#spent a few hours in the er but I’m fine now

[anxiously-avoiding]

PT: so I told you to track how much water you drink. Did you. Uh. Do that

Me: yeah, I did my homework. It was two bags of iv fluids and a milkshake 👍

PT: WTF THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT

[lavender-femme]

.

[cyberghouleo]

bodyguard! simon riley x celebrity! reader

To the displeasure of everyone I know, I got cod brain rot.

Inspired by: Celebrity by Slayyyter

When your manager suggested you hire a new bodyguard after your old one quit, you were not expecting a masked man with an accent to walk through your doors. 

At first, he sees you as a spoiled brat. He’s not used to being a bodyguard for someone famous, he is used to being hired as a hitman in more dangerous situations. He only accepted this job as the pay was good and his last job was nearby, but now he feels as if he's being toted around like a puppy, trailing behind you as you go along your normal day to day life.

Everything was a culture shift to him, he wasn’t used to following his clients while they shop or getting asked if you should purchase something, to which he always responded with “if that’s what you like.” He’s not used to sitting at lunch at a nearby table as your friends drill you with questions about him, questions about the mask and why he looked so differently than your previous guards. He was used to being in stressful situations, spending hours researching his client's attacker while being on alert 24/7, now he was just following you around with no immediate threats happening to you. 

While you're doing interviews or getting your makeup done before a photoshoot, he is sitting across from you in a chair with his arms crossed. He keeps his balaclava on and hardly speaks unless someone tries to deny him access behind the scenes with you. He speaks before you can, “I’m ‘er guard.” he grunts out as he keeps walking past them, following behind you. 

Trying to get to know him felt like pulling teeth, he’s standoffish and when he does answer questions, it's always short answers, even refusing to tell you his real name after you asked. You knew almost nothing about him, but that all changed once you’re alerted that your P.O box is being sent threatening letters, claiming to have a hit out on you. Ghost instructs that you are both to not leave the house until he can gather enough info about your threatener, leaving the two of you alone for several weeks.

These weeks alone cause him to slowly start opening up to you as the two of you have nothing else to do or talk about. You learn about his past clients, how this is his first high status bodyguard job, and his time in the military. He tells you bits at a time, not willing to spill too much at one time, almost testing to see how you respond to each bit of new information you learn about him. During dinner one night, he randomly speaks up. “Simon.” 

“What?”

“My name. Simon.”

It only takes a few weeks for him to track and find the person sending you the threats, and he reassures you that everything will be fine now. He doesn’t show any proof, but you trust him enough to believe him. The weeks you spent together did lead to some tension between the two of you, you are able to see a human side of him that you weren’t expecting, and you could feel yourself getting intrigued by what else you could learn about him. You scolded yourself for thinking this way towards a bodyguard, someone trying to do his job, but you also couldn’t deny the way you were starting to feel when you caught glimpses of his arms flexing underneath the tight black shirts he wore often. 

He slowly starts warming up to you and seeing you in a different light once he spends a few months inside your house. You aren’t as bratty or snobby as he expected. He tries to brush away any lingering thoughts as you ask him to help you zip up your dress, noticing how small your shoulders look under his gaze. Or when you ask him to help you put on a necklace, comparing how small your hands are to his when you hand him the necklace. 

The tension finally breaks when you are in a dressing room alone, waiting around as the photographer goes over the photos one final time before you could leave. You can feel him eyeing you up and down while you aren’t paying attention, his eyes studying the dress you were getting paid to wear and the way it hugged you. One offhand comment from you leads to him lifting you up onto the vanity counter, his mask pulled above his nose as his mouth finds yours, soft moans escaping you. Your panties are pulled to the side as his tongue circles around your clit, one hand pressed against your mouth to quiet you, so the staff doesn’t hear you cumming against his tongue. 

When in large crowds, one of his hands is always pressed against the small of your back as he guides you through the masses, the feeling of his touch lingering on your back even after he pulls away. His other hand resting close to the concealed gun he keeps at his hip, staying alert as his eyes scan through the faces to assess any threats. Crowds will naturally part once they notice how big he is and the way he towers over most of the fans.

The paparazzi gets a photo of you two together, Simon holding a few shopping bags as he trails behind you. The photo is captioned as if he was your secret boyfriend and your fans go crazy, tweeting how cute the two of you are together and how mysterious he was.

“Look, everyone thinks we are dating.” You say as you shove your phone in his face. His eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the photo, reading a comment on how good of a couple the two of you are. He only hums a response and rolls his eyes. He expects you to have a different reaction, shocked that you didn’t find it annoying but almost enduring. The idea of you being okay with the two of you being in a relationship and not just fuckbuddies ignites something deep in his stomach. 

You definitely talk him into taking a few photos of you for Instagram, instructing him on how to frame the photo as he stares blankly at the phone. When you post the photos, comments flood in asking if your mystery bodyguard was the one who took them. You often post stories with him lingering around in the background, only fueling the relationship speculation as fans talk about him living with you.

After the media starts to report more on the two of you, Ghost starts getting more offers from other celebrities to become their bodyguard. He gives them no second thought as he denies them. He will get approached with offers to pay him triple and he still waves them off, he plans on staying loyal as a bodyguard to you and you only, no matter how much they offer him.

Simon decides to make the two of you official by gifting you a necklace with his initial, something you wear and post about often, sending your fans into a bigger spiral. He finds the fans both amusing and slightly disturbing, showing how much love they have for you, yet you only get to call him yours. 

