes. "But, if you know everything, then did you know that she killed his mother?"

Cyno doesn’t get a chance to ask when the line goes dead.

◆◆◆

Should Cyno be surprised that Scaramouche isn't at school? Maybe Cyno expected too much. Surely a criminal like him has better things to do than be a proper student. Cyno never thought he'd want to see Scaramouche. At least Cyno can somewhat keep an eye on him.

Cyno can't get what Nilou said out of his mind. Of course, he knows better than to blindly believe what she or Scaramouche says. But that's a very… strong accusation regardless of who it's coming from. Surely Scaramouche knows better than to blindly accuse someone like that, as it can have legal consequences.

So… does that mean it's true?

Cyno's on the school rooftop, looking out at the city when someone covers his eyes with their hands.

"Guess who?"

Cyno takes your hands and spins around. He pulls you to him, and you end up flush against his body.

"No fair. You didn't even guess," you say.

"I missed you, Catnip." Cyno nuzzles your hair.

Eventually, Cyno ends up hugging you, and you and he look at the view together.

"Nahida is excited to spend time with you this weekend."

You chuckle. "I hope she won't be disappointed."

"She'll love you."

You hold his hands and say, "Did you talk to Nilou? I saw her earlier today, and she didn't seem that happy to see me."

"She called me yesterday, and"—Cyno sighs—"it didn't go so well."

"What did you talk about?"

Cyno tells you about the conversation with Nilou but doesn't tell you about what she said at the end. At least… not yet. He isn't even sure if it's true, and the last thing he wants is for you to stress over something that's potentially not true.

"Replaced her?" you ask. "That's… I actually don't know what to say to that." Then, you sigh. "But I wouldn't be surprised if Scaramouche knows the director. With his connections, he might even know the President of the country."

"That's a scary thought I'd rather not entertain," Cyno says. "But… Nahida's classmate apparently knows Scaramouche, too."

You turn around with wide eyes. "You're joking, right?"

"One of her classmates has been skipping classes. She overheard him saying Scaramouche would stop at nothing to get the money. So I told her not to get involved."

"He's like a worm," you say flatly. "Just… worming his way into everyone's business everywhere." Cyno chuckles. "It sounds like Scaramouche's doing his usual with Nahida's classmate. As for Nilou… he's using her, which I guess, is also his usual tactic."

Cyno sighs. Is Nilou playing along because she's jealous? He puts his chin on your shoulder. "Do you remember anything else about your parents?"

"About that…"

Did something happen?

"Hey, Cyno, Catnip!"

Tighnari's voice makes you turn around. Cyno looks past you and sees his friend walking up to him.

"I thought you'd be here."

"I thought you'd be with Candace," Cyno says.

"Ah… yeah, about that…"

So, Tighnari tells you they bumped into Nilou while coming. Then, he adds, "She didn't look so happy, so Candace went to talk to her." You and Cyno glance at each other. "Do you two know what's wrong?"

"We… got into a fight, I guess," Cyno says.

"A fight? Over what?" Tighnari looks from Cyno to you and back to Cyno. "Uh… is it about Catnip?"

It's obvious you don't know what to say, and Cyno doesn't blame you. "I told Nilou to stop meddling in other people's business," he says.

Tighnari sighs. "Well… I guess she took it more harshly because, well, she probably still likes you, Cyno."

"I already turned her down," Cyno says just as you turn to him. "But... how did you—"

"She's liked you for a long time!" Tighnari says. "I think you're the only person who didn't know." But, then, he looks at you. "Ah, but they never dated, Catnip."

"Well, I guess that also explains a lot of things," you say.

"She probably just needs some time to get over it," Tighnari says. "I wouldn't worry about her."

While Cyno wants to believe it's true, a part of him is still afraid. What if she starts spreading rumours? Working with Scaramouche? It will be easy for him to take advantage of her vulnerability.

"Anyway, onto a happier topic… What do you guys think about going to the hot springs for our trip?"

"Ooh, that sounds like a great suggestion," you say.

"... Cyno?" Cyno looks up and sees Tighnari looking at him. "Hot springs? Yay? Or nay?" 

"Sounds good."

"What are you thinking about?" 

"It's nothing," Cyno says.

Tighnari narrows his eyes. "You sure?"

Cyno takes your hand. "We can share a room," he says, looking at you. You blush slightly and nod.

"That's what I was hoping for," Tighnari laughs. "Save us some money! But, woo! Hot springs, here we come! I hope you don't mind that Kaveh and Alhaitham will tag along."

"Let me guess," you say, "Did they say they're coming as supervisors?"

"So, I'm not the only one who thinks they're using that as an excuse, right?" Tighnari asks. "I bet they just want to come. We don't need supervisors.”

"The person saying that is usually the one who needs them," Cyno says.

"Very funny," Tighnari deadpans as the three of you walk back inside.

◆◆◆

Cyno is reading in an open area, waiting for you to finish your classes, when Candace plops into the armchair across from him.

"Hey, have a minute?" she asks. Cyno closes his book and looks at her. "It's about Nilou."

"What about her?"

"She told me about what happened with Scaramouche," Candace says as Cyno narrows his eyes. "... And, she won't talk about Catnip anymore."

"Why doesn't she come to talk to me herself?"

"She's afraid you're still mad at her."

Cyno is about to open his book again when Candace says, "Listen, I don't want to doubt Catnip. But has she told you anything? I mean... Scaramouche's literally accusing her of murder."

Will it sound like an excuse if Cyno tells Candace that you don't remember? That you have gaps in your memories?

"If he is, isn't it strange he's going about it this way?" Cyno asks. "Where's the evidence?"

"I don't know what to believe at this point," Candace sighs. "But, I did see Scaramouche yesterday night." That's interesting. Could whatever happened yesterday night be the reason he's not at school? "Of course, I didn't talk to him, but he was with someone."

"Who?"

"No idea. I think he goes to Nahida's school, though. The uniform looks the same."

"Do you know what they were talking about?"

Candace shrugs. "I don't. It didn't look like a friendly meet-up; that's all I can say. But… I did hear the guy say Nahida's name." Why? What were they talking about? "Has she mentioned anything to you?"

"She did say a classmate of hers got himself involved with Scaramouche."

"Geez, why does it feel like this guy is literally everywhere?" Candace sighs. "It's not just Catnip I'm worried about. I'm worried about the rest of us, too."

Cyno doesn't blame her.

Candace looks past him, smiles, and says, “Hey, Catnip.”

Cyno turns around and sees you give a small wave as you walk up to them. As he walks with you and Candace to the school parking lot, Cyno's glad that Candace isn't grilling you with everything that's going on but instead talks about the upcoming hot spring trip. Eventually, the three of you part ways, with you and Cyno getting into his car and Candace going to hers.

On the way to your house, you say, "I'm thinking of telling Candace and Tighnari about my family." Cyno glances at you. "I don't know what Nilou told them, but… It will make me look even more suspicious if they don't know."

"What did your family say?"

"I… haven't told them yet. But what do you think?"

“It would prevent any misunderstandings,” Cyno says. He takes your hand. “But, whatever you and your family decide, I support your decision.”

You take his hand tightly. “You asked me if I remember anything about my parents… I do.��� A pause. “I was there. Scaramouche was there.” You take a small breath. “It was some kind of gathering, and my mother was wearing the pendant around her neck.”

“Did this all come back at once?”

“Yeah…” A soft sigh. “But, that’s all that came back.”

You entered the kitchen and saw Jebrael making something for his son. When Jebrael saw you, he asked, “I thought you’d be sleeping.”

"I guess my lack of memories keeps me awake," you said half-jokingly.

“Give it some time. It’ll come back.”

You come up next to him. "If Scaramouche never appeared… would you have told me about my missing memories?"

Jebrael looked at you. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. He sighed. “I… don’t even know if I want you to remember them.”

“You’re scaring me,” you said quietly. “Could you just tell me? What am I forgetting?”

Jebrael put his hand on your shoulder. Then, his son rushed into the kitchen with Rahman.

“I was a little relieved,” you say. “Not gonna lie. I… wasn’t sure if I was ready to hear what happened.”

Nilou's words suddenly come flooding back to him, and Cyno is really debating on whether to tell you what he heard. It's killing him that he's keeping this secret from you, but, of course, he's curious. Your grandmother and Jebrael obviously have their reasons for keeping this big secret from you for so many years. Whatever happened that day traumatized you, and the only reason Cyno can think of is that you're the one who buried it all away.

Just when Cyno pulls into The Red Sand, his phone goes off. “Could you check who it is?” he asks.

"It's Nahida," you say.

Cyno gives you a nod, and you put the phone on speaker. Before you can say a word, Nahida says, "Cyno, help me!"

Chapter Twenty-two

Tag list: @lxry-chxn @suoshiii @seirenspinel @lordbugs @bennytheghost @ch0c0shortiie @iwishitwas @sketcheeee @thetwinkims @chaimkko @whorerificstuff @sakiimeo @riylvx

[suyooo]

Making BIG SIF2 (Part 2)

Hello again. In case you missed the first part of this project, I'm trying to recreate an old SIF(1) attraction where nine players jump around on floor buttons to play the game cooperatively. Last time, I went into how those buttons work, how they connect to the game, and completed the first switch.

Just need to do that eight more times.

This is another post with a bunch of text I'm writing down as I work on the project, in case you want to see where it's going or want to build something similar yourself. The TL;DR is that all floor switches are done now, I had to change the button mapping app, and found a nice solution for selecting songs and starting Lives - and then there's a video of me trying (emphasis on trying) to play BIG SIF solo.

This is the part of a project where there's nothing to do but boring, repetitive work. There is more interesting stuff to do, but you can't get to it before you just spend several hours doing the same thing over and over again, and it's hard to get excited to do it. So, even though this was probably the most time-consuming step of the project with 25+ hours, it can be summarized in one sentence: there are now eight more functioning switches.

This involved cutting out a total of 24 more shelf liner circles, clipping holes into 8 more rug pad spacers and 8 of the shelf liners, inserting 128 snap caps, crimping 16 connectors, and placing all the copper tape and soldering it together. One small change I made is that I added a little bit of copper tape to move all the connectors a bit to the side, so you don't step right on it when going for a press, and also gave it a generous glob of hot glue to serve as strain relief. Also, I had to purchase more anti-slip rug pad after all - turns out most of the one I owned was too flat to work properly. Oops. With the new rug pad, I noticed this beady style of rug pad is more stretchy on one axis than the other, so these layers are not rotationally symmetrical. To help with that, I cut out the corner where the connectors are glued on - not only does this make that spot a little flatter, but it also makes it easy to tell which orientation the pads must be placed when assembling the switches to align everything correctly.

Since I don't own any proper presses, all of the snap caps and crimp connectors had to be done by hand. That - combined with all the liner cutting, rug pad trimming, and soldering - has not been a fun time for my wrist :) It might be a good idea to invest into snap cap and crimp presses instead of pliers, it's probably cheaper than replacing my wrist down the road... and for the soldering, I'll probably just go with copper tape with conductive adhesive next time as mentioned before, to avoid that problem altogether.

Speaking of crimp connectors: add 36 more to the count for those connecting cables, and 18 more for the other ends on the controller board. The latter one just involved replacing the little button connectors the board comes with, which would usually make it easier to wire up arcade panels.

As for the cables, those are speaker wire. It's probably extremely overkill for a simple signal wire. I originally wanted to use dirt-cheap doorbell wire which would have been more than enough to carry the signal even over long runs, but there were two reasons I didn't go with it. One reason is that doorbell wire is solid wire. But if people might step on the wire, or I want to roll up and transport the parts of this project, stranded wire is far more durable, so I wanted to make sure to use it for the extra reliability. The other reason is that it was on sale :) I decided on buying a 25m roll and having each cable be 2m long - which is probably somewhat overkill again, but for things like cable length, I'd rather go too long than too short.

But hey, we've got over the mountain that is the boring and repetitive part of the project, and now we can ride down the hill to the finish!

Wait, no, that would have been too easy. Of course there's problems.

There was something that I completely missed in my test from the first post. I only had one floor switch, so I didn't try an actual song, which would have uncovered a big issue with using Key Mapper: it doesn't support pressing multiple buttons at once. If one player holds down a switch for a hold note, and another player taps their switch, the hold immediately ends. And of course, I didn't notice that problem until I actually had multiple floor switches completed.

After a few hours of searching and experimenting, I could only find one other app that worked. It is called Mantis, and it sucks. It contains ads, requires a weird and completely intransparent set up procedure through a wireless ADB debugging session, you must map the inputs of the arcade controller board to an Xbox controller layout before you can use them or they'll just be ignored, there's an unremovable menu button on your screen at all times, the map can't be programmatically disabled to stop the buttons from inputting for a moment, and I've found it's maybe a little unreliable? It just suddenly stopped while the game was running once. But as I said, it's the only one that I've found that works. So, I'll have to live with it. At least it supports the holds that Key Mapper doesn't do. So, you can play the game fine now. We can get back to finishing up the setup.

But before that, have you noticed though some of the mapped tap locations for the buttons are slightly off from the center of the spots in the game? I intentionally moved them a little, so they still hit the tap spots during Lives, but miss certain menu buttons! For example, the tap locations for spots 4 and 6 are moved down, so they don't hit the menu buttons while the game is paused. Otherwise, the player on floor switch 6 could accidentally use up my loveca if they kept stomping on the button after their stamina ran out and continued…

Here's everything connected together! The nine completed switches, all linked up to the board, and all that's left to do is set up Mantis and the HDMI output on the phone, plug in the single USB-C cable, and it's ready to play!

But before we plug everything into the phone, I really quickly want to note something about the adapter: The adapter required for this project was not just about needing a way to go from USB-A to USB-C - after all, that could have been solved even easier by just replacing the USB-B-to-A cable of the board with a USB-B-to-C cable and connecting it directly to the phone. As you might have been able to tell from the cover picture from the first post, playing BIG SIF on the phone screen is kind of... not optimal. So, the adapter had to have both an USB-A port and an HDMI port, so you could show the game on a TV or projector!

The adapter I ended up picking not only had those two ports, but also two more USB-A sockets and an USB-C socket. The USB-C port is for power delivery - everything runs off of the phone battery if it is not used, but this allows you to use a powerbank to extend the battery, or just plug in a wall charger so you don't have to worry about it at all. And the other USB-A ports come in really handy, as well. One of them can be used for an Ethernet adapter, which can vastly improve the stability of the required internet connection, if available. As for the other USB-A... one problem I hadn't considered at all is the game menus. As in, song selection and actually getting into the game. Of course, you could always just walk over to the phone, and try to find the correct tap spot on the screen that is turned off, then walk back to the switches - but there's a better approach thanks to that last USB port, with a wireless keyboard I had around already:

This one in particular is a wireless keyboard and touchpad combo, which gets recognized as a generic keyboard and mouse on any device you can plug it into - including Android. So now, you can use the touchpad on that to move around a cursor and do the menuing that way, without having to run back and forth! It's still a little awkward to control the pointer via the touchpad, but there's more that you can do: the keyboard part is not actually needed for this project, since we don't need to type any text... and Key Mapper is sitting idle now that we replaced it with Mantis, so how about we pass the keyboard to it? The keyboard won't have to deal with multiple simultaneous presses, so by setting up keys from it in Key Mapper, we can get an entire keyboard worth of buttons to map even more taps to! That way, instead of having to move the cursor across the screen, you can select and start songs by just pressing a few keys in order. And Mantis still handles the floor switches, so holding down the buttons still works fine, no matter how many are pressed.

Also, yes, I am planning to run regular Lives when playing on this. You might be wondering - "Why? There's a Rehearsal mode now, wouldn't that be better for something like this?" And the answer is yes, it absolutely would be, since I don't have to care about LP or running out of HP during a Live then! But the Rehearsal mode has a static background (see video below) instead of the cool Live Monitor, so I'll be happy to sacrifice my LP candies for the cool effects :) I'm not going to ever use all of them, anyways. And as for the HP problem, I could just add some healers... and if anyone ever wants to see how badly a Master chart would go, I can still start a Rehearsal by clicking on that button using the touch pad.

~~~ a quick little bit of an aside

Speaking of Rehearsal though, even if I'm not using that mode - can I just say how much I appreciate SIF2's gameplay direction? It just feels like the game is far more about "having fun just playing songs" than SIF1. There's changes like the ability to restart songs right from the pause menu if you're aiming for an FC, not losing LP if you fail, all songs being unlocked from the start - but also, obviously, the addition of the Rehearsal mode, where you can play any song without using LP and with infinite HP. One key result of this kind of design is that the game is far less punishing for making a mistake, and I think it invites people to challenge themselves to higher difficulties. There's no need to play it safe anymore: If you're curious about whether you could pass a Master chart, you can just play it, without having to worry about failing and wasting resources anymore. If the chart ends up being too hard, you don't lose any LP or other resources. You can choose to either run it back as many times as you want, or to play another song, neither option carrying any penalty. That makes the harder difficulties so much more approachable, and I think it's a fantastic change.

~~~ back to your regularly scheduled programming

With the system fully set up, it can finally be played! The problem being, I don't have nine players here, just one. I tried a couple times, but it went about as well as you'd expect, even on Normal - it's kind of hard to consistenly find and hit the floor switches while staring at the screen. But it does work! All the buttons work great (as long as I can hit them)! And even with me stepping on the connectors and cables and kicking the switches around by accident, they don't immediately break.

So with that, the project is technically done! All the switches are functional, you can play BIG SIF as intended, and I can bring the controller system anywhere. That's a massive milestone done, of course - but overall, this project still very much in the "janky mess of cables" state. So there's still some stuff to do...

On the next part of Making BIG SIF2: making it nice, making it good. Probably at least a box to put everything in, maybe something to improve reliability, maybe make the interface something better than just a keyboard with labels on it? Let's see how far I can take this

update: you can find the third part here!

[tennessoui]

Pleaseeee do 43 or 46. I love your work btw

(insert months late panicked noises about how I thought 45 was 'falling in love with best friend's partner' and so wrote hold me fast for it, but actually 43 is 'falling in love with best friend's partner' very whoops very my b)

so i did 43 again anyway, but in a modern au and where the couple is actually in love (but it is an obikin happy ending because kit did write it)

(wife is unnamed the entire time so no character bashing it could literally be anyone ive been calling her rebecca in my head lmao)

43. Falling In Love With Best Friend's Partner (2.7k.......)

Obi-Wan’s kettle goes off with a whistle right as there’s a fierce banging on the door. He almost drops his favorite mug in surprise, which puts him in a bad mood from the get-go. But for the love of Christ, who would come call at his house at nine at night? It’s more than rude; it’s downright indecent.

He stalks through the house until he can unlock the door to give the person on his porch a piece of his mind, but then he sees who it is.

It’s Anakin, and he’s crying.

If there’s anything that can make Obi-Wan quiet his temper on a normal day, it’s Anakin Skywalker. A distressed Anakin Skywalker brings out every ounce of his compassion.

“Anakin?” He asks immediately, stepping forward to touch the man on his arm gently and guide him inside. He doesn’t even have to suppress a sigh when Anakin doesn’t remember to toe off his shoes in the entry way--that’s how worried he is at Anakin’s tears and the way they only increase in frequency and sound when Obi-Wan moves his hand to his back and pushes him further into his house, all the way to the dining table where he urges him to sit down.

Anakin still hasn’t said anything resembling actual words yet, so Obi-Wan goes to the kitchen to make them both a cup of tea. It’s either that or give into the temptation to thumb the tear tracks off of his cheeks and that’s a little more revealing than Obi-Wan likes.

He’s not that brave, for one.

For another, Anakin is a married man. A man married to one of Obi-Wan’s closest friends, a previous grad student turned co-author of at least seven publications, with more on the way. He can’t risk tenderly wiping away her husband’s tears because Obi-Wan Kenobi has been at least a little in love with him since they were introduced four years ago, when he’d swanned up to him holding two champagne glasses in one hand and stuck out the other to shake. “My wife talks about you nonstop, Professor,” he’d said. “I used to be so jealous until I sat in on one of your lectures when I was still in school. Made sense then.”

Obi-Wan had not known what to do with that, but had taken the proffered champagne glass and assured this strange man he had nothing to worry about.

After all, Obi-Wan wasn’t the sort of man to chase after former students or people in marriages.

Over the next few years, however, it became quite clear to him that there was a big addendum needed in his moral code: people in marriages to former students drew his eyes apparently the way no one else has ever managed to in his life.

Or perhaps it was just Anakin. Perhaps it’s always been just Anakin.

Coming to terms with the shameful, quiet love he carried for a man who flirts like it’s second nature and always has a warm touch or word to bestow on Obi-Wan had been difficult, to say the least.

Anakin’s wife had been one of Obi-Wan’s closest friends. His inconvenient and persistent feelings for Anakin had turned her into one thing only: his wife. They could not be friends when Obi-Wan spends half his nights wondering what it would be like to sleep with his arms around her husband. They could not be friends when the last dozen times the married couple had invited him over for dinner, he had paid more attention to her husband than to the food or to the other topics of conversation or to her.

And she has to know. She has to know why their latest paper has taken eight months to write. She has to have seen the way Obi-Wan perks up so obviously when Anakin brings his wife her lunch, the way he has to turn away from their chaste kisses, the way he listens keenly to any information she gives him on her husband, the way he had excused himself from the room when he heard her tell another colleague that they were trying for children.

In academia, you learn fairly quickly that it is useless to resent someone for having what you do not. It seems that Obi-Wan has to learn this lesson all over again when it comes to people. It’s hard. It’s selfish. He hates that he loves Anakin. He hates that he loves Anakin the way he does, that it’s been four years and he still loves him, that not even his happy marriage, his love for his wife, the fact that his wife is Obi-Wan’s friend, can change it.

Anakin considers them friends now, which is so much worse and yet still more than a pathetic old man like Obi-Wan deserves. Worse, because when Obi-Wan had started rejecting dinners at the Skywalker household, Anakin had pushed back with worry. When he’d noticed that Obi-Wan’s lunch most often consisted of whatever cold cut sandwich was on sale at the gas station next to campus, he’d started bringing Obi-Wan a lunch along with his wife. When Obi-Wan had stopped responding to his texts, he showed up to drag him to a night out.

Worse, because being Anakin’s friend is nothing like being his husband, and the differences make him ache as much as the acts of kindness make him want to weep.

It’s still more than Obi-Wan deserves. He knows that intimately, the way he knows that nothing can ever happen between the two of them because Anakin loves his wife. And his wife--

“She cheated on me,” Anakin gets out between uneven breaths.

Obi-Wan promptly drops his favorite mug and watches it shatter on the floor.

“Oh!” Anakin exclaims at the loud noise, peeking around the corner, and looking like he’s about to offer to help. Obi-Wan shoos him out of the kitchen, and grabs the remaining mug of tea to follow him. The mess can wait for a later time.

“What did you say?” he asks carefully, nudging the mug over to Anakin, who wraps his hands around it.

Anakin blinks up at him wetly. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Obi-Wan drags his chair closer and dares to lay a hand over Anakin’s arm, watching his face for any negative reaction. Anakin just looks at it though, as if he can’t even comprehend it.

“Please, tell me what happened,” he entreats softly.

Anakin blinks and takes a sip of the tea. It’s chamomile, which is the only tea blend Obi-Wan knows Anakin likes.

“I, um.” Anakin clears his throat and reaches up to wipe at his eyes. Obi-Wan thinks his breath leaves his body for a second when he sees the slighter lighter ring of skin around Anakin’s fourth finger. He never thought he’d see what that sliver of skin looks like.

“I came back early from a work trip, cause. Um. Cause we’ve been having problems,” he starts with a quick side glance at Obi-Wan. “Just some fighting. Going to bed angry. I guess stuff you’re never supposed to do.”

Obi-Wan tries to arrange his face in an expression meant to convey that he definitely knows what stuff one is supposed to do in a marriage.

“So I thought I could, you know. Surprise her. But when I got in, there was someone else in the house. In our bed, Obi-Wan, she fucked someone else in our bed. I--” Anakin starts crying dropping his head into his hands and dislodging Obi-Wan’s arm completely.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan murmurs, at a loss for what to say. He settles for kneeling down next to Anakin and rubbing his knee. This is platonic.This is fine. This isn’t taking advantage of Anakin in this state.

Obi-Wan has absolutely no desire to take advantage of Anakin in this state, not when he’s so hurt and sad and in need of comfort. Obi-Wan just wants to provide him with comfort, but it feels like a grievous violation to touch Anakin like this willingly. It breaks one of his most cardinal rules.

But it turns out he’d break a lot of rules for Anakin, apparently.

Especially when Anakin responds so well to his touch, practically throwing himself out of his own chair and into Obi-Wan’s arms, tea forgotten on the table.

“How am I supposed to go back there?” He sobs into Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I thought...we were supposed to raise kids in that house and she...she’s been...she’s been cheating on me in our bed--”

Obi-Wan tentatively strokes through his hair, adding pressure when Anakin reacts positively. He hates seeing him like this, so torn up and aching. He’d loved his wife, it’s so clear to see.

But Anakin has always struck Obi-Wan as the sort of person to put loyalty over everything else. For his wife to break his trust so suddenly and quickly must spell the death of his love for her. That must be what Obi-Wan is witnessing now, with Anakin, sans wedding ring, sobbing into his arms like this. This must be how Anakin’s love dies.

“I’m so sorry, Anakin,” he murmurs into the man’s temple, pressing his nose there at his hairline and inhaling as softly as he can. He’s disgusted with himself. He can’t help himself. He--

“She said she loved him,” Anakin sniffles, seemingly unaware of anything but his own pain. Obi-Wan gathers him closer at these words and rubs at his back, offering silent comfort. To have Anakin close like this is agony, but to be an appropriate distance away from him as he fell apart would also be agony of a different sort.

And if the last four years have proven anything, Obi-Wan will choose the agony that causes Anakin any modicum of happiness he can give him.

“She said--” here Anakin pauses and takes several deep breaths against the cotton of Obi-Wan’s now damp sleepshirt. “She said she didn’t when they started, but then I--I didn’t notice and it--she said it just happened, but--”

He breaks off and freezes in Obi-Wan’s arms quite suddenly. Obi-Wan stills his own hands in response. “But?” he asks, barely more than an exhale.

“But she said she couldn’t feel sorry about it,” Anakin whispers back, pulling away so that he can look at Obi-Wan’s face.

Obi-Wan stares at him, uncomprehending. Anakin’s wife is the unapologetic sort of woman, yes, but to be caught cheating on her husband and then refuse to apologize for the betrayal? That’s something else entirely. “What?” he stutters out in a completely unflattering way.

Anakin’s eyes glisten, but he purses his lips and flexes his jaw before he speaks again. “She said she couldn’t feel sorry about falling in love with someone else because it’s quite clear I’ve done the same thing. And--and she may have physically cheated on me first, but I’ve...I’ve been emotionally unfaithful to her for years now.”

Obi-Wan blinks quite a bit and very fast, tightening his hold on Anakin before pulling away just as quickly. “That’s absurd,” he spits out, trying to calm his rushing heartbeat. “Anakin, you’re the most loyal person I know. You would never--”

“She was right,” Anakin cuts him off, breaking eye contact with him to look over his shoulder and then down at...at his lips. “I didn’t even realize she was right until she said it, but. But I’ve been in love with someone else for three years of my five year marriage. I--I’m not who we thought I was.”

And his eyes well up with tears again and Obi-Wan isn’t strong enough this time from stopping himself from reaching out and brushing one of his tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“Anakin, you’re not…” thinking straight, serious, in your right mind, in love with anyone but your wife. “You’re hurting, Anakin,” he settles on saying. “You need to...sleep. To rest.”

You need to stop saying things that will break my heart in a few days when you realize you don’t actually mean them.

But Anakin has always been stubborn, especially when it comes to Obi-Wan’s demands. “Obi-Wan,” he insists, shoving his face forward so that their heads connect with a thump. “Obi-Wan, it’s you. It’s been you. For. For longer than I knew. For three years at least. Maybe longer. It should have been you from the beginning. When--”

“Anakin, please,” he finds himself begging, scrambling up and off the floor and away from this troublesome man. “Do not say anything you cannot take back. You are in distress, you’re not thinking clearly.”

Anakin follows him to his feet. “I need to say this,” he says, voice breaking. “Please, Obi-Wan. Let me say this.”

Obi-Wan has never known how to say no to Anakin. He closes his mouth instead.

“Before we even started dating, that’s when I sat in on your lecture. When we were seniors. I just wanted to see. Wanted to know why she liked you so much, measure up my competition. But then I liked you, more than I’ve ever liked a guy before. And it only got worse after I met you again, at that party, I don’t know if you remember, but. The days after, I drove my wife insane asking questions about you and your work and your interests and your hobbies, and I didn’t even realize I was doing it.

“You were just...you were so amazing. But I loved her so much I didn’t even notice I had any love left in my heart to give to anyone else, but then there you were. There you were and every time I saw you it was like...coming up for air. Like I was living someone else’s life and then sometimes I just got to be myself and it was only ever when you were around and--I didn’t know it was love until my wife told me tonight that she fucked another man because she couldn’t stand that I fell in love with one first, and I knew immediately who she was talking about. It was you. It’s...Obi-Wan, it’s always been you.”

Anakin closes the distance between them slowly, as if he’s giving Obi-Wan a chance to run. Obi-Wan does consider it, he won’t lie, but he stands stock still as if frozen to the ground. Anakin reaches up gently and wipes at one of his tears. Obi-Wan hadn’t even realized he started crying.

“Please don’t cry,” Anakin whispers through his tears. “I understand if you--if you don’t feel the same way, but I couldn’t be quiet about it once I realized. I don’t know how to love quietly.”

Obi-Wan does. Obi-Wan’s spent four years loving Anakin quietly, and now he doesn’t have any words left in him to love him out loud.

Anakin’s hand falls away from his face at his continued silence and he looks, if possible, more heartbroken. “I...I understand,” he murmurs. “You don’t feel the way I do. I--yes. I get it. I...deserve it.”

At this, Obi-Wan has to say something because it’s been one of the tenets of his world for years now that Anakin Skywalker deserves all the love there is in the entire universe. “No,” he says roughly, dragging the words kicking and screaming from the pit of his stomach. “It’s not that. It’s--”

Anakin looks at him with wide, wet, blue eyes.

“It’s that if you...if I say it and then...tomorrow you decide you don’t mean it...darling you have to know there would be no recovering from that, for me. I’ve been so obvious.”

Anakin blinks as the words register in his brain, and Obi-Wan can tell the exact moment they do because he inches closer and clutches tightly onto his shirt. “You’ve not been obvious at all,” he murmurs, eyes still shining, even as he directs his entire attention to his lips.

“What would I need to do?” Obi-Wan breathes, aching to wrap his arms around his waist and terrified that doing so will startle Anakin away from him. “What would I need to do for you to understand how much I...how much I’ve loved you for all these years?”

“Kiss me,” Anakin whispers, leaning down as if drawn by some magnetic pull.

Obi-Wan knows he will hate himself in the morning for giving in when Anakin is so obviously grief-stricken and looking for no-strings-attached physical comfort. And yet, he meets him halfway anyway.

[grey-sides]

cant get the image of steve waiting around in his big empty house for billy to call and running to the phone when it rings!!! if you have time would you write about early relationship harringrove?

Anon, I always have time to write about these fools! Here is a goofy, silly, weed-filled drabble for you. Pre-S4, no S4 spoilers to be found here. If anyone else has prompts, feel free to send them in! I have watched S4 so I can absolutely write stuff about that too.

Steve thinks that it might be unhealthy to feel so unmoored when he doesn’t have a girlfriend or at least a regular hookup. He’s just alone often and doesn’t have any friends close enough to share feelings with. And he can’t really remember if this is a pre or post Nancy problem. Has he always felt like he needed a girlfriend to process his feelings?

Sometimes Steve drives around aimlessly. Maybe just through town to feel less alone or to the school where he can practice his free throws on the concrete courts outside. Sometimes, Mrs. Henderson invites him over for dinner. Rarely, he drives towards the quarry.

The quarry is, of course, a common makeout spot. Just like Lover’s Lake or random spots in the woods. If you can walk to it, you can probably find some couple making out at it. The quarry just has the added benefit of being kind of large, so if you park you don’t have to park on top of another car. It makes it kind of perfect for Steve to open his window and smoke out of on lonely nights. 

He knows he’s not the only sad sack around town, but tonight there happens to be a party going on. So he figures it’s reasonable to assume he’ll be alone out at the quarry, engine shut off, staring out over the water with a cigarette burning his fingertips. 

Steve is definitely not expecting Billy Hargrove to pull up beside him. Alone. How is the new Keg King, the new Beast on the Court, California Dream Boy, all alone? And why isn’t he at a party? 

For a moment, Steve considers the merits of turning his car on to leave. He doesn’t want to be part of whatever weird thing Hargrove has going on tonight. Sure, Steve is a sad sack who sits at the quarry to brood, but that doesn’t seem like Billy’s style. Seems much more like that he seeks out fights when he wants to brood. 

He’s not fast enough, probably spending too much time thinking about Hargrove, which is unfair and not something he wants to do at all. Because Billy’s door slams and he stalks over, raps on Steve’s slightly open window. Pulls out a baggie next, wiggles it so the plastic crinkles. 

“Come on out, Harrington! I’m not smoking this whole thing by myself!” Hargrove calls, a little louder than he needs to and he stalks off again, rests against the side of his car. 

Steve scrambles to put out his cigarette, pushing it all the way down to the filter. He shouldn’t listen to Hargrove, he should turn on his car, he should turn around and just go home. Get to bed. Get a solid eight hours. 

But he opens the door and he climbs out, stands to his full height, tries to feel tall and in control. Looks over at Hargrove who has a joint pinched between his fingers, a raised brow and his lower lip caught between his teeth. 

Billy lets go of his lip, slides his tongue over it, it looks a little swollen from being in his mouth. The quarry is a makeout spot. Steve’s mouth is suddenly dry and he hasn’t even had a chance to try the joint. 

“Come here,” Billy says, voice dropped to a murmur. His teeth glint in the moonlight when he opens his mouth to place the joint between his lips. When he lifts the lighter to spark the end. Steve can see the curve of his cheekbone when he inhales. 

He feels like he’s floating on a wave of marijuana as he makes his way over to Billy. When he steps up next to him and takes the offered joint, a deep inhale, a wake-you-up cough. Steve wants to sit his ass in the dirt and sink deep into the Earth. He takes another hit. 