[queenofmistresses]

I want you there

a/n requested by anon! so excited to write all of these requests, I think I’ll keep them in the order of the request on the ask just to help me out lol! Hope you like them!!!!!!!!! Unfortunately I can’t write like I’m it’s based in Ireland- i was raised to talk like i’m middle class even tho we’re poor 😂

I was getting so excited for prom. I had picked my dress, decided how I was doing my hair, and makeup, everything. It was all planned out. It was amazing.

Until James told me that the Doctor Who convention is on the same day. Right when I’d finally plucked up the courage to ask him. What am I meant to do now? I was so excited, even if we were going as friends. It was going to be one of the best nights of my life.

Now, I’m stuck with the guys who asked me. A guy who is an absolute arsehole. Apparently I would rather go with him than alone. I don’t want to go alone. Not after I told Michelle how excited I was about who my date was going to be- avoiding the fact that it’s her cousin.

So here I am. Waiting on the steps in my house. In the dress I spent hours choosing and taking in to fit perfectly. My hair perfect, my make up perfect. And my date barely having spoken to me since he asked me out.

Oh. And he’s late.

Maybe it’s better if he’s late. Maybe it’s better if be doesn’t come at all. Maybe I should take everything off and tell my mum to pretend I’m sick if he does come.

I give up pretty quickly, I never wanted to go with him. I sigh and head up to my room. I stand in my room for a bit, just staring at my reflection in the mirror. I had never felt like I looked nice in anything I wore before. But I went all out. I saved every penny I could so I’d be happy with how I look.

But the more I keep staring at myself, the more I hate how I look. The longer I stand there, the more imperfections I see. I don’t know how long I stay there but before I know it I’m crying. All my friends were out having fun, probably not even noticing that I’m not there. And James is probably having fun at his convention.

I want to take everything off, get into my pyjamas, curl into bed and sleep. Then I can forget about this night completely. I start with my hair, slowly taking the pins out and letting my hair fall down.

Before I get very far I hear a knock on my door. Already frustrated I yell out, “Mum I told you I’m fine. I’m just going to bed and I’ll forget about it.”

“Um- y/n? It’s James.” I hear in response. I quickly scram to wipe my face.

“Hold on! I’m um- changing!” I yell out. When I’ve done the best job I can (which isn’t a very good one to be honest), I open the door and am faced with James. In a suit. And a Doctor Who scarf. With his hair done. Looking so, so handsome.

“James? What are you- why are you- huh?” I splutter out, unable to gather my thoughts.

“Wow. You look amazing. I- wow.” That takes me by surprise. After a moment he shakes his head and realises I’m still waiting for an answer. “Oh! Your mum called, she said your date didn’t show up.”

“Oh. It um really doesn’t matter. I didn’t like him anyway.”

“T-then why do you look like you’ve been crying.” I chuckle at that.

“It doesn’t matter. What about your Doctor Who convention? You were so excited for it.” He shrugs.

“I’ll go to the next one. Do you er, wanna go to prom together?” I almost start crying again at that. He looks so goddamn handsome, I want to mess his hair though.

“I look a mess, you’ll have to give me 10 minutes to fix all this.” I indicate towards my face. He walks towards me, just a few steps, looking almost nervous. “But yes, I’d love to.” He breathes out, smiling. “You can just sit on the bed if you like, and I’ll um try to fix this.”

He nods a little and sits on the bed while I get started on pinning my hair back. I think I can feel him staring at me, one quick glance tells me I’m right. “What?” I laugh, seeing him just watching me.

“You’re just- pretty. I mean you always are but you put a lot of effort into it and you just. You look perfect.” I can’t not blush at that, so I look away and finish off the look.

“Ready?” I ask him. He stands up and holds his hand out for me to take. I slide my hand into his and smile, standing up.

“Let’s go then.”

[mywritingonlyfans]

Longshot // Alex Turner X Reader!

this fic about: you always have the urge (fate, honestly) to meet Alex from time to time in the midst of moments in your life, but you never stay close to each other for a long time, after all, he is not your boyfriend. There's smut in this one!

words: 4,6K.

 Your head hurt, you knew your face was probably red due to your desire to go home and cry, but yet, you convinced yourself to go out for a drink.

 Somehow, you found yourself happy for doing so.

 You couldn't tell Alex was back in town, you briefly wondered why you didn’t know. He always contacted you when he was near (or at least that was what it seemed to be). Still, you were glad to see him there. He was always able to make things better, even if only for a short period of time; which in your case was a very short one as he wasn’t yours to have.

 Alex waved to your friends, they were all familiar to him. He hugged you, giving a small kiss to your head while sitting next to you. Suddenly, you felt like a stronger drink would do you good.

 It wasn’t hard to tell what was going to happen in the next few hours. After a couple of years going through that, you knew the time you spent together always ran the same streets. You guessed that you were able to put his head in place, just as he did with yours; and that was why he always came back to you. You’d never be able to tell if it was luck or mischance.

 “Was it too hard to find me?” You asked him, frowning in a happy face.

 Around now, your friends had moved to another corner. “I mean, I’m not complaining, I’m glad you did.” You offered him a weak smile. He did the same.

He looked tired, yet deadly cute. He had longer curls and no beard anymore.

 He shuffled his chair closer to yours, letting his leg touch your bare knee. “Not really, Miles said he called you in the mornin’, then told me that you intended to visit ‘ere for the night,” he mumbled, blinking eyes to the bartender that he needed a beer, and so did you.

 “Oh, he’s a gossip,” you wrinkled your nose, causing him to offer you a nasal laugh that you had learned to find lovely over the years. “But what has been happening in your world? You’re good?” You tried to sound casual, but deep down you knew he wasn’t there entirely for you. 

 Something was bothering him, he was looking for someone to rely on.

 “Pretty much the same,” he sighed heavily, sitting better on the chair while rolling the t-shirt cuffs to his elbows.

 In the face of this, your throat dried up in anticipation.

 He wasn’t just physically tired. “We finished the last album, I feel exhausted.”

 He looked at you like a lost puppy, watching your face, taking in if you were in the mood to listen to him and even if you were fine with having him around. After all, he came to you out of nowhere.

 He’d never make you uncomfortable, maybe he couldn't tell that yet. “C’mon, let it all out. I haven’t seen you in such a while for you to deprive me of the details.”

 “If I tell you,” he pondered, “ you’ll tell me why you have that runny nose that matches your watery eyes?” He poked your cheek, dragging his fingers so he could put some strands of hair back in place. 

 You cuddled up in his palm, like it was their right place.

 His chair was so close to you that you’d be able to rest your head on his shoulder if you wanted to (without creating any bodily discomfort, not that you were capable of that).

 “I guess life just hasn’t been all that gentle with me lately,” you giggled. “I lost my job last week, the same life shit’s going on as usual, and when I finally manage to move to a decent place, I’ll now be actually going back to sharing an apartment with strangers, because, huh, y’know, I can’t afford being in there anymore.” Your breathing has sped up and you have indeed had to hold some tears to the vague memory.

 Alex was quiet for a while, you needed him more than he needed you, it wasn’t hard for him to tell that. Listening to you made him realize how his worries were nothing at all, not in a mean way, but made him wonder why he wasn’t always around for you when he felt like could/should. He knew that you didn’t mind sharing an apartment with someone, but the loss of perspective was always tough.

 Without further thinking, he pulled you to himself, so subtle yet so significant, fluffing your hair and holding you tight in his grip. You let yourself get involved in his essence, wrapping yourself in his t-shirt. You didn’t cry, but you knew it was possible to read your emotions – at least for him to do so. It could be little, but Alex knew you.

 You took your head off his chest while he still had his arm around your waist. Taking a deep breath, you stared at your laced fingers. You couldn't properly look at him. “I guess it’s all happening at the same time, I’m just not sure how to handle it at the moment.” He held your face in his hand, his mouth close to yours as he ran his thumb over your chin and as soon as your breath met, you felt his lips on yours.

 He was soft and wet, he had the same taste you still had etched in your mind, at that moment it seemed to be all you needed. 

 When he walked away, he was left a few pecks in the corner of his mouth as his forehead rested upon his, making you sigh to feel his hair on your face.

 You two stayed like that for a few minutes and you could bet that anyone who passed by could see how much of a fool you were for him. You tried not to think about it too much, it was better to have little of him than nothing at all. “Al?”

 “Huh?” He murmured with his eyes closed, giving your lips a tickling sensation.

 “Kiss me more,” and then he did. 

 Alex was holding you in place while your hands intertwined around his neck. You played with the chain around it, savoring the touch of his tongue on yours, focusing only on him while pulling at his hair to hear his soft moans.

 It didn’t take long for the bartender to come and get your attention. You laughed nervously at him, you were embarrassed because you didn’t even remember where you were, still Alex seemed untouchable about it, even though he was dead red on the cheeks. He wasn’t one to be embarrassed over small things like that, at least not around you. The bartender was quite irritated with you and just now you noticed that your drinks had arrived and hadn’t even been touched; the guy was rightly pissed.

 Alex stood up, lifting you up with him. You looked in your pockets for your money, but then Al got you. You’d argue, but you thought better and any money left over would be useful. You held both beers in hands as he paid, thanking the old lady for the service, still feeling your skin burning due pure embarrassment, and then headed outside to wait for him.

 “Are you drivin’?” He asked, laughing at your state of awkwardness.

 You bumped into his shoulder slightly, laughing along with him. “I am not, I’m living nearby,” you whispered as he put his hand inside your skirt pocket, bringing you to his side for a walk. “In the apartment that soon won’t be mine, but, huh, how ‘bout you?”

 “Not driving’, I thought ‘bout staying somewhere for the night.”

 He was close to home, but not that close, it’d take about 3 hours to get to where he lives; it seemed plausible that he wanted to stay. “Are you only here because of me?” You risked asking.

 “Yeah,” he took his hand out of your pocket and ran it through his hair, face properly red. “I didn’t think it’d be a bad idea, I think.”

 There was silence, but it was so far from being uncomfortable. “You know you can stay with me.”

***

 Considering that you were in the process of moving to another place, your house was a bit of a mess. Alex wouldn’t be bothered by that, somehow your instinct of needing things always in place - aka Monica from Friends - made you wander around the space in an attempt to make Al at home.

 “What ‘bout the new album?” You asked, dragging one of the boxes away from him.

 It wouldn’t even bother anyone, but the thought that it’d be in the middle of the room while someone was at your house bothered you.

 “I don’t really know, I feel anxious about releasing it. It’s not that I don’t want to release it or am afraid of doing so, far from that, it’s just, I don’t know…” His voice fell silent, lost in his own thoughts. So typical and amiable of Alex.

 You turned to him, wanting to ask him what he had said, after all, that didn’t sound like him, to be insecure. You felt as his hands touched your hips, pulling you on his lap. “Y'know, I don’t care about your mess at all, right? Just, please, stop walkin’ ‘round the house dragging your stuffs, darlin’.” He said with his face close to your neck, hugging you from behind. His warm breath was in contact with your soft skin, providing heat to your body. 