They don’t talk, not for a while. They exchange this joint, passing it back and forth until it’s not much more than the very end. Billy’s probably the kind of guy who swallows the roach. Steve tries not to be impressed. 

“Last hit,” Billy hums, putting the roach to his lips. He sucks it in, his eyes flutter and he reaches up to cradle Steve’s cheek. 

Steve moves on instinct, even if he’s never been on the receiving end of this. Parts his lips, closes his eyes, breathes in deep when Billy pushes the smoke from his mouth. The smoke is tinged with the taste of cigarettes, no menthol. 

He feels like he stumbles back when Billy releases his cheek, but he probably doesn’t. Steve’s been hyper-aware of his feet since Billy told him to plant them. “What was that about?” he asks, breathless. 

“What?” Billy asks, gesturing around. “You never get high here before or something?”

Steve shakes his head, he’s feeling loose now, like all of this is happening in a dream. “I have, but…did you like, follow me here or something?”

Billy chuckles, looking down. “No, just got lucky, I guess.” He steps forward to open his passenger side door and pulls out a bottle of water, tossing it to Steve. 

Steve cracks it open and takes a long swallow. It’s warm and takes like plastic, but his mouth is terribly dry. This helps. “Thought you hated me.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Billy replies cryptically. “Let’s have this conversation when we’re both sober.”

Steve frowns a little but finds himself nodding. Yeah, sober. They should talk about this sober. He passes over the water bottle and pats his jacket for a pen. “Call me?” he suggests. 

Billy hums and holds out his wrist, the right one. He’s steady when Steve grips it and scrawls down his number. The digits look good against his skin in stark black ink. “You gonna be home tomorrow?”

Steve nods, tucking his pen away. He wants to ask for Billy’s number, figures he won’t get it. “Yeah, all day.”

Billy pats his cheek and nods. “Okay. Come lay down on the ground with me, count the stars.”

He turns from Steve to pull a blanket out of his trunk. And really, did he plan this? It feels like he planned this. But Steve follows him anyway, lays down on the blanket, stares up at the sky. Their hands rest in the middle, just barely touching. Steve’s skin is warm where their fingers meet. 

***

Steve tries not to pace or look like a lunatic the next day. Just after one PM, waiting for his phone to ring. It’s always loud in the stark silence of his house. It’s why Steve usually has music playing or the TV on, tuned to whatever random channel is tolerable. 

But today, it’s silent in the house because he doesn’t want to miss a single phone call. Wants to be there to stand at the phone as it rings twice more so he doesn’t look desperate. There’s no one else here, but he’s calculating his every move, his every step. 

Steve is sitting on the opposite end of the couch from where the living room phone rests. It’s on a small table with a single lap, a notepad for taking messages, and sits in between the couch and the armchair. Steve’s mom will sit in the armchair when she wants to talk to someone. When she’s home. 

He keeps chewing the skin around his fingers, fraying it and knowing he needs to stop. But what if Billy was just teasing him? Or realized in the midday sun that he doesn’t hate Steve, but he definitely doesn’t give a shit about him either? 

The phone rings. Steve dives for it. Waits. Ring two. Ring three.

“Harrington household, this is Steve.”

“Hello, Steve, is the man of the house around? I have a once-in-a-lifetime offer for some new encyclopedias-” the woman on the other end says.

“No thanks!” Steve replies and slams the phone back down. He stares at it, willing its mint green surface to ring again. It doesn’t. He scoots back on the couch, stares up at the ceiling. 

Maybe an hour passes. Or two. Or maybe it’s just like fifteen minutes. Steve doesn’t know, but the phone rings again. Ring two. Ring three.

“Harrington household, this is Steve. We don’t need any encyclopedias.” 

“Shit, they’re calling your house too?” Billy drawls, a hint of laughter in his voice. 

Steve’s heart starts jackrabbiting, but he plays it cool, laughs too. “Yeah, guess they don’t realize this isn’t a very studious household.”

“You up for a different kind of studying?” Billy asks, his voice is so low and smooth. Steve presses the phone closer to his ear. 

“What kind?” he asks, breathless. 

“I’m thinking…human anatomy?”

Steve snorts, starts laughing, curls up on his side on the couch to laugh and hold his stomach. Billy is not smooth, he’s a fucking dork. He probably read that line in a book or something. 

“Human anatomy?” he wheezes. 

“Fuck you, fine, I can study my own anatomy,” Billy retorts and Steve can hear the scowl in his voice. Holy shit.

Steve shakes his head, gets his laughter under control, swallows a couple times. “No, no don’t be like that,” he murmurs. “Why don’t you come to mine? We can…uh…practice the muscles. See their flexibility?”

Billy snorts too, but his voice sounds like a smile. “Yeah alright, I’ll see you in twenty.”

Steve grins and hangs up, looks at the phone for a minute. He gets up to turn on some music, he’ll hear the roar of Billy’s engine over anything. And he runs upstairs to get changed. Gotta put on something comfortable if they’re going to be stretching, after all. 

[nitrochiralfan]

[Slow Damage] He finally smiled like a child (Analysis on Nitro + Chiral’s new game)

酒酿团子 写网文的 创作声明: 内容包含剧透

I do not own this post of the translation all credit goes to the original owner of the post and tiramisiyu for translating this. the original post is here

“Those who are lucky have already been healed in childhood, while the unlucky spend their lives healing from childhood.”

After eight days of sleeping five hours per day, I finally completed my first clear of Slow Damage’s full story. I realized that I don’t really have a solid interpretation of the plot yet, and I just wanted to share my feelings with you.

SPOILER WARNING!!

My overall thoughts: I think this is the greatest of Kabura Fuchii’s five works. This is a story whose title is about pain, yet it tells the story of extricating yourself from pain. It’s a truly healing story.

Now, I’ll give a rough summary of the plot of each route based on my order of in-game progression, and analyze it together with the hidden story.

First of all, let me briefly talk about Towa. Towa is one of the illegitimate sons of the man who is the leader of the Takasato Group and the governor of Shinkoumi, and he has little impression of his father. He’s characterized as being very lazy and dispirited. Although he works part-time in the clinic with close acquaintance Dr. Taku, that’s only because he’s forced to. He drinks and smokes daily, sometimes grabs a coffee, and hates eating.

He has only two other hobbies: drawing and being subjected to abuse. Towa is bruised all over and even lost his right eye, but he likes to be subjected to violence, including violent sex. His art pieces are also different from the ordinary, as he views the world differently compared to normal people. He can see the colored "Aura" of people's emotions, which changes according to emotional fluctuations. He’s also able to manipulate people's hearts by observing their Aura to discover the perverted, unactualizable desires people have. Towa's paintings are based on the actualization of such unspeakable desires, and the paintings he draws are very popular.

Rei route: I never thought that a drunkard who used to pass out in random dark alleys would ever be able to enjoy the view of the sea.

The Rei Route is the least relevant to the main storyline. It basically revolves around the conflict between Rei and his father.

Rei's personality is that of a male motherly figure. He uses feminine terms of self-address, is good at cooking, and spends all day telling Towa that he can’t drink too much, asking whether Towa has eaten, and so on. Towa himself has complained to him that "you are such a mom".

At the same time, Rei is a very ambitious kid. After graduating from high school, he worked several jobs and lived comfortably in Shinkomi, where the income gap is massive. Rei has two hobbies: body modification, as well as going to "Deathmatch" (a place where people find opponents to fight with, for stress relief and fun). Rei may be very feminine, but he fights quite fiercely.

In this route, Rei suddenly learned that his father, who had long since cut him off, had borrowed 300 million yen from the Takasato Group for gambling purposes, and forced him to repay the debt on the grounds of their biological relationship. If Rei refused to pay his debts, his father would be killed.

Rei and his father had huge conflicts when he was young. As a mixed-race child, Rei had always been beautiful - but he was bullied by the school, and later realized that he liked men. Knowing this, Rei's father said "Your male side has already died", which almost caused the young Rei to force himself to live as a woman in order to rationalize his behavior. Later, he also chose to run away from the family.

After learning about his debt, not only did Rei's father not repent for his wrongs, but he even brazenly sought out Rei, coercing him to repay the debt using their biological relationship. Rei hated his father very much, but deep inside, he didn’t want his father to die. Thus, he had no choice but to be lured by the Takasato Group into participating in a competition - or so they described it, but it was more like a gladiatorial sport that the slaves of Ancient Rome participated in, where the rich bet on the lives and deaths of the fighters. Winning meant gaining a large sum of money, but losing meant death. Embroiled in emotional agony, Rei chose to participate.

Although Rei is a very popular, sociable person, he kept all this a secret from his friends and chose to suffer alone. Of course, at the climax of the last round, all his friends came to the scene to cheer for him. Even his father reflected on his actions after seeing his son put his life on the line for him. Rei then won the competition.

There are three general conflicts in this route: the first is the conflict between Rei and his father, the second is the conflict between Rei and his inner desire to be accepted as a man, and the third is how Rei hid the truth from his friends.

The relationship between Rei and his father seems outwardly to be filled with hatred - but we see him nearly sacrifice himself to repay the debt, and deny his identity as a man because of a few words from his father. This implies that Rei actually loves his father, longing for his father's approval and love like a child. I think this is actually a nod to Towa's relationship with her mother Maya in the hidden ending.

Rei's father ultimately realized his love for his son, and I think if the story continued, Rei would ultimately take Towa to stand in front of his father as a man and introduce him as his lover. His father would then give them his blessings with a smile.

In this line, Towa is basically Rei's emotional support. He pointed out that Rei did not trust the friends around him enough. Later, Towa and Sakaki (the next leader of the Takasato Group, someone who cared about Towa as his father’s friend) won the 300 million yen, and paid off the debt for Rei.

This line mainly discusses how a damaged person accepts himself and learns to trust and rely on those around him. It also discusses reconciliation with the perpetrator.

Taku Route: My answer is, I'm here now.

Compared to the Rei route, which is like a passionate shounen manga, I personally think that the Taku route is second only to the oppressiveness of the Fujieda route.

Taku is 20 years older than Towa, and has been Towa's doctor since Towa was a child. If Rei is a male mother who would nag at Towa about his bad lifestyle, then Taku is Towa's "father". He treats Towa more as an adult and doesn’t interfere much, but since he watched Towa grow up, he’s sometimes overprotective of Towa too.

This route comes from the entanglement between Asakura (Taku's college senior) and a child named Hayato. Hayato is the child of a woman from the entertainment district, and Asakura is a doctor with an excessive love for children. As he lacked in love, Hayato couldn’t resist seeking out and even seducing Asakura. Asakura ends up mistakenly believing that he is attracted to children.

The story of Asakura actually alludes to the relationship between Towa and Taku in youth. Taku has only ever displayed care for Towa, but the seeds of his desire were actually planted when Towa was young. This was why the ever-calm Towa called Asakura out for being a pervert with unexpected force after hearing about it (hitting him where it hurts, haha).

This route is mostly set during the change in leadership of the Takasato Group. Although Sakaki is supposed to be the next leader of the Takasato Group, he also has a competitor, Toono. There is also a connection between Toono and Taku - to threaten Taku, Toono drugged Towa (yes, it’s exactly what you’re thinking) - I guess this is the one time that Toono’s ever had? After the two of them had a good time, Towa ran away and met Igarashi, one of Sakaki's subordinates. Igarashi told Towa that he stole a drug that seemed to be a new type from Taku's secret underground surgery room.

To cover Igarashi, Towa led Toono's people into an abandoned area in Shinkomi. Toono wanted to shoot Towa dead when Taku suddenly appeared and shielded Towa. When Towa saw Taku fall unconscious, he felt for the first time that he regarded Taku as an irreplaceable existence in his life. Toono then took both of them back to his lair.

Towa learned from Toono that Taku was a son of a wealthy family. Because his parents divorced and his mother fell sick, he decided to study medicine. It was Toono who helped him when he was in trouble, allowing him to become a doctor. Toono then asked Taku to work for the Takasato Group and himself. Those who owe money to the Takasato Group are called debtors. These people are implanted with tracking chips, allowing the Takasato Group to control them. Taku does these things in his underground operating room and also developed a highly addictive drug for Toono. Toono wanted to use this drug to make a lot of money, to gain the strength to fight against Sakaki.

To prevent Taku from acting rashly, Toono took control of Towa and changed Towa into women's clothes (which looked really good). At first glimpse, Taku thought he was looking at Maya. Toono told Towa that Taku was obsessed with Maya when he was young. The straight Toono was also interested in Towa in women’s clothes and asked Towa to be his mistress. Towa agreed in order to gain some freedom.

Towa managed to get in touch with Eiji, Sakaki's subordinate and intelligence officer, and let him know about Toono’s plan. Eiji told him to wait, as they already had a plan. During this period, Towa was under suspicion due to his behavior, and was beaten by Toono and his men several times (it made me so sad) and even had his right arm broken. Taku was very distressed to see this, but he was even angrier knowing that Towa has become Tono's mistress. Taku felt that he could not protect those he valued, so he considered killing Towa and sacrificing himself.

After Towa persuaded Taku against his idea, Taku explained the cause of his depression. He originally intended to become a doctor to help people like his mother, but his mother died due to a moment of his negligence, which became his most painful memory. He owed Toono, yet Toono used Towa to threaten him to make harmful drugs, to which he could not resist. Towa told him that he had contacted Eiji and said that if Taku didn’t want him to, he’d stop being Toono’s mistress - and the two, well…

Finally, after receiving word from Eiji, the two escaped with the help of Eiji’s mole. They ran into Toono, who refused to submit. Toono raised his gun to kill Taku, but Towa shot first, knocking Toono’s gun to the ground. After subduing Toono, Taku took Towa's gun and pointed it at Toono. The bullet shot out, but it only hit Toono’s ear. Taku said that he may not be a good person, but he hasn’t fallen to Tono's level.

After the dust had settled, Taku decided to turn himself in. Before he left, he showed Towa the photo he took of Towa when he was young - a picture of a smiling, bashful child. Taku was sentenced to two years in prison, but was released a year earlier due to good behavior. During this year, Towa stayed at home in the studio, relying on Rei to feed him.

On the day Taku was released from prison, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. Taku walked out of the prison and was pleasantly surprised to see Towa had come to pick him up, just like the old days. Towa suddenly remembered that when the two were making love at Tono's place, Taku had something to say to him, so he asked about it. Embarrassed, Taku said that people were always coming and going around him, but he wanted Towa to stay by his side. With a laugh, Towa said, “My answer is, I’m here now.”

On a surface level for this route, Taku was the only support Towa had in childhood - the one who stitched up every wound for Towa. But when you think about it, Taku was also one of the people who hurt Towa back then.

In such an environment, doing nothing is allowing harm to happen. He indulged Towa as Towa relied on him, and even developed desires for him (see Asakura). From an outsider’s perspective, is that not harm done by an adult to a child? Taku knew well that he had done something wrong to Towa. What he regretted the most was working for the Takasato Group - not just for Toono, but probably also for Maya. Taku is the most passive (getting drugged) character among all characters with routes. I personally think this has something to do with his guilt towards Towa.

If the Rei route is about accepting oneself and relying on those around you to heal, then the Taku route is about avoiding pain, and transferring the memory of pain to someone else. Taku chose to remember everything about Towa's childhood alone, and therefore also took on some of Towa’s pain. The accident of Taku's mother's death may also imply that Towa is partly responsible for Maya’s death.

Taku's love for Towa is mixed with guilt and obsession, humble and remorseful. From Towa’s perspective, you can only see the tip of the iceberg, and only after you see the whole picture can you understand the scars hidden in this route. Madarame Route: No need for words between us.

Fujieda Route: We don't just lick each other's wounds. We also support each other as we walk forward.

(I’ll continue updating in the future. If you’re interested, feel free to follow or bookmark it)

[kqiji]

ITS KUROOS BIRTHDAY SO KUROO POST <3

genre ★ angst with comfort, fluff.

pairing ★ timeskip!kuroo x gn!reader.

warnings ★ cursing, pet name use, accusation of cheating, implied marriage.

playlist ★ my own angst playlist &lt;3 ( just listen to something sad for better experience, trust me )

word count ★ 2.5k+ words.

you and tetsuro were inseparable, so joined at the hip to the point where nothing could break this strong relationship you both had grown to have. it was wonderful to say the least, the most beautiful thing that has bloomed in the timeline of both of your lives.

you've been with him ever since your third year at nekoma, your cliche story beginning when the black haired male accidentally dropped your lunch tray while bumping into you, you could still vividly remember the apologetic look on his face while insisting to buy you another one.

you became official when you both were eighteen, a little after your first meeting incident, making you a couple for a solid nine years, with you both hitting the age of 27 this year.

you didn't have any children, you both were too eaten up with work to bring another human into life. you both settled on the idea that it would be selfish, not being able to parent your own child because you were too busy at work.

so you both just decided to adopt a little calico cat named 'patch', the little furball that has been roaming your shared duplex apartment for the past two years.

today was his birthday, and without a doubt, you decided to throw him a party. he needed to cool off, work was piling up and the male was not taking breaks even with you trying to convince him every now and then.

that was your goal for today, to celebrate his birthday. and to do that, you had crafted a small plan.

it was now six in the afternoon, there was less than an hour until sunset and you had just gotten back from work and a mini shopping spree to be able to set up the surprise. you sighed as you kicked off your shoes at the door, plopping down your bags that contained the décor while still holding onto the cake, walking into your shared apartment as you heaved a sigh.

it wasn't that you hated your job, it's the total opposite, you got to do what you loved most! but the working hours of this job were hell, they had you working from eight in the morning to four in the afternoon, which was alright, it was like a standard nine to five. but they always had you in, making you work overtime without proper reasons.

they were well paying, which was why you hadn't left yet, but the horrible timings and the overtime overlapped with the free times of your husband's schedule, making you busy whenever he was free and vice versa.

though, that still didn't affect your love for each other. in fact, it made him and you cherish the time you both spent together even more, hoping one day that you'll have good work hours and be able to spend even more time with each other.

tetsuro would be home at around eleven that night, he sent you a message apologizing and saying his boss had sent him out for meetings when he was supposed to get off. you only responded with your usual text, 'it's alright baby, i'll leave your food in the oven and crash. stay safe, love you.'

of course, you weren't mad, just disappointed that his boss couldn't respect the occasion and the fact that he had a wife to come home to. but at the same time, you kept your message subtle, not wanting to give away that you're planning something for him.

your phone dinged immediately a second after you had pressed the send button, your husband responding with 'you're going to bed? i thought we were going to do something.'

you felt a pang of guilt go through your chest, but you decided to act oblivious. 'something? like what? i don't think you planned any date for today.'

and with that, you put your phone down while taking in a deep breath, who knew lying about not remembering your lover's birthday would be this hard.

it's alright, you thought to yourself as you made your way to the kitchen, petting your cat before placing the cake in the fridge. you had already planned how you wanted the house to look like upon his arrival.

balloons colored black and red scattered around the floor, a black banner placed against the wall with the words 'happy 27th birthday' written on it in gold, you had also brought red party hats, thinking it would be funny.

and with that decided, you got to work.

ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

you've been at it for three hours now, sweat was already dripping down your face as you struggled to blow and fill up multiple balloons, hanged the banner multiple times cause it kept slipping down the wall since the tape wasnt strong enough, and when you were done, you had realized the time.

it was already ten, giving you only an hour to shower and get ready before your lover would be home. you couldn't help but feel excited, wondering how he would react to your well prepared surprise.

you cleaned up after yourself, picking up unblown balloons and putting them back inside the bag they came in, picking up extra pieces of tape that were lying around, and putting the scissors back in their spot.

you then proceeded to shower, wondering if you had enough time to get dressed before tetsuro would let himself in and miss out on you surprising him.

you washed away all your worries under the warm water, relaxing your tense and sore muscles before quickly hopping out of the shower and drying yourself.

you walked towards the clothes you had laid out before your shower, throwing your used towel in the laundry basket. you had set out something fancy yet simple, something that would would make you look properly dressed for this event.

you got dressed, styled your hair and applied perfume and flattened out your clothes with the smooth run of your hand in front of the mirror.

" i really do hope you keep your word of coming home at eleven, tetsuro. " you mumbled to yourself in a low voice before turning around and walking towards your living room, glancing at the clock on the wall on your way out.

once you had reached the living room, you had decided to bring out the cake, given it was ten minutes till eleven. so that's exactly what you did, the cold plate that it was sitting on stinging your hand as you made your way to the dining table and set it down alongside a lighter.

you quickly glanced at the door, thinking that you heard the elevator ding.

shit shit shit shit, you cursed, running towards the door and closing the light that showed the display.

you could feel your heartbeat in your ears, your hands shaking slightly as a smile spread on your face while you waited for the door to unlock.

and it did, revealing your handsome husband who looked,

angry?

even in the dark, you could see it so clearly. his jaw was clenched tightly, his eyebrows furrowed while a frown was etched onto his face.

you could feel his unusual strong and irritated gaze, which was normally soft and filled with love, lay on you.

you gulped, brushing it off as your eyebrows clashed into each other, your smile still wide. " tetsuro, you're ho— "

" you said you would be asleep. " you were cut off by a cold tone, words slapping you in the face instead of your usual cheek kiss.

your eyes widened as he slammed the door behind him, dropping his bag onto the floor and tossing his keys onto the door side table. you couldn't help but feel pained, " yeah, but i'm awake now. "

you could feel him stare you down in the barely lit doorway, " so you could sneak out of the house? pretend to be asleep so you could sneak off to other men? " he accused, his voice laced with anger and frustration.

you were shocked, to say the least. you were getting accused of cheating by your own husband, the person who you promised to love forever and ever.

" tetsuro what the fuck are you talking about? " you talked back, your face heart clenching in pain as he sighed irritantly. " firstly, you're never home when i'm back. secondly, you always seem to forget important dates, why's that y/n? something or someone else on your mind? "

you could feel a lump forming in your throat as your eyes started to water, the barely visible outline of kuroo starting to blur. " tetsuro what are you saying? i would never cheat on you. " you stated calmly, not wanting to escalate the argument and trying to stay strong even though the accusations were shooting through you like bullets.

" then why are you dressed oh-so-fancily, standing at the door at eleven? riddle me that babe. " he sounded so sarcastic, his tone coming off as something you couldn't recognize.

you scanned his face that was hardly visible for any type of reaction or feelings, desperation.

you smiled bitterly as you turned your body around, your arms slumping down onto your sides as you sighed in defeat.

" where are you going? we're talking, y/n. " your husband spat as he trailed behind you.

you lifted your hand towards the wall, flicking the light on and revealing the celebration you had poured hours of effort and love into.

turning your head over your shoulder to look at kuroo, you gave him a sweet smile as you couldn't help but let a single tear roll down your cheek as you faced him.

" happy birthday, tetsuro. " you spoke in a low voice, still quite loud enough for him to hear what you were saying.

pang, that's what shot tetsuro in the heart.

he couldn't help but feel guilty, so guilty he started tearing up at the scene in front of him.

he couldn't believe it, you came home tired from work yet worked so hard to prepare a special celebration for him. he couldn't help but feel his heart tear into millions of pieces as he watched the tear slip down your face, his own eyes watering as his expression fell into a much softer one.

he opened his mouth to speak, nothing coming out as his eyes explored the entire scene laid out in front of him. he tried again, mustering up the courage to speak. " y/n, i'm so sorry. " was all he could say, his voice coming out shaky and weak.

you averted your eyes as you turned your back to him, turning on your heels as you walked away and towards the guest room.

tetsuro was right on your heels, his arms reaching out towards you as he chanted the word 'sorry' over and over again.

he finally caught up to you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you flush to his chest, burying his head into your hair. " y/n, i'm so sorry. i should've never accused you of something like that, please forgive me. work's driving me crazy and i've just been so exhausted that i accidentally lashed out at you. " he let out, his voice breaking with each word that slipped out of his mouth, tears falling down his face and onto the top of your head as he couldn't help but hold you so tight.

he couldn't help but break down, everything was falling apart. his job was stressing him out so much to the point where he felt like he would choke whenever he walked into the office, his sleep deprivation getting the best of him and now his marriage was on the verge of tipping.

you sighed, your chest panging in pain as you listened to tetsuro speak in such a weak voice, you've never seen him like this before.

" i'm sorry, i'm so so sorry y/n. please don't leave me, i'll never ever open my mouth in that way ever again. i'm so sorry please don't walk out on me, i promise i'll be better. i swear i'll do better. " he sobbed, breaking down as he tried to keep his voice steady and clear as he apologized.

you could feel your lip quiver, your eyes filling up with tears, the only thing stopping you from crying was your will to not break down. " tetsuro, stop it. " you spoke.

you could hear his uneven breathing, your hands raising up to your waist so you could place it over his. " i'm a horrible husband y/n, please forgi— "

" it's okay, just take a deep breath. i forgive you, okay? it's your birthday, you can't cry on your birthday. " you reassured in a soft tone, your hands caressing his as you let him cry.

" thank you, thank you much y/n. how can i ever make it up to you? you're too good for me. " he chuckled weakly as he raised his head, sniffing while feeling grateful for your understanding.

you thought about it for a moment, " let's slow dance, we haven't done that in a very long time. then we can eat the cake. " you suggested, raising your hands from his as you turned around to face him.

he smiled softly, " of course. " he agreed while nodding slightly, watching you as you lifted your hands towards his face, using your thumbs to wipe off the tears on his face.

he couldn't help but rest his forehead on yours, it was his go-to move whenever he felt stressed. he shut his eyes, feeling your arms wrap around his neck as he sighed in relief.

you were a blessing in disguise, always so understanding and forgiving no matter what. you had so much love to give, and tetsuro voluntarily chose to receive all of it.

“ shall we dance? ” you asked, smiling widely as you connected your eyes with his golden one's.

you both fell in step, letting the rhythm control your movements. all your worries dissolving into thin air, it was just tetsuro and you.

tetsuro's body seemed to be acting on its own, no chains to holding him back from this pure paradise. he drew you close to his chest, keeping his hands tight around you.

you set your head on his shoulder as you both continued to dance and waltz around in the complete silence of the home you managed to build an amazing life in.

time passed so speedily as your feet moved in rythym, a content smile plastered onto both of your faces.

you brought your head up and sleepily opened your eyes, leaning in and planting your lips on your husband's.

in which he held you even tighter and closer than before as the kiss continued, you could feel him smiling softly before pulling away and chuckling, " i love you tetsu. "

" i love you too darling, but cake? "

" of course you dork. "

i do not know how to write dancing scenes but i hope you enjoyed <3

happy birthday to this dork <3

also thank you mint for going over this first ilysm/p <3

taglist : @wispycecilia , @ctactus , @renuqi

[yoditostan]

puzzle pieces

This is slightly terrifying because while I’ve sent many an anonymous blurb to my favorite blogs, I’ve never written anything under my own username. And this is the longest thing I’ve written in like, ten years. I wrote it in my notes app and it might be incoherent but pls be nice because posting this is scary

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader (two hands, but I think otherwise there’s no descriptors—let me know if you find something, please)

Rating: M/mature

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: pure fluff tinged with a tiny bit of sadness bc the mandalorian show b like that, suggestive/sexual content that I don’t consider to be graphic but you may think differently, just a whole lot of contemplation of how much you like to touch Din and how you want to snuggle his son

“Dank farrik!”

At the sound of Mando’s curse, you glance up from the maps you’ve been staring at for an hour.

“Are you okay?” you ask. He has one hand tucked under his cowl, rubbing at his neck.

Mando grunts. “‘M fine.”

“Sure,” you say, holding back a smile.

“Just pinched a nerve or something, I don’t know,” Mando grumbles after a moment. “My neck’s been stiff for a few days and I just turned it wrong.”

It’s a mundane piece of information but it’s so rare that Mando volunteers anything without you prompting him. He’s a puzzle, but he’s locked away most of the pieces.

“Um… do you want me to… try to work on your muscles?” Somehow you feel awkward saying the word “massage” around him.

Mando pauses, obviously weighing his comfort level with this suggestion. “I didn’t mean to suggest you do anything about it,” he says.

“I know,” you say. And you do. The only thing Mando ever asks of anyone is help with the child or minor work on the Crest. He does things for you constantly, and you feel like you don’t do anything for him. “I want to help if you’re comfortable with it.”

He’s quiet for awhile and you’re about to rescind the suggestion when he says, “That would probably help. Thank you.”

You try to hide your shock at his acquiescence. He agrees to your suggestion that you do it before he goes to bed that night, and you spend the rest of the day thinking about what’s about to happen.

That night, you feel like you’re about to jump out of your skin, waiting for the moment to come. Mando, of course, seems completely unfazed. You suppose, considering he doesn’t have a gigantic crush on you, he probably hasn’t been thinking about it for the last eight hours. You blow out a deep breath as quietly as possible. “Ready?”

Mando and the kid look up at you simultaneously. You love seeing the way the baby imitates Mando more and more. Every time he tries something new, he looks over at Mando for his approval and he’s rarely disappointed.

Mando nods and stands, picking up the baby and following you out of the cockpit. He helps brush the kid's tiny teeth as you add another blanket to the baby’s sleep hammock. After saying goodnight to the little one, you’re left standing awkwardly in front of his bunk, the two of you just looking at each other.

Finally you gesture over to your side. “Um… so just sit down and I’ll get started.”

Mando unclips the armor from his back and removes his pauldrons, leaving him more exposed than you’ve ever seen him before. You thought he’d have to look smaller without the beskar, but his back is still broad and solid-looking. You can see a bit of softness around his midsection and hips that you didn’t expect. He sits so stiffly that it’s almost comical. Okay, so he’s not completely unfazed. But of course he’s not used to being touched.

Shuffling over to him, you warn him that you’re about to touch his shoulders. He still jumps a little when your hands rest on his body, and you take a second before gently rubbing his tense muscles. You can immediately feel a whole mass of knots under your hands. It’s going to take a long time to work these out.

By the time his shoulders feel the slightest bit looser, the muscles a tiny bit more responsive and pliant, your hands and forearms are aching. You don’t want to stop—this man deserves a full body massage, you think—but realistically there’s no way to get to his entire back tonight with the amount of effort his shoulders alone took. He’s slumped over a little, finally, and his breathing is deep and even.

“Mando?” you ask quietly.

“Hmm?” His voice sounds slurred, lazy, and you preen as you realize he sounds relaxed.

“I think that’s all I can manage right now,” you admit. “But I want to keep working on your back. I can’t believe how knotted it is. Can I do this again tomorrow?” You rub his back gently, not working on the muscles, just soothing motions.

He turns to look at you. “If you’re sure you want to.”

“I do,” you say. “I think it’s going to be satisfying.”

. . .

It takes over two weeks of nightly massages before you start to feel happy with the way his back muscles feel under your hands. You’ve never seen Mando’s posture look so relaxed nor seen him move this easily. You even think he might be more playful with the baby, offering him the silver gear stick knob more often and chuckling at the way the little one struggles to use a fork. He even walks you back to your own bunk each night after the massage, gently resting his helmet against your forehead before you enter the little compartment. It’s something he had done a few times before, usually when he came back from a hunt or sometimes before he left. It feels like it means something, though you’re not sure what.

You take a day off to rest your hands before asking to work on his arms. He agrees and that night, before you can ask, he removes all of the beskar above his waist for the first time. You can’t help but stare at his broad chest with just a hint of a soft belly—unfortunately, all covered with a thin long-sleeved tunic. You aren’t sure how old Mando is. At first you had guessed early thirties because of his strength and stamina, but without his armor he seems maybe a decade older than you originally thought. The thought of him fighting and hunting for decades is insane, and you wonder how his body feels to him.

You knead his forearms and then, without thinking, intertwine your fingers with his to direct his hands and wrist the way you want them. It takes a minute to realize he’s gone completely still. Looking up, you see his visor locked on your face and you freeze.

You look back down and realize the two of you are basically holding hands. It’s not a touch that you would even notice with pretty much anyone else, but with Mando it feels intimate.

“Is this okay?” you ask carefully and he just nods. To your surprise, his fingers are relaxed, curling over onto your hand a little, holding your palm against his.

When you start concentrating more on his lower back, Mando switches to laying down. The first time he moved to lay down rather than sit, it felt like the air changed in the room. The position feels vulnerable coming from him. You feel more comfortable getting closer to him now, too. You sit closer, press against him when needed, and he doesn’t seem to mind if you even sit on his legs while you work on him.

“All done,” you say quietly, resting on his thighs and soothingly rubbing his back one last time. There’s no response. You’re about to say his name when you hear a quiet, modulated snore that makes you giggle. Looking around, you spot a threadbare blanket that you pull up to his chin. You wish you could run your fingers through his hair but instead you just switch the light off and head back to your own bunk.

Every night you wish you were just laying next to Mando in his bunk instead, despite how abysmally small and uncomfortable it is. You know the man understands comfort—he picks up the warmest, softest blankets he can find and tucks them into the little one's crib, and when you first joined him on the Crest he gave you the bigger and fluffier of his two pillows (though that’s not saying much) despite your protestations. But for some reason, he doesn’t allow himself the luxury of a comfortable sleeping area.

You have a plan. At the next planet you stop on, if there’s a market, you’re going to buy him a nice pillow and a warm blanket. Maybe even a cushioned bedroll, if you can afford it. Definitely some oil for the massages.

. . .

One night, everything changes.

After you shower the baby with kisses like usual and Mando rocks him to sleep in the hammock, Mando closes the door and switches off the light.

“Keep that off, okay?” he asks. You agree, confused, but then you hear a hissing sound and Mando’s inhale… unmodulated. Your eyes immediately snap shut until you remember you can’t see anything in the pitch black.

He lays down like nothing is out of the ordinary. You have a thousand questions, but you worry if you ask any of them, he’ll change his mind and put his helmet back on. So you just settle into your usual position on the backs of his legs.

“Can I… touch your head?” you whisper. You always end up whispering in these moments, like you’re trying to keep everything contained within these four cramped walls of the bunk. It’s funny, because in this quiet, small room is the one place you allow yourself to indulge in the enormity of your feelings for Mando. For a little while once each day, you get to touch him with the care that you don’t think he’s felt in decades, but that he so deeply deserves. In these moments, you feel like he’s yours, and you’re taking care of him. Maybe that’s why you whisper. If you let this little dream of yours out into the open at full volume, it might just disappear.

There’s a pause before he agrees. You start with his shoulders like usual, working your way up his neck, reveling in the way his muscles tense and then relax, lengthening under your fingers and his skin warming with your touch. Finally you slide your fingers into his surprisingly soft and shaggy hair.

When you lightly rake your nails across Mando’s scalp for the first time, he lets out a moan. The way he pushes his head into your hands as you massage his head makes the place between your legs clench. You know he enjoys the massages but this feels like he’s desperate for your touch, and you love it.

When you’re done, he carefully directs you to stay where you are while he resituates his helmet and turns the light back on.

“Thank you,” he says, and you think it’s not just for the massage.

After that, he starts taking his helmet off almost every time. One night, he even shyly asks if you’ll spend more time rubbing his head. He falls asleep almost immediately that time, something that makes you feel incredibly proud of yourself. You spend a long time just gently massaging, not wanting to wake him up, but eventually your own eyes are starting to drift closed. You wake him up as gently as you can and tell him you need to go to bed so he needs to put the helmet back on.

“It’s okay,” he says drowsily. “Just close your eyes until you shut the door.”

You stand up in the small space next to the cot, but you’ve forgotten that his helmet was set down on the floor. When you take a step towards the door, you immediately trip and fall backwards onto the bunk. Thankfully, Mando has those insane bounty-hunter-preternaturally-smart-toddler-dad reflexes. Strong arms catch you against his upper body, but what really catches your attention is the evidence of how much Mando enjoyed the massage pressing into you.

“I forgot I put the helmet on the floor,” he says awkwardly.

“It’s fine,” you manage. It’s not fine. Your toes hurt like hell now and all you can focus on is where his body is pressed against yours. But what are you going to do about it? Nothing.

You wonder whether he’s reacting because you were massaging him, or because you were massaging him. Probably the former, given he’s gone years without touch. But you still hope it’s personal, selfishly.

You didn’t think life could get any better than that, but you’re wrong. One night, he’s fallen asleep and when you lift off of him to go back to your own bunk, he startles you by pulling you back.

“Stay?” It’s slurred and quiet but you can hear the hesitant request.

“Sure,” you whisper, even though you want to scream in excitement. Mando gently pulls you onto the cot, facing him, and he touches his forehead to yours lightly before putting his helmet back on. Then he turns on his side behind you, pulling the blanket over you. He doesn’t touch you otherwise, doesn’t put his arm around you or pull you into his body like you hope, but it still feels beautifully intimate.

You fight to stay awake as long as you can. Between the occasional soft snores behind you and the tiny baby snuffles coming from above, you feel surrounded by this little pseudo-family and it almost makes you cry. It’s safety. It’s love, even if that’s never verbalized by anyone.

When you wake up, he’s gone. He doesn’t say anything about it, but after that you notice occasionally whenever he’s particularly tired or seems more stressed than usual, he asks you to stay. They’re your favorite nights and you wish you were brave enough to ask to stay every night.

. . .

Every once in awhile, on nights the helmet and lights are still on, you might glance up and see two giant dark eyes peeking out of the baby hammock above you. You’ve figured out that whenever the kid doesn’t fall asleep immediately, he seems to like watching you work on Mando. Tonight, the child whined every time Mando tried to set him in his bed, so instead he’s letting him play with the ball on the floor while you start on the massage.

After awhile, the baby claws his way up and Mando’s helmet tilts down to look at him.

“Hey, kid,” he says with an obvious note of fondness in his voice. “Don’t you think it’s past your bedtime?”

The little one burbles out an answer and then waddles over to where you sit behind his dad. He extends his tiny hands, pushing into Mando’s back with a look of concentration of his face. He looks up at you as if for approval.

“Are you helping with the massage?” you ask, grinning, and the baby nods. “Great job,” you praise, and Mando’s shoulders shake a little as he represses a chuckle.

It takes literal months—almost three, to be exact—of regular massage before you feel like you’ve actually worked out the knots and tension all over Mando’s body. Instead of masses of knots across the smooth skin of his back, you can start to feel how his muscles fit together like puzzle pieces. You feel like your upper body strength has doubled with the effort it’s taken.

The night you mention the improvement to him, there’s a long pause before he quietly agrees, but you don’t miss the way he suddenly feels less relaxed below your hands. When you lift off of him, his hand shoots to your wrist and you wait for him to ask you to stay. Instead, he just thanks you quietly and you tamp down the disappointment before heading back to your own bunk.

The whole next day, Mando is quieter than usual. You don’t notice it at first—he doesn’t talk too much anyway. It’s when you are playing with the baby and try to include Mando that you notice he’s more withdrawn.

“Are you okay?” you ask when the little one is distracted. Mando nods and turns away, shutting down the conversation before it even begins.

You return to the cockpit that night after settling the baby in his little hammock. Mando is sitting a little slumped over. You can’t figure out why he’s seemed dejected all day. Nothing has happened—he hasn’t been on a hunt in almost a week. Maybe he’s just worried about credits, but it’s odd.

Gathering your courage, you lightly rest your hand on his shoulder and he looks up at you.

“Ready?” you ask, inclining your head towards the cockpit door.

There’s a pause. “You… I thought we were done,” Mando says in a questioning tone.

“What?”

“You said the knots are all gone, so… Didn’t you mean you weren’t going to do it anymore?”

Hm. You think that probably would be the logical conclusion, but giving up your near-nightly chance to touch this man is out of the question. “Well… I think it would be good to keep doing it. Because the knots will probably come back. Your armor is really heavy, you know, and you hunt a lot and sleep in weird positions. If you get to sleep at all. And I don’t have to work as hard at it if we do, like, regular maintenance,” you ramble. Then a thought hits you—maybe he’s using this as an excuse to stop? “I mean, if you feel like you’re done, we don’t have to…”

Mando stands up, his posture strong and straight again like it normally is. “No, I think you’re right,” he says. “If you don’t mind.”

Ha… if you don’t mind. More like you can’t stop thinking about it.

You sit behind him that night and start rubbing his neck and head, pretending to ignore the little noises of pleasure that escape him. These days, you’re lucky enough to know from experience that a head massage is the fastest way to fully relax Mando, and a guaranteed way to put him to sleep.

This time is no different, and when he slumps over and threatens to fall to one side, you guide him down until his head is resting in your lap and you can continue stroking his hair. You’re surprised when he turns on his side, pressing his face into your thigh and bringing one arm up around your hips. It feels so intimate, more than you’d expected he’d be comfortable with even after all this time, but it feels amazing to have him want to be close to you this way.

After awhile, you start to fall asleep too, your hands drifting to a stop, fingers tangled in his loose curls. When your legs start to shift under Mando, he wakes up and you whisper an apology. “I’m just going to go to bed,” you say quietly.

Mando grumbles a “no” and pulls you down until you’re laying next to him, and then he pulls you into his body. You’ve slept next to him several times now, but it’s always been with as much space between your bodies as possible in the tiny bunk. Not now. He’s so warm and his arm over you is so heavy and comforting, one of his legs pressed between yours. Your body feels like it’s on fire. It’s both comforting and driving you crazy, but eventually the comfort wins and you drift off, feeling more peaceful than you can ever remember.

. . .

The two of you fall into a routine of sleeping together almost every night after that. You wouldn’t have expected it originally, but Mando is proving to be extremely tactile now that he seems to feel comfortable around you. He never fails to touch you while you both sleep. Often he’s spooning you from behind, sometimes pulling you into his chest while he lays on his back, and lately you’ve been waking up with his big warm hand up your shirt, splayed against your back or your stomach. You’d like it if his hand moved further up or down, but even in his sleep he has too much propriety for that. You love when you wake up in the middle of the night and find him unconsciously nuzzling into your neck or your hair. If you get up to use the fresher in the middle of the night, he immediately pulls you back to him when you get back into the bunk.

More and more, Mando actually declines your attempts to rub his back every night. At first, he just says he’s not that sore or tired, and eventually you only end up massaging him after he comes back from a hunt or fight or whenever you can convince him. It’s true he doesn’t need it every night anymore, but it feels odd to change the routine you developed over so long. Your feelings would be hurt except for the obvious fact that Mando isn’t declining the massages as a way to put space between you. It’s the opposite—he seems eager to have you in bed with him, tucked into his big body with him curled around you. He even massages you a little when the angle is right.

But your nights spent together almost seem like a dream once you leave the little bunk each day. In the morning he’s always gone, or retreated back to the chastest of touches—a leg or an arm barely brushing your side, his fingertips resting near your back. It’s your dream to wake up before him someday, to return to consciousness still surrounded by his big, warm body. Feeling his soft breaths across your ear, a muscular leg pressed between yours. You dare to dream of his entire body molded against you, pressing into you, asking entrance into your body. You’d let him in in an instant.

You don’t want to assume your nights together mean anything more than they do, so you try not to act any differently. Mando is still focused on his work and taking care of his hyper-intelligent but still immature baby. And you respect that he has a lot to think about and do, and you don’t want to distract him. But you can’t help but touch him more often. Just a little—a hand on his shoulder when you lean over to look at a screen he’s showing you, holding onto his hand a little longer as he helps you up. You’ve noticed him doing the same: a hand on your back as he passes by, steadying your hips as he passes behind you in the galley, his gloved fingers brushing against yours when he hands you the kid. Just the briefest of touches. Accidents, perhaps. But enough to stick in your thoughts.

One day, you’re holding the baby as Mando gets ready to leave the ship for a hunt. The weather on this planet is stormy. Probably good cover—the thunder and pouring rain would hide any signs of Mando, even better than he normally manages to hide, but you’re worried.

“What if your comm doesn’t work in the storm?” you ask.

“I shouldn’t need it. It will be quick,” he says.

“But what if it isn’t? Or what if we need it to contact you?” You bounce the baby on your hip as the little one starts to wiggle, picking up on your anxiety.

Mando awkwardly places a hand on your shoulder before gently touching his forehead to yours and you freeze. He’s never touched you so deliberately, so obviously, during the daytime.

“It will be quick,” he repeats. “Just stay in the ship while I’m gone. It’s warm rain, so even if there’s a problem with the power, the two of you should be comfortable.”

“Okay, Mando,” you sigh.

There’s a long pause. His hand flexes on your shoulder several times as his helmet stays fixed on your face. You’re about to ask what the issue is when he says, “Din. My name is Din.”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you want to repeat it back to him but you’re a little too shocked to get the words out before he quickly turns around and heads out.

You practice saying his name out loud while he’s gone. It takes a lot of courage and a few rotations to start calling him by name once he returns to the ship. He doesn’t seem quite at ease with you calling him that at first, but eventually he stops reacting with surprise to you saying it.

. . .

One night, the two of you are awoken by the baby crying above you, most likely from a bad dream. Din quickly stands up and wraps the little one in his arms, bringing him back to the bunk, bouncing him a little in his arms.

“It’s okay, little bean. You’re safe. We’ve got you,” you whisper, sprinkling kisses on his wrinkled little face that’s damp with tears. The baby is clutching onto Din’s thumb with one tiny, trembling clawed hand and squeezing your cheek with the other, reassuring himself that you’re both there. You’re reminded how much he must have seen and endured. You wonder how long he’s been alone. Thinking of this sweet little one scared and overwhelmed, without anyone to comfort him, breaks your heart every time. You whisper into the darkness how much you love him, how happy you and Din are to have him with you, how the two of you will do anything to protect him.

Din has both of you in his arms now to allow you to get close to the child. The baby clearly loves the arrangement, his breathing slowing and happy little coos coming from him as he burrows further between your bodies. He’s out again soon, and you can’t tell but you think Din is asleep too, the three of you tucked into the tiny bunk together.

“This is nice,” you murmur, talking to yourself. “The three of us.”

Din makes a noise of agreement, startling you a little. “You’re good with him,” he says quietly and you squeeze his hand.

After a few more minutes of silence, you’ve almost drifted off when he speaks again. “You were right, you know.”

“Hmm?” you hum drowsily.

You hear his face shift towards you before he moves, gently setting the kid to his other side and scooting to lie down. You follow him until the two of you are laying down in the bunk completely.

“What you said to him… it’s true. I will do anything it takes to protect him.”

You smile. “I know, Din. You already do. And I’ll do everything I can, too.”

There’s another long pause. “I want to protect you too. If you’ll let me,” he finally says softly, and you inhale deeply a second before his mouth gently touches yours. A shudder runs through your body as you raise your hand to his face to keep his lips on yours. He’s a little awkward and hesitant, clearly inexperienced and nervous, but it’s the best kiss you’ve ever had because it’s him.

The two of you break apart finally for air, your faces still touching as you catch your breath.

“I like kissing you,” you whisper. You can feel his mouth curl up in a smile.

“I’ve been kissing you for a long time,” Din says back quietly.

“What?” You would definitely remember if he had kissed you before.

Din touches his forehead to yours in the familiar gesture. “This is how Mandalorians kiss with the helmet on,” he says.

“Really?” you ask, a little skeptical. He’s been doing that for months, before you ever gave him the first massage. You hadn’t even thought he noticed you back then. The thought of him expressing affection and intimacy in his own secret way, long before you had any idea, makes you feel warm all over.

“You’re the first person I’ve kissed,” Din mumbles. You can feel the heat rise off his skin, and you have a feeling he didn’t mean to admit that.

“Without the helmet?”

He nods and you finally realize that his whole body is shaking.

The gravity of that isn’t lost on you, but you don’t think you’re able to process what that might mean yet, so you just kiss him again. He loses himself in the kiss immediately, one big hand stretching over your neck and jaw, opening you up a little for him. He pulls you so close it’s like he wants to climb inside of you, burrow inside the heart that he doesn’t know is already his.

His nose rubs against your neck as he breathes you in greedily, making you shiver. Din’s voice has captivated you from the moment you met him, and hearing it now, unmodulated, whispering against your skin how much he needs you, wants you, is incredible. You feel drunk on this moment, on him. You want to feel more of what is pressing into your leg, even though logically you know going from Din’s first kiss to sex in one night wouldn’t be a good idea. That’s when the baby burbles in his sleep, breaking the spell between the two of you and making you both freeze as you’re reminded you’re not alone.

A surprisingly loud snore comes from the little bundle on the bed, making you and Din both laugh.

“Don’t wake him up,” you scold him through giggles. Din rolls onto his back, bringing you with him and carefully scooting over to avoid rolling onto the child.

“Why not? He keeps us up all the time,” he gripes playfully. The moment feels almost painfully domestic and your heart feels like it could burst. You thread your leg between his and press yourself as close as possible, gently kissing his neck. Even though he just showered, you can still catch a faint scent of the oil he uses on his weapons and the residue of blaster smoke.

Din’s hands are warm, drifting up your back under your shirt. His fingers trace little patterns on your skin that are unrecognizable to you.

“Will you kiss me every night now?” he asks huskily, and you smile.

“I could manage that,” you tease, reaching up to kiss him again. It seems you can’t stop now that you know it’s allowed. He doesn’t seem to mind, greeting your mouth with fervor, a little less fumbling and unsure each time.

You drift off to sleep, cocooned by Din’s warm body and lulled by the sound of the baby’s quiet, whistling little snores. This is happiness.

. . .

The two of you find Ahsoka Tano, and through the helmet and armor you see Din’s amazement and happiness at learning Grogu’s name. And the deep pain he’s trying to deny at the coming prospect of giving up his son. You aren’t as good at hiding your emotions about it, but you try to hide it from the baby as much as you can. And you can always hope that when the time comes, maybe it won’t be right. Maybe Grogu will be able to stay with Din, and you can stay with the two of them. Honestly, it’s too painful to contemplate either of the alternatives, so you do your best to live in the moment.

Din is navigating the Crest while you bounce Grogu on your lap. The baby is practicing levitating his silver ball and you cheer him on each time it goes higher, Din glancing over and offering a “good job, kid,” every once in a while. You like sitting in the cockpit like this. Din is always going to be quiet. He has a dry sense of humor and always participates in a conversation that you start, but he doesn’t talk a lot even though he’s comfortable with you. But even so, you like just sitting in the same room as him with occasional talking and you think Grogu feels the same way. You know Din does, too—if you’re making a meal in the tiny galley, he’ll move a box right outside and clean his weapons where he can see you and listen to your silly conversations with the baby.

“Can you put the ball back on the gearshift?” you ask Grogu, pointing to the goal. He tries a few times, just missing the narrow stick or flicking it off when he tries to screw it back on. When he gets it, you cheer, clapping his hands with yours and kissing him. “You did it, sweet pea!”

Grogu turns to Din, seeking his approval too.

“You did good, kid,” he says. “Very impressive.” Grogu looks pleased, even more so when Din unscrews the ball again and tosses it back to him.

You keep playing with him for a few more minutes, but you can feel Din’s gaze on you even through his helmet. Finally you look up at him, curious.

“I—“ he starts to say but then cuts off and turns back around. Weird.

Something similar happens several more times over the next few weeks. When he leaves for a bounty, when you’re falling asleep together at night, when you’re cuddling the baby. You wonder what he wants to say, but you try not to push.

The three of you stop to get supplies on a busy planet. You thought you’d be safe and anonymous there, but it turns out there’s Empire scum even in the most unexpected places. Thankfully, the scuffle happens on your way back to the ship—you get the food and the baby back safe. The Crest sustains a little more damage and you get a little space-sick from Din’s escape maneuvers, but the three of you are able to make it into hyperspace anyway.

“Are you okay?” he asks, finally able to get up from his chair and coming over to check you and the child.

“We’re fine,” you reassure him.

“When I saw them point their blasters at you…” he trails off. “If they took you or the kid, I… I would do anything I needed to do to get you two back. Anything.”

You set Grogu on the chair and hug Din tightly. “Hopefully you never need to.”

You hear him take a deep breath before he says quietly, haltingly, “I love you.”

You’re completely blown away. Shocked. Honestly, you never thought you’d hear him say that to you. You feel loved around Din, but what little you know of his life sounds traumatizing and almost completely void of emotional connection. You wonder when the last time he heard or said those words was—thirty or so years ago when his parents were killed?

You’ve always seen Din be affectionate with Grogu in his own understated way, but you’ve never heard him tell his son he loves him despite how obvious it is that he does. So to hear those words directed at you is incredibly unexpected. You realize you’ve been quiet for a beat too long when Din stiffens.

“Um…” He sounds like he’s about to take it back or apologize.

“I love you too,” you blurt out too loudly, your cheeks hurting with the force of your smile.

“Really?” He sounds genuinely unsure.

“Yes,” you laugh, your eyes shiny. “I just didn’t know if you would be comfortable with me saying it.”

He swallows. “It’s not… easy for me to say. But I mean it. The first time you stayed after helping me with my back, and we fell asleep… that’s the first time I wanted to say it. But… I felt it a long time before that. I just… didn’t know what it was.”

That was so long ago. Back when you just had a giant crush on Mando. And now Din is telling you he was in love with you even then.

“I want you to know I always feel it, even if I don’t say it a lot,” he says awkwardly, earnestly.

You kiss his cold helmet. “I can say it so much, we’ll break even.”

. . .

One night, you’re laying half on top of Din while he nuzzles his chin against your forehead. He tenses underneath you a little, and you’re about to ask what’s wrong when he speaks.

“Have you ever thought about what you want to do… after?”

His casual tone of voice is obviously forced, and you can feel how stiff his body is under you.

“After what?” You have a feeling what he’s referring to before you ask.

“After we find the Jedi and the kid is safe,” he says. “Or… unless you had other plans. I was just wondering. If you had plans. To go somewhere. Or do something. Do you?”

His stammering would make you laugh—could he really think you would just leave after you make sure Grogu’s safe?—but you don’t dare even smile, not wanting Din to think you’re laughing at him. And a part of you is still a little worried he’s trying to hint that you should leave. Even though he touches you like you’re the only person in the galaxy. Even though he just started telling you he loved you a few months ago. He was alone for so long. Maybe in some ways he preferred that, especially in his line of work.

“I hadn’t made any plans,” you say. You decide to come right out with it. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Din says immediately. His arms tighten around you and there’s a long pause. “Would you want to stay? For awhile?”

You touch his face, wishing you could see his expression. “Mmhmm,” you murmur, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. You feel his throat bob as he swallows.

“What about forever?” he says almost soundlessly.

You pull back. “What?”

Din is shaking under you but he continues on bravely. “Would you want to stay with us forever?” You notice that he’s still referring to himself and the baby, even though this conversation is referring to the time when he will ostensibly have given up Grogu to his own kind. But that’s not the biggest question you have right now.

“It sounds like you’re asking me to…” You can’t even say the words. You wish you could see his face.

There’s a long pause.

“Marry me?” he asks softly. “What would you say if I was?”

Your body feels frozen, and you can tell the longer you can’t get your voice to work, the more anxious Din becomes.

“Yes,” is all you can manage, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Yes?” Din asks, sounding shocked, which makes you laugh.

“I told you I love you,” you say, and he kisses you deeply, muttering in between kisses that he loves you.

The baby, whom you hadn’t even heard wake up, startles you by climbing up the bed and squeezing your face. “Patu!” he chirps loudly and you laugh through your tears.

“I know, nugget,” you say, feeling around for his little face and showering him with kisses. He giggles and launches himself onto Din next, nuzzling into his broad shoulder as Din cradles him gently. “Your daddy just made me so happy,” you say, and you hear Din’s head flip back towards you.

Oops. You realize you’ve never called him Grogu’s dad in front of him before, even though it’s obvious to everyone that’s what he is. Ahsoka Tano even told him, but he may have been distracted by everything else to focus on it too much.

“Your mama always makes me happy,” Din says eventually, very softly, and then you do cry, squeezing the two of them as hard as you can.

The three of you share the bunk that night, without even noticing how cramped it is. The baby drools a little puddle on Din’s chest as you play with the wispy hairs on his tiny head. Your little family. You drift off thinking about how just a cycle ago, you were alone. You didn’t even know you were a missing piece of this little puzzle, each piece a little scarred and worn, but sealed together with a love bigger than you could have ever imagined.

[wonjaekook]

Residual Starshine

Pairing:  Soccer player!Yuta x fem!reader

Description: You’ve experienced plenty of irritations in your life. For better or for worse, none of them are quite like Nakamoto Yuta.

Word Count: 19.3k

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers ; fluff, smut, touch of angst

Warnings: my first published full blown smut scene (only one towards the end, nothing crazy), sexual references?, swearing, mentions of alcohol

A/N: Mingyu appears as a somewhat bad character in this, but I absolutely don’t think of him that way. As always, this is entirely fictional. If you want one song to vibe to while reading this, I was listening to Everybody Talks by Neon Trees a lot :-) this is the longest fic I’ve ever written and the first one containing smut that I’ve ever published, so please let me know what you thought!

Taglist: @junglewoos​ @insomni-writing​ @neowritingsnet​

This is my contribution to @/leesmrk’s sports collab, but she deactivated (Dee I miss you) so @lucas-wongs​ has compiled the masterlist in her stead! The link to the master post with all other submissions is in my masterlist.

You didn’t expect to be spending your first morning before classes with your face smashed into your pillow, pressing the cotton over your ears. Yesterday morning had been perfectly lovely - you slept a solid eight hours and you only awoke to the beautiful morning sunshine greeting you through your blinds.  All things considered, it was a very natural wake-up. However, the loud J-rock blaring through the floor from the apartment below you is the exact opposite of natural. Perhaps the music isn’t as loud as you perceive it to be, but you happen to take things quite personally when you’re woken up an hour early.

Except, you don’t take it personally enough that you force your body out of bed. Instead, you allow yourself to let out a loud groan of annoyance before you pull your covers over your head. Thankfully, the music shuts off about five minutes later and you drift back off to sleep.

When you awaken again an hour later, the sunlight coming into your room doesn’t seem nearly as friendly as it did yesterday. Still, this time you do force yourself to get up. You go through your usual routine - bathroom, change into your running clothes, and stretch. You hear no sounds of any stirring from your roommates as you get ready. It’s somewhat of a relief to have the apartment to yourself in the morning. You put your headphones in and step out of the apartment, trying to get yourself in the zone with your workout playlist while also doing a quick look around to see if anyone is out. One set of stairs and you’re at the door leading out of the small complex - a building with four apartments, two on the first floor and two on the second floor. Outside on the step leading to the sidewalk and there’s still no one around. Without a second of hesitation more, you’re off at a light jog. Half of the apartments in this area of your campus are dedicated to student athletes and there’s nothing you dread more than running, quite literally, into someone who’s by far your superior at this activity and who would judge you. As you run, the thought of your lower neighbor comes to you. You wake up early to go run - but they woke up earlier. At that thought, a frown subconsciously makes its way to your face. Shooting a quick prayer to the heavens that you don’t run into anyone, you continue on.

Though you hadn’t started running until this summer, you know your campus well enough in the years you’ve been here to find a nice path. That also means that, when you see pairs of runners ahead of you, you can make unexpected turns to avoid passing them. At one point, you veer out of the way of a pack of people who you assume is the running club. About forty five minutes later, you’re sweaty and more physically exhausted than when you had left, but the energy thrumming in your veins leaves you with a deep sense of satisfaction. You had successfully avoided every person you had come across on your run and-

You nearly open the door of your complex into one of your neighbors. Acting on reflex, you step back and dip your head, avoiding looking at him. “Oh, sorry.”

“That’s alright.” His voice is a smooth rumble and you look up, briefly forgetting about your sweaty and near-unpresentable state. He looks freshly showered, his skin smooth and just slightly sunkissed. Based on his physique, you would have guessed that he’s a student athlete, but his hair seems a little too long to match the stereotype. It’s a bit of a mane, a dark mop sitting atop the throne of his handsome face, and you think it suits him. As your eyes drift from his hair to his eyes to his nose and finally to his mouth, which has been set into the crooked angle of a smirk, it dawns on you that you’re checking him out very openly. Your face, already warm from exercise, turns blazing hot. After all of the hard work you went through to avoid embarrassing yourself this morning… “You’re cute, too, don’t worry.”

Several very intrusive thoughts come to you at once. By his very specific phrasing, he thinks you’re attractive. He also knows he’s attractive. The warmth of the complement fades to indignation at his cockiness. You press your mouth into a thin line and lower your head again, not making eye contact with him as you slip past him through the door. You’re not sure if his gaze follows you as you march back up the stairs to your apartment.

“One of our neighbors is a total ass!”

One of your roommates, Sowon, is lounging on your sofa as you sit at the small table in your shared living room, grinding the pen in your hand into your planner in frustration. It’s well into the afternoon now, the sun casting lines of shadows through your blinds, and you’re still hung up on what happened earlier. Sowon is also perfectly aware that you’re exaggerating, but she encourages you to continue. “The soccer neighbors or the volleyball neighbors?”

“Of course it’s one of the soccer neighbors! The volleyball neighbors would never do this to me.” You huff, eying the nearly empty container of cookies on the table.

“You’re aware that Johnny just brought those over so he had an excuse to hit on Yein, right?” Sowon releases a strand of hair that she had just idly wrapped around a finger, watching it twirl in the air. Your second roommate only sighs at the mention of her name, but doesn’t deny it.

“And Doyoung was the one who actually made them. So, by association, I am entitled to an equal share of cookies.” You consider Doyoung a friend - you shared a chemistry class with him once and he seemed to tolerate your presence, even enjoy it at times. He even sends you the occasional text still. “That doesn’t mean Yein isn’t going to be the one to give the container back, though.”

Yein frowns and opens her mouth but Sowon raises a finger to stop her. “Y/N is correct.”

With a shake of her head, Yein turns her attention back to you. “You were talking about the soccer neighbor?”

After you explain the situation as truthfully and dramatically as possible to them, they look at each other once before looking back at you. Sowon speaks first. “He’s definitely flirting.”

“Or he’s just like that naturally.” Yein counters. “Who flirts at eight in the morning?”

“You’d be surprised.” After you say that, her words sink in. You ran into him at eight in the morning, when he was looking refreshed. He’s a member of the soccer team, meaning he probably exercises in the morning. He also has pretty stereotypical rocker hair. “Holy shit, he’s the asshole who was blasting J-rock through the floor this morning!”

“Okay, never mind. He is a jerk.” Sowon wrinkles her nose.

“Was it at least good J-rock?” Yein prods.

You shrug. “It was alright, I guess. But that’s besides the point!” You slam your planner closed. “I’m giving him a piece of my mind the next time I see him.”

For several days, as classes start, you still get in your morning run and, each day, without fail, you’re woken up by the boy’s J-rock about an hour early. You fail to catch him at any time of the day until, finally, you’re on your way out of the apartment one morning. As you pull open the door, you nearly ram into him once again, though the situation is reversed. He’s the one who’s sweaty and warm, headphones firmly in his ears. That changes as he smirks, popping them out at the sight of you in the door. “So, we meet again.”

“Uh-huh.” You take the position of a displeased mother about to lecture a child, your arms crossed over your chest as you block the door. “You know, I have words for you.”

“Wow, already? People usually don’t have words for me until at least the third time we’ve met. Well, at least not more than a few choice ones like-”

You cut him off before he can inflate his own ego more. “Stop playing music so loud at six in the morning.”

He tilts his head like he’s confused, but the way his lips are quirked up tells you that he knows exactly what you’re talking about. “Baseless accusations. Maybe you should take this up with Jaehyun or Kun. I would never do such a thing.”

“Come on. I know it’s you.” The look you give him is entirely unamused, so he relents slightly, the smile falling from his face.

“What are you gonna do, report me to housing?” Before you can reply that, yes, that’s exactly what you’ll do, he continues. “I’ll tell them about the parties you and your roommates have. I’m sure they’d love coming out here at 3 AM one day just to tell you to keep it down. Almost as much as they’d love to come to my door at 6 to do the same.”

He starts walking towards the door and you turn your body inward, allowing him passage while silently fuming. “You-”

“My name is Nakamoto Yuta. You can say that if you need something to scream.” He gifts you a sly wink as he unlocks his door and lets himself in, leaving you so bewildered that you can’t think of a response at all.

“Stop messing with the soccer boys.” Sowon immediately reprimands you after you recount what happened. “You know the school will punish us before they punish them.”

“Yeah, and if this is your way of flirting, you need to think of something better.” Yein adds from the connected kitchen, tossing the stir-fry in her pan. “I’m not risking getting kicked out because you decided to mess with the soccer team’s star player.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he was really upset about the interaction. He seemed amused by my reaction.” You slump down, your forehead resting on the table. “And I didn’t know who he was until he said his name.”

“Well, he doesn’t know who you are-”

“And I don’t want him to.” You cut off Sowon. “I’ll just… deal with it.”

You get one more peaceful morning of running alone before, two days after you had first talked to him, Nakamoto Yuta comes jogging up to you. You don’t hear him at first. Music blares in your earbuds, drowning out most of the background noise of the morning, and your heartbeat in your ears fills out the parts of your internal sound profile that your music doesn’t quite reach. He comes up behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin when you see the figure of another person jogging in your peripherals. Your pace falters, but you immediately try to right yourself and regain momentum, praying he’ll just pass by you without saying anything. Except he doesn’t leave. With an internal sigh, you turn your head towards him. He offers you a grin and air-taps over his ear. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you pull out your headphones. “What?”

“Great morning, isn’t it?”

You contemplate shutting your eyes so that you can purposefully trip and eject yourself from this conversation. “I guess.”

“It’s soccer season. You know that, right?” You narrow your eyes at him, but nod. “Our first game is coming up soon.” You don’t like where this is going. “You should come.” “You must be hard-pressed for attendees to be randomly asking your neighbor to come to your game.” You reach for your earbuds again.

“Hold on, hold on.” You pause, then immediately wonder why you’re even giving him the time of day. Still, you relent for a moment. “If you come to the game this Saturday, I’ll stop playing music so loud when I wake up.”

“If you were a kind and courteous neighbor, you would just do that without having to threaten me to go to one of your games. And,” you state flatly, “I’ve already been to enough soccer games for the rest of my life, thank you very much.”

As you jog away, he doesn’t try to stop you again, but you could swear that he seems the slightest bit disappointed.

The next morning is more of the same as usual. The same loud J-rock that wakes you up an hour early, your same run, your same shower and breakfast and classes. You consider shifting your sleep schedule so that you wake up at the same time as Yuta, though you dismiss the idea because why should you change your lifestyle to adjust for his? You’d rather suffer the early wakeup.

Except, two days after he asks you to come to one of his games, the music stops. That first morning, you wake up at your usual time. You’re prepared to be upset at Yuta waking you early again, but when your foggy morning brain processes that you had woken up to your own alarm and not his music, you lie there confused. When you go out for your run not long after, you almost hope that you’ll run into him. There’s no way he’s just being nice is there? He has to be sick or something. To your disappointment, you don't run into him and you’re just stuck in your confusion. This goes on for three more days and each day you become more perplexed.

As you’re returning to your apartment after your classes that Friday, someone holds the door for you as you approach. “Thanks-” you start, then see who’s holding it for you. “-oh! Jaehyun!”

“Hey, uh, Y/N, right?” You smile at him, nodding firmly. You’re almost surprised that he remembers your name because you’d only chatted once before, back when you were moving in. He’s perfectly polite, almost shy-seeming, and completely different from his roommate. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just getting back from classes.” Thinking of his roommate… “I was actually wondering, um…” He gives you a confused look, waiting for you to continue. “Is Yuta doing okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Why?” Jaehyun hadn’t been aware that you were at all acquainted with his roommate.

You appear equally as confused as he does. “Oh, I… never mind. If you don’t mind me asking, where’s your next game?”

He brightens up at that. “It’s a home game. Tomorrow at six, don’t miss it!”

You return his smile. “Great, thanks, Jaehyun! I’ll see you around?” He sends you off with a wave before you go your separate ways, entering your respective apartments.

Should you actually go to his game? You don’t owe him anything, you never agreed to his deal, but he did stop playing his music so loud. You’re not really doing anything on Saturday either… maybe you’ll bug Sowon and Yein so that they’ll come with you.

That evening, the apartment below yours is particularly busy. All of the soccer boys are home - Yuta, Jaehyun, Kun - and the volleyball and art boys are also over - Johnny, Doyoung, Jungwoo, Taeyong, Ten, and Sicheng. After all, as Johnny says, Friday nights are for the boys. Conversation flows from school to girls to boys to soccer, upon which Jaehyun shares a very interesting observation with his friends.

“By the way, it seems like you have another admirer, Yuta.” Jaehyun says as he takes a swig of his soju, recently acquired from the nearby Korean market and grossly overpriced.

“Sure,” Yuta responds, rolling his eyes, “who would that be?”

“You know that girl from upstairs? Y/N? She asked about you today and then asked me about our next game.”

“We haven’t even had our first game and you’re already collecting fangirls? Come on, Yuta,” Kun chimes in this time, breaking away from his conversation with Sicheng about their shared organic chemistry class.