 And well, there was a minimal percentage chance that you were trying to make the place look good for him but just because he made you a little nervous.

 “Okay, fine. I’m fine,” you exhaled, turning to face him. He was smiling with his eyes almost closed; he still looked tired, but at least you were improving his mood. “You know you’re good at what you do, Al. You shouldn’t worry 'bout those things.” You held on to his shoulders, breaking something that could turn out to be a pitiful silence.

 He squeezed your thigh at the same time as he laughed humorlessly at your words. “I know that. I guess that this is the short time they gave us to finish the album – it was drivin’ me crazy. The album isn’t bad, not at all, it’s honestly very good. We did an incredible job, still if it weren’t for the time, oh babe, it could have been even better. That’s crazy how I’m still letting myself get stressed over this, don’t you think?” He vented, moving his hands up your skirt.

 “I know it’ll be good, I can’t think of anything you did that ended up bad, love!” You ran your fingers over his covered shoulders, down to his chest, going to the first open button of his silk shirt. “But if it’s just stress, well, I can help ya.”

 He lubed his lips, nodding assiduously, putting you properly on top of him. That way, you were stuck to his body, feeling the roughness of his flare jeans along with the zipper against you. You gulped as he held your face, sealing your lips with his. You were relieved he always guided you through that. The leading up part was way better when it came from him, not least because he was pretty much able to leave you without the senses with so little. 

 You unbuttoned the rest of his shirt in the middle of sloppy kisses and grips. Then, you ran your hand over his belly, tracing your fingers to the back of his neck while moving your hips lightly. You lugged on his hair, pulling him away a bit to catch your breath. You opened your eyes to find Al with deep pink lips and brown eyes more intense than normal, at that moment you could have sworn that he was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. You spread his shirt to the sides, sensing your body getting hotter, when he smirked at your rush, managing to hold both of your hands behind you, forcing you in place.

 “No need to rush, we have plenty of time, lil’ one,” he clenched you in his hands. You arched your back, breathing heavily at each pressure of his fingers on your wrists.

 He ran his nose over your neck, placing kisses and bites on the way to your collarbone, leaving wet tracks that would later turn into dark marks.

 Your legs ached from that position, the couch wasn’t the best, but feeling Alex getting hard under you as you writhed yourself against him, made you want to stay there for as long as he wanted you to. It was crazy to think that at the beginning of the day you were sure that the rest of it would be a pure disaster, and now being spoiled by his lips your worries were gone.

Temporary as that would be, you were determined to give him your all, making his and yours next hours one of the best escapes from both of you. 

 Unnecessary to say that you were lost in your own mind, craving for having his soft curls in-between your fingers, wanting him tugged into you furiously, causing you to ache. 

 Your mouth was ajar, your vision was just white dots as he played with your sensitive skin, driving you insane. And then, Alex paralyzed when his grip became too strong around your fists and you got louder than usual.

 “D’you like that, huh?” He did it again, but this time pushing your body backward, giving him a better look of your state. He kept his devilish grin on his face, watching you from top to bottom. You bit your lips, containing your noises to yourself, you were such an angel in his eyes. “Up, babe. I need to see something.” He didn’t let you answer, not as if he needed to. You stood up in front of him, legs shaking with your head definitely not in the right place. “Undress, please.” He rested his elbows on his knees, like you were his little show.

 He had an immovable jaw in a serious face, and just like that, you didn’t see any problem in obeying his voice, but perhaps, due to the lack of his body being glued to yours, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

 “Don’t act like you don’t like it when I tell you what to do,” he caught you by the hem of your underwear, helping to take it off while you got rid of your blouse. “Especially, when I just got you off my lap, almost unconscious 'cause of some kisses on the neck, pet.” He added, drawing circles on the inside of your thigh, smoothly going up to your center.

 You felt your breath come to a halt. “You’re just too bossy.” You teased, confirming that your breathing was faulty.

 He patted his nose over the damp stain of the fabric, placing a wet kiss there. “And you love it.” He pecked you a few more, teasing you by running his fingers on the edges as putting the cloth to the side; never touching you where you needed him.

 Taking a deep breath, you've had to hold back a groan; letting the urge to have his tongue and the tip of the nose rubbing you stick to your mind only.

  Involuntarily you took hold of his hair, bringing him closer to you. And then, you understood his previous question, it wasn’t just about not being able to touch him, but also about the power he was having (always had) over you.

 He cut his actions short and got up, hovering over you. “Is that ‘kay, darlin’?” You agreed, mouth dried up, without even being able to words. “So no touching me then, huh?” He whispered, tossing your hair behind your ear, aware of the challenge he was casting upon you.

 That’d be comical in any other situation, but with his body and eyes fixed on your frame you felt in his pure domain.

 You nodded, diving into the way he pulled at the hair on the nape of your neck firmly so that you were looking at him. “Go on, babe,” He insisted on having the words he wanted.

 “Yep, fine, Al,” it was far from fine, you couldn’t do that. 

 How could you go without touching, making a mess of his hair or marking your nails on his back?

 “That’s my girl,” he praised you in between sighs.

 He was excited while your face was overflowing with nervousness; not out of fear, but out of curiosity. He finished taking off his shirt and indicated with his fingers for you to lie down on the couch.

 You shut your eyes tight, with his voice echoing 'my girl’ inside your head. Alex was lugging your wrists above your head as you did what he told you to do. He tied them with his shirt. “Is this hurtin’ you? Feelin’ comfortable?” He tightened it in a knot.