“That can’t be right,” Yuta says, leaning back into the couch, “L/N Y/N? I’m pretty sure she hates my guts. I tried to make a deal with her to get her to come to the game and she just brushed me off.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes at his friend. “Y/N doesn’t just hate people for no reason. What did you do?”

Yuta raises his hands defensively and half-glares at him. “I didn’t do anything! I was just being myself and she decided to hate me.”

“The star-player, cocky version of yourself or the normal version of yourself?” Doyoung says, looking entirely unamused.

Yuta thinks back to all of the encounters he’s had with you and cringes slightly. “Listen, she was the one who was checking me out first-”

“Stupid.” Doyoung shakes his head before taking a sip of the water he’s drinking. “Some people take well to forwardness, but not her.”

“Are you sure? Because if she’s asked after me, I think that means she likes it.”

“I am going to spike a ball into your head, you-”

“Guys, calm down,” Sicheng says with a rather flat tone. Instantly, the two bickering boys stop, resorting to glaring at each other. Jaehyun gently shoves his roommate to get his attention and the room quickly returns to normal. Later, Doyoung passes Yuta a new bottle once his has run out, so he knows that the younger was never truly angry at him. The small party doesn’t go long into the night - tomorrow’s the first game of the season, after all - and, surprisingly, there isn’t much noise from their upstairs neighbor either.

That is mostly thanks to you. You had convinced your two party-addicted friends to attend someone else’s get together instead of hosting their own, so you ushered them out of the house at around ten in the evening. You know that they’ll come back fine in a few hours, rumpled and with their makeup half sweated off, buzzing with alcohol and the blaring music of whatever houseparty they were invited to, but you still tell them that your phone will be off of silent in case they need anything. Previous semesters, you might have gone with them, but, now, you just want to sleep so you can wake up early and go on your usual run.

The morning comes with your sleep uninterrupted by your roommates. After you awaken, instead of lying in bed and contemplating life for a while, you drag yourself up and to their rooms, where you find each of them peacefully asleep in their beds. Yein bothered to change out of her party clothes and into pajamas while Sowon didn’t, her dress half off of her shoulder and bunched up under her butt. Both of them are snoring away, hugging pillows and blankets.

The relief of seeing your roommates in good condition adds a spring to your step. A few minutes later, after you’ve stretched on the floor of your bedroom, you’re halfway out the outside door of the complex when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You know who it is even before you turn around.

“Y/N,” Yuta says, grinning much too brightly for how early it is. He doesn’t seem like he’s been out yet, which is strange. “Good morning.”

“Is it?” You lift an eyebrow.

“Perfectly!” As he talks, you begin to move farther out the door. Down one step. Down two steps. On the sidewalk. “Do you want to run together?”

“Shouldn’t you be just coming back from doing that?” You pull out your phone.

He quickly matches his stride to yours. “I decided to start running an hour later on the weekends. You know, sleep in a bit since I have the time.”

“I’m happy for you.” You select a song and put one ear of your headphones in.

“Are you coming tonight?”

“Didn’t I already answer that?” In all honesty, you feel like you should be more irritated with him than you actually are. He’s at least amusing to talk to. Plus, he stopped waking you up an hour early without you even promising to come to his game.

“Yeah, but then you asked Jaehyun about it.”

You stop moving, turning to look at him. He has another one of those infuriating smirks on his face and all of your previous enjoyment flies out the window. “Maybe I’m a huge fan of his.”

“What position does he play?”

“I don’t have to answer that!” Now, your face is already warming and you haven’t even begun your exercise. You turn away from him again and begin to slowly jog. “Bye, Yuta.”

“He’s a midfielder! And I’m a forward! You can see today at the game!” He calls after you as you get farther away, his voice getting more distant. Part of you feels bad for your neighbors - the windows aren’t exactly soundproof. You just wave a hand back at him in dismissal. A minute later, you look behind you. To your great relief, and mild surprise, he isn’t following you. He went the complete opposite direction.

“Will you guys please come with me? I promise some of the guys on the team are hot.” You tug on Sowon’s sleeve like a child does to their mother when they want something.

“I thought you hated college soccer because of your brother.” She flips a page in her textbook, scribbling down something in her notes.

“I don’t think this one will be so bad. Our team is supposed to be really good this year, right?” You look hopefully at her.

“How am I supposed to know? How is anyone supposed to know? Today is their first game.” She stops attempting to study, looking at you. “Also, I’m messing around. I’ll go with you.”

You look at your other roommate, who is in the middle of the very exhaustive task of sitting on your sofa and scrolling through her phone. She gives you a thumbs up. “As long as I can put on face paint!”

A couple hours later, you find yourselves in the bleachers surrounding the soccer field. It’s a modest stadium, not a stadium at all but just a normal soccer field with bleachers on either side and some decently sized flood lights for night usage. Not too far away is a moderately sized building that is a shared locker room space for all of the school’s athletic teams. Your school never invested much of its funds into soccer until recently, largely thanks to Yuta and some of the other members who are in their third or fourth year playing who made a name for your university in the sport. You also suspect that they probably talked the ear off of the provost so that he finally agreed to give them more funding, but that’s just a personal guess.

From your place on the home side of the bleachers, you have total vision of the field. Both teams are running warm-up drills and it’s easy enough to spot the people you know: someone from your physics class named Mingyu, someone you remember from a party named Baekho, and your lower neighbors, Jaehyun, Kun, and, of course, Yuta. His hair is pulled back from his face in a small ponytail at the back of his head and a small version of your university’s lion mascot stands out proudly on his red jersey.

You purposefully make a point to look for him last, only to find that he’s completely focused. Though it’s just shooting drills, he seems like he’s entirely in the zone, his eyes sharp and calculated. From what you can tell. The physical distance between you isn’t huge, but you can’t read his expressions that well from this angle.

The sharp scream of a whistle being blown indicates that there’s five minutes until the start of the game. The teams both do a bit of last minute stretching as they gather around the coach, a man you recognize as a biology professor. Finally, just as the clock hits six, they squeeze closer together, arms slung over each others’ shoulders in a tight circle, and do some sort of indistinct chant that ends in something like “Go Lions!”

After they break away, you can see the shift in atmosphere. Everyone is completely serious. It’s the first game of the season and they aren’t going to destroy the reputation they’ve built up for the last three years. You watch as Jaehyun moves to his position as a midfielder, Kun moves to his position as defense, and Yuta lines up in the position of forward center. A coin flip gives the kick-off to the away team, a school with a hawk mascot. Everyone shifts slightly on their feet and, for a moment, the world seems to be silent. The crowd leans forward in their seats.

Then, the whistle is blown.

The game gets to a roaring start. From how cautiously the other team is playing, they seem to know the reputation of the Lions - a team that shot up out of nowhere and suddenly has one of the best forwards in college soccer. You find yourself grinning as the ball barely makes it past your team’s defensive midfielder Mingyu before it’s in the Lions’ metaphorical hands. Your midfielders carefully juggle the ball between them, passing and passing and passing, before it reaches Jaehyun at center midfield. He does his job quickly and efficiently, making it almost look easy, and the ball meets the half-tip. From there, the ball is stolen by one of the Hawks’ defense at a failed pass to the second striker, Baekho. The ball shoots all the way to midfield.

For a few tense minutes, you watch the players run back and forth across the field, their eyes never leaving the target. The game pauses every so often when the ball gets kicked out of bounds, but it always resumes with just as much vigor. About a quarter of the way through the game, Yuta finally has his breakthrough. Jaehyun lands a kick directly in his direction, giving him the perfect opportunity. The strike is clean and so fast that you would have missed it if your eyes weren’t glued to the movements of the ball. All of the people on your side of the bleachers launch to their feet in roaring cheers as the ball sails past the opponent goalie’s right side and into the net. You’re standing alongside everyone else, your hands cupped around your mouth as you yell in excitement. It’s not often that you see such a well done shot from a college team.

The boil of the crowd’s blood dies down a bit as the game continues, but soars back up whenever something particularly exciting happens. In the third quarter, the Hawks manage to land a goal on your team, but Yuta comes in clutch a few minutes later and scores two easy goals almost one after the other. The final score is deeply satisfying at 3:1.

The opposing team try to be good sports about it, but they’re obviously sulking when they shake your team’s hands. After they break away, they’re all gloriously sweaty, which you’re sure Sowon is excited about. Some of the spectators immediately rush out of the stands and make their way down, friends and significant others of the players, you presume. Part of you wants to go down there and be a part of the excitement. Luckily enough, a distraction comes in the form of some of your other neighbors before you’re forced to make any decisions.

“Hey, Yein, Sowon, Y/N!”

When you turn, you see Johnny and Doyoung approaching. Yein stiffens slightly and you nearly start laughing at your friend’s embarrassed behavior. Sowon greets them first. “Hi, guys.”

“I didn’t know you guys were into soccer?” Johnny asks, his eyes shifting easily from Sowon to you to Yein, where they remain.

“Not really! But Y/N wanted to go today.” In her nervousness, Yein easily exposes you.

“I wasn’t the only one who wanted to go,” you huff, crossing your arms. Doyoung and Johnny exchange a look that makes you want to change the subject. “I guess you guys are here to support some friends?”

“Yup, Yuta, Kun, and Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, looking towards the field, where some of their other friends are already gathered around the star player. “They played really well. It’ll be a good season.”

“I hope so,” Sowon says, also watching.

“Well, we don’t want to keep you guys from them,” you say, wanting to eject yourself from the conversation before it turns in a different direction. To your displeasure, Johnny is a master of knowing exactly what you don’t want and then doing it anyways. You’ve never really talked to him before, but it seems that he’s similar to Yuta in that way.

“Why don’t we all go say hi?” The tall boy says, grinning. “You guys can tell me how those cookies were, too.”

There is no escape. Now, as you follow them down the bleachers, you reflect Yein in a way. She no longer looks quite as nervous, eagerly chatting with Johnny, while you grow increasingly more fidgety. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to Yuta. You just don’t want to give in to whatever game the two of you silently decided you were playing.

Then again, it is much more fun to play along than it is to outright reject him. Plus, today’s actual game was good. You’ll give him that.

Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, you join the small crowd surrounding Yuta. If you thought he glowed normally, he absolutely shines now. There’s something about him being in his element at the very top of his game that makes you forget your irritation with him for a moment. In that instant, he’s a star. In that instant, he reminds you of your brother. Then, he spots you and opens his mouth.

“Y/N!” As he calls out to you, the girl he was talking to before you arrived seems perturbed, but he ignores her, pushing his way closer to you. “You actually came.”

You turn your nose up at him slightly. “No one ever said it was for you.”

“Of course not. You and I both know the truth, though.” The wink is nowhere near subtle or sly and you scoff at him. He seems unbothered. “This was your first Lions game, right? Did you enjoy it?”

You nod hesitantly. “I heard you guys were good, but I didn’t know how good. You played a near perfect game.”

The self-satisfied smile drops from his face. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“What do you mean?” Tilting your head, you match his somewhat grim face.

“There’s always better plays to make, better places to have been. You know.” He quickly tries to play it off like he’s uninterested rather than deeply bothered. You’re not sure you know what the truth is. You haven’t talked to him nearly enough to know. This is the first hint of something serious that he’s shown you. It almost makes you want to talk to him more to find out.

“Dude, shut up, you’re good.” From the side, Johnny butts in, elbowing his friend. You’re glad for the interruption, as you once again didn’t know what to say. The mood raises, with some of Yuta’s friends reenacting the best parts of the game, joking about his long hair, betting on what next week’s game will look like. A few minutes later, the Lions’ coach shouts for all of the team members to go shower and get changed, so the crowd slowly disperses.

After you’re alone with your roommates, Sowon and Yein can’t help but give you playful shoves as you walk home. Sowon is the first to verbalize her amusement. “I thought you hated him?”

You grumble under your breath, not saying anything in particular.

“You played a near perfect game.” Yein mimics, making your face burn.

“I do not sound like that! Also, I know a good game when I see one and I know when to admit it!” You kick your shoe against the pavement as they giggle at you.

From then on, it seems like you run into Yuta far too often for your own good. Every few days, you bump into him when you’re either about to go run or when you’re coming back from running. When you go with Yein to return Johnny’s cookie container, Yuta is in his apartment, lounging on the sofa and chatting with Jungwoo, your third volleyball neighbor. Once, when you’re studying at the school library because you need a change of scenery from your apartment, he runs into you. That time, you snap at him.

“Are you stalking me or something?”

He places a hand over his heart, pretending to be offended.  “What do you mean? If anything you’re the one stalking me. I come here every Thursday after practice to study.” He huffs. “If you’re talking about when I was in Johnny’s apartment, I was already there before you even arrived. Unless you’re accusing me of being psychic, too.”

Your shoulders slowly lower at the guilt you feel. Cringing slightly, you raise your hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to imply…” You sigh. “Sorry. Can I buy you a coffee or something to apologize?”

Only after Yuta’s mock hurt shifts to a triumphant look do you realize the implications of your words. You’re really on a roll with implications today. He grins. “If you really want to.”

As you pack up your things, Yuta tells the few teammates he had come to study with that he’s going, and you walk out of the library side by side. Luckily, he actually makes for easy conversation and good company. You don’t know why he insists on the flirting and cockiness in your shorter interactions. As you walk to the campus coffee shop, you learn that he’s a studio art major. He learns that you’re a physical therapy major. You learn that he’s taking a statistics class that you had already previously taken - he put it off while you got it done in your first year - and, without thinking, you offer to help him if he needs it. After you order both of your coffees, finding out that he likes a lighter roast, you sit at a table in the shop with him. Silence comes and goes as both of you do some of the studying that you intended to do at the library. Every so often, he asks you a question. Usually, you answer him. You always return with a question of your own. You find out that his favorite of the bands that he used to blast through the floor is One Ok Rock.

“Sorry,” he finally says, appearing genuinely remorseful with the sheepish look on his face, “I didn’t have upstairs neighbors last year. I didn’t know you could hear it through the floor.”

“It’s fine. Sorry I snapped at you back then.”

It’s very strange to be on perfectly good terms with Nakamoto Yuta.

A few days later, when your brother sends you a ticket for the local professional soccer team, the Ravens, you almost feel like you should ask for a second so you can bring Yuta. Figuring it would be too much to ask, you plan to go by yourself, thankful that the game falls on a day the Lions aren’t playing. Plus, you can’t imagine what your roommates would say if you chose to go out of your way to take him with you.

You’ve taken to hanging out with the long-haired center forward, helping him with his math when he needs it and just… generally enjoying his company. That doesn’t mean you’re all sugar and smiles to him - it’s much more fun to mess around a little, make him think that you don’t like him quite as much as you actually do. The only thing you can think of that would personally offend him would be to say you’re going to one of his games and then failing to do so.

On the bus ride over to the stadium where the Ravens are playing, you’re thankful that you don’t recognize anyone from your school. You’re in the team’s colors, silver and forest green, and it would be clear to anyone where you’re going. Only after you get off of the bus do you realize just how many came to watch. The stadium is full, packed to almost capacity. That’s probably why your brother hadn’t gotten you tickets earlier - all of them were taken. He probably gave tickets to the earlier games to your parents. They would have thrown a fit if he had only invited you earlier, even if you are his favorite.

As you make your way to your seat, you remark on how strange it is to see your last name printed on the backs of the shirts of a bunch of strangers. The vibe of the crowd is completely different from that at your school’s field. While college students are excitable and energetic, these spectators are rabid. At any moment, there’s one hundred people yelling, someone trying to start a chant, someone screaming just for the sake of it. The air is buzzing with the anticipation of the crowd.

There’s a moment of sudden thick silence, like the moment before a dam is about to burst, where the crowd is silent. Then, both teams are stepping out onto the field and the stadium explodes. In the middle of the line of the eleven Ravens players, like he’s trying to blend in even though half of the crowd is chanting his name, is your brother. There’s a coin flip and it’s decided that the Ravens will start. He gets into his position, forward center, and the audience takes another breath.

You’re on the edge of your seat. Half of the game you’re standing. There’s a thrill about the experience that makes you so invigorated and proud beyond belief. If it had been strange seeing your last name on the backs of fans’ jerseys, it’s just as weird hearing the announcer say your brother’s name as he scores. If Yuta had been residual starshine, your brother is a shot of pure gold. He has long given up trying to make himself small where he glows the brightest, smiling as the whistle is blown for halftime. His teammates slap each other on the back when they go for water. Just as the game is about to resume, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket once. You figure that whoever is texting you can wait.

The other team makes a comeback in the second half, scoring on the Ravens and tying the score. You feel a bit bad for the goalie, a guy you know as Kim Yongsuk, who your brother had introduced you to in the past. He’s probably beating himself up over it. Still, the team doesn’t falter, doesn’t repeat their mistakes. It’s a hard game - from how close you are, you can almost see everyone breathing hard. Finally, with just a few minutes left to spare, the ball travels smoothly from the Ravens’ defensive line, to the midfielders, to the offense. Once it’s in your brother’s possession, it’s over. He shoots and he scores.

To be fair to the other team, they try to recover, but it’s just not enough. Time is called and it ends 2:1. The Ravens have won. You find yourself clapping and cheering with the other fans, shouting your elation to the huge stadium. As things begin to wind down and the teams shake hands, people begin to trickle out of the stadium. A satisfied hum is in the air, leaving a smile on your face, too. Perhaps soccer games are the reason you like parties, too. The warm, excited atmosphere, the noise, forgetting about the outside world to become absorbed in something else.

Finally, reality calls again after all of the players filter out to their respective locker rooms. You pull out your phone, about to send a text to your brother. However, when your phone comes to life, the first thing you see is a text from Yuta.

NaYu: Are you at the Ravens game??

An instant later, right on cue, you hear his voice. “Y/N!” Upon looking up, he’s bounding down the aisles towards you, also donning forest green and silver. Watching him weave through the rest of the people trying to leave, you wouldn’t be surprised if he would have slid down the railing if there weren’t other people there. Nonetheless, it doesn’t take long for him to reach you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why not?” You tilt your head, smiling slightly. You’re in too good of a mood to outright lie to him.

He blinks. “I thought you hated watching soccer.”

You hold your hands behind your back, swaying playfully. For once, he’s the confused one. “I don’t know what gave you that impression. I really enjoy seeing the Ravens play.”

“But… you said…” He furrows his eyebrows. “Didn’t you say you’ve seen enough soccer games to last your whole life already, or something?” “I changed my mind.” Your phone buzzes in your hand.

B/N: You still in the stands? I’m coming up.

At that, you freeze. Yuta nudges you. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” You’ve kept the fact that your brother is the Ravens’ star striker away from everyone, besides your roommates, and you can’t even begin to imagine how Yuta would react if he found how. What would he think of you? “You can head out without me, Yuta. I’m waiting for someone.” The concerned expression doesn’t leave his face. “Are you sure? It’s kind of late-”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine, I’m-”

“Y/N!”

You turn just in time to see your brother jumping the gate blocking off the entrance to the field from the stands. Most of the stadium has cleared out by now, ushered out by staff, leaving very few people. Your brother has a hoodie on with his team’s colors, the hood up and partially blocking his face from distant onlookers nonetheless. You cringe internally as he jogs up to you, not seeming tired at all, and you greet him as he engulfs you in a warm hug. “Hi, B/N.”

“I’m glad you could make it. It’s not often that I get to play for my favorite sibling.” You’re looking at your brother, but you’re sure that Yuta has a shocked look on his face as he connects the dots. Now that your brother has directly stated who he is to you, there’s no avoiding it. He looks past you and realizes that you’re not alone. “Who’s this?”

“I…” Now that you’re actually looking at Yuta, you realize he’s entirely starstruck. He looks like he’s stuck in one place, his eyes wider than normal and full of awe.

You take over for him. “This is Yuta. He’s my friend from school and our team’s center forward.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m B/N! Since Y/N finally decided to show her face at her own team’s games, I heard you guys are doing well this year. Go Lions!” He raises a fist, giving Yuta a sunny smile.

Yuta blinks hard, looking almost like he might pass out. “Y-yeah. We’re doing alright, I guess. Thank you for your support.” He reflexively dips into a shallow bow, making your brother chuckle.

“You don’t have to be so formal. Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” He elbows you not-so-gently. “Y/N! Tell me next time you want to bring him. I’ll throw in a second ticket.”

Yuta unfreezes a bit and looks at you. “You don’t bring Yein or Sowon?”

You shrug. “I don’t like to bring only one of them. It feels unfair to the other.”

“Still, I’m glad to see that you’re not lying about having at least one friend.” Your brother gives you a wicked grin and heat fills your cheeks.

“I have friends!” You insist, clenching your fists at your side.

“Do you?” Yuta teases, making you press your lips together in a look of indignation.

Before you can counter him, your brother interjects. “I hate to part with the two of you, but I have to leave.” He steps back, waving a hand at the two of you. “See you!” “I hope you stub your toe on the way out!” You shout back at him as he retreats.

“Hey, this toe is worth a lot of money! Love you, too!”

There’s a period of silence as you watch your brother disappear. Yuta clears his throat. “Do you want to go back?”

“Yeah.” You follow him wordlessly for a while, making your way out of the stadium. He walks by your side, his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t seem upset, just a bit shocked still. As you approach the bus stop, you finally speak up. “Did you come with anyone else?”

“Some of the guys from the team. I told them to go ahead without me so I could talk to you.” Of all the things he’s ever said, that makes your heart feel strange. A tiny flutter of a butterfly’s wings, if you will.

Then, as you make it to the bus shelter, you turn to him, grabbing onto the edge of his sleeve. “Yuta, promise you won’t be weird after this?”

He blinks, not fighting your grip. “Why would I be weird?”

“Just… I don’t really tell people about my brother. I don’t want you to think any differently about me because of it.” This level of vulnerability isn’t something you usually show and it feels foreign, unfamiliar. When you told Sowon and Yein about it, it didn’t feel this way. Yet, standing under the shelter with Yuta, his deep green sleeve in your hand, his eyes on yours, the light of the city falling faintly on your faces, you feel your heart pound even harder in your chest.

“I already liked you before I ever knew that.” He reaches up oh so slowly. You don’t know what he’s going to do. Touch your cheek, pat your head, kiss you? Before you can find out, the bus pulls up with a loud exhale, spewing exhaust. The doors open and the driver looks at you expectantly as you turn and get in. Yuta follows you, silent. Both of you pay your dues and sit down, side by side, his sleeve brushing yours.

You know exactly what it is about him that drives you insane. At the same time, you have no idea. While you don’t want things to be different with him after tonight, you also desperately wish for the opposite. You’re tempted to slap yourself in the face to try and wake yourself up from whatever strange dream you’re happening, but you don’t know how the boy next to you would react.

The ride passes excruciatingly slowly, as does the short walk back to your complex. Finally, as you’re standing in the stairwell, about to part ways with him, he speaks. “Do you want to study together tomorrow?”

At that, such a normal suggestion, you smile. “Sure.”

He reflects your expression. It’s a familiar look on him, which you’re grateful for. “I’ll text you. Goodnight, Y/N.”

The next day is entirely ordinary. It’s like the previous night never happened. Yuta is perfectly normal, perfectly flirty, perfectly infuriating. In fact, the entire week after is normal. You go to the Lions game, cheer on your neighbors, and pretend to be difficult with Yuta after the game. He’s always so hard on himself after his games, remarking on what he believes are the many things he could have done differently to play a better game, despite scoring all of the team’s goals and securing wins every time. You hope that you talking to him afterwards raises his spirits just as much as you enjoy it.

Then, one Saturday, you’re out running when Yuta jogs up to you. Once again, he scares the shit out of you, making you nearly trip. “Hey, Y/N.”

You tear out your headphones, giving him a look. “Have you tried not jumpscaring me?”

The shrug he gives you looks strange, as he’s jogging slowly next to you when he attempts to emote. “It’s kind of funny.” You grumble under breath about showing him what’s funny, and he continues. “Do you want to run together on the weekends?”

“This again?” You say, frowning.

He rolls his eyes. “Listen, I know you’re lonely. Since you come out to my games, I thought I should do you some sort of favor in return.”

“I also help you with your statistics homework.”

“Anyways, you’re in luck because I also don’t have a running partner. It’s a lot easier to set a pace and keep moving if you have someone with you.”

You know he’s right, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. When you’re running, you’re at your most vulnerable - sweaty, tired, out of your element. There’s plenty of reasons you shouldn’t want him to run with you. “You have to run so much faster than I do. I would just slow you down.”

“Not really,” he says, looking at your feet as you jog next to him, “see? We’re both doing fine right now.”

You realize that he’s right. You keep moving wordlessly for a minute, until you speak quietly. “Would you really not mind?”

You focus on his hair bouncing as he takes each step for a while before you look at his face. In the morning sunlight, he gives you a pure smile. “Not at all.”

On Saturdays and Sundays, he’s waiting for you just outside of the complex at seven in the morning with his hair tied up to keep it out of his eyes. He easily matches his pace to yours. He’s always much more awake at that hour than you are, but the quiet encouragement he whispers whenever you slow down help perk you up. It takes you a little while to realize that he’s doing something very similar for you to what you do for him after his games.

It’s a cloudy Sunday morning. Usually, you don’t talk a ton while you’re running together, but it seems that his curiosity has gotten the best of him. “What made you want to start running?”

“Hm?” You hum, snapped out of the world that was just your feet thudding against the ground and the sound of your breathing in your ears. “Do I have to have a reason?”

“People usually don’t just randomly start doing it. Maybe they want to get stronger or lose weight. Maybe they want to impress someone.”

“It’s not about impressing anyone. I’m doing this for me.” You say it firmly, confidently. His pace stutters and he watches you continue forward. There’s something in your voice that makes him incapable of moving, and all he can do is stare at you for a moment, his heart speeding up in his chest for reasons other than the running you’re doing. When you realize he isn’t following, you turn towards him, jogging in place. The way your face is illuminated by the sunlight being cast upon it makes him sure he’s never met someone as incredible as you before in his life. “Are you coming?”

You don’t know what’s up with him. His expression is something you’ve never seen but can’t quite place. He catches up in a few bounds and you resume your run.

The next Friday, you receive a strange text.

Unknown Number: Hey, is this Y/N?

You contemplate whether or not you should respond, but you get a second text.

Unknown Number: This is Mingyu from physics

Now, that’s strange. You start to type out a reply.

Y/N: Hi! What’s up?

Kim Mingyu: I was wondering if you could help me with the lab report from last Friday? I’m having some trouble

Y/N: Sure, do you want to meet in the library later?

Meeting up with someone who you’ve never really talked to before is strange. Mingyu tries to joke with you, but something about them falls flat. You try your best to laugh and help him anyways, figuring it’s just stiffness from interacting with someone new. Though it’s nice to finally have a physics buddy, you’re almost relieved when you go home.

As you approach your complex, you see a small group formed on the lawn outside. Sicheng and Ten are standing on one leg, holding the other leg up and trying to knock each other down. A small smile comes to your face when you realize that Yuta is in the group, cheering for his friends. Around the same time you see him, he sees you and his eyes light up. He’s quickly getting to his feet and bounding towards you. Taeyong calls after him with a frown. “Yuta, you’re next!”

Still, he sidles up next to you as you walk closer to the circle. “Y/N! Where are you coming from?”

“Just the library. Actually, I was meeting up with one of your teammates, Mingyu. We were working on physics.”

The smile he wears twitches downwards for a moment. “I didn’t know you had a class with him.”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning. I never talked to him before today.” You shrug, shifting the backpack on your shoulders. “What are you guys doing?”

“One-legged fight. You should join.” He suddenly has a sadistic gleam in his eye and you take a tiny step away from him.

“And give you an excuse to push me on the ground? No thanks.”

“Aw, Y/N, I’m hurt. You don’t think I would just push you if I really wanted to?” At his proclamation, you shake your head, trying to force down a smile but failing miserably. “I’m kidding, of course. I would never.”

It’s almost sunset and he looks glorious in the golden light, the sun reflecting off of his dark hair and making his eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheekbones. If you were bolder, you might say something about it. Instead, you let out a snort of laughter, looking away from him. From the circle a few yards away, cheers erupt. Ten is curled on the ground, dramatically bemoaning his loss to Sicheng, who stands proudly over him. Taking that as his cue, Yuta gives you a small wave and rejoins his group.

When you enter your apartment with a small, content smile on your face, Yein looks up from her cooking. “Good day?”

“You could say that.”

The next morning, thankfully, is a Saturday. Yuta is waiting for you, looking just as fine in the morning sun as he did in the evening rays. He’s stretching as you approach him. “It looks like it’ll be good weather for the match today.”

“It better be.” He says it lightheartedly, but you can really imagine him threatening the weather. He’s told you that he hates the rain, partly because it makes it unpleasant to play but also just because it dampens his mood. The team is lucky they’ve gotten good weather for the season so far.

As you’re running, you remember what something you needed to ask Yuta about. “Hey, are you free on Wednesday night? My brother offered me two tickets for his game.”

His eyes light up. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, trying to keep your pace steady. “He said he would pull through, so he did. You made a good impression on him.”

“I am totally free. Completely. Did I tell you how free I am that day?” The child-like excitement in his voice makes you smile in return.

“Wow, with how not free you are, I guess I should invite someone else,” you tease and he lets out an uncharacteristic whine.

“Y/N, I know you’re messing with me, but if you take someone else after asking me, I will never forgive you.”

Now it’s your turn to pretend to be offended. “I see how much our friendship means to you, Mr. Nakamoto.”

He sighs dramatically, bringing a hand to his forehead as he acts like he’s going to faint. “You’re so serious.”

You stick out your tongue at him. “You’re such a fanboy.”

“I can’t help it. Your brother is just so cool. I don’t know how you don’t try to hang out with him literally all the time.”

That gives you pause. You feel your feet connect with the earth repeatedly for a minute, thinking about your brother and your complicated but not complicated relationship. You trust Yuta with so many things, so you may as well tell him. “A few weeks ago, when I said I was only doing this for me, I lied. Just a little.” You say, not looking at him. You’ve never really admitted it out loud before. “I want to get good enough to run with my brother. I almost never see him these days, but if I can start getting up to run with him sometimes… it’ll be like when we were kids. Or something. I don’t know.”

“He’s important enough to you that you want to change something about your life to spend more time with him,” Yuta says quietly, keeping pace with you. “I hope he knows how much you care about him.”

“You don’t always need to change to show you love someone. That’s why it was only partly a lie when I said I’m only doing this for myself.” You flash Yuta a smile, which he returns. Though your lungs burn and your legs ache, the air you breathe in is cool and fresh. “I’ll race you back.”

His eyes flash. “Challenge accepted.”

The next time you see Yuta is later that day, at his game. He’s serious, as usual, in the zone. As the season goes on, the bleachers fill up more and more with students eager to see the Lions throw sparks. The games continually get harder, but they manage to clutch this one out with a final score of 3:2.

Despite the win, Yuta still seems somewhat down. Afterwards, you’re about to go up to him to describe the glorious moment when he slid between two of the opponent defenders and scored, but you’re stopped by a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/N.” To your surprise, Mingyu is the one approaching you. He doesn’t take his hand away.

“Oh! Mingyu, hi.” You try to smile at him, but your eyes wander over to Yuta briefly. “Good game today! You guys played solidly.”

“Ha, thanks. Could’ve been better on my part, I’m always looking to improve, you know.”

“I get it,” you respond, nodding.

“Are you possibly free on Wednesday night? We have a lab due on Friday and I just think it would be easier to do if we can work together, ya know?”

“Oh, um, I’m actually busy then.” You force yourself to not look at Yuta. “Does Thursday night work instead?”

“Sure, whatever. I’ll see you then.” The way he squeezes your shoulder once before stepping away to talk to some of his own friends makes your stomach turn. Why is he being so… weird?

Shaking your head, you turn back to who you had intended to greet in the first place, only to find that he had been looking at you already. What’s with the look in his eyes? Why is everyone being so weird? Ignoring the feeling, you join his circle. Yuta moves closer to your side, his arm looping around your waist as he does so, pulling you in slightly. The touch is brief but intimate, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. You swear that you can almost feel the heat of his skin through your clothes. Then, his arm is back at his side like nothing happened. You want to speak up, say what you were planning on saying before, get your mind back on a normal track, but you find that Johnny, Ten, and Jungwoo are already recreating the scene, making Yuta smile through the veil of whatever emotions he’s experiencing right now.

When the entire team heads over to the locker rooms to clean off the shine of sweat and dirt that had been accumulated through the game, you can’t help watching him. As he goes, you catch flashes of his smile while he congratulates his teammates. Something stirs in your heart.

That night, you dream of healing smiles dressed in a lion’s mane of black hair. That same visage is waiting for you the next morning when you go out to run but, here outside of your head, he’s solid, real, more than heated touches and soft caresses. At the same time, he is those things. Or, so you wish him to be.

When you study with him the next night, he is as he usually is, theoretically. Sometimes it feels like his eyes linger longer than usual, his hand rests a little closer, he smiles a little wider. It’s nothing you can confirm because, to any normal gaze, he seems entirely the same. Perhaps you’re confusing yourself into imagining things. Has his flirtatious nature finally tricked your brain into thinking he likes you?

Sometime that evening, you go to the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. You pat your face rather harshly to try and drive some sense back into your brain. You should tell him. This new boy who has become so close to you. Why are you afraid of it going wrong? You emerge from the bathroom with the same feelings that you entered it with and, there he is, looking up at your return.

The next day, Tuesday is a brief reprieve from the torture of trying to figure out his feelings through his actions. Then, your brother’s game comes. Your chatter fills the space between you on the bus ride to the stadium, him telling you about the anime he’s watching, you talking about the drama you’re watching in response. He jokes about culturing you by getting you to watch a show with him.

Watching your brother’s game with Yuta at your side is an entirely different experience. While you think you normally have pretty good commentary on your own, he provides an extra edge, excitedly explaining why some players choose to do some things or making observations about small moves that you ordinarily wouldn’t notice. Both of you absorb the atmosphere of the stadium, bursting into cheers whenever something incredible happens, screaming extra loud when your brother scores.

During halftime, when the roar of the audience is less deafening, you realize that you’ve never asked Yuta about his background with soccer before. You nudge him. “Hey, Yuta? How long have you been playing?”

He taps his chin, trying to think back. “Probably since I was five?”

“No wonder you know so much,” you say, “I’m talking to an expert right now.”

“You know too much for just a casual viewer,” he says back, snorting, “don’t tell me you don’t have some experience.”

“I only played a bit when I was younger, but I wasn’t any good. It was always more fun to watch B/N. I ended up just taking care of him whenever he pulled something or fell and scraped his arm… you know.” A wistful smile forms on your face. “It started off as just kissing bruises like my mom would, but then it turned into intense Googling whenever I couldn’t immediately figure out what was wrong with him.”

“Maybe you can kiss my boo-boos whenever I get hurt, too, then.” He’s smirking, the ever-familiar gleam of mischief in his gaze.

You force yourself to roll your eyes at him, ignoring the feeling of your heart jumping in your chest. “You’d better not get hurt, Nakamoto.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

A few minutes later, the game resumes. This matchup is considerably more difficult than the game you had attended before. Each time the Ravens seem like they’re close to scoring, the opponent defense sends it back towards your end of the field or the goalie successfully blocks it. All the same, your defense and goalie do their jobs, too, leading to a brutal back and forth. By the time the game is over, the only goal that had been scored was the single one your brother got in the first half.

“Ah, that was tense. They almost took it back there for a second.” You stand, stretching your arms behind your back to loosen them up a bit. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, sure.” Yuta gets up as well, following you as you begin to climb the stairs. “Is your brother not coming to see you this time?”

“He told me he has some press deal after this.” Once you’re in a more open area, Yuta walks next to you instead of behind. You can now see that he’s frowning.

“Does he keep you a secret on purpose?”

“I asked him to.”

“I can’t imagine keeping someone like you hidden like that.” At that strange comment, you stop, looking at him. He seems to be taking the issue very personally.

“It’s easier this way. No one prying into my life, no one asking me for autographs from him all the time. People know who our parents are. What’s so important about an unknown sister?” Is there something else he wants you to say? The look on his face is something you’ve only seen maybe once or twice. He’s in a strange mood, that’s for sure.

“I get it, it’s just…” He sighs, looking at the ground with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yuta.” He finally meets your eyes. “It’s important to me that what people think about me is what I show them first. I don’t want to be a reflection of my brother, no matter how much I love him.”

“Is he the reason you didn’t want to talk to me at first?” There’s amusement in Yuta’s voice again, that strange seriousness gone.

You start to walk again and he keeps pace. “No, that was just because you woke me up at six in the morning.”

“I guess both of us have experiences that precede our reputations then, huh?”

The bus comes not much later. The previous reminder of how you met has him offering you one side of his earbuds, saying that this would be a better introduction to J-rock than the one you had before. As you listen, you’re tempted to lean your head against his shoulder or take his hand, which is resting oh so close to yours. Instead, you just sit still and look out the window.

After you get off of the bus, the topic of shows you both like makes a return.

“I will take it upon myself to expose you to great art. Are you free tomorrow? We have to start immediately.” Yuta begins to pester you, practically bouncing as you walk.

“Actually, I’m busy tomorrow. I’m working on physics with Mingyu again.” He doesn’t initially not react to your first statement. However, when his teammate’s name comes out of your mouth, he frowns.

“Of anyone…” The sudden change in his attitude catches you off guard. “Why him?”

“I don’t choose who’s in my classes. What’s wrong with you? I thought you got along with your teammates.” You’re nearing your complex at this point. The lamp posts bordering the sidewalk cast long shadows on the ground as you walk.

“In a team context, they’re fine. Usually. Just, that guy…” He’s scowling now, making you frown deeply in return.

“What about him?”

“I don’t know, Y/N.” He pauses, but then his feet stop moving a moment later. “Fuck it, I do know. He’s not a good person. He’s a manipulator. He’s a good manipulator, but he’s bad at lying when you actually confront him-”

“Yuta, you’re being ridiculous. Even if he is, I’m strong enough to take care of myself.”

“Y/N, he was with me at that first game! The one where I found out about your brother? What if he saw? He’s the type to use information like that to get what he wants. What if he-”

“What if he what, Yuta?” You glare at him, anger muddled with some other hurt now filling you. “He hasn’t done anything. He isn’t going to do anything. Our ‘secret’ isn’t going to get out. I can take care of myself.”

With that, you brush past him, into the complex, into your apartment. Thankfully, your roommates aren’t in the common area, so you safely make it to your room. Once you’re there, you shove your face into your pillow. You consider screaming into it, but you know he’s probably in his own room, where he could hear you. Instead, you just heave breath after frustrated breath.

You don’t know why you snapped at him. Actually, you do. It’s the fear that he’s actually doing what he accused Mingyu of. After every word you’ve exchanged, every conversation, you should be confident that he’s not like that. But, you’ve never been in this situation before. What if he…

It’s a stupid notion and you know it. That’s just the surface. Another layer of your feelings peels away. You hate when people are too protective of you. You want to make your own decisions, to learn for yourself. You hate when your brother is too protective of you and you hate when Yuta is.

That’s not even all of it. Finally, you reach the root of your aggression. What right does Nakamoto Yuta have to try and be protective of you when you aren’t even together? Was that the concern of a friend or the concern of a jealous lover?

You curl in on yourself even more tightly, breathing through the pillow under your face. No one has ever flirted with you as much as he has. You’ve never been so ridiculously on and off with someone before. Still, neither of you are willing to answer the question. You’ve never actually fought like this with him before.

Perhaps he hates you now that you’ve thrown his warnings back in his face.

The next day, after your classes, you force yourself to go to the library to meet Mingyu, Yuta’s words heavy in your mind. As you work, you can tell he’s still trying desperately to get on your good side, even emanating Yuta in a strange, off-balance way. It’s not amusing when he does it.

Finally, the subject you’ve been dreading comes.

“Are you a fan of the Ravens? I think I saw you at one of their games once.”

You swallow back disappointment. Mingyu is the worst fear of your insecure self and you finally have to come face to face with it. “I guess you could say that.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t take it farther than that. If Yuta’s right about him, then it’s probably just one piece of a larger goal. Though you never cared much for Mingyu, it doesn’t feel good to see things begin to unfold.

Not seeing him for two days in a row brings your mood down more than you’d like to admit. At the same time, you’re not ready to apologize yet. You don’t know what exactly is happening on his end, you never know, so when you go outside to run at your normal time on Saturday, you half expect him to be there.

He isn’t. And you don’t run into him on your way back, either. The game it is, then.

As the day progresses, the sky gets increasingly cloudy. In the evening, when the Lions and their opponent team are out on the field running final drills, it’s easy enough to tell that a good number of people had looked at the forecast - the crowd in the bleachers is much thinner than usual. The sky could open up and pour its soul out onto all of you at any moment.

You don’t even bother pretending that you’re not watching Yuta. As he steps off the field for their usual pre-game pep talk and chant, you swear he makes eye contact with you. Normally, he wouldn’t even bother looking, because he’s usually confident that you’re there. You’re not sure what the look in his eyes is now.

The coin toss decides that the other team will start with the ball. That might have been the first omen about the game. Then again, maybe the other team is just… better. Their defense is at least tighter than yours. At halftime, they have a point up on the Lions, 0:1. Yuta seems to take this very, very personally. Within ten minutes of the game restarting, they tie the score back up.

At about three quarters of the way through, it begins to rain. The referee deems that they’ve played far to stop, so the match continues. Almost like they take the poor weather as a sign, the rival team scores nearly immediately after.

You pathetically huddle under a single umbrella with Sowon while Yein shares one with Johnny. The ball slips rather than flies around the field, back and forth, back and forth, until, finally, with barely any time to spare, it’s at Yuta’s feet. The world seems to move in slow motion, then. His right foot moves backwards. It swings forwards. He makes contact.

He misses.

You try not to gasp. Yuta himself seems to be in shock, with how he goes stiff for a moment. Then, he’s back in action, targeting where the goalie had thrown the ball. This time, it’s not enough. A minute later, after another brutal back and forth, the scream of the whistle soars above the sound of the rain. It’s over. The Lions have met their first loss of the season.

The two teams barely wait around to shake hands before they’re rushing off to the locker rooms, away from the rain. Yuta moves slower than the rest, seeming to drag his feet through the muddying grass. Ahead of him, all of his teammates are moving quickly, but moping nonetheless. From your position, you see Mingyu kick the shins of someone you recognize to be one of the younger players. You see Kun’s mouth move as he tells him off, but they’re far enough away and the rain is loud enough that you can’t hear. If you hadn’t been displeased already, you are now.

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

“You guys can go back,” you say, taking a step out from under the umbrella after you’re out of the bleachers with your friends. When Sowon tries to shove her umbrella in your hands, you push it back. “I’ll be fine! It’s only a short distance.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Don’t worry.” With a sigh, she turns, reluctantly walking back behind Yein and Johnny.

You take off running, trying to outpace the raindrops pelting you. By the time you make it beneath the slight sheltered roof of the locker room building, you’re damp, but not entirely soaked. It’s enough to be an annoyance, your clothes sticking slightly to your skin.

You wait outside for a good few minutes. Small groups of players from either team leave, the opponent players giving you strange looks as you lean against the wall and shiver, Baekho and his group giving you an awkward acknowledgement, and, finally, Mingyu emerges.

“Y/N?” He seems confused, but somewhat excited. As if you’re there to meet him.

“Mingyu. Answer one question for me.” You say it wearily, expressing it like the chore it is.

“What are you acting so weird for?” The excitement you glimpsed before dies.

“Were you going to use me to get in good with my brother?”

The rain is the only sound you hear for a couple solid heartbeats. “Y/N, listen…”

“He was right…” You grumble to yourself. You glare up at him. “You can do your physics labs by yourself. Delete my number.”

He stands before you for a moment more before he realizes that you’re serious. He turns and walks away, into the haze of the downpour. A minute later, Jaehyun and Kun emerge from the building.

“Oh, Y/N,” Jaehyun says, seeming surprised. “Are you waiting for Yuta?”

“Is it that obvious?”

The two of them exchange looks and smile. Kun speaks next. “He’s probably not coming out for a while. He usually gets all depressed when we lose a game, but I’ve never seen it this bad. He’s been standing in the shower for like fifteen minutes.”

You glance at the door. Jaehyun nudges you. “He’s the only one left in there. I wouldn’t tell anyone if you, say, went in right now.”

“A bonafide cupid right here,” Kun says, swinging the bag he has slung over his shoulder around so he can dig through it. He produces something, offering it to you. “Here.”

“What is…” You trail off as you take it from him, your face warming as you realize exactly what it is. “Kun, what is this?!”

“I don’t want any miniature versions of him running around. I’m always prepared.” You stare at Kun incredulously a beat longer before you shove the condom in your damp pocket.

“Good luck!” Jaehyun calls back to you as they begin to walk off, leaving you standing under the overhang. Taking a deep breath, you push open the door and walk inside.

Unsurprisingly, the place has a somewhat sweaty smell to it. The rows of lockers are labeled with names and a little image depicting the sport the owner plays, as all of the school’s teams use the same locker room, and the occasional miscellaneous socks, gloves, and other things are scattered about. A row of sinks is against one wall and past the sinks is an entrance into the shower area. You make your way there.

As you get closer, the distinct sound of one shower running gets louder. The only curtain that’s closed is a middle stall, all of the others open and empty. Parallel to the shower stalls is a long wooden bench. “Yuta?” You call out. He doesn’t respond, so you try again. “Yuta?”

“Go away.” This time, the response is sharp and harsh. He certainly is in a mood.

“Yuta, it’s me.”

“Y/N?” His voice is significantly less negative now. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

You can barely hear him sigh over the sound of the shower running. “You couldn’t wait until after I was done?”

“No.” When you say that, the water shuts off. A hand sneaks out to grab the towel hanging from a hook affixed to the partition between the stalls. You don’t see anything revealing, but you look away anyways. The scraping of the rings being drawn back tells you he has emerged from the stall.

“You can look at me, you know.”

“I didn’t want to be rude.” You look back, greeted with the sight of his gloriously wet hair and bare torso. He emerged quickly enough that he didn’t have time to dry much of the water dripping off of him. The only part of his body that’s covered is his waist and thighs, though the towel still reveals a tantalizing v-line. You forcibly swallow your thirst.

“Blatantly checking me out again? I get it, but would it kill you to be less obvious?” The comment throws you back to a simpler time, when you were just irritated with him for his cockiness and blasting music through the floor.

“Speak for yourself.” You cross your arms. It was obvious enough that he was enjoying the sight of you in a wet t-shirt and shorts.

“Why didn’t you wear something warmer?” He says, frowning. He steps closer, leaving little space between you.

“I didn’t think it would cool down this much.” You look away, not able to face his bare chest quite yet. The room still has a certain steam about it from the hot shower he was taking that makes it a little harder to breathe. Then again, maybe that’s just him being mostly naked in front of you. He reaches out, touching the hem of your shirt.

“You’re soaked,” he says, rubbing your shirt between his thumb and index finger.

“You’re just making me wetter.” Your face burns something fierce as you say it, contrasting the chill that had settled over your skin from standing outside. “You would think you’d dry yourself off more before getting out of the shower.”

“I was just eager to see you, I guess.” You finally have the courage to meet his eyes again.

“I missed you this morning.” You almost pout while saying it, feeling small under his gaze. It’s not an uncomfortable smallness, but one that makes you feel closer to him.

“I figured you didn’t want to see me.” He reaches out, brushing his fingers softly over the side of your face. His touch is blissfully warm. “Or, I think that you did want to see me, but you would only be angrier if I showed up.”

The thought almost makes you laugh. It would be one of the few times he’s been wrong about your feelings. But, if he always knows so much… “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I talked to Mingyu a few minutes ago and you were right. I should have trusted you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you handle it on your own.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “You’re strong enough to deal with assholes like him. You don’t need me.”

“I might not need you, but I do want to keep you around.” The small confession has your bottom lip quivering. “Did I mess up your game today?”

“It was mostly the rain.” He sounds so nonchalant, but you can tell he’s still bothered. “Not you. But, if you do feel bad about it, Miss Physical Therapy, there is something you can do for me.”

His eyes have shifted away from their darkness into a different sort of moodiness. You step closer. “What is it?”

He moves back, taking a heavy seat on the bench. “I’m quite tense. Give me a massage.” His eyes bore into yours. “If you so choose.”

You step behind him. The thrill of what you feel like he’s implying thrums in your veins. The muscles of his shoulders and back are hard under your fingers, showing years of training and toning. You’re almost surprised at how well built his upper body is for a soccer player. His skin is beyond perfect too, and the little droplets of water from his steamy shower that settle on his skin glisten temptingly in the low light of the locker room.

“Sorry my hands are cold,” you practically whisper.

“It’s fine. Feels nice.” He wasn’t lying when he said he was tense - you can feel the knots leaving his muscles as you press down on them, dissolving into smooth flesh that’s soft to the touch. As you work along his back, one particularly tough knot has your thumbs pressing harder into him, drawing a low groan and a curse from his throat. “Fuck.”

The sound turns you on more than you’d like to admit. As you finish his back, you become even more hyper aware of the little noises he’s letting out, the space between you becoming noticeably warmer. Slowly, reluctantly, your hands leave his skin and you circle back towards his front, not quite wanting to look him in the eye. “Is that better?”

“Much.” The air feels heavy. “But you’re not done, yet.” Ordinarily, he’d be smirking so hard you’d be able to hear it in his voice, but there’s only a low command to his tone now. He reaches out, guiding your dominant hand forward so that it’s resting on the front of his shoulder. There’s no hiding from his eyes now. You decide then - if you’re going to do this, you might as well go all out. Sliding onto his lap, your knees pressing into the wooden bench on either side of him, makes you feel both powerful and small at the same time. His face is only a breath away from your own. You swear you can see his eyes flicker to your lips. Trying to play innocent, despite the fact that you can basically feel his dick hardening under his thin towel, you shift slightly, putting your focus on his shoulder and pectoral muscles. Every so often, you readjust yourself, purposefully bouncing slightly on his lap, almost grinding down on him. He doesn’t crack, remaining still and keeping his expression flat. The only signs he gives of being aroused are the slight shiver to his breath and the prominent bulge you’re now certain you can feel. That, and the hands he has on your body, one on your hip and one on your thigh, fixing you in place.

The process is slow, arduous, but you eventually finish with his pectoral and shoulder muscles. You pull your hands away, placing them in your lap and then sitting back, unmoving on his lap, reveling in the way you’ve very clearly made him feel. “Is that all?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips again before boring into your own. “You missed one spot.” Wordlessly, he reaches up, tapping his own lips.

You could walk away right now. His hands aren’t so tight on your body that you couldn’t just get up and leave, go back to your apartment and forget this ever happened. But why would you want to? You’ve been dreaming of his lips for weeks. Finally, you’re about to get a taste. Still, there’s an edge of apprehension digging slightly in your gut.

You’ve sat in silence for long enough that he’s opening his mouth, an apology about to leave his lips, when you swoop forward, pressing your lips to his.

Where he had given you the choice to initiate, he’s the one who really leads. He almost instantly deepens the kiss, dragging you even farther up his lap, pressing you hard against his barely-shielded dick. You feel his fingertips against your skin, under the hem of your top.

“Do you want this?”

“Yes, but-” Where his hands had stilled under your shirt they begin to move again. “Yuta, wait.” He freezes once more, looking up at you. If you didn’t know better, you could swear you see a little bit of fear in his eyes. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “I won’t fuck you unless you tell me you actually have feelings for me. Did you mean what you said back then? After the games?”

“Is that a requirement for all the guys you sleep with or am I special?” You can feel his cock throbbing under you and your own insides ache in response. Of course, he’s delaying what both of you want by being coy. The frustration building up in your gut and in your heart makes you feel like you’re going insane.

“Yuta…” You mean it to sound admonishing, but your tone is more akin to a whine as you lightly drag your nails down his chest. His breath stutters slightly in his lungs at the motion, but in that moment, a sort of gentleness you’ve rarely seen takes over his facade.

“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” he breathes out, eyes locked with yours, “how could I not have feelings for you?”

You kiss him, sweetly, desperately. His hands begin to move once more, his fingertips digging ever so slightly into your skin. When his hands make it to the edge of your shirt, giving you a suggestion, you cover them with your own, guiding him to take it off. As soon as the garment is out of the way, his lips are on your neck, your collar, the soft skin of your chest. He can feel the hum of your voice through your breast as you speak. “I really like you, Yuta. More than I’ve ever liked anyone else.”

His fingers nimbly unclasp your bra and it falls to the ground somewhere. As his touch ghosts over your breasts, you arch into his hand, drawing a warm chuckle from him. “That’s good,” he says, thumbing slow circles over your nipples, “because I feel the same way about you.”

You pull him back to your mouth, pulling him as close as you possibly can, breathing him like he’s air, tasting him like he’s food. His tongue is slick against your bottom lip, against your own tongue. Almost unconsciously, you rock your hips against his bulge as you move. Impatiently, he tugs at your shorts, pulling you out of the kiss.

“These have to come off.”

“It would kill you to go slow for once,” you laugh, getting off of his lap on shaky legs.

“I go slow for you all the time,” he responds, shifting the towel at his waist, which you realize is barely holding onto him from all the grinding you were doing on his lap, “I’ve been going slow for months now. Isn’t it time to speed things up?”

You roll your eyes, but shimmy out of your shorts, leaving you in your panties and him in his towel. From this angle, he can truly appreciate you. Every curve, every beauty mark, every fold and crease on your body. He leans back, his hands bracing him against the bench. Then, he shifts forward abruptly, taking the opportunity to snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin.

“Yuta!” The cry is half an admonition, half a laugh. You move to push his shoulder gently and he catches you by the hand, pulling you on top of him and kissing you once again. Before you realize it, he has a sneaky hand slipping into your panties, touching you where you’re most sensitive, making you jolt against his hand.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs the words against your lips and you nod, trying to focus on kissing him through the pleasure of his fingers. It’s been far too long since anyone has touched you like this and you’re not used to it.

“Mm,” you moan back, “more than okay.”

He had said he wanted to go faster, but it seems like he’s just going so slow, making you fall apart on his hand, first with just a thumb on your clit, then two fingers pushed more deeply inside of you than you could ever reach yourself. At some point, you’re no longer kissing him and your cheek is pressed to his instead. You nip at his ear, which you now realize is pierced, and the damp spikeyness of his hair rests against your temple.

His free hand rests over your breast, rhythmically squeezing it as you ride his fingers. Oddly enough, you feel like he predicts your climax before even you do, working you carefully through the release of pleasure as you shudder against him and clench around his fingers. Before you can fully regain your senses, he’s kissing you again and removing his hand, wiping his sticky digits against the towel slipping from his waist. You figure you’ll finish the job, reaching down to untwist the cloth so that it falls open against the bench.

You continue kissing him as you take his dick in your hand, your thumb sliding over the precum beading at his tip. It’s his turn to shiver, his cock twitching in your hand. Giving it slow, purposeful jerks, you watch him become perfectly uncomposed under you and you grin, leaning closer to press a kiss to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He’s stiff, but remarkably soft to the touch, veiny and thick enough that your mouth waters. A couple minutes pass before he’s encasing your hand in his own, slowing your movement.

“I don’t want to come in your hand.” You stop, looking at him with faux-innocent eyes. He blinks desperately at you. “Please.”

“Can I suck you off later?” The words leave your mouth unexpectedly. You hadn’t even really been thinking about the later, but you figure you’re safe to assume that there will be one.

“Of course, pretty girl.” He strokes your hair and you can just think about him holding it back in the future as he-

Trying to distract yourself from the later and focus on the now, you slide off of his lap once again. He almost seems confused, made lonelier by the tiniest distance you put between the two of you. It’s almost a funny image, him half pouting at you while his dick is out, standing up against his abdomen and completely exposed. You let out the smallest exhale of a laugh. “You showed me yours, so I figured I would show you mine.” Your panties fall to the ground, where you kick them in the general direction of the rest of your clothes. The sight of your shorts reminds you of another important thing. “Oh! Also!”

You scramble over to them, reaching into the pocket and producing the little foil packet. Yuta stares at you. “You’re… prepared? I didn’t even think this far ahead and half the time my brain is controlled by my-”

“Kun gave it to me before I came in here,” you say, waltzing back over to him. He takes the packet from your hand, tearing it open. You… give him a hand as he rolls it on. “He’s awfully ready for a great many situations, isn’t he?”

“I think he was expecting this to happen a lot earlier than it actually did, honestly,” Yuta responds, pulling you back on top of him for the third time. Once again, your knees rest on the hard wood bench. “Can we not talk about my roommate, please?”

“I can agree to that.” You smile, kissing him. “Can we talk about how much I like you instead?”

“We can always talk about that,” he says, one hand on his dick, one on your hip, “are you ready?”

The mood dips, making your body shiver in anticipation again. “Yes.”

The way he positions his cock and begins to push into you makes both of you let out noises of relief, a groan from him and a sigh from you. You sink down onto him further until he’s fully sheathed inside of you, hard and pulsing and ungodly warm. He gives an experimental buck of his hips, pulling a moan from your lips and shaping his into a cocky smirk. “Already feel that good?”

“Shut up,” the complaint dies in your throat as you lift yourself up on your knees and sink back down again, bouncing on his lap slightly. You focus on the feeling of him inside of you, the sensation of him hitting your G-spot, the touch of his fingers on your clit again. His breath mingles with yours whenever he takes a break from kissing you. Your hands wander the smooth planes of his chest, your thumb briefly ghosting over his nipple, your palms getting sweatier as you hold onto him. It’s not long before you let your head fall back, your thighs tense as you hold onto his shoulders and move up and down on top of his cock.

His lips are hot as he mouths your neck. You’re not usually the type for marking, but, honestly, the thought of wearing his hickey on your skin sounds beyond appealing. He introduces the slightest bit of teeth, grazing them over your pulse as you ride him. The trail of tiny nips goes down past your collarbones to your breast. Your heart beats loudly in your ears and the desperation of chasing your orgasm makes the passage of time feel fuzzy, but in the sweet, bubbly way a soda does rather than the heavy, blurry way a cold would.

“Yuta,” you whine, the knocking of your legs against the bench growing painful, “can you…”

“I got you, baby.” With a grunt, he stands, lifting you by the thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. A breath later, your back is pressed to the wall and he’s pushing into you once again. The new angle is a change, and it’s a good change. Every one of his thrusts hits exactly right, pushing you further and further until-

“Yuta, you’re gonna make me...” you pant against his mouth, breathing the same air as him. At some point, after he had picked you up, you had reconnected your lips, and he swallows the little noises you let out hungrily. You clench and unclench your fists behind his back, as your arms are slung over his shoulders.

“Mm, good. That’s my girl.”

All you can think as he pounds into you is Yuta, Yuta, Yuta. You come undone with a final swipe of his thumb and a choked cry of his name. Once your own orgasm has stopped burning quite so bright, lowering to a comfortable simmer in your gut, his hips slow with each thrust until he pushes into you and stays there. You can feel him throb inside of you even through the condom.

Your skin feels like it’s glowing in the aftermath of his love, warm like coals after a fire has just ceased to burn. Warm with the promise of more flames in the future. You lean your face in the junction of his shoulder and neck, breathing love onto his skin. His deep, uneven breaths slow over time as he presses gentle kisses to the exposed flesh of your shoulder. The silence between you is only interrupted by the ambient sound of water flowing through pipes hidden in the concrete walls of the shower part of the locker room. That’s enough of a reminder for you to groan, clutching onto him tighter. “I can’t believe we just confessed and fucked in your sweaty locker room.”

“From my perspective, it’s more ‘wow, I can’t believe we finally confessed and fucked, even if it was in my sweaty locker room.’” That, at the very least, makes you smile. Slowly, he begins to pull out, separating from you with a sticky, wet sound. He backs up, turning so that he can place you gently on the towel still lying on the bench. He disposes of the used rubber quickly, throwing it in a trash can at one end of the room.

Now that he’s no longer touching you, it feels so much colder. “I feel bad for whoever has to clean this place. I hope they don’t find that.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure they’ve seen worse.” He makes his way back to you, naked body still on full, glorious display for your eyes only. “Wanna shower while we’re here?”

You groan. “Yuta, I’m tired. No funny business.”

“Who said anything about any ‘funny business?’ I just suggested we clean off the sweat from all that physical exertion.” He’s smirking, not even pretending to be innocent.

“You’re insatiable.” Still you get up, joining him in the shower stall that he holds open for you. If any follow up activity happens while you’re in there, the only way anyone on the outside would be able to tell would be from the quiet sounds that are mostly drowned out by the noise of the shower.

As you finally redress, accepting the hoodie that Yuta had in his locker so that you don’t have to put your wet shirt back on, he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, like he’s afraid you’ll go away. The environment between you feels different, but the same. After you’re both fully dressed and start walking out the door, you reach out to take his hand. He accepts the action, interlocking his fingers with yours. Both of you stop under the overhang of the building. By now, the sun has set and a few street lights shine along the walkways of the campus through the haze of rain. “Yuta, are you my boyfriend?”

He blinks a couple times. “Wasn’t that implied?”

You turn away, suddenly shy. “I mean… I just… wanted to clarify…”

“You’re too good for me.” He laughs, then kisses your cheek. Both of you stare out of the rain, as if it’s going to suddenly stop just because you’re politely waiting for it. “I meant it. Every time.”

“Hm?”

“Every time I said I liked you, or that you’re amazing. I was just afraid of- I don’t know. That I’m not honest enough or nice enough, or even good enough at soccer. I just-” He seems so tired as he says it, so brutally truthful, so terribly self-doubting.

You squeeze his hand. “Yuta, it’s okay. Honestly, all this time, I thought you’re too good for me. You’re so much more than the things you say you are. You’re a star.”

“I’m not. I can be an asshole, and jealous, and not serious even when I should be-”

“Yuta, if you like me despite all of my ridiculous bad qualities, I’m pretty sure I can deal with a little jealousy. You’ve shown me who you are and I still like you. You’re loyal and funny and romantic and so many other things. I like you.”

He sighs sweetly, like he was holding in a breath for so long and is finally letting it out. He’s holding your hand so tightly, it feels like he might never let go. Right now, you think you might be okay with that. “Sorry. I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

You peer into others’ eyes for a long time, content to just look. Then, the cold finally gets to your legs and you shiver, scooching slightly closer to him. You look out. The rain isn’t getting any better. “Do you want to run? To make up for us not going together this morning?”

He doesn’t even respond. He just glances at you, winks, and tugs at your hand, starting to go. The rain pelts you as you go, utterly soaking you, getting in your shoes, darkening your borrowed hoodie. His hair sticks to his forehead, making him look a bit like a wet kitten. Maybe a lion, more accurately. Still, in the passing lights and the sheen of the rain, he glows.

“Yuta?” You say between shallow breaths.

“Yeah?” He keeps going, keeps tugging you along. You have to work to keep up with him, pumping your legs hard.

“Do you want to go professional?”

He looks back at you quickly, but then turns forward. “I would.”

“I really think you could do it!”

Then he’s laughing, truly, mirthfully. “That’s the second best thing you’ve said to me today!”

At that, you’re laughing too, though it slows your pace, though it makes your lungs burn, though it helps rain water run into your mouth. When you make it to your complex, soaked through, looking like you just took a swim in your clothes, you don’t want to let go. Reluctantly, both of you part ways to change clothes in your respective apartments with the promise to meet soon and start Yuta’s effort to culture you with anime.

Sowon and Yein tease you relentlessly, both when you enter your apartment leaving puddles on the ground and when you leave again ten minutes later completely dry. They tease you for the next week whenever they catch you leaving if they know you don’t have classes. The next Friday, you end up staying up far too late watching one of Yuta’s shows, which you admit are at the very least fun, and you fall asleep in his bed. You’re sure you’ll never hear the end of it from your roommates, even if Yein has been staying in the volleyball boys’ apartment every other day for the last month.

In the morning, a mere three hours after you and Yuta went to sleep, you wake up in his arms to a strange blaring of J-rock. He reaches over you to slap his phone and shut it off. You stay awake just long enough to comment on how strange it is hearing the music next to you and not through the floor.

When you wake up around noon to Yuta staring at you, his bangs half covering his eyes, you flip over, checking the time so that he can’t see the absolutely embarrassed look on your face. “You’re so weird.” “Why are you being all shy? I’ve seen you naked. There’s nothing more to see.”

“There’s plenty more of me to see, thank you very much, Nakamoto Yuta.”

“I know there is, darling.” His arm is still slung over your torso like it was when the alarm went off and he tries to wrestle you back around to face him. You squirm in his hold.

“Darling? You’re so weird. Why are you so weird?”

“Weird? I thought I was romantic and funny and-”

“And weird!” You wiggle more until he flips you onto your back, straddles you, and pins your hands to the bed. It’s quite an incredible sight, him pinning you down with his raven hair a complete mess and no shirt, where you can faintly see marks that you may or may not have left on his chest earlier in the week. “No fair. Home ground advantage.”

He leans in, looking ever so charming despite his disheveled appearance. “You know what makes for great morning exercise?”

“You’re weird and a horndog and-”

“Running! Let’s go.” He suddenly rises up, taking one of your hands with him and pulling you into a sitting position.

“Yuta, it’s noon! There are going to be people out everywhere.” He tugs on your hand and you move so that you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. “And it’s Saturday, so there’s going to be even more people…”

“You don’t need to worry about people judging you. If anyone gives you any funny looks, I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Punt a soccer ball at their heads?” You’re standing now, looking at him uncertainly.

He shrugs. “Sure. But, seriously. I promise that you have nothing to be self conscious about. You also have me. That part most importantly.” You would smack him if the smile he gives you doesn’t have you reluctantly agreeing.

He’s right, of course. The run is completely fine. At least, you’re distracted enough by your boyfriend for it to be fine. When you return, you split off to take showers in your apartments. After you emerge from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your body, you find him waiting in your room. You register him saying something about the tables turning and “great afternoon exercise” before he practically pounces on you.

Afterwards, through your sex-high haze, you hear a loud knocking on your front door. Groaning, you move only so much as to press your face into Yuta’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna get up…”

“Did I make you feel that good?” His voice is a warm rumble, teasing, though full of the same tiredness that yours has. You’re about to jab him lightly in the side when his hand shifts down, two of his fingers running through your folds. Shivering at the suggestion, you wiggle closer to him, hiding your face even more.

“Let me rest, you sex-fiend.” Before he can reply, there’s a few more insistent knocks at your door. “Ugh…”

“Were you expecting someone?” You shake your head against him. He reaches over and grabs your phone. “I heard this going off earlier while we were busy.” You make no move to take it from him, so he turns it on, his eyes scanning the recent chain of texts you’d just received. “It’s your brother.”

You immediately bolt straight up. “What?” Your mind ticks back to the previous day before you’re scrambling out of bed. “Shit, shit, shit, I forgot he was coming today!” As quickly as you can, you try to throw on the various items of clothing that had gotten scattered around the room in your - Yuta’s, more accurately - haste to move them off of the bed, where you had laid them out for after your shower.

Yuta stretches lazily. “Glad I could remind you.”

“Asshole, get clothes on! He’ll kill you if he figures out what we did!”

“Ah, to be killed by L/N B/N. You say ‘what we did’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“He’s my older brother, for God’s sake!” You throw a shirt at him, smacking him in the face. “He will murder you! If he doesn’t murder me for forgetting our plans first…”

“And your plans are?” He slips his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, slipping it on.

“I’m taking him to see your game. Maybe meet the team. Who knows? You won’t be able to see it if you don’t move your ass.” You finish putting your jeans on.

“I’ve never escaped through a window before, but it sounds fun.” He’s still smirking, clearly amused. You’re certain he would actually do that if you let him.

“On second thought, just stay here. I won’t let him into my room.” Your phone lights up with your brother’s face and number and starts to buzz. You pick it up. “Sorry, I’m coming! I was napping.” You hang up. “Please, Yuta?”

He steps into his own jeans. “That’s what I was planning on. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to incapacitate myself before the game.”

With that reassurance, you close the door to your room and head for the apartment door. Your brother, clad in a hat, hoodie, and jeans, weirdly normal for him, is standing in front of your door, his phone in his hand. He narrows his eyes. “Hi, Y/N. For a second there, I really thought you forgot about our plans. Who takes a nap on a Saturday afternoon?”

You step aside, letting him in. “I was just tired today for some reason. Sorry.” “You’re lucky you’re my favorite.” He walks in, sliding off his shoes next to yours. “Are your roommates home? It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

“No, but they’ll be at the game later. You won’t miss them.” You stand there, swaying somewhat awkwardly. You’re sure that he’s noticed that you’re acting strangely. “Who let you into the lower doors?”

Your brother steps inside casually. “Your neighbor Jaehyun. Nice kid.”