 Your head and elbows were on the arm of the couch, only your hands were unsupported. Although you weren’t uncomfortable, it was to be expected that pain would appear the next day; yet it’d be worth it. “No, it’s fine. I’m good.” You assured him as he knelt beside the couch, running his hands down your torso, making you squirm.

 He went down to the hem of your underwear, taking it off with the help of your legs kicking the lace away. “Good then,” he warbled, pattering lines on your under belly. “Needy and in your proper place.”

 “Bastard,” you swore through clenched teeth.

 He grinned, admiring how your breast rose and fell in a quick but punctual rhythm as your hips fidgeted at his touch. You looked like a piece of art he had just created, swollen lips, filled in lovely marks on the collarbone. He found himself in need to concentrate on his breathing while watching you, to control his pulse as he reached between your legs for further care.

“Al,” you breathed out, forcing your fists in vain. “Go on, please,”

 With that, he held your hands, forcing them down and slid a finger inside you. Your lips opened in a sigh and he took the opportunity to kiss you, running his tongue over your bottom lip and nipping it to his mouth, keeping things on a slow pace.

You wanted to hold his hand, make him go faster or be able to pull the locks of his hair until he understood how much you wanted him, but you had no way of doing that, and you knew he was doing that to provoke you.

 His lips traveled over your neck again, this time giving light kisses, blowing air on the soft fresh he had left in there.

 “You’re so gorgeous,” he said without even opening his eyes, delighting in your skin as he sped up, rubbing his thumb gently over you.

 You whispered something almost inaudible that he recognized as his name. He raised his head, coming face to face with you. “Right there, huh?” He asked, focusing on the spot that was blurring your vision, without speeding up, just kissing you more.

You moaned with the satisfying running fast through your veins, making you go numb in the knees. You closed your legs, wishing you could hold on to his body, but all he did was laugh, shoving his fingers even leisurely into you.

 “No, no, Alex,” you looked at him properly, thinking that if you hadn’t been with your wrists tied you’d have slapped his chest hard.

 He wiped his hand on your thigh, and stood up slipping his jeans down his legs along with his underwear. You sighed at him, stretching your arms, staring at the ceiling to disguise yourself. Not that it was necessary, but Alex was already too much of a show-off when it came to you for your liking.

 “You good? How’s your arms?” He asked with his attentive eyes over your face, Soon, he was on top of your weak body.

 His hair was damp, falling over his forehead. Sweat was glued to his chest and his silver necklace dangled in front of your eyes. For a split second, you thought about saying that you missed him, but you were wise enough to know better than this.

 “If I say that I’m not good. Are you going to untie me?”

 He pressed his chest to yours, your body sticking to his due to the sweat.

“There's not even a single chance,” He stroked your neck with his thumb, up and down, with a silly look on his face.

 You grunted as soon as you felt him against your thigh, he placed himself in-between your knees, holding on to your shoulders, and without hesitation, he filled you up. Your body tingled and your voice failed, causing a silent moan to slip from your lips. His head fell over the crook of your neck and you could feel how dysrhythmic his breathing was. His warm body along with his breath hitting on your neck added a pleasant feeling in your stomach, leaving you dizzy under him.

 “Move Al,” you tried to sound understandable, embracing his waist with your legs.

 He thrusted deeply into you, leaving a groaning sigh of relief in your ears. You stretched out your arms, tightening your thighs around him. He held the shirt in your hands, preventing it from coming loose.

 “No, I wanna touch you,” you whined.

 “You will, just be patient, babe,” he squeezed your wrists in his hand.

 Closing your eyes, you enjoyed the way his body was over yours, every movement and delicate touch.

 He went slowly at first, making sure you were taking all of him, every inch, before going faster. Once he felt your walls clenching around him, he murmured a breathless 'fuck’, letting go of your hands so that you could finally feel him. You dug your nails into his back, kneading your body against his at the same time as he hugged you.

 As you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you, with an intense gaze, building you up so you were feeling nothing but sexy and wanted.

 Both of you were a mess; sweaty and sticky. You felt a tingling ecstasy take all over your body, your toes twitching as you emptied yourself into him. He kept working on you until his body collapsed into yours, filling you up to perfection.

 The last thing you remembered was having your fingers entwined in his hair, patting at it slightly as he whispered sweet nothing against your skin; just like a lullaby.

———–——-

 You woke up to the television, trying to adjust your vision to the brightness of the daylight.

 Failing to stretch, you felt how sore your body was.

 Your eyes searched for Alex, finding him sitting opposite to you with a lazy grin and a cup of tea in hands, his attention was all on you. 

 Friends was playing on the television, but you doubted he was watching it.

 “Good mornin’, babe,'' his husky voice echoed through the room. It was the best thing to hear in the morning, honestly. “How’s it? Hurtin’?” He asked when you started examining your marked wrists.

 He was fully dressed and although you weren’t, he had managed to get a sheet to cover you.

 “Good mornin’. It’s fine, well, huh, it doesn’t hurt,” you mumbled, scratching your eyes, curling up on the sheet. And as much as you wish it could last more, you asked. “How long will you be stayin’ in town?”

 “Not long,” he paused thoughtfully. You already expected that he wouldn’t be with you for longer, still sometimes you liked to think that it’d last longer than just a few nights before he disappeared to another continent. “I need to go home in a few minutes, I’m going to take a flight at night to adjust the final details of the album in LA.”

 “Sounds nice,” you wanted to have the courage to tell him how he made things in your life look just right, as if he were some kind of missing piece from your damage puzzle. “I can’t wait to hear it, hear what your great fingers and mind are capable of.” You ignored your thoughts. He laughed.

 However, you truly believed that not saying anything was a wise move.

 He lifted a cup from one of the boxes next to him, holding it out to you. “I made one for you too, I 'ope you don’t mind.”

 You didn’t mind it, in fact, you loved the way he made himself at home so quickly. The home that soon wouldn’t be yours anymore. You wished Al could remedy your worries for more than just one night.

 “Thank you,” you took the still warm drink in your hands, looking at him as if he were part of your decor. “You can smoke in here, I don’t mind that either,” you spoke up. You couldn’t even imagine that he’d have gone without lighting a cigarette all morning.

“The place is all clean, and smells nice. I bet you never lit one yourself, I wouldn’t do that.” He was right.

“Well, y'know, I don’t care about the smell, I just don’t see the need to leave the house impregnated with it.” You explained, remembering that his place was a perfect description of that smell, yet you loved his warm flat.

 “I know this's going to sound stupid,” he started. “But if you can’t find a place in time to live in, y'know, you can stay at mine. Well, I mean, you know I am never home much and as I’ll be travelin’ you could make yourself at home.”

 He said it casually, and you knew he wasn’t lying. If you wanted to, he wouldn’t even think twice about letting you stay at his.

 “No need, I’ll be fine. I do appreciate it though.” you took a sip of your now cold drink.

 He bobbed, checking what you thought could be the time on his phone.

 “You have to go, I'm afraid?” You asked, your soft voice revealing you didn’t want that.

 “I need to,” he gave you a small smile, getting up. “It’s gettin’ a bit late for me.”

 “I see,” you went to him, adjusting the sheet on your body, feeling ridiculous for still being undressed. “I guess I’ll see you, right?” You added it while he picked up his stuff on the couch; keys, wallet and the pack of cigarettes. There was no answer for your question.

 “Yeah,” he breathed out, heading to the door. “You could come and visit, spend a few days with us. It’d be nice.”

 “To LA? For the album thing? Like I'm one of your groupies?” You wrinkled your nose, jokingly. His arms wrapping around you. You’d miss it.

 He squeezed you into his chest, his growing beard tickling your cheek. “You know you are much more than just a mere groupie for me, babe.”

You didn’t answer that. He pulled away and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you, but he didn’t.

 “See ya, darlin',” instead, he kissed the top of your head. “Think 'bout it, both about comin’ to visit, but also, 'bout needing a place to stay for a while.”

 “I for sure will, thank you, Al,” you watched him, from his rumpled shirt to the red and cute circles under his eyes. He’d always have a special space in your heart. “Well, I think I’ll see ya then.” 

[urban-mutt]

Perfect Someone: Chapter 2 - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW)

Summary: You are a thief! You target old rich men. You drug them and steal from them while they're drink out of their mind. Your last operation didn't go as planned, and now you are an accomplice in a serious crime. And a plaything for your new sick friend.

Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Slurs, Transphobia, Homophobia, Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol, Smoking, Drug Addiction, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Murder, Reader will be abused delulu and traumatized, FTM Reader, trans reader, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Manipulation, Daddy Kink, Forced, Angst, Inspired by Music, Biting, Age Difference emphasized, Sugar Daddy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, dead dove ig

anatomical terms: cunt, boypussy, microdick

words: 4022

ao3 link

So what does being friends mean? Having a creepy Sugar Daddy? No, not just creepy. He is a monster and you saw it. And you can’t do anything about it.

You can leave, but he’s right. You would have to leave the country to never see him again. Preferably north, where your crime career will end. Kinda not even a choice.

He gave you a room so you can go pick up your stuff from the hotel where you stayed and move there.

He also told you to stick to cash, the old-fashioned way. Which you did too. Turns out you don’t have that much money. Lalo asked about how much you made, and honestly you could work at Starbucks with the same levels of stress but less risk.

True, but freedom is priceless.

The next few days were weird. He would leave randomly and come back and not tell you much besides “it was work”. You’re not sure what his job is with such a schedule…

“You wanna go out? Or you’re still upset?”

Lalo asked you while you sat on the couch, watching some YouTube. 

Is he serious? How can anyone be fine after seeing that? You are not that weak. You probably would be fine if not thoughts of it possibly being you… 

“So you rape someone in front of me after telling me you wanted to do the same to me, and now I’m held hostage and I should feel fine?” You growl at him.

You are not scared of him. He can kill you, sure why not, he was planning that anyway!

He exhales loudly.

“You can leave. I just think leaving is dumb, so I let you stay.” Lalo shrugs.

“Is that so? Or you just wanna keep a sex toy that you won't have to kill?” You turn off the TV.

“¿Crees que eres especial?” He chuckles. “I’m just being kind. I don’t need a brat with amateur sex skills to keep as a ‘toy’. That’s why you can leave.” He looks annoyed. “I’m out. I’ll be home late.”

You don’t respond. Maybe sometimes you’re not as smart as you think you are.

Will he be home late? Is it already time for another hunt?

Fuck it. Fuck him. You get up and run to your room to take your still unpacked luggage. This is not what you want. You want to get drunk in the safety of your hotel room and get off to some furry porn like the good old days!

Running from him or running from yourself? Aren’t you a predator too? Didn’t you just help him do it to someone?