“Y-Yeah. He’s one of our midfielders.”

“I guess I’ll get to see him in action soon, then. Where near here is good for something quick? We only have an hour and a half until the game.”

You’re thankful for a change in subject. “Depends what you want to eat! Think about it while I run to the bathroom?”

As you head there, you glance at your closed door. You feel kind of bad for leaving him in there, but it’s for his own protection. When you get back to the door, your brother is in the same place, staring at the shoes around the entry. He points at a pair of men’s shoes, which you realize with dawning horror are Yuta’s.

“Y/N? Whose shoes are these?”

“Oh! Those are, um, Johnny’s. Yein’s boyfriend.”

He deadpans. “Johnny. Your neighbor. The one who lives right across from you. Who is dating your roommate who isn’t here right now.” When you don’t respond, he sighs. “Y/N, it would be a lot easier to lie to me if you didn’t tell me so much in the first place. Who’s in your room? I know you hate closing your door if you’re not sleeping.”

Reluctantly, you walk to your room, cursing observant soccer players. Yuta looks mildly surprised to see you, and you walk over to where he’s sitting on your bed, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him over to your brother. If he’s afraid of your brother, he doesn’t show it.

“Yuta, was it?” He’s still expressionless. “I’ll have you know that there’s a few rules.” Before Yuta can even ask about the rules, he’s launching into a detailed explanation about consequences, saying something about maiming and making it look like an accident.

“B/N, you’re a professional now. You should really try not to say such scary stuff. Also,” you say, frowning, “I can handle myself. You know that by now.”

Yuta breaks his silence. “She really can. She’s strong enough to deal with anything.”

“You really believe that?” Your brother’s gaze is unyielding.

“I do.”

“Well, then.” He suddenly lightens up, smiling at the two of you. “Want to join us for dinner? I’m thinking noodles.”

“I actually have to get to warm-ups soon…” Yuta says regretfully.

“That’s a good boy. See, Y/N, I trust your judgement. We best be off, then.” Abruptly, your brother turns, putting his shoes back on. You scramble to join him, grabbing your things and putting your own shoes on.

“I’ll see you later?” You say to Yuta, who’s simply staring, somewhat shell shocked that he survived the encounter.

He blinks, then gives you a sort of smirk. “How about a kiss for-”

“Don’t push it.” Your brother cuts him off, standing in the doorway. He starts down the stairs. When he’s not looking, you lean over, pressing your lips to Yuta’s cheek. Before you can turn around, he sneaks one of his own onto your lips. You run after your brother.

He thoroughly grills you about Yuta during dinner, but you don’t mind. You keep out the parts about sex and the specifics of the relationship coming to fruition and he seems satisfied. You barely make it to the game in time because of your brother’s interrogation, but you still get there early enough to see some of the drills. In work mode, he crosses his arms, making approving comments about Yuta’s footwork. Your boyfriend is in a similar mood, already focused in.

Then, the game starts. The other team starts with the ball, but it makes no difference. The Lions take it back, sending it back and forth across the field, gaining and losing it, until Yuta, as usual, scores, redeeming himself from the previous week. Your brother says something under his breath about potential and skill. Through the game, the Lions make great plays and you find yourself cheering for all of them, even Mingyu. The rival team stands no chance - not for lack of skill, but simply because your team is determined. By the end of the game, the score is a solid 3:0.

You’re one of the first onto the field after the teams break away from shaking hands. You meet Yuta in the middle, jumping on him in a hug when you reach him. You can’t stop the outpouring of praise, telling him how well he played, how brilliant he was. He just laughs, telling you he did his best. It’s the most positive thing you’ve heard from him after a game.

When you let go of him, willing to let the rest of his friends surround him now, you step away in search of your brother. To your surprise, he’s chatting up the Lions’ coach, who seems somewhat flustered by the Ravens’ striker speaking to him. Before you can get close, the coach blows the whistle he has around his neck, getting the attention of everyone around him, but particularly the team.

“Boys! Gather round, we have someone here with something to say to you.”

It doesn’t take long for them to recognize who your brother is.

It’s funny seeing the team rush to your brother, some pretending to be cool, some openly fawning over him. But, there’s one person who isn’t looking at him. From across the mob forming around your brother, you make eye contact with Yuta. And, in the midst of the stars shining in the form of the Raven, the Lion’s light falls on you.

[broiunno]

License to Steal - Act IV

License to Steal

ACT IV

Act I // Act II // Act III // Act IV

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summary: Min Yoongi is your new protection detail upon your return to your father's side after being sent away during a bloody gang war. Now the dust has settled, you've been called back to your old controlled life, and leaving you an unwilling participant in your family's plans. You don't know what they are but you are no longer willing to be the obedient, protected daughter. You don't really care in the least of it makes Yoongi's new assignment hell on earth- So you'll carve your own life out back home on your own terms.

-rating: 18+

-pairing: min yoongi x reader

-word count: 5.8k

-warnings: swearing, gang activities includes drug mention and eventual drug use, the slowest of burns, organized crime, toxic af family dynamics, BEWARE IN THIS ACT: graphic family abuse (father initiated verbal and physical assault- does not fade to black), violence, blood, graphic descriptions of torture, and graphic sex scenes will be included in this work.

-authors note: @chelsea-chee leading the au as usual. I love her the appreciate her as my love, writer, and my beta. Her works are *chefs kiss* Thank you again beautiful <3 PLEASE NOTE: I AM REALLY NOT EXCITED TO POST THE NEXT FEW ACTS. They deal with heavy subject matter and I don't fade to black at any point so please note my works are for mature audiences, warnings are there for a reason and in bold. You are an adult if you are reading this work (per the warnings) and you are responsible for the content you consume. Thank you. ILY all and I love asks about the characters. And that's all I have to say about that...I'm sorry for the wait. I've had covid. I'm back on a better schedule now.

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You fumbled with your hair as you tried to rip your fingers through the still damp strands to assemble it back into a semi-presentable pony tail as the door slid open to your father’s office. You really did wish that you had been able to go upstairs and shower. Or at least change your clothes from the workout gear you currently felt sticking to your skin from the cooling sweat. As a breeze drifted from the vent as the air kicked on, you shivered violently, shaking your head and shooting a hateful stare in Yoongi’s direction as you stepped into the office. Appearances were everything in your family. They were the first level of protection to ensure threats stayed at a minimum. A show of strength and cohesiveness discouraged any hair-brained ideas from a weaker or less organized opposition.

Your father raised a dark, thick brow, turning from the man was speaking quietly to, his expression unreadable as you inclined your head slightly in greeting. “You asked to see me?” you said quietly, keeping your eyes downcast. Since Yoongi had mentioned your father was summoning you, you knew it couldn’t be anything positive. This soon after your arrival? Nothing good would come of this. You had just grabbed onto the distraction of Yoongi until you both stood in the office, feeling stripped bare, awaiting whatever admonishment was about to be delivered.

“You couldn’t make it a full forty-eight hours without causing me a migraine,” your father said sharply and you kept your eyes trained on the floor, as you replayed yesterday in your mind.

“Father, I don’t know what you-”

“Y/N, you weren’t even back a day and you spent how much?” he said, aggravation lacing his tone. “I had to call in Kim to look at your accounts immediately. You’re a fucking hassle.” He huffed and your eyes finally lifted to the stranger that stood next to your father, noting that he stepped away from your father and bowed quickly.

“Nice to meet you, miss. I’m Kim Namjoon. I’ve been handling your accounts and will continue to do so.” You felt your lips part in a soft ‘oh’ as you studied the broad planes of his face, full lips and intense eyes. You felt like he was picking you apart in that moment as you took your time to absorb his ash blond hair in a relaxed, but carefully crafted style. His skin tone was golden; a contrast to Yoongi’s milk-like skin. He glowed, and you couldn’t tell if it from his melanin or the fact that he was radiating intelligence.

“N-Nice to meet you too,” you stammered and managed to close your mouth as he pushed up the rolled sleeves of his white button-down shirt. You swallowed hard and tried to claw through the mental fog that had overcome you. With the teasing from both Jungkook and Yoongi, being presented with another god-like man was the last thing you needed. “I will admit I’m a little confused; my spending was never a problem when I was away? I mean, it’s not like I bought a car.”

Your father barked a laugh and threw up his hands. “You have no grasp on what I do to make this money that you just piss away Y/N! And you COULD have bought a car with the amount you spent yesterday! Like I said: a god damn burden!” he hissed and you flushed slightly, taking a step back unconsciously as you watched his neck flush. Yoongi hadn’t said a word, but you knew you could still sense his dark presence in the corner of the room, not looking at him to notice his eyes narrowed slightly as the scene unfolded.

“Y/N, I’ve had an idea. You’re a daughter. I can’t do much with you. Your brother who I could actually have used is dead. Your mother-” He stopped as he watched your eyes bulge and he shook his head. “I can’t have more children. I’d consider it disrespectful to her memory,” he mused, a hand running along his chin and you couldn’t help the scoff that escaped you, but your jaw snapped shut audibly as your teeth clacked together after the noise passed your lips.

Your father’s eyes flared to life in challenge and he glanced at Namjoon, lip curling. “Did you calculate her estimated cost of living and monthly expenditures? Do you have solid numbers?” he said shortly and Namjoon just nodded, eyes flicking between the family members silently. “And did you adjust for a profit at the margin we discussed?”

“Yes sir,” came the deep steady voice, Namjoon’s eyes traveling your figure, his gaze not heavy with lust or desire, but full of curiosity. “The monthly amount that you should request for that profit is in the proposal if you would like to review it.” He finished and cleared his throat. “I can return if you want me to look over the contract,” he said softly, clearing fishing for a dismissal and your father granted it, offering his hand and you felt your mouth tighten in confusion.

“What contract?”

Namjoon grabbed a briefcase and inclined his head to you stiffly in farewell before his long legs carried him out the doorway. Your father’s gaze didn’t leave your eyes as he spoke. “Yoongi, see him out.” Yoongi nodded and started after the tall man in silence, not sparing you a second glance on his way out.

“I asked you what contract?” you said softly, struggling to keep your voice even as your father stepped closer to you.

“Well, you went out. Spent a lot of money that you’ve done nothing to earn, and caught someone’s eye in the process. Someone worth a lot of money and who would be an asset to have closer to the family at this point in his career.” Your father clasped his hands behind his back as he continued to close the distance between you, each step he made, you felt your heart plummet further.

“Father… what exactly are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, Y/N. I’m telling you. Someone’s made a bid for your hand, and it’s the only thing you’ll be good for at this point. The shopping sprees, your lifestyle. I can maintain them, but if someone else is willing to do so, and the marriage benefits me in my business, I’d be stupid not to pursue it. Do you think I’m stupid, Y/N?” he said, voice getting dangerously quiet as he reached out to tuck a piece of hair that had escaped the rapidly put-up ponytail behind your ear.

“You can’t sell me off like fucking cattle!-” you said, flinching away from his touch, and his large, calloused hand shot out to grab your chin tightly. He forced your face back towards his as you tried to jerk away, squeezing hard enough to make your eyes begin to water. Your heart thudded out a dangerous irregular rhythm as you breathed hard through your nose.

“I can’t? Y/N, you seem to be under the delusion that you are free from the responsibilities that come with being in this family. I suppose that may be my fault. I was too soft on you, pitied the losses I caused you to have. I always had your brother anyway; there was no harm in indulging you. But now, you’re the only one with my blood in your veins. You’re home to do a service for this family. Everyone else has given their lives in some way. Did you think you were special?” His words were measured and cold as he studied you, grip not loosening on your face. You would be bruised tomorrow as you felt the throb set in from the pressure he was applying.

“You may order me to do it, but I don’t have to go along with this,” you hissed, barely able to open your jaw, but clenching your teeth to get your words out, rage licking up and down your body. He had taken your entire life as a child, as an adolescent. Did he really think giving you a few years of freedom put you back in his debt so far that you owed him the rest of your life?!

No sooner than the words were out of your mouth you heard the sharp crack, and felt yourself stumbling backwards into the wall. You blinked quickly as you registered the pain in your head, immediately starting to pound as the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth. You barely had time to regain a semblance of your bearings before your father was upon you again, face chillingly blank as his ringed fingers gripped the base of your ponytail, ripping your head back at an awkward angle, a scream breaching your bloody lips. The noise was cut short by another blow, snapping your head to the side before he jerked your face back to center.

“Who do you think you are, you little bitch?” he said with a lilt to his tone as you choked out a sob, unable to keep it from escaping your lips. “You really thought you weren’t going to do shit to replace that money you spent?” When he finished speaking he gave your head a violent shake, as if to scramble your thoughts further. It was completely unnecessary, as your head felt as if it was splitting with the pain he had rocked through you with his blows and harsh grip. You felt the start of a purely hysterical giggle break through, spitting out the fresh rush of blood that ran in your mouth due to the cuts in your cheek from your teeth. You noticed a piece of the skin from inside your mouth flapping loosely that made you nauseated if you dwelled on it.

The laugh was probably the worst response you could have had.

You heard a soft hiss, and your father stepped into your space further, hands darting from your head to wrap themselves around your throat and squeezing. As your hands scrambled to scratch at his hand, his arm, his face, anything, you wished you were surprised at this. You wished you were hurt because you were shocked, but you weren’t. There was blood in the water and he was a shark. He built his life this way.

“You don’t have to go along with this…” he said softly, voice void of emotion, “but you also don’t have to keep living here either. How long will you make it without this family? You’d never make it out of the city.” He mused and continued to squeeze, your vision starting to spot as you tried to draw in any bit of air within the hold he had, the choking heaves under the weight of him making the blood that had pooled in your mouth from his blows spill over your chin grotesquely as it began to stream onto his hand. “So will you behave for once in your fucking life?”

You were hyper aware of the tears streaming down your face as you managed the smallest of nods. You supposed he was right; you had never imagined you would be used in the family in any way. Your entire life had been lonely, and even though you hated it, you had resigned yourself to it. His hands unwrapped themselves from your neck, letting you inhale a burning gasp of air as you slid down the wall, and onto the floor. You coughed and rocked forward onto all fours as the shaking of your body didn’t allow for much more than consciousness.

Your father pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the crimson of your blood off his hand before tossing it to you on the floor. You could barely recognize the quick but unhurried footsteps coming back down the hallway to the office before they stopped short.

“Yoongi, take her upstairs.”

==

The flush from hustling back to his boss’s office drained from Yoongi’s face as his eyes widened at your figure hunched forward onto your elbows on the floor. He watched you hack as your body tried to clear your airway. Yoongi stayed silent as he reached down, crouching next to you and attempting to offer you a hand so you could stand on your own, for which you were thankful. You felt the physical pain, but no emotions as your mind sluggishly screamed at you to just accept his hand and stand. You needed to walk out of here on your own. You knew you wouldn’t make it all the way to your room after the assault, but you didn’t need to. Just to the elevator.

You reached out your hand, shaking hard, as you clasped at his large palm and hoisted yourself up, letting him pull lightly as he stood with you, noting that he was still silent. You tried to ignore how your vision swam before you, willing your knees not to buckle. You couldn’t pinpoint if the unsteadiness was from the blows to your face, the lack of oxygen, or the tears that had thankfully stopped streaming down your face but still filled your eyes.

Yoongi seemed to read your mind, shifting his grip from your hand to your upper arm, nestling in your underarm and gently steered you to the door, but let you support most of your weight on the way out. You walked in silence as he didn’t rush you down the hallway, both of your eyes trained on the lift door as he typed in the code. As you waited for the door to open you felt your shaking legs betray you and start to bend. You glanced away from him, the movement of your eyes causing a piercing pain to shoot through your head. “Please,” was all you rasped wetly as you put more weight and started to sink, but the pressure holding you up immediately doubled, Yoongi’s support forcing you upright, even if it made your shoulder raise. It would be almost imperceptible from your father’s office if he was still looking in your direction, but you doubted he would. He had already received your submission; he didn’t need you for anything else.

Yoongi didn’t seem to want to take the chance that he was still watching, stepping into the elevator and continuing to only hold you in one place. His grip was still disguised as if he was walking you out in the same way he may escort an associate who was no longer welcome - in such a manner that would deter any further escalation. No one would be able to tell he was the only thing keeping you upright.

As the door slid shut to the elevator the facade crumbled, you lurching forward and gasping out a sob of pain, tilting your head down to let the blood that had been collecting in your mouth pour out onto the floor. You forgot how much mouth wounds bled. Yoongi was not bothered with the grotesque display as he swiftly adjusted his grip to wrap around your shoulders, his other arm sweeping at your feet as he lifted you with apparent ease. You shut your eyes as the tears began to flow once more, unable to restrain the moans and whimpers of pain that escaped between gasps as you cried. He still hadn’t said a word, even as you turned your face into his suit jacket, inhaling jaggedly as you tried to focus on the scent permeating from him, trying to place it through your snot-filled nose. The only thing you could recognize was the warm, woodsy scent of patchouli as you reached a shaking hand up to hold onto his jacket tightly. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but it grounded you all the same.

You tried to slow your breathing, but failed as the elevator door opened and Yoongi strode quickly to your bedroom door, bending at the knees and somehow using his crook of his elbow and his body to turn the door knob, the only change in your positioning being that you tilted slightly as he spun it. He kicked the door with his foot gently as he stepped in, by-passing your bed as he carried you into your bathroom, carefully getting on his knees as he lowered you into your large bathtub as he placed you there. You continued to breath quickly, your gasps becoming sharper as your gentle shaking soon became uncontrollable. You released his jacket as he stood and you pulled your knees to your chest, shutting your eyes finally as you heard the tap briefly run before a cool rag brushed your chin, eyes flying open as you flinched away.

“Shh, I need to see your face. I have to get the blood off,” Yoongi whispered, and you finally looked at him, noting his face was still paler than normal. “Princess, I need you to take a slow, deep breath okay? Can you do that? Your lips are turning blue; you’re hyperventilating. You’re safe,” he murmured, brows pinching together in a pained expression you had never seen on his face as you tried to nod, attempting to take a long breath in but ended up gulping in air multiple times on the way, the blurring of your vision worsening as Yoongi grimaced, your breathing speeding up again, your shoulders shrugging with the effort to take in air. The last thing you heard was Yoongi’s tense exclamation of “Shit!” before you blacked out.

==

When you awoke, you were under the covers of your large bed. You sat up quickly before groaning from the ache in your head, then realizing that opening your mouth made you want to scream from pain. Between the squeeze on your jaw and the cuts inside your mouth, it was safe to say you would be saying very little for a while. You glanced towards the window, noting it was inky black outside.

“How long has he hit you?” came a cool voice from beside your bedside and you turned to face the source, seeing a figure standing beside the small table, casting a shadow with the aid of a lamp. Had he even left? Yoongi had shed his stained suit jacket, but still wore the white shirt and same suit pants. You only knew it was the same shirt due to the blood stain from where your mouth must have painted him. Instead of attempting to speak, you shrugged in an attempt to get his gaze off of you. It was piercing and unnerving. You felt as if this was the beginning of an interrogation, and you didn’t fail to notice the color had still not returned to his normally pale face. Now that your mind was a bit clearer you were able to recognize why it registered so deeply with you. He was the embodiment of white with fury. “How. Long?” he said again with such harshness you swallowed hard, ignoring the fire that licked down your throat as you did so.

“That’s a joke right? He’s always been like that. I just normally am better at avoiding it,” you forced out; your words were almost incoherent as you tried to move your jaw as little as possible as you spoke. That was bearable. Good. Not that you had expected it to be, but at least your jaw wasn’t broken; that would have been a pain in the ass. “What time is it?”

“It’s three am,” Yoongi hissed as his eyes glimmered in the near darkness, pushing off the wall and grabbing a glass of water off the table and sweeping a few pills into his hand. “Take these.” You took his offering and a small sip of the water before carefully throwing the pills to the back of your throat and washing them down, sighing softly. “They’re pain pills. They’ll help and you’ll be able to go back to sleep in a bit.”

You didn’t answer but pulled back the cover of your bed and slid out, noting that your bloody shirt had been changed but you still had on your sports bra and leggings. And your ponytail had been taken down, which was probably a good thing since your scalp was still aching from the hold your father had you in.

“Y/N… don’t.” Came Yoongi’s voice, still unemotional but a bit gentler than his earlier tone. You didn’t turn back to him but stopped your path to your vanity, obviously trying to look at your reflection in the mirror to assess the damage.

“Is it that bad?” you grumbled, turning to him and you watched him shrug.

“It’s not good. Don’t worry about it tonight. No bones are broken from what I can tell. I wiped you down the best I could. Just change once I leave and get back into bed.”

You let out a deep breath but finally stepped towards your closet instead to grab an oversized t-shirt. You could work the bra off under it and slip your pants off once you had it on. “Why did you even stay?” you said softly as you set to work, your muscles aching as you attempted to change modestly. You don’t know why it even mattered, but in this moment it did.

“I needed to know if he had done this before. I needed to know if this was the first time. When we were kids, you weren’t around all the time. Sometimes, I’d go months without seeing you. I didn’t know if this was a part of it,” he spat out, visibly tensing as he took a loud steadying breath.

You shrugged as you pulled off your leggings, successful in stripping your bra off under the shirt, and padded back to your bed. “There were a few reasons he kept me separated from everyone. It wasn’t all because he thought I was too precious to see any of this.” You climbed back into bed and tried to settle back into the plushness. Yoongi took a step closer to you, his mouth slightly open as he watched you try to get comfortable, seemingly unable to stop himself.

“Y/N…” he said softly and reached a hand towards you and you stiffened, eyes narrowing, and he took note, dropping his hand slowly.

“Yoongi, I never asked for your fucking pity.”

“I know, and it makes me want to help you even more.”

You blinked and tried to register what he was implying. “Help me?” you repeated, shaking your head as you felt the same hysterical laugh bubble up that had made your assault that much worse in your father’s office. “No one can help me!” You laughed, eyes widening as the smile twisted your features. “This is my life, this is what I was born into. This is what all those shiny things cost, Yoongi! I always knew it but I forgot.” You watched as the pained expression from earlier slid back over his features, and you raised your eyebrows in response. “I appreciate it, but unless you’re willing to put a bullet in my fucking head there’s no saving anything.”

“Who says it has to be your head, Princess?” he said gently and you swear you felt the world stop.

“Don’t say shit like that Min,” you hissed, baring your teeth and shaking your head. “Even if we don’t always get along, I don’t want you dead too.”

“Whatever you say Princess,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips as he cocked his head to the side. “Are you alright to sleep? You don’t feel like you’re going to vomit?” he asked seriously, watching as you shook your head.

“I don’t have a concussion,” you grumbled but as you watched him smirk and go to grab his jacket you felt your heart speed up. “Yoongi- w-wait.” He immediately stopped, as if he was anticipating your words. “Can you stay here the rest of the night? I know he won’t do anything but I-”

“Let me go change my clothes. Is that okay Princess?”

“Yeah… I just don’t want to be-”

“It’s fine Y/N. I’ll be right back.” You stayed sitting up, watching him as he dismissed your attempts at explanations and justification as he walked out.

You sighed, leaning against the leather headboard and let your breathing even out, even as your heart still raced. The pain began to slowly ebb as the medication took effect; what had you even taken? It had to be something strong as a comfortable fog began to cloud your thoughts.

You didn’t know why you felt the need to have him here. Did you even need to explain? He was technically your bodyguard. You had known each other most of your lives. You had just suffered through an assault; staying with you was reasonable. Even if the assailant wasn’t unknown, nor were the motives. At the end of the day, Yoongi’s presence made breathing a bit easier. His presence made you feel safe.

The door opened again and you sucked in a breath as Yoongi re-entered your bedroom, one hand carrying his gun and holster, the other a hanger with a clean pressed suit. “I’ll wake up before you,” was all he said in response to your surprised expression as he studied you. He mistook the shock on your face as being accredited to the suit. He was an idiot if he thought you cared about the fact he would dress here. You were too busy drinking in the sight of his lean figure in low-slung grey sweatpants. You tried to rip your gaze back to his face but you got caught on the black ribbed tank top and the swirling black tattoos covering his shoulder and chest before disappearing under the material.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos,” you choked out, feeling your face flush and mentally slapping yourself. He may look like sex on legs, but you looked like you just had the shit beat out of you. Which to be fair to yourself, you actually just had the shit beat out of you.

“Oh, I forgot,” he said, a small smirk tilting his lip up but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He draped his suit over the chair to your vanity and carried his gun with him towards the plush armchair in the corner of the room.

“The bed is big enough Min. I won’t touch you,” you said breathlessly, trying to force away the blush that was deepening across your face. He seemed to freeze and take a few steadying breaths.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea Princess.” His voice was controlled but quiet.

“Please Yoongi…” you said just as quietly. “It’s just for tonight. I won’t feel safe if you’re all the way over there.”

It was definitely an over exaggeration. You hadn’t really expected him to even agree to stay in your room with you. The chair was the reasonable option. You knew you were pushing it.

“Princess, I-” He breathed, the airiness of his tone making your belly somersault and it gave you a tiny shiver.

“Yoongi, please. I need you next to me. Just tonight.” You shouldn’t be so worried about getting this man into bed with you, but now that he was here in front of you and it was so close to happening, you felt you might cry if he denied you.

You watched his back muscles rippled as he tensed and tried to relax. He turned wordlessly and walked to the opposite side of the bed, setting his holster down and climbing into the king-sized bed with you. “Go to sleep Princess.”

The drugs had to be prescriptions, not that you really expected a member of an organized crime family to just take a regular aspirin when they were in pain. “Is the oxy working yet? It should start soon if it hasn’t.” You hummed your assent as you squirmed down into the bed and tried to keep the smile from your face as you reached over and turned out the lamp. You took a deep breath and shut your eyes, savoring the heat that quickly built from having two bodies under the covers of your bed, ignoring the slightly annoyed sigh from the other side of the bed.

“Be quiet Min, I’m trying to rest,” you said softly and a soft dry chuckle cut through the silence as you let sleep take you.

==

Yoongi’s POV

Yoongi listened to the soft sounds of your breathing as they lengthened and deepened, the pain pills having done their job perfectly. If only he could have done his job in such a manner. He had been given a job: to keep you safe, and he took it seriously. Even if the one assigning his work was an abusive piece of shit. Yoongi let out a sigh, glancing over at your figure in the dark to make sure his huff hadn’t disturbed your slumber. It didn’t. You were still laying there, eyes closed and unaware, your face turned towards him to afford him a view of what exactly your father had done in his absence.

He felt his teeth grind against each other as even in the dark, he could make out the near black bruises covering your neck in the clear shape of hands, a bloom crossing your smooth cheek as well. Even your chin and jaw were dark from bruising; evidence that your father had held your face to force submission. It had worked. He opened his mouth and stretched his own jaw to try and stop himself from continuing to grind his molars down to nothing in rage. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to forget how you looked and how he felt when he entered the office, watching the blood drip onto the floor. How he wanted nothing more than to simply pull out his gun and lodge a bullet into your father’s knee before proceeding to swing the butt of his gun down onto him until he shattered every bone in the pig’s disgusting face.

Until he begged him to stop. Until he begged his daughter to tell Yoongi to stop.

The daydream made Yoongi smile a full gummy smile and chuckle for the first time today. He would stop when you told him to. If you told him to. Now that he knew your father had put his hands on you before this, he wondered if you would just let him continue until his mania at seeing what had been done to you was sated. He knew it wouldn’t be until he heard your father’s death rattle, knowing it had been at his own hands.

You stirred slightly to readjust in your sleep, drawing his attention back to the present as you moved closer to him in the bed and he sucked in a breath. Even beaten and bruised you affected him. Even carrying you in that elevator down the hall as you clutched onto him. He had been spiraling down into violence but as soon as you grabbed his jacket, he knew you wouldn’t withstand even him raising his voice to anyone without shattering. You were normally so fierce and seeing you broken made him want to tear apart this entire society you both lived in, even if it was all either of you had ever known.

It was then he had decided he would be what you were asking of him with your sobs and how you clutched onto him; he would be as gentle as could be and give you whatever you needed tonight. Tomorrow he would begin the undertaking of dismantling your father piece by fucking piece.

He had watched over you after you passed out; you had woken up briefly for him to get you to take pain medicine once before you actually were able to speak to him. Before you asked him to stay with you. He wanted to pretend it didn’t make his icy heart crack, the way you tried to explain and justify his presence. He would never ask you to in this kind of situation. When Yoongi returned to his room, he attempted to steel himself for a night of sitting in that uncomfortable chair, and a sleepless day tomorrow. He had gone more than twenty-four hours without sleep before.

But when your eyes, even if they had started to become glossy and dilated from the drugs, began to run over him, he had to try and think of every unsexy thing he could fathom. You had just been fucking violated and just with one look he felt the blood travel away from his brain and pool below his waist. Why did he think he would be able to wear sweatpants while staying with you? You destroyed every semblance of self control he had. He still hadn’t forgotten your teasing in the elevator prior to this shit show.

Then your soft drowsy voice had called out to him just as he had regained his mental fortitude and continued to the chair. You would be the fucking death of him and he didn’t think he would really mind. Now, as he laid here in bed with you trying to ignore the fact that you were shifting closer to him in your sleep, seeking his warmth, he closed his eyes. He had anticipated the pure fury of tonight keeping him awake, but instead it was the fact that he could feel your breath on his neck, that if he turned his head back to you he could still make out your absolutely gorgeous feminine form from under the blankets. The dip in your waist and the curve of your hips, sloping into your soft thigh. Yoongi’s eyes shot open as he let out a soft hiss as he felt his member stiffen in his sweats, one large hand reaching down to palm himself, and he willed his hard-on to disappear.

He dropped his eyes again, confident he would get his bulge to go down without waking you, and as he tended to it, a soft small hand reached across his middle, making his forehead furrow. He tried to take a steadying breath, and tried to not imagine that the events of last night weren’t the reason he was in your bed. That you had just invited him to bed because you wanted him there, not for security but because you wanted him as a man to share your bed and body. That he could roll over to face you, slip his own hand up that oversized shirt and rub soft circles into your skin before slipping his hand down in-between your thighs.

Yoongi felt his cock twitch and himself harden further, forcing another deep breath in and out as he circled back to try and think of grotesque things to make his longing subside. You at least had stopped wriggling in the bed in an attempt to get closer; he was thankful for that. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and tried to calm his heart and regulate his breath to make it possible for him to drift off.

This was going to be a long night.

[becaeffinmitchell]

Fic: what i have (is who i carry home) (1/1)

Summary: Chloe, as it turns out, loves Valentine's Day.

Of course she does. Beca can't say she's surprised in the least.

aka, five Valentine's Days Beca Mitchell's had.

Note: After ten thousand years, I’m free! Or, you know, after eight years, I’m finally posting my first Bechloe fic. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone 🥰  Gif credit goes entirely to @evenstars​ (thank you so much again!)

Words: 4,954

Read below or on AO3!

--------

i. 2012, Freshman Year, Barden University

There are so many other things Beca would rather be doing.

Like go to the dentist. Actually show up for class. Spend time over dinner with her dad and the step-monster.

Okay, maybe not that last one. Nothing in the world would make her choose that.

But here she is, in that stupid red hoodie, holding that stupid bow and arrow, standing in front of people, refusing to sing that stupid song with Amy.

*

 Later, back at the auditorium where they have Bellas practice, Aubrey's voice is shrill and loud. (As always, Beca thinks.)

"Beca, you really need to be picking up the slack. We need every dollar that we can raise so that we have enough to cover our journey to the semi-finals, and you're dead last in our fundraiser right now."

Amy mutters something under her breath, soft enough for Beca to hear something about — the bus? The Trebles? She doesn't really know. Whatever it is, it's not something she wants to get in the middle of.

"Maybe we can think of something new to do." Beca's tone is dry, and she schools her expression into something neutral on her face, her head tilted slightly, knowing that Aubrey has to know she isn't just talking about the fundraising activity.

It's just — she can feel the potential of these girls, okay? And it's such a shame that they're stuck doing the same three songs, over and over. If she could at least try, show them her arrangements, maybe they'd have a fighting chance.

"I have the pitch pipe, and I say we do this exactly how we have been doing it."

Beca is about to say something snarky, something she knows is going to get under Aubrey's skin, when Chloe's voice rang out beside her.

"It's okay. I'll do it with Beca tomorrow."

She hasn't even noticed Chloe approaching them in the midst of this, so her head whips around so fast at the sound of her voice.

"Don't you have a class during that time, Chloe? That's the whole reason why we couldn't pair you up with Beca." There's something about Aubrey's clipped words that is super careful and controlled, like there's more that she wants to say but isn't.

Chloe shrugs, before turning to Beca with a beaming smile. "It's okay, skipping out on one Russian Lit lecture won't make a difference."

 *

 Chloe, as it turns out, loves Valentine's Day.

Of course she does. Beca can't say she's surprised in the least. She thinks she doesn't know anyone who's more enthusiastic about everything and anything.

There's something about Chloe that feels like embers starting at the base of Beca's dead, cold heart, warming it up and turning itself three sizes larger.

It's not a thing she wants to unpack right now; she's not the type to get attached to people, and especially not when she's going to go through with her plan, and leave at the end of the school year. It doesn't matter if her dad helps her or not.

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Chloe's voice, melodic as it comes, breaks the silence as they walk towards the south quad. She looks ready to go through the entire residence hall, her angel wings bouncing behind them.

"It's a day corporations literally invented to convince everyone to buy cards and chocolates and flowers at jacked up prices, so..."

Chloe lets out a happy sigh. "Maybe so. But it's also a day to celebrate love! And love is so awesome. I love love. And I'm not just talking about romantic love, though that is nice. You can also celebrate the love from all relationships in your life. Like your best friends, or your parents, or your siblings."

Beca raises an eyebrow, because Chloe is just so goddamn earnest. She tugs at her hoodie. "Let me guess, you and shower guy have a date?"

"Who, Tom?"

"How many shower guys do you have?" There's a beat. "Actually, don't answer that."

 *

 So here she is, still in that stupid red hoodie, still holding that stupid bow and arrow, standing in front of people, and singing a duet with Chloe Beale.

 *

 The next morning, Kimmy unceremoniously drops a box at the foot of Beca's bed, a loud thud waking her up.

There's a sleeping mask, a whole clip of flash drives, two huge jars of peanut butter, and cans of Red Bull in the box. There's also a card, and her name is written carefully in the middle of an envelope.

Happy Valentine's Day, Beca!!!! I've said this before, and I'll say it forever: I'm SO glad that I met you. I LOVE that you love music like it's the one thing you can't live without. It's something that really resonates with me, too. You make us better. :) :)

xoxo,

Chloe!

 *

 Beca drifts off to sleep that night, the music still playing in her headphones. She's wearing that sleeping mask across her eyes.

 ------------

ii. 2014, Junior Year, Barden University

 The thing with Jesse is, he really loves these grand gestures of romance.

Sometimes Beca thinks that that's his favorite part. It's almost like he's in love with the idea of being in a relationship.

Worse still, in love with the idea of her, like she's this perfectly scripted character who exists for him.

Last year for Valentine's Day, Jesse had shown up at her dorm. Well, outside of her window actually, boombox on his shoulder. She'd tried not to wince, her lips pressed together into something resembling a smile (she hopes) to the strains of In Your Eyes, at the ungodly hour of dawn.

It isn't even that she had just gotten to sleep like, two hours before that. Or the very clear and enunciated "fuck off!" that her neighbor gave them, complete with a dramatic slamming of her window. At least she doesn't have to deal with that now, now that they've all moved into the Bellas house, newly renovated.

It was just a lot, right? And maybe she should have been a better girlfriend to anticipate it this year, or at least match some of that. Rise up to his level, or something. She just has a reservation to a fancy Italian restaurant in Midtown, and she made that way in advance. So maybe she gets points for that?

January rolls into February, and she dreads it. Every day is a countdown to The Fourteenth.

 *

 Here's the more pressing thing: Chloe seems sad. Not all the time, but Beca catches it occasionally.

She presumes she knows her best friend pretty well by this point, until she's doing things like failing a single class on purpose so that she doesn't graduate. For the second year in a row.

And Beca gets it, at least on an abstract level. If she starts thinking about what comes after graduation — and that's in a year and some — she gets nervous, too. But in no version of her reality does she get so paralyzed with fear, that she would opt to repeat her senior year like it’s groundhog year.

She wishes she could know why, for certain. She can't help if she doesn't know what's going on in Chloe's head, but for the first time, it's Chloe's turn to clam up and switch the subject.

So Beca doesn't push. She hopes it's enough to keep her afloat as she works through whatever it is. She doesn't really know what that entails, but music? Music she can do.

She pours her energy into putting together a really solid mix for Chloe; it's all the songs that remind Beca of her, and their friendship. She picks songs and arranges them and removes them before she puts them back in, because it has to sound right.

Beca feels like the world's biggest dork for giving it to her the morning of Valentine's Day.

Well, second biggest dork, because she intercepts Chloe leaving the gift boxes in the room, for her and Amy.

"Hey, uh. Happy Valentine's Day," she says, handing her the flash drive — one of the many that Chloe has gotten her over the years, like she's her supplier — and hoping she doesn't look as awkward as she feels. "It's not anything like your, like, super thoughtful gifts." She gestures in that general direction. "But you're my best friend, so... here."

She gets pulled into a hug, and Beca can't be sure, but it sounds like Chloe's 'thank you' is strained and she's about to cry.

Beca hopes it's enough.

 *

 "So, Jesse gave you just the one earring?"

Beca's back from the dinner. It was... nice? There was a string quartet and Jesse made them play John Legend's All Of Me, and Beca didn't actually die of embarrassment when he started singing along, so she'll chalk that up as a win.

"Yeah, it's like — symbolism, I guess. From the movie." Beca shrugs, chewing on the popcorn she's made that Chloe is currently stealing. She thinks about lightly smacking her hand away, but ends up shifting the bowl so that it's nearer to Chloe.

Does she regret putting Don't You (Forget About Me) in their setlist? Maybe.

Probably not, all things considered, because it worked well together with the other songs, and they did win the finals that year. But it elevated the movie to mythical and legendary status for Jesse, and if he does that arm raising motion one more time during squabbles he wants to get out of? Beca might lose it even harder.

"Is it symbolism or a metaphor? I could never tell the difference."

"I think it was a metaphor in the movie," Beca starts, a thoughtful expression on her face. "But more of a symbol for like, me and Jesse? Oh my god." She presses her free hand to her eyes. "You're such a nerd. Stop making me think deeper about this than I need or want to."

"I just think it's nice," she hears Chloe say.

Beca hums, tone neutral. "It's something, for sure. Wait." She whips her head to face her best friend. "You didn't go out tonight? Ms. 'I Love Love'?"

Chloe chuckles lowly, quietly. "I have all I need here in this house, anyway."

 *

 When Beca goes to the kitchen in the middle of the night for a glass of water, she thinks she hears the soft strains of her mix playing from Chloe's room.

   ------------

  iii. 2017, Brooklyn, NY

 It's apparently the warmest February in New York on record, but Beca is still fucking freezing.

The incessant chill envelops the air, and she pulls her coat closer to her. She's bundled under layers, but the radiator in their tiny little apartment is, as most things in it, almost completely busted.

Jesus Christ. It's cold.

 *

 Amy is convinced she's cold because she's moping, because she's sad about breaking up with Jesse.

Beca knows she isn't, and it's not just the long distance thing.

They'd given it a fair go, and it sucked that he got busier with classes and she tried to solve all of the music industry's problems as an associate producer, working hours trying to make tracks sound... sonically unrotten.

It's not just the long distance thing, because if Beca was honest with herself, it was probably a sign that when he told her that he was thinking of completing his studies in California, her immediate response was that of neutral indifference.

So, she is totally fine.

 *

 Beca hears Chloe singing softly before the door even opens, and she can hear it swing open too, and she knows Chloe is about to shrug her coat off —

"Don't bother, it's also cold in here," Beca says, from under the covers.

Then, her eyes track Chloe as she walks to the radiator —

"I checked, it's working. Supposedly."

"Aww." Chloe strides the distance — not that it's that long — and sits down on their shared bed. "You're so cute when you're grumpy."

"Aren't you freezing?" she chooses to deflect the comment, hugging herself petulantly. "Hey, how was your date with that guy at the clinic?"

Chloe hums noncommittally. "We went for coffee and he double-booked me with another girl."

"Dude. What a dick." Beca feels a flash of — annoyance? Chloe deserves the world. Chloe deserves everything she wants. "I'm sorry."

"I know. It's okay though." Chloe smiles at her. It's that smile that Beca catches that she thinks it's just for her, but she's also a logical person who knows that Chloe has that ability to make people feel like they're the most important person in the world. "I've got all I need right here."

Warmth pools at Beca's stomach, and honestly. It's a nice change from the freezing.

 *

 It's 2 AM, and they're cuddling, because of course they are; because Chloe is warm; because Chloe is an embrace personified; because... Chloe.

Beca stirs awake, and she feels Chloe's breath tickle at the base of her neck. She shifts, not uncomfortably. Then, Chloe's hand drifts sleepily, and lands somewhere on Beca's hip.

And then.

And then.

There is a sudden, startling clarity in Beca's mind, knocking the figurative breath out of her. Her eyes fly open.

She loves Chloe.

And not in the same way where she loves the rest of her found family in the other Bellas.

Oh no, a voice sounds in her mind.

Oh, this is very bad, she thinks.

She can't believe how still she is right now, feeling the entire weight of Chloe's body in contact against her. Feeling her slow, steady breathing against her back. She's not even cold anymore.

Okay. So she loves her best friend. Cool, cool, very cool. That's totally fine. She can handle this.

Chloe's been such a fixture in her life, at every turn; in every note in between the downbeat and upbeat that is her life. Music is in Beca's veins, her whole life, but music flows right through Chloe. She's tucked warmly in the melody, a motif throughout the entire song.

Holy shit, Beca thinks. She's been in love with Chloe for so long, she doesn't even know when it started.

 *

 Okay, so. There's a weird spot on the ceiling, right? And Beca just keeps staring at it, because if she closes her eyes, she will feel Chloe's presence so keenly, pressed next to her.

She can't do anything with this knowledge. She can imagine it now, Chloe giving her a comforting hug but tells her, sorry Beca, I love you but not in that way.

It's five whole years of friendship, of Chloe by her side no matter what, and that is the one thing that she's got that she doesn't want to risk, just because she had this stupid revelation.

God. It's so stupid. It'll pass. Right?

 ------------

 iv. 2018, Los Angeles, CA

 What is really fucking weird, even in the grand scheme of things, is journalists asking her if she's doing anything for Valentine's Day.

Which, like. First of all, Beca's not stupid, she knows it's a way to suss out her personal-slash-love life.

She's kept that pretty close to her chest for now.

But also, there's literally nothing to tell. She's not being defensive because there's something to hide away. Beca is knee-deep in work all the time, and she goes home to an apartment that feels too big for just herself. It's a big change from the entirely too cramped apartment in Brooklyn.

Sometimes she finds herself missing that very specific part of her life. Not the struggling and being unhappy doing work with no integrity, obviously. But Chloe is now a message and three hours ahead, instead of being a daily fixture in her apartment, and it leaves Beca feeling off-kilter.

But maybe that distance is a good thing, after... you know. Revelations.

Anyway.

Her work ethic doesn't stop rumors. She's linked to every guy available — and some not — every single time one of them likes her Instagram posts. She's pretty sure she's had at least two full relationships, according to the National Enquirer.

Theo gleefully sends her screenshots. She tells him to fuck off.

 *

 Chloe Look out, super star! I'm going to be in LA for a good friend's wedding in February!! If you think we're not going to hang, you're sorely mistaken.

 Beca is busy, but she sure as hell isn't going to miss Chloe coming to LA.

 Beca You have good friends outside of the Bellas? I am shocked, Beale.

 Chloe Don't be jealous 😉

 She's not. Not because of that, she catches herself thinking, and frowns at herself. Not because of anything, she decides. It's also exactly how she decides she doesn't have feelings for Chloe anymore, because Chloe is happy with Chicago, and Beca has work, and honestly? Best outcome out of every outcome possible.

Still, Beca offers up her apartment for the long-ish weekend that Chloe would be in town. She's not a monster, and Chloe has like, a mountain of student debt.

It's the least she could do.

 *

 (Beca thinks back to that first performance at the Citadel, just under a year ago. Thinks of all the nerves she's never felt before, while she's walking to the microphone. She's always had the girls on stage with her, but not this time. Her family would be seated in the front row, supporting her no matter how far she goes.

She gets to bring them up on stage this time, of course, but it's also a temporary balm and she knows it. But that's fine, she can figure that part out.

It's the after that smarts a little.

After the performance, after the event, after she feels that pit, growing and clawing from her stomach when she sees Chloe lock lips with Chicago.

After she walks away with Theo, trying her level best to carry on a conversation as if she's not affected by what she'd just seen; trying not to think of all the what-ifs.

After, on the plane back home, when she directs a small smile at Chloe's direction. If she's happy then she's happy for her.

It's the least she could do.)

 *

 Chloe's flight reaches the airport at 7 in the evening, and Beca's right there at LAX, waiting for her to emerge. She can see a couple of people with the big paparazzi cameras, training their lenses at her, but she doesn't care.

There's a flash of red as she sees Chloe running to her, and thankfully she catches her.

"Oh, I've missed you," Chloe says, so earnest and sincere as always; always, and Beca can hear her own heartbeat. She's almost worried that Chloe can too, like a traitorous Tell-Tale Heart.

"Yeah, well, regular sight for sore eyes, that's me." That's good, right? She hits jocularity right in the bullseye with that, as if she can't feel the top of her ears growing hot.

Chloe just laughs; like another kind of warmth. She draws her in again, hand rubbing up and down Beca's back.

Beca thinks she's stupid, for feeling like she's home.

 *

 They get to Beca's place, Chloe appraising the place appreciatively as she wheels her luggage in.

"This is already at least fifty times nicer than our little shoebox in Brooklyn," she observes, and Beca shrugs, a little embarrassed.

"I mean, the label's paying for it, and it's like, it's — it's ridiculous." There's a voice at the back of Beca's head repeating, our little shoebox, and she wants it to shut up.

But it is ridiculous. She has so much space, and two rooms; she sleeps in one and the other one is where she works. She's pretty sure she spends more time in the latter than she does the former.

"Anyway, uh, so here's my sort-of office, it's a bit of a mess right now." She waves her hand around (god, why is she using her hands so much) at the room with her equipment and instruments, before stepping to her bedroom door. "And here's the bedroom, which, like. You should take the bed. My couch pulls out and it's really comfortable?"

"Don't be silly," Chloe tells her, looking back at the king-sized bed. "We've slept in way more crowded spaces. This will be perfect."

Beca swallows, hard. Perfect.

 *

 Falling back into a routine with Chloe is scarily easy.

She's been here for less than three hours, and Beca's already back to being attuned to her. They put on some music in the background, she listens to Chloe talk so passionately about school and all the stuff she's learning, and Beca is so proud.

She brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas after Chloe does, exactly like how they used to, and climbs into her bed.

"Oh, shoot, I almost forgot," Chloe's saying, and Beca cocks her head curiously to see what she's forgotten. Her best friend comes back with a box, and hands it over to her.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Bec. Also, I don't think flash drives are in fashion now," she winks. "So your Google Drive storage has been renewed, for all the audio files you need to back up. Don't worry, I didn't look at anything else."

"Wh — oh. Oh, right, Valentine's Day, gifts and all," Beca says, and looks at the box in her hand. "Wait, is this —"

"Chocolate from your favorite place in New York? Yessss," Chloe says, a laugh coloring her tone. She settles back into bed. "Not that you have a shortage of chocolate places here, but Amy reminded me of the time she ate most of the last box after how you were saving your favorite pieces, so I thought I'd bring some here for you."

Beca's heart clenches.

"Thanks, Chlo." She's pretty proud of how unwavering her voice is. "I miss it."

"It's been tough for me too, not having you in my orbit," Chloe says, bumping their shoulders together.

"Yeah? Must be extra tough, because Chicago's not around either." Then she's scrambling. "Not that I'm like, comparing myself to your boyfriend in any way."

She sees Chloe's mouth twist to the side. Beca's eyebrows knit together.

"Chlo?"

"He's not my boyfriend anymore." Chloe's words are slow, measured. Like she's afraid of setting something off.

Beca pauses, as she takes it all in.

"Oh. I mean — Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's been..." Beca sees Chloe's furrowed brows as she thinks. "Three months, almost. Just right before Christmas."

Beca thinks back to Christmas; to the group messages, the online gift cards and food deliveries made in each other's names. Nowhere in her memory exists this piece of information, and she's pretty sure she's not been that shitty of a friend to miss this.

It feels a little bit like being hurt, actually.

"Oookay," she says, licking her lips a little, letting the air out of her slowly. "Okay. Well. Good night, Chloe."

 *

 Beca can't fall asleep, and she's pretty sure she knows why. It's been an hour of staring at the ceiling, and she tries to will her stupid mind to shut down for the night.

She thinks Chloe must be asleep by now; her body clock must be three hours —

"Bec?"

Beca pauses for so long that she thinks Chloe might actually think she's asleep.

"Yeah."

She feels Chloe shift. "I want you to ask me."

Beca wants to be obtuse and frustrating; wants to pretend she doesn't know what she's talking about. Instead, the confusion and hurt win out.

She pushes herself up on her elbows, then into a sitting position. It doesn't feel like a conversation that they should have lying down. She waits for Chloe to do the same, before finding her voice and words.

"Why didn't you tell me that you and Chicago broke up?" Dimly lit by the street lights outside, Beca sees her shift in place, and she feels Chloe's hand reaching for hers. "I thought — well. You know. That we tell each other things."

Which is slightly rich, coming from her, she knows. But still.

Chloe sighs, just quietly. "Because I have feelings for someone else."

Beca blinks, taking that in. It's a weird feeling because she's simultaneously crushed and hopeful, and maybe it's the hour, or maybe it's Chloe's hand in hers, but as her eyes sweep across Chloe's face, Beca is emboldened.

She leans in, and time feels like it's slowing down as she closes the distance and presses her lips on Chloe's, roughly and then temperately.

Beca's not the most impulsive person. In the moments, though, when she is, they always leave her wondering if she'd done something stupid — like punching creepy middle-aged a cappella guys, like leaving in the middle of a fight, like pulling the girls up on stage during her solo set.

Like kissing Chloe Beale in her bed.

So she pulls back suddenly, as quickly as she had started it, an apology already stumbling out. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I just assumed, I'm so sor—"

Chloe makes a noise; something that sounds like no, her eyes so startlingly blue even in this light, and Beca freezes. She's sure her brain is working out some sort of rambling apology or excuse, maybe pass it off as a joke somehow?

But Chloe pulls her back in, both thumbs lightly touching Beca's cheekbones as she meets their lips again.

This second kiss is deeper, slower, more connected. It takes her breath away, as her hand curls at the back of Chloe's neck. Chloe tastes like mint and sweetness and sincerity, and a little like hopeless optimism on Beca's part.

A soft gasp escapes, and Chloe pulls away this time.

Beca has a tentative smile on her face, as she takes in a breath heavily; the questions written so plainly on her face.

Chloe's eyes shine.

"It's always been you, Beca."

 ------------

 v. 2020, Los Angeles, CA

 Having your anniversary on Valentine's Day is good. And bad.

Mostly good, because it means that Beca has that to help keep herself honest and not forget it, because it's impossible to.

Also, she won't forget, but, you know. Just in case.

Bad, especially last year, because it fell right around the Grammys weekend, and apparently when you're nominated and win pretty much... every single category you're in, that's kind of a big fucking deal.

(It started with Best New Artist, and by the time she's on that stage a fourth time, she literally had no other words and nothing but so much gratitude.)

But yeah, so last year's Valentine's Day-slash-anniversary was overwhelming. People contacting her from all corners, wanting to congratulate her and get some sound bites; the internet pouring both support, and scathing critique on her and her music.

Beca wishes she could say she rose above it, that she was as cool as her publicist thinks her to be.

Instead, Chloe had to deal with her, a stressful human ball of anxiety and nerves. Amazing, wonderful, sweet Chloe, just happy to be around her during these exciting and utterly vulnerable times.

 *

 This year, though. This year she's older and wiser.

Hopefully.

This year, the day falls on a Friday, but they've decided to celebrate it the next day and through the weekend instead, because Chloe has a seminar she needs to attend for school, and Theo had packed Beca's entire day with a long meeting.

Key word: had.

At 7 AM, as she wakes up groggily and checks her phone, the invite has disappeared from her calendar, presumably rescheduled for some other time. She vaguely notes the message from Theo about entire teams not being available, and Beca's not going to question the reason why, because she's immediately looking up flights to Ithaca and books the first one out.

 *

 (I'm not private jet rich, dude. Also, carbon footprint. Text to Amy, because of course.)

 *

 Here's her plan:

She'll make a beeline to Chloe's apartment (Beca's been here plenty of times, in the past couple of years; met her friends here in Cornell, hung out with them, appreciated that they're her support circle while she's here), and she'll say something incredibly dorky, and Chloe will kiss her, and then, they will properly celebrate.

God, the things Chloe can do with her mouth; the sounds Beca can get her to make.

Beca doesn’t even bother squirming in the plane seat.

 *

 Chloe I have a surprise!!!

Whereeee are you? 🥰🥰🥰

 *

 Here's what happens instead:

Beca has to fly back home — noun, the place where she lives; noun, Chloe — because while she was spending six hours flying east, Chloe had done the same in the opposite direction; her seminar being canceled (something about the professor being sick?).

She can't believe it.

Okay, she can maybe believe it.

God, the Bellas are going to have a field day with this.

 *

 In the group chat, Chloe's taken a selfie of herself in Beca’s apartment and captioned it: I flew here a day early to surprise Beca, but she flew to Cornell instead to surprise me too 😂

 Emily OMAG YOU GUYS that is SO CUTE!!!!!!

 Beca reads Emily's text, shaking her head, knowing that this is the younger girl's version of restraint.

 Flo One time I thought a guy was going to propose to his girlfriend on the plane, but turned out he was having a heart attack instead.

 Jessica&Ashley #justsoulmatethings

 *

 Rush hour in LA is so horrible, and it's nearly 8 PM when she finally gets back to her apartment. She jogs all the way from the Lyft to her door.

Beca never jogs.

Her own door flings open, and she sees the smiling face of the woman she loves.

"Flying cross country for me is so romantic."

"You did that too," Beca points out, a small smirk on her face.

"Yeah, but you did it twice." Chloe beams, and kisses her again, and again.

[shemarmooresfedora]

Menagerie

Summary Quote: “Don’t you get it? It’s all been a lie, Spence. Since the moment we met, our entire relationship has been founded on a carefully crafted lie and since then, we have been tricked into thinking this was love...but maybe that was a lie too.”

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Genre: Angst with happy ending, Fluff

A/N: this fic has already been completed! it’s 25 chapters and just over 40,000 words. i don’t plan on posting all the chapters on to here but i have included the first two and the ao3 link to the rest is at the bottom if you are interested!

Chapter 1

You woke up from your peaceful slumber to hear a loud crash followed closely by someone yelling “FBI”. You screamed, alerting the agents of your presence thinking you were in danger but once the agents had reached your bedroom, you were being put in handcuffs and read your rights.

“W-What is happening? Is this some sort of sick joke?” you stuttered.

“Do you think killing three men is a sick joke?” the muscular intimidating agent spat back.

You were in utter shock. You barely even left the house let alone go out on a murderous rampage.

“I-I don’t know what you think I did b-but I can assure you I-I didn’t kill anyone or do anything illegal,” you tried to stay as calm as possible but you were shaking profusely.

The other agent that was the back-up in your apprehension seemed to notice this and took some sympathy on you by lightening his grip on your cuffs as he led you out of your front door that had been kicked down.

-

You sat in the chilly interrogation room wishing you had something else on rather than a thrifted oversized t-shirt with stains on it that said “Best Dad Ever” and sweatpants. They removed your handcuffs, I guess you weren't considered that much of a threat in a locked room in FBI Headquarters. Although you could not see past the one-sided glass, it was obvious the agents from before and possibly others from their team were standing on the other side, observing you.

-

“Well she is definitely not what I was expecting,” Prentiss was the first to break the silence as the whole BAU team watched you through the glass.

“She was sleeping when we apprehended her. Her facial expressions and body language showed clear signs of distress but I can not be certain if it was because we have the wrong person or she is scared she finally got caught. In her apartment, we found nothing in the slightest bit incriminating, mostly just lots of books,” Spencer spoke, while he was trying to remain impartial, he had admired your taste in literature as he was looking for evidence.

“I’m not convinced. I think this is whole ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ thing is an act,” Morgan stated as he strolled to the door leading to the room you were being held in.

-

The door opened and your eyes flickered up. Much to my dismay, it was the muscular agent rather than the tall, lanky agent who seemed a lot friendlier to you, given the circumstances.

He took the seat across from you and spoke firmly, “I am ready to take your confession whenever you are.”

At this point, you were just getting frustrated. You were ripped from your bed in the middle of the night given no explanation other than you had supposedly killed three men and he had the audacity to ask for your confession to something no one would even tell you the details of. So against your better judgment, you opened your mouth which has been known to get you in trouble from time to time.

“Well, considering no one has even told me what I am formally being accused of or the details, I can’t do that. Do you even have any evidence to keep me here? Oh wait...you don’t...that’s why you need a confession because all your evidence so far has been circumstantial. Only too bad for you...I know my rights. So, you have forty-eight hours to find some real evidence against me, that doesn’t exist if I may add, before you have to let me go.”

The agent looked back at the glass with his jaw dropped.

“I watch a lot of crime TV shows,” you huffed and crossed your arms.

-

“Okay this may be harder than we originally planned, folks. We are going to need everyone on call for the next forty-eight hours until we find some incriminating evidence,” Hotch spoke.

The agents began to depart from the room to review old case files and dig deeper into your personal history. Spencer stayed back for a few minutes and saw tears start to roll down your face when you thought no one was still watching you. You quickly wiped them away and wringed your fingers together. Spencer didn’t know if he should or not yet but he felt bad for you.

Chapter 2

The door opened again but this time, you just kept your eyes down at the table so the person could not see your watery eyes.

You have been trying to put up a brave face but every time, a different agent comes in to question you about your routine, friends, family, and personal life, you just feel exposed.

Traces of your DNA had been found on the bodies and they had all visited your bookstore but that wasn’t enough to convict you I guess. You didn’t know the victims personally but you still felt bad for them.

A cup of coffee was placed gently into your line of sight. You wrapped your hands around the warm paper cup and mumbled your thanks.

“I didn’t know how you liked it. I can add more creamer or sugar if you like,” the voice spoke.

You glanced up tentatively and it was the tall, lanky agent. Your lips turned up ever so slightly into a small smile but it was the most you could manage at the moment. You took a sip.

“No it’s fine, thank you. It really helps. I appreciate it,” you said.

“I’m Spencer, by the way”

“Y/N, but you probably already know that by now.”

He chuckled at your joke. Silence filled the room once again.

“I didn’t do it, Spencer...and I know I can’t really prove that but I wish I could. Most of my friends live in another state and so does my family so I don’t go out too often. I don’t have a boyfriend. I own a bookstore so I spend most of my time there. I don’t really know why this is happening to me,” you started to get choked up again so you stopped talking.

-

Spencer involuntarily blushed when you stated you didn’t have a boyfriend.

He really needed to get it together as much as he wanted to believe you.

You could be a murderer for all he knows...but a really pretty murderer with a great taste in literature and probably even a bigger collection of books than him.

Stop it, Spencer, get your head in the game. He smiled softly once more at you cradling your drink and exited the room.

-

The forty-eight hours were up. They had nothing solid against you. If anything, the team had less of a case against you.

The bodies were all dumped on the opposite side of town from where you lived but it was clear they had been transported there. Garcia’s digging showed you had no car and you weren’t lying when you said most of your friends and family live out of state so the chances of you borrowing someone else's car were unlikely.

Credit card receipts showed you hardly ever went to that side of town and they had profiled the unsub would know the area well.

The victims did come into your store a few times but they also visited all the shops on that street occasionally as well. It didn’t make sense for you to kill your customers. That would just be bad for business and easily linked back to you.

The team agreed that they believed Y/N was no longer a suspect.

-

An officer drove you back to your apartment where luckily, your door had been fixed.

You ordered takeout and took a shower to hopefully rid yourself of the stress of the past two days. Shortly after your dinner, you fell asleep hoping your door would not be busted down again by the FBI.

-

A few days had past and you were opening up the store for the morning. You were in the back organizing the nonfiction section when you heard the soft bell chime of the door opening.

You walked to the front expecting to greet one of your regulars. Once you saw who was standing shyly at the front desk, you stopped in your tracks.

“Spencer?”

“Uh h-hi-hello Y/N. How are you?”

“Good...unless you are here to bring me back in for more questioning”, you said half-joking half-seriously.

“Oh! Um no, you’re all set. I am truly sorry about that. But I do have a question for you”, he was nervously wringing his hands just like you do, looking anywhere but your eyes.

“It’s okay kind of sounds like the wrong thing to say because I would preferably not be dragged out of my bed in the middle of the night and then held for forty-hours but I understand, you were simply doing your job. Anyways, ask away,” you replied.

His eyes finally made contact with yours and he opened his mouth like he was about to say something but completely lost his confidence.

“Do you...um do you...do you have a nonfiction section?” Spencer blurted out.

You didn’t understand how the nonfiction section could make someone so nervous. He looked as if he was going to say something else but thought better of it.

“Of course! I was just organizing it! Right this way!” you chirped with a smile that seemed to untense his shoulders just a little bit.

Spencer perused the section a bit before deciding on a hefty book about the different plants and flowers native to the East Coast. When he made his way up to the front desk to check out, you praised his choice.

“Aw! I love reading about plants. I have some many succulents in my apartment. It's honestly more of a jungle. Have you ever seen forget-me-nots? So lovely!”

Spencer smiled and nodded, knowing if he tried to speak it would be gibberish because he could not focus on anything when he was looking at your radiant smile.

-

“Did you do it?”, Morgan asked as Spencer entered the bullpen with a brown bag.

“No but now I have a book on plants and flowers. I actually am excited to read it. Did you know that some plants like orchids do not require soil to grow they get their nutrients from-”

“You chickened out”, Derek sighed.

“She is so pretty! She was just standing there in all her radiance smiling at me and I couldn’t take the rejection. We dragged her out of her bed and put her in handcuffs only to find out two days later, she is innocent. I can hardly believe she is still being nice to me despite it.”

“Well believe it or not, the first night I met a girl, she was in handcuffs in her bed with me so it’s not always a bad thing,” Morgan smirked.

“Not appropriate, Morgan,” Spencer scolded.

“What are we talking about? I don’t like to not be included in the gossip!” Garcia ran over in her pink heels with Prentiss right behind her.

“Pretty Ricky here went to visit Y/N at her bookstore but then chickened out about asking her on a date,” Morgan informed them.

“Awwwww! I like her! She’s so pretty! Plus, I have already done a background search on her and she is squeaky clean now that we have proven she isn’t a murderer,” Garcia excitedly rambled.

Prentiss was nodding her head in agreement, grinning at Spencer.

Spencer had already chugged his morning cup of coffee during this conversation just to have an excuse to go get another cup and leave this conversation.

“You can’t run away from your feelings, Boy Wonder!” Garcia shouted.

Chapters 3-25

[greaterawarness]

Arc Training Program Ch. 3 (Getting to Know the Cadets Part One)

(Alpha decides to get to know his cadets a little more and in doing so comes to a realization. This is going to be done in parts because it would be a really long chapter if not. Also because if I don't do it in parts it would probably be a few weeks before posting again.)

Alpha isn’t sure if what’s he’s done is a good or bad thing. Ever since pairing them into groups of two they don’t seem to be splitting up. On one hand it’s making CC-2224 and CT-7567 become one hell of team. And CC-3636 and CC-1004 are dominating in the classroom. On the other hand, CC-1010 and CC-4477 seem to be feeding into each other’s bad habits. CC-1010 likes to outdo the others and CC-4477 is happy to help in any way possible. Then there’s CC-8826 and CC-1138. They… well they just encourage each other’s reckless behavior. And despite the success of completing a practice battle in pairs they still seem to fail as a group. Alpha leans on his table sipping his drink while watching a video of their last group failure. An image of 8826 flashes across the holovid crashing into 3636 causing his blaster to fire at 7567. He rubs his face with a groan.

“You seem troubled.” A voice pulls his attention to his door. Shaak Ti stands looking slightly amused. He gestures for her to sit across from him. “I take it things are not going as planned?”

“No. No they are not.” He agrees plainly. She lifts a hand to her chin while playing the scene over.

“They seem to not trust one another.” She says watching the holovid.

“What gave you that idea?” Alpha snorts. She eyes him before leaning back in her chair. This might be the most relaxed he’s ever seen her. They sit in silence watching the failed battle. When Alpha reaches for his drink, it slides across the table to Shaak Ti. He arches a brow at her when she lifts it up to her mouth. Except instead of drinking, she sniffs it. She gives him a look.

“It’s nine in the morning, Alpha.” She says sliding the drink back to him. He gives a half grin.

“Not to early if you’ve been up all night.” He lifts the cup to his lips and takes another drink. Shaak places her hands on the table with a sigh.

“I propose you take the day off from training.” She says making him stiffen.

“A day off for me is a day off for them. And they aren’t getting any down time until I see some real progress.” Alpha crosses his arms.

“They have progressed, have they not? They may still lack the trust and coordination to complete a full battle scenario, but they are advancing in other areas. They all exceed in the classroom and have remarkable marksmanship. Each has their own talents and interests. Even among the Jedi each Master is very different. Take a step back and see what makes these cadets unique and perhaps you’ll see how to get them to work together as a whole.” She says giving him a smile. He lets out a sigh through his nose thinking it over.

“Fine,” He concedes. “I’ll try it your way.”

She gives a pleased nod before they both stand. She leaves him to go find the cadets. They were finishing up cleaning the barracks when he walks into the room. When they see him, they rush over to stand at attention.

“Alright,” he says crossing his arms. “Today we’re going to have a down day. That means no regular training. This time is for you. This is not a time to nap or be lazy. Work on what you want but you have to be doing something productive. But don’t forget I have eyes everywhere so think twice before getting into trouble!”

Their faces stay neutral. When he dismisses them, they seem not too sure of what they should do. Alpha leaves before he gets bombarded with questions or before one of them starts another fight. He makes it back to his room and turns off the lights. He never said hecouldn’t nap. He has been going nonstop trying to make sure he doesn’t fail at teaching these cadets. It’s been wearing him out just as much as it’s been wearing them out. He falls into his bed and stares at the wall across from him. It doesn’t take long before he dozes off.

After waking from a cluster of mini nightmares of failing the cadets and then an ambush on a moon above Naboo, he’s not sure if the nap helped or only made him more tired. He tosses his legs off the side of the bed as he sits up. He stretches out his arms with a yawn slowly bringing himself to consciousness. After a moment he finally remembers that he set the cadets loose in Tipoca city. He finds himself running out of his room. His eyes search everywhere for signs of chaos. When he runs into the barracks, he’s surprised to see everything still standing. His chest heaves with every breath. When he hears footsteps behind him, he whips around startling 99.

“99,” he breathes while pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Sorry about that, Alpha.” He says while shuffling inside with training blasters in his arms.

“You haven’t seen my cadets, have you?” Alpha asks cautiously. 99 gives a chuckle as he stops.

“They haven’t burned anything down if that’s what you’re afraid of.” He smiles but it was comforting all the same. 99 keeps walking. “Some are training in separate rooms while I saw two in the library.”

“Thanks, 99.” Alpha says before walking quickly out the door. He knows that if they did anything to terrible the Kaminoans would have alerted him by now. Still, it made him uneasy to have eight cadets under his care running around with no supervision. He begins checking training rooms. Most were occupied by batches and their bounty hunter teachers. When he finally finds the first cadet it’s CC-2224. He’s commandeered a small training room used for hand to hand combat lessons. Alpha stays silent while walking across the upper platform so not to disturb the boy.

2224 practices some moves with a dummy. Alpha tilts his head studying the boy’s form. He’s good compared to an average cadet but Jango would call it nothing but sloppy. He quietly walks over to the room log to see how long he’s been at it. Alpha was out for a good hour, and it seems 2224 has been here the whole time.

“Want me to give you some pointers?” Alpha says breaking the silence. 2224 doesn’t startle at the sudden sound of his voice. Alpha hops the railing and lands on the mat. He pulls off his boots and upper armor before standing in front of 2224.

“Yes sir, thank you, sir.” He says through pants. He wipes some sweat with the back of his hand while stepping back. Alpha stands in front of the training dummy.