You spent half an hour in the hotel just crying. Thinking of what you’ve done. The next half an hour was busy with drinking everything the minibar has. You can afford it today. After all, you earned a lot by helping that freak rape and murder that guy. 

You look at yourself in the mirror after trying to do your makeup in this state. You look like a hooker. You love it.

Same with your clothes. Something weirdos call clothes that are “asking for it”. 

Cheetah top, jacket too big for you, blue tights peeping above your miniskirt. Clips from lingerie that hold stockings in place peeking from under the skirt. No underwear, and thigh high boots with heels, too dirty, too messy. Cool glasses, choker necklace and too many rings on fingers with acrylics you just popped on. Keeping two nails on the dominant hand short, obviously.

You put all your essentials in a handbag and leave the hotel room. Almost falling over on your heels. 

You make your way to a familiar place and drink more. You are not sure what the end goal of this coping charade is… Getting too drunk? Having messy sex with a person you don’t know?  What would someone else do? Probably the same… Nobody should judge you.

After a few more drinks, the barman refuses to pour you more. You leave to keep on going.

As soon as you get sober, you drink more. Then feeling sick, vomiting and repeat.

After another vomiting round, you hear “Hey, this is the men's restroom, princess.”  from behind you. Ah, yeah? You turn around, wiping your mouth, looking at the guy who just said that.

“Do I f-fucking l-look like a woman to you?!” You growl.

“Yeah you do! You’re a hooker? I didn’t know they just let any tramps in here…” Guy says.

Twink right next to him chimes in.

“You’re a tranny?” 

You don’t respond and just hit the first guy in the face. You keep beating him, putting your whole weight into the hits, while the twink tries to stop you. His nose is broken and bleeding, he’s hitting you back, but you’re so drunk it doesn’t hurt. You low-key smile when he starts yelling for help. You're pretty sure you gave him a concussion before the bouncer threw you out.

You walk off to the next destination. Something to eat.

What time is it, by the way?

Everything feels like a blur.

By the time you find a place to eat, you get sober again. Everything hurts now. 

You walk into the diner that looks bad enough to not kick you out for looking and smelling like trash, and sit somewhere far from everyone. Sober thoughts of pain creep into your mind. You can’t help but tear up.

“Honey, what happened to you?” A black, mature looking waitress came over and put a menu in front of you.

You sob louder.

“Men are assholes.” You cry out and cover your face with dirty, bloody hands.

“Oh, hun, they sure are… Go clean up in the bathroom. I’ll get you something, okay?” She took the menu and walked off. 

You get up and wobble to the bathroom. You look at yourself. You look like the final girl in a slasher film. If she was an idiot tranny boy…

You have blood on your hands. You killed that guy. Do you even remember his name? You are a predator, just like Lalo. You are not Lalo’s victim, you are an accomplice. 

You finish freshening up and come back to your seat. Soon the woman brings you some aspirin, gum, a few bandages and food. You thank her for everything while breaking into tears again.

Food tastes four times better after you were starving yourself for so long. You leave a huge tip and run off to get back to the hotel. 

You feel so embarrassed. You shouldn’t feel upset, right? You weren’t forced into that situation, you are just an idiot! You should feel guilty instead.

You are the only one who fucking knows where that man's body is.

Back in the hotel, you shower and finally sleep. Feels like a long nap. You can’t stop waking up thinking about cops breaking in. You look at the dreaded minibar. Refilled. Sometimes you wish you had friends you could talk to…

You take your phone to check what day it is, but your phone is… bricked. Screen shattered, and it won't turn on when you charge it. Good reason to cry and… Take another round at all this.

Who cares what day it is, anyway.

You swear it was at least another two days of you drinking nonstop. Same clothes, same bruises and same stomach pain. 

You care less, though. What stage of grief are we at? Anger? Yeah, you are fucking mad. This is why you got into another fight.

It doesn’t matter anymore. You just dance it all away. Who cares about what happened. As if it is your problem. You are just as much of a victim. Why would you hate yourself for something that asshole did? You feel crazy. Maybe going completely mad will fix you.

“Y/N?” A voice calls out for you.

You don’t turn around to check. Many people with the same name as you on this planet.

But then you hear it again, accompanied by a firm grasp on your shoulder.

“Y/N.” 

You turn and push that someone away. The man grips you by the arm, making you look at him. 

He was right, this country is too small. 

“Fuck off! Fucking rapist!” You push Lalo again, but you fail to make much impact while he holds you like this.

“Have you seen yourself?” He sounds so serious.

“Yeah! I’m fucking hot! Why?” You giggle.

“You look like a hooker.” He frowns. “What happened to your face?”

“I was in a fight.” You try to stand still.

He is silent for a moment. 

“What!? Get off me!” You push him when he doesn’t say anything.

Lalo looks around and then back at you.

“Which hotel are you staying in?” He asks.

“Th—Theh… The red one?” You frown, thinking.

He thinks for a second before pulling you to the exit. You whine but don’t resist. 

“People will think you’re my angry dad, and I’m your thot daughter…” You mumble.

“Yeah.” He agrees, seemingly just to shut you up.

He sits you in the back seat of his car. Well, he tries to. You do not cooperate and kick him lightly, acting like a child. His hand brushes against your exposed, hot cunt. Yeah, you still didn’t wear any underwear, just torn and dirty tights. He stops for a moment, blinking a few times.

“Wh— Where’s your underwear?” He says, confused.

“The fuck you care!? You’re not my dad!” You push on his thigh with your heel.

Your daddy issues are showing.

He exhales with tension and puts the front seat in place. You’re so happy to see him mad at you. Is he mad? Is he thinking of assaulting you? He totally is. Freak he is, he would only think of that.

“Sit. Stay.” He commands before locking you in his car. 

You sit up, annoyed, looking at him smoking outside. 

“Should I feel like a dog or a kid… dogs can feel angry at their owners? He… He is not my owner.” You mumble to yourself.

You lay back, putting your dirty boots places they shouldn’t be. You are so lonely. Your only friend is a guy you fucking hate. 

Lalo comes back, plopping in the driver's seat.

“You feeling sick? If so, then tell me. Don’t vomit in here.” He says as he starts the engine.

“I hope you die.” You look at the stain your heel left on the car roof.

“Not what I asked.” He pulls out of the parking lot.

“I hope you die in a fire.” You mumble.

“Está bien. Lo entiendo. You’re hungry?” He sounds casual, yet tense.

“Hungy… Mhggh.” Thoughts of food make you a little sick.

“We can stop and eat somewhere. Won’t be able to eat at the hotel at this hour.” Lalo says.

“I rem-member. I remember when I made my parents sit and wait until midnight at the hotel bar because they would put-put out ham and cheese sa-sanwinches… An-an-and I liked them a lot… We were not in-in ‘Merica. We… we were on vacation.” You mumble out. 

“Was it a long time ago?” Lalo turns on the blinker and makes a turn.

“It was… I was eight… Uhghh…” You hiccup. 

“Then it was not that long ago, huh.” 

You sit up again.

“It was…” You say as if it offended you. 

“For you, it was.” He chuckles.

“How old are you?” You frown.

“I’m forty-four.” Lalo says it with some sort of pride.

“Ugh… You’re fucking old.” You wrinkle your nose and lay back down.

“Isn’t it why you wanted to rob me? Old and rich?” He laughs again.

You feel small. Feels weird, you don’t wanna feel small. You sob.

“Ay! No-no-no. You’re a big boy. No llores. You got yourself into this mess, you have to be brave and face the truth.” He reaches out to the back to touch you.

“I fucking killed a guy…” You keep sobbing.

“You didn’t. I did. You helped.”

“What’s the difference?! We will go in for the same amount of time!” You yell.

“Shh… Don’t scream. No we wouldn’t. I did enough shit to face the chair. You didn’t.” He strokes your hand.

“Sh— Shit, how many people did you fucking kill?” You wipe your tears with your sleeve.

“I did a little more than just kill, nene… We can talk about it later.” He lets go of you. “We are here.” 

Later?! You want the info NOW! You growl to yourself. 

He pulls you out of the car, leading you to some 24 hour place, it seems. You stumble inside, and he sits you in a corner booth and walks off to talk to the only employee in sight. Good thing, alcohol still lets you see well and be quite aware. You see him pay the guy a bit too much cash and then come back to you.

He sits in front of you, grunting like old guys usually do. You look away, staring into the wall instead.

“Now… What is all this? A temper tantrum? Gonna drink yourself to death?” He sounds so serious. 

Is HE scolding you? For what?! For being upset about what happened?!

You don’t respond.

“Can’t process things like adults do, hm?” He touches your ankle with his boot.

“I’m retarded.” You still don’t look at him.

“Sí, me fijé. It is still not an excuse for acting like that.” He keeps talking.

You watch the lonely employee close the doors. Then another comes out of the kitchen with a plate of food and two drinks. And a few pills. 

They put everything on the table and leave without saying a word. 

“If your scheme is to attract old gay men and scam them…” He continues. “I'll tell you right now, nobody will like you if you keep acting up like that.” He takes a fork and a knife and cuts the meat on the plate for you.

“It doesn’t matter.” You look at the food with no interest.

“Me vale. Eat.” He puts the cutlery down and takes out another cigarette. 

“You smoke a lot.” You say with the same monotone voice, not moving.

Lalo rolls his eyes. 

“I have to quit cocaine somehow, no? Eat.” 

You sit upright, but food still looks scary. You try to lift the fork, but it feels like eating with no hands would be easier.

“Here.” Lalo says as he lifts the fork himself and takes a bite. “It’s good. If you try harder, you can do it. Take the pills too, okay?” He gives you the fork back, putting the cigarette back in his mouth.

Not so scary anymore. It is indeed easy, but you eat really slowly. Some of it falls into your lap. He is watching you eat, he looks weird.

He always did, you didn’t have time to think about it, but he looked like a serial killer all along. With his soulless black, black eyes. Guess it makes sense. But right now he looks kinda upset. What’s he sad for? Weirdo.

You finish your food and drink the meds, and he keeps staring you down. 

“Ready to go?” He puts out the cig on the empty plate.

You nod, unsure.

He helps you get up, and you leave after one of the employees unlocks the door for you.

Feeling clueless is scary. You are scared, kinda. Also, curious. About what the fuck he is, anyway.

You can’t help but fall asleep in the car. Pills couldn’t be sleeping pills, no? No. He said he wouldn't hurt you, right?

This time he wakes you up when you arrive. You are at the hotel you stayed at, so you yourself have to lead. You feel more sober and less in pain now, guess that's what pills were actually for.

You open the hotel room and wobble inside with him holding you. 

He was talking, but to be fair, you are too tired to listen. He didn’t insist on you listening either, it seems.

You are an idiot. A child. He is right. No adult would act like that. 

You fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. When you wake up, the first thing you see is a glass of water. You reach out with no hesitation and drink the whole thing. Your throat hurts. And your body… and your head. You turn around to see Lalo lying next to you, he is writing something