“Your trainer before taught you well enough but you could be better,” Alpha starts mimicking what the boy was doing before landing a blow that Jango taught him. 2224 stares slightly wide eyed. “Here, let me show you.”

Alpha moves so 2224 can take his place. They spend the next thirty minutes going over some new moves. Alpha was impressed. The boy is determined and has the discipline to keep at it.

“What is it about hand to hand combat that you like?” Alpha asks after a time. He thinks back to the first time he saw 2224 in a battle simulation with his old batch. He shakes his head remembering the boy landing a solid punch to a metal droid. 2224 looks taken off but doesn’t stop practicing.

“Well,” He says before landing a hit. “When we were doing one of our first practice battles my training blaster was defective. I just remember being helpless while my batch fought with all they had. I thought I was useless. After the battle my trainer pulled me aside and scolded me for doing nothing. And then I saw another batch learning hand to hand combat so I asked my trainer if I could learn it. He said yes and… well I decided even without a blaster I wouldn’t be helpless. I can still fight no matter what.”

2224 steps back to meet Alpha’s eyes. Alpha could feel the smile forming on his lips.

“Well, lets make sure that never happens.” He says. the boy wears his own smile before they return to their lesson.

After another thirty minutes Alpha leaves him to practice the new moves he’s taught him. 2224 had mentioned 7567 training in a room a couple doors down. He makes sure to go straight to the upper walkway to watch the boy from above. He finds 7567 staring at a table covered in different kinds of blasters. Alpha leans on the railing studying the boy. He finally reaches for one of the largest ones there. He slings it off the table and shuffles towards the targets. He grits his teeth before firing.

Alpha arches a brow. From the small time he’s known the boy he could already tell where this was going. Not long after firing the boy tries to turn to hit some targets on the side but the boy is cursed with clumsiness and looses his footing. Alpha doesn’t flinch when 7567 falls causing stray shots to fire beside him. he lets out a sigh with the shake of his head before hoping the railings.

“That blasters not a good fit.” He says crossing his arms and looking down at the boy. The cadet rubs his head and frowns. He doesn’t say anything as he gets to his feet. Alpha walks over to the table and picks up two DC-17 blaster pistols. “Try these instead.”

7567 stares at them still wearing his frown.

“But they’re so small.” He says still holding the heavy gun in his hands.

“Yeah? So, what. Getting shot with a bigger blaster doesn’t make you more dead then if you were shot with a smaller one.” Alpha says still holding them out. The kid reluctantly sets the heavy blaster down and takes the smaller pistols. “You have a problem with keeping up with your surroundings. I’ve never seen anyone run into as many things as you or trip over flat surfaces.” 7567 stares at the blasters with his ears turning red.

“I’ll try harder.” He says softly. Alpha reaches up to rub the back of his neck. If Jango were still around he would have kicked this cadet out by now. But Alpha’s gut was telling him something else.

“Look,” He says after a moment. “Being clumsy isn’t a crime. Even I’ve tripped and walked into things before.”

“Really?” 7567 looks up with a grin.

“Focus,” Alpha says with the shake of his head. “You just have to learn how to be more observant. These can help. With that heavy blaster you don’t have to worry much about aim because it’s rapid fire and you can hit a lot of targets at once. But these smaller ones will force you to get better at your aim and be more aware of your surroundings. I’ve seen you in battle and I know you have great accuracy. But these you’ll find to be a bigger challenge than a DC-15S. Not only that but you’ll be firing two of them.”

7567 stares down at the pistols in his hands. He finally gives a nod and turns to take aim at the targets. He barely hits the target with his right hand and completely misses with the left. His shoulders drop in disappointment.

“See? I’m no good with these!” He says turning towards Alpha. Alpha places a hand on his shoulder surprising both of them.

“Keep at it. Even Jango had to practice to be as good as he was.” Alpha reassures him. the boy nods and keeps at it. Alpha spends some time working on form and giving pointers. Eventually he leaves him to practice on his own. 7567 is extremely talented but he needs to learn patience. Alpha’s mind wonders to a padawan that 7567 almost reminds him of. He was a good kid and so is 7567.. He starts comparing Jango to the Jedi Master Obi Wan Kenobi. They were polar opposites when it came to training. Alpha stops walking to stand in the middle of the hallway as a realization falls over him. He doesn’t want to be like Jango. He wants to work with these kids and make them better. He wouldn’t just throw them away because they’re different or difficult. They are worth the effort. Flaws and all.

Read full story HERE on AO3

[anakinlove]

Hi wow okay, so I definitely cried whilst writing this. I absolutely took this great romantic prompt and deSTROYED IT I am so sorry anon 😭😭

If enough people come into my ask box and yell it me I could be persuaded to write a part 2 happy ending 😌

✨requests are open✨

See my Valentine’s Day post!

My Masterlist

(Join my taglist in my bio!)

Set It Free

1.5k words (angst)

Sometimes, when Y/n thought about her boyfriend, she thought about the avril. Native to Yavin 8, the bird was a large hawk-like lifeform. It was beautiful as it soared high in the air. Being the top of its food chain, the avril was also ferocious, swooping in and killing its prey in one bated breath. Anakin was a lot like the avril, both beautiful and ferocious, and so completely beyond Y/n.

She wonders now, how she had ever let herself fall so completely for him. But then, there always was something so freeing about his smile, his eyes. Y/n remembers with such clarity the first time she saw that smile,

“Hey! Y/n, wait up!” Y/n whipped around, looking for the source of the voice, only to see Anakin Skywalker jogging after her. 

“Skywalker. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Y/n raised her eyebrow at the boy, looking him over. She couldn’t deny that he was attractive, but with his usually shorn hair overgrown he looked a bit like a narglatch. 

“Well, I uh, I noticed you looked confused today in class?” That was funny. In all her years of classes with Anakin, Y/n had never known him to stumble over his words. The boy was always so confident, cheeky even. 

“I guess you could say that. The Huttese dialect is much more…” Y/n bounced her head, looking for the right word, “well, less refine than basic.”

Anakin snorted, looking down at his toes. He didn’t say anything. Y/n waited for him to speak but he just stood there, looking down.

“Skywalker?” Y/n prompted. Anakin whipped his head up.

“I was just going to offer, as I’m fluent, if you might want a tutor?” Anakin said softly. Y/n was thoroughly confused with the Anakin was acting. First, he stumbles over his words, and now one could say he looked bashful! Still, she really was awful with Huttese, and of course she knew the Chosen One to be from Tatooine, therefore he must know the language well.

“Yeah, okay, I’d really appreciate the help. Does today in about four standard-hours work?” Y/n smiled up at him.

“Yeah, yeah that works great!” Anakin grinned, bouncing up and down, “Sorry, but I’m late for meditation with my Master, I have to go!” He looked one last time in Y/n direction and walked back the way he came.

Y/n could only stand there, speechless. In all of the time she’s known him, she couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile like that. It left her breathless, standing like a fool in the middle of the hall, staring after him. 

Looking back on it now, it was so clear to tell that he had just wanted to spend time with her. Get to know her, be her friend. He never had that many friends in the temple, Y/n knows. Choosing to spend his time with Master Kenobi or tinkering with droids in his quarters. Sometimes spending time with Aayla Secura, but only when they both had time, which was few and far between.

Y/n reached their shared apartment, separate from the Temple. It was eight months ago when Anakin suggested finding someplace where they could be themselves, away from the rules of the Jedi. Together, they found this place. It was small, but it was them. It was Anakin’s boots by the door, his tools scattered randomly, oil staining parts of the carpet no matter how much either of them scrubbed. It was Y/n’s robe by the door, her favorite mug left on the counter from her morning coffee, hair ties left in every crevice of the couch. 

Y/n’s heart hurt looking around the room, and his smell suffocated her, leaving her more choked up than she already was. She looked at the chronometer on the counter, its time indicated that Anakin should be home, and squared her shoulders. She found him just where she knew he would be, hunched over his desk, fiddling with something so small It should have been impossible.

She stood in the door, watching him, for what felt like an eternity. Taking in the pattern of his curls today, the way he bounced his knee, and the back of his shoulders as they rose and fell with each breath. She knew that he knew she was there. He was so attuned with the force that he probably felt her four blocks away. His power was unimaginable. He was radiant, a glowing force that any force-sensitive could have felt him from a mile away. All the more reason, for Y/n to not be the one to dampen him. 

After a while, or probably when he finished whatever he was doing, he placed his project down and stretched. If Y/n wasn’t already devastated, she might have laughed at just how many joints he popped with one movement. It was a wonder that Y/n had managed to shield her feelings from him so well, knowing that he should have felt what was wrong the second he felt her. 

“Hi, angel, how was your day?” Anakin finally looked up, a smile softening his features. Y/n could say nothing, staying in the doorway. 

“Y/n?” Anakin stood, slowly walking over to her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in. Just for a second, Y/n told herself, you can indulge yourself for only a second. Y/n steeled herself, forcing herself to pull away. 

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Anakin scrunched his eyebrows, staring down at her. He was unnerved at how blank she was, scared even.

Wanting it all to be over, to be able to never have to do it again, Y/n prepared herself to speak. 

“I think,” she paused to try to control her tears, “I think we should stop.” And there, the words that had been controlling her all day were finally out. 

“Stop? Stop what?” Anakin’s voice was measured, words slow. 

“This. Us” Y/n looked down, unable to look him in the eyes. 

“Us. Us? Why? Why would you ever think that? What’s happened? Have I done something? Y/n you can’t just walk in and say that what is it?” Frantically Anakin tried to catch her eyes, ducking his head down into her view. Y/n shook hard, doing everything she could to hold in her breakdown, despite her efforts, tears began to track down her cheeks. She took measured breaths, counting each one. 

“I cannot be the one to hold you back.” Her voice cracked, more tears leaking through.

“Hold me back? Hold me back from what? You could never hold me back! If anything, I’m where I am because of you!” Anakin raised his voice but didn’t shout. 

“No, Anakin, you deserve to be the greatest jedi of them all, to have everything you’ve ever wanted. I cannot take that away from you. I won’t.” Y/n voice shook, but she was determined as ever, trying to just make him understand that this was for him. Not her. 

“But I want you, not to be some… some great jedi! I want you.” He pleaded. 

“Anakin you don’t understand, your place is on a throne!” Y/n sobbed, backing away from him. 

“No, my place is by your side!” He walked towards her, reaching for her. She evaded his every attempt, solid in her decision. 

“Y/n, please, stop. Come back, think about this. Let’s talk about this.” Anakin begged. 

“There’s nothing to talk about, Ani. This is all for you, for your life.” She replied. 

“But I don’t want this!” Anakin tried again, once more advancing. 

Y/n shook her head and backed further away, towards the door. Taking a quick look around the room, she thought of every happy memory here. All the times they cuddled on the couch, the one Life Day they spent here, every moment. Each called to her, and she longed to answer, to stay. But she couldn’t.  Looking once more at Anakin, at his state of disarray. The tears in his eyes, his hair mussed from his hands, his body shaking. It broke her more than any of the words she said did. 

“I’m sorry.” Y/n cried, turning around for the final time, grabbing her robe and walking out of the door. 

“Y/n! Y/n wait!” Anakin lurched forward, desperately calling out for her. By the time he reached the door, she was gone. He fell to his knees then and cried. Cried for Y/n, for their life, for the ring he was working on a room over.

As Y/n walked away, hood drawn, she thought once again of the avril. Free to soar high above, without anything shackling him to the ground. A force of nature, unbelievable, and so, so beautiful. 

Taglist:

@anakinswhore @gonnakickanakinskywalker @etherealsanakin @ani-skyvvalker @haydens-moles @anakinshmanikin @anakinsprincess @agent-catfish-kenobi @saltybreaddream

[esmecvllens]

Bridal Worries

A few days go @esmeshardwoodfloors wrote THIS post about Esme and Bella and I just had to make an oneshot out of it, I hope it’s ok! I’m not sure what exactly possessed me to write this, but I hope it’s nice. We need some more Cullen girls moments.

Bella stood in front of the Cullen mansion with her hands in her pockets. A bit anxious to come inside, she glared over the enormous house, hidden in the woods like a medieval castle. All the lights were off, and if Bella didn't know who lived there, she'd think all family members were sleeping. It was the middle of the night, to be fair, but Bella couldn't force herself to sleep and needed to talk with somebody. Charlie would be the obvious choice, but he was long asleep. And even if he wasn't, Bella would rather drown than ask him the questions she had, so she wore a hoodie over her pajamas and came to the one place where no one ever slept.

Bella sighed, hesitant to come inside. She knew she's always welcomed here, but she'd never actually came there without Edward. She never came intending to spend time alone with his family, and the thought of it made her nervous, but at the same time, she felt that if she doesn't voice her worries to anybody soon, she'd combust. Suddenly, she realized that she'd like to see Esme.

Bella hadn't talked with Esme one on one many times, but she had a feeling that only she would listen to her questions without any mockery. Esme, although being only eight years older than Bella, felt like her own mother to her. The difference, however, was that Esme was way warmer than Renee, Bella realized. There were things she would be too embarrassed to talk about with Renee, things too private or too serious, and she felt no such barrier with Esme. She wondered why that was. There was something about Esme that felt very welcoming, very sympathetic - was it her gentle way of being, or the fact that she willingly took five teenagers under her roof and treated them like their own, Bella wasn't sure. She knew, however, that Esme would never mock her worries.

Edward was hunting with his brothers, and Bella assumed that Carlisle went with them. So there were only women in the house. That thought gave Bella the confidence to walk over to the front doors.

She didn't get to knock on the doors before they opened, and Rosalie stood in them, with her eyebrows risen and arms crossed on her chest.

"Bella," she said with surprise in her voice, the reluctance she once felt towards Bella almost gone.

"I hope I'm not interrupting?" Bella replied quietly. She always felt overwhelmed by Rosalie, and even though their relationship improved recently, the blonde vampire still made her uncomfortable. Bella wasn't even sure what exactly Rosalie had that made her nervous, but it was probably a combination of her impeccable perfection and the way she felt about her. They made it impossible for Bella to relax while Rosalie was around.

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "You actually are, I was just about to go to sleep."

Bella chuckled, although she wasn't sure she was supposed to. Rosalie's sarcasm often left her confused, and she couldn't tell when she was joking and when she was serious.

"Come on in," Rose let Bella inside the house and switched the lights on. "Have you come to tell us that you're not marrying my brother after all?"

"Yes, I changed my mind," Bella joked. "I realized that marriage terrifies me more than vampirism. Call the whole thing off."

Rosalie smirked. "Fine by me, but Alice might have some objections."

They went into the living room, already prepared to host the wedding tomorrow. All the beautiful furniture was gone. The Cullens moved it out to create a big, open space, with only Edward's shining piano still proudly taking its place in the corner. It made Bella gasp out. Instantly, everything seemed more real. Only seeing the white flowers strategically placed around the living room, the ribbons and garlands of tiny lights hung around the windows, it finally hit Bella that she's getting married tomorrow. Her hands trembled again, and she hid them in her long sleeves, desperate to seem tough and ready. She didn’t want Rose to feel how terrified she really was.

Rosalie watched her expectantly, her arms still crossed at her chest.

"Bella, I don't mean to be rude," she said softly. "But is there any particular reason for your visit?"

"I was hoping to talk with Esme."

A shadow of surprise glimmered across Rosalie's beautiful face, but she quickly got rid of it and nodded.

"She's in their bedroom," she replied. "Do you know the way, or should I show you?"

"I know the way."

Bella had never been in Carlisle and Esme's room before. She passed it many times, but the doors were always locked, and so it was this time. Coming inside without knocking felt incredibly inappropriate, but before her fist hit the wooden doors, she heard Esme's voice inviting her in.

The bedroom was exactly how she imagined it to be. Just as the rest of the house, the walls were white, with wooden paneling on one of them and big windows overlooking the woods and sky. The room smelled of books and fresh flowers, and every paper, every pillow knew its place. The furniture was very tasteful, dark and mahogany, and made the room like an elegant hotel - only that hotels never felt this domestic. Heavy, velvet curtains were open to show the starry sky. The only messy part of the chamber was Esme herself; she placed her easel in front of the windows and painted on an enormous canvas, with paint on her apron and fingers. Judging by the details on the piece, it was almost done.

"I'm so sorry I didn't come downstairs to welcome you before, that’s very rude of me," Esme said, tracing the brush along her painting. "But you see, the sky today is just beautiful, I needed to capture it before it changes. Tomorrow is a big day, and painting always eases my nerves."

"No need to apologize," Bella replied and stood behind Esme, glaring at her unfinished work. "It's beautiful. Edward said you paint, but I think he diminished your abilities."

"You're too kind," Esme replied with a smile and wiped her fingers onto the apron. She looked lovely, very domestic, truly the heart of the house. Bella never saw her like this, and it almost felt like invading her privacy to watch her in her element, with messy hair and paint on her clothes, still beautiful, but a bit more human. If anything, it made her seem more real.

"Do you want something to drink, love? Maybe some tea? You seem cold."

"I'm fine, thank you," Bella replied, only then realizing that she'd been hiding her hands in her long sleeves.

Esme sat on the swivel chair, leather and brown, and crossed her legs elegantly. The moonlight fell inside the room and her skin shined with faint, sparkling diamonds. Bella saw it before on Edward, of course, but she couldn't draw her eyes away.

Esme didn't speak for a solid minute. She watched Bella with a smile on her face until it became quite obvious she's waiting for her to start. Bella sat on the bed, a bit hesitantly, and tucked her hair behind her ears.

Bella was never sure how she should talk to Esme - whether she ought to treat her like a mother, or like a friend. Esme had an aura of wisdom and grace around her, but after all, she was still only twenty-six years old. The rest of the family would call her their mom sometimes, but it didn't feel comfortable to Bella. She doubted if it ever would.

"I wanted to talk with you," she started a bit bashfully. She never opened up to Renee about certain things and wasn't sure where to begin, but Esme's calm, golden eyes were glued onto her, and Bella felt she has her full attention.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you a few questions, but they're rather private."

"You can talk to me about anything," Esme smiled at her reassuringly; she truly felt so. "You seem so nervous, Bella. Is it about the wedding?"

"Mostly."

"The night before ours I was so stressed, Edward had to talk me down for hours. He would later joke that I nearly ran away," Esme confessed, a faint smile on her lips as if the remembering itself amused her a bit. Bella raised her eyebrows in surprise. She always looked up to Esme and Carlisle's relationship; she knew no bond stronger or more admirable than the love they shared. It felt odd, but very comforting to realize that they were once newlyweds, too, and faced the same challenges she and Edward stood before.

"Really?"

"Of course!" Esme shrugged. "I don't think those things change. If you asked Alice or Rose, they'd tell you the same. It's perfectly normal to be stressed."

A veil of silence fell between them for a second, before Esme cleared her throat.

"Although I have a feeling there's something else troubling you."

"There is," Bella sat more comfortably, with her legs crossed, and looked out of the windows. She wasn't the best at speaking about emotions. Her mother never taught her how to do it, and Charlie was happiest not speaking about them at all, so opening up to Esme felt new. New, but not necessarily scary. Bella found it easier if she wasn't looking at her, so she glued her sight onto the stars. "The honeymoon scares me more than the wedding itself."

Esme let out a sigh. To say she expected it would be an exaggeration, but it didn't surprise her that Bella would need guidance, and it made Esme smile that she chose her to confide in. Bella looked tiny and insecure sitting on the bed with her knees drawn to her chest. She truly looked her age then, and Esme almost ached to hug her, but she wanted to ease her nerves first.

She tried to dig deep into her memory and remember how she felt that first time, and for a second, she relived it all over again - the fear, the nerves, the excitement, all to be rewarded with bliss and love. She hoped Bella would have memories to cherish, too.

"What would you want to know, Bella?"

"Everything," she replied, still looking at the stars. "Everything I should know. I've never-" Bella started, but words got lost on their way out of her throat. "Never with a human, and a vampire... I suppose it's different."

"Well, yes, it is," Esme tried to put her words together with much consideration. "It is way more intense."

"What should I expect?" Bella whispered, feeling Esme's amber eyes on her, but she didn't turn her head.

"Oh, it's an absolutely divine feeling," Esme replied softly and placed her hands on her knees. Bella felt as if she was talking with her older sister, not Edward's mother. She should be more embarrassed, but she wasn't. "It truly bonds you for the first time, body and soul. It's very powerful, sweetheart, even more to us than to humans."

"Will it hurt?"

"I'm sure Edward will not act hastily, but I'm afraid it might be a little painful to you. In the beginning, at least. Your human body is very fragile compared to ours."

Bella looked at her with her lower lip bitten. She surmised all the thigs Esme had just told her, but it felt comforting to hear them said out loud. The way Esme spoke, calmly, softly, it all made Bella feel safe. "Is it different from... intercourse with another human?"

"Very different," Esme nodded seriously. "My experiences as a human weren't the best, as I'm sure you know, and I don't know how is it between one of us and a human, but I can only imagine it's the most heavenly. Sex between normal people is... well... when you have a comparison, it's boring."

Bella let out a chuckle when Esme blinked at her, trying her best to make her more comfortable, and it was working. Bella's tense body loosened up a bit and she finally dragged her eyes onto Esme.

"What if I'm not any good at it?" she whispered, and Esme smiled at her warmly, reassuringly. Her smile made Bella believe everything would be alright. She knew Jasper was the one to control emotions, but there was something about Esme's loving presence, about her maternal ways of being and bright eyes that Bella felt more relaxed, and she was so happy she opened up to her.

"Oh, love, nobody's good at it at the beginning," Esme replied. "But communication is the key. I know Edward is not the one to open up easily but talk to him."

"I'm afraid we're similar this way."

"You're doing wonderful tonight," she smiled. "You need to talk about it to get better at it. Voice what you like and what you don't, make Edward do the same. You have to be truly honest with each other for it to work."

Bella was watching her with her eyes opened wide, invested, focused on every word, and it made Esme love her even more. Bella deserved somebody to confide in, and she was more than happy to take that role tonight.

"It scares me," Bella whispered. "The vulnerability. I want to, of course, but at the same time..."

"Remember that you don't have to do anything you don't want to do," Esme said, way more seriously. "No pressure, love. I know it seems very scary. It's very rewarding, but it can be overwhelming."

Bella just nodded, but Esme was still piercing her with her caring eyes.

"Is Edward pressuring you into something?"

"No, God, no," Bella shook her head so lively, she heard a quiet crack in her neck. "Don't worry about... it. But he said he talked about those things with Carlisle, and I wanted to get some insight, too."

"Did he?" Esme chuckled. "I didn't know that. I wonder what Carlisle told him."

"What you told me, basically," Bella shrugged softly and yawned loudly, making Esme smirk. She suddenly felt very sleepy. Talking with Esme eased her nerves a bit, and she felt she could fall asleep peacefully now.

"I'm so glad you came to me, Bella. It's really my pleasure to help you with anything you need."

"Thank you."

"Did I help a bit?"

"You did," Bella replied, standing up from the bed and smiling at her. "You really did. Thank you for listening to me. I didn't know who to talk to about it. Alice probably wouldn't help at all, and Edward... you know."

"Oh, I do," Esme laughed and stood up to take Bella into a long, tight embrace. Bella returned it thankfully; although Esme’s skin was cold as ice, the hug seemed warmer than any other. Bella yawned again, and Esme laid a kiss onto her forehead.

"You should really go to sleep, love," she said. "Tomorrow is a big day. You can sleep in Edward's room if you don't feel like driving."

"No, no, I have to go back," Bella mumbled, her arms still wrapped around Esme. "Charlie isn't a fan of my night escapades. I should be home in the morning. One last time."

She left the Cullen house feeling as if an enormous weight had been pulled off her chest. As she was driving home, she made a mental note to always come to Esme with her future worries.

other fics / have a request?

[stark-tony]

underrated irondad and spiderson fic recs part 2

part 1

Queer Eye for the Cacti by silentsaebyeok

summary: He bought one-hundred cacti on Amazon! Pepper was going to kill him!

What had possessed him to do such a thing? He never went on shopping sprees when drunk. That just wasn’t a Tony Stark type of thing to do. And in all honesty, he was astonished he even remembered the Amazon password.

--

Tony makes an interesting purchase while drunk. What he doesn’t expect is for said purchase to bite him in the ass in the worst possible way.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Tumblr Posts by Jen27ny

summary:   Literally what the title says. All the prompts and one-shots I post on tumblr.

pairings: pepperony, spideychelle

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst

warnings:

It Lasts for Always by YellowDistress

summary:  Peter has never asked anyone to kill for him, especially not Tony.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Cursed Christmas by sahiya

summary: A series of unfortunate events befalls Tony, Pepper, Peter, and Morgan (and Happy and May) in the week leading up to Christmas.

It'd be kind of funny if it didn't totally suck. Fortunately, they've got good back-up.

pairings: pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Keeping your head up by frostysunflowers

summary: It’s been a while, a long while, since Tony felt this defenceless. He’s without a suit, the manacle around his ankle is solid steel, and he can’t see a single way out.

 He’s been here before, but back then there had been tools, resources, options.

Here, there’s just the walls, his missing kid and the water. 

The water.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: kidnapping

Young, Dumb and Suffering by wordscorrupt

summary: In a moment of desperation, Peter decides to take Steve's pain medication to relieve a migraine.

or

Peter accidentally overdoses on pain medication.

pairings: none

tags: 

warnings:

Midnight Oil by JolinarJackson

summary:  After everything that has happened to Peter over the last year - or five, really - he shouldn’t be worried about something as mundane as the ACT. When he fails it, though it sends him into a spiral of self-doubt, which only gets worse when Peter realizes that he doesn’t seem to be able to fix whatever is broken.

pairings: spideychelle, pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: none

Love Will Remind Us Who We Are by blondsak

summary: There had been many times in Tony’s life when he’d known the piercing clarity that separated a Good Day from a Bad Day. Had known the ways in which, upon first waking, one’s soul would strike a balance between agony and relief either in your favor, or not.

But none of his earlier Good and Bad times had prepared him for his reality now.

//

Nine months after the Avengers defeated Thanos, Tony is still reckoning with the toll the final snap took on his body. Between grueling physical therapy, near-constant pain, and the inability to so much as tie his own shoes, well-- things aren’t exactly like Tony had imagined.

Luckily for him, there’s a certain kid from Queens who won’t let Tony give up so easily.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Summertime Sickness by Spideysickfics

summary: "Well, this is your lucky day, then!" Peter replied enthusiastically, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest as he broke into a wide grin, "You're looking at a former Boy Scout!"

Tony let out a huff of air.

"No shit, a Boy Scout, huh? When did you quit?"

"First grade." Peter's grin didn’t waver. Tony rolled his eyes with a laugh.

"I'm sure you're very knowledgeable."

OR

An Irondad camping trip and sickfic to soothe your soul

pairings: none

tags: 

warnings: none

to break in these bones by searchingforstars

summary: “We’re gonna go play baseball? I’m not exactly a great shot, and you might have to let me out of these first,” Peter rattles his wrists around in the metal chains and they clink together, echoing around the sparse room, “but sounds like fun.

“We’re not playing baseball.”

“Shame, because I passed a park on my way here and I’m pretty sure that there’s only been like, six murders there this year so that could have been a fun spot.”

“I’m going to enjoy this, you fucked up little kid.”

“Hey, I’m not a little-” Peter starts, but he’s cut off by all the air being knocked out of his lungs as he sees the bat raised in front of him.

--

or, Peter doesn't listen to Tony, pisses off someone dangerous and ends up on the wrong end of a baseball bat.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

5 Times Peter Gave Tony Something by impravidus

summary:  and the 1 time Tony gave him something back

pairings:  none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

You'll Be Here (in My Heart) by seekrest

summary:  The morning that Tony’s life changed forever began as his days usually began now — shuffling into the kitchen half asleep, going through the motions as he searched for Pepper’s favorite coffee mug.

Tony stifled a yawn, grabbing the Black Panther novelty mug she adored while he grabbed one that Morgan had made them years ago - one that made her now cringe with embarrassment anytime she saw him use it, the childish scribbles that made him laugh.

  He sets Morgan’s creation down on the countertop as he reaches for the Black Panther mug, it being just barely out of reach for when Pepper has put it last.

“Damn thing.” Tony mutters to himself, fingers barely brushing against it before he grabs it - going to set it down on the counter only to be surprised when Pepper walks in from the bedroom, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Morning. You know, you and I need to have a talk about about your choice of mugs. I know T’Challa somehow perfected the cup warmer thing here but you could at least show a little—“

“Michelle’s in labor.”

pairings: spideychelle

tags: angst

warnings: none

the little things we don't say out loud by JBS_Forever

summary: “It's not funny,” Peter says, voice catching as he whines, “This is life or death, Ned. I'm actually dying.”

On the other end of the line, Ned sighs, amused and not at all concerned. “So you're Mr. Stark's secret Santa. It's not that bad.”

- - -

In which Peter is Tony's secret Santa, and it is, in fact, that bad.

pairings: none

tags: humor, fluff

warnings: none

Hiking Essentials: A backpack, plenty of water, and a Spider-kid by kiwifeather

summary:  Morgan, Peter, and Tony enjoy each other's company on a hike through the woods while Peter is staying with them for the weekend. Father-and-son bonding ensues

(Takes place after the snap but Tony survives because this is the good timeline and we know that Tony deserved a happy ending)

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

In Case of Emergency by Bowtiez

summary: Babysitting his little sister at the Stark's lakeside cabin seems like quite the gig for 17-year-old Peter. Of course he's got that covered- he's a mature individual and he can watch over a five-year-old for forty-eight hours.

On a totally unrelated note, did anyone know that super-healing doesn't really work on bacterial infections? It's a good thing Morgan knows what to do. Well... it's probably a good thing?

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Three Times Tony Stark Used Italian Nicknames and One Time He Received One by MCUsic_to_my_ears

summary:   Tony can't help but slip into his Italian when with his children.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

More Ancient Than Magic by ironfamjam

summary: Life isn't exactly normal when your Head of House is also kinda your father-figure and his daughter is kinda sorta your little sister.

It's also not normal when the bad guys your real-life-war-hero-not-actually-dad defeated in The Great War threaten to return and you're still just trying to finish your Charms essay.

But Professor Stark asked him to protect Morgan. And that's what he's going to do.

Even if it breaks him.

The mini Hogwarts AU

pairings: spideychelle, pepperony

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: torture

Peaches by peterparkr

summary: There’s no response, not even a faint twinge of muscle. Peter tries to listen for a heartbeat, but he can’t seem to focus enough to pinpoint it. Another bubble of thought starts to rise. This could be the reason his spidey-sense is going haywire. Tony could be—

He pushes the bubble down.

OR

Peter and Tony find themselves stranded in the woods after an Avengers mission

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Snowflakes by Jen27ny

summary:  Tony just wants to see his kids happy - which means letting Morgan stick as many snowflakes to the window as she likes, and making Peter talk about his nightmares.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

I Sure Do Like Those Christmas Cookies by baloobird

summary: Tony is spending a fun afternoon baking cookies with his kids, but his older one isn't acting like himself.

Whatever the problem is, it's up to the now-retired hero to figure it out.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: bullying, acephobia

An MIT Halloween by bethy_277

summary: Coming to MIT had been difficult, having almost lost his mentor when he had snapped to save the entire universe, and Peter had really struggled. If it hadn’t been for Ned and Harley- who he had met shortly after he came back and become good friends with- he didn’t think he would have made it past the first few weeks at school. He had called both May and Tony that first week, hysterical and begging to come back to New York. May had been patient, Tony had been ready to get in his car to drive to him to help him through it, and Harley and Ned had been there and talked him down both times.  

** Peter is a college student at MIT and Tony brings Morgan up for some trick-or-treating.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Someone Take Me Home by GallagherHunter

summary:  More than a month since May's death Peter is having a less than stellar day at school in the hopes of making it through the day so he can get to the apartment where he's been living with Tony since his world came crashing around him. Meanwhile, Tony has been advised to adopt Peter to assure him he won't leave him.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: bullying

It’s Gonna Be Lit by Pawprinter

summary: What Christmas gift does one get for the man who seemingly has everything?

Peter is struggling to find out.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

I'll Be Home For Christmas by snarkymuch

summary:  May gets called away for work, and Tony steps in to make sure Peter isn't alone for Christmas. Harley, Morgan, and Peter being adorable kids, and Tony being a great dad.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

The power of makeup by SparrowFlight246

summary: Peter shows up to a prestigious awards ceremony with a black eye and a whole lot of regret.

Tony raids Pepper's purse and decides to improvise.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

if you'll be my star, i'll be your sky by ftmpeter

summary: There are two things Tony learns about Peter after Morgan is born.

The first thing is that when it comes to kids, he's a natural.

The second thing is that he's a self-sacrificing little shit.

(Tony already knew that. He has the gray hairs to prove it. But. Still.)

It isn't the kind of self-sacrificing that will get him killed or seriously injured - thank God - but it's just as annoying. Maybe even more, because while he can ground Peter from Spider-Man, he can't exactly ground him from staying up all night to make sure Morgan sleeps through it.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

give the cookies a miss by searchingforstars

summary: “Surprise!” Morgan exclaims as soon as they’re both in the room. She gestures excitedly towards a few slightly sad looking lumps of something drenched in icing and severed onto sticks. There are sprinkles as well, which look like they might have been a nice touch to cheer the entire thing up, had the majority of them not ended up scattered around the surrounding bench space.

“Daddy and I made cookie pops! Well, I made them, he just helped me use the big scary whisk-y thingy. They’re for Katie’s birthday party tomorrow because we all have to bring something yummy to eat, and Daddy wanted to do regular cookies but I told him that was boring. So we made these instead!”

--

or, Peter is poisoned by the ones he trusts most.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

i want to be with you 'til the whole world ends by searchingforstars

summary: The last thing he does as his eyes slip shut is wrap his arms tighter around Peter, as tight as he can manage when it feels like the life is draining from him.

Please, for the love of God, I'm sorry I couldn't do it, but please, please, someone look after this kid for me.

Tony would give anything to make sure that Peter Parker is safe.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have much left to give. He’s about to have nothing left to give.

The world goes dark.

He drifts away.

--

Or, Peter and Tony nearly lose each other.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Of bright autumn days and things that go bump in the night by frostysunflowers

summary: Halloween/fall themed fics featuring plenty of fluff, feels and seasonal shenanigans!

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor, angst

warnings: none

Twelve Days of Terror: A Whumptober Collection by seekrest

summary:

pairings: spideychelle

tags: 

warnings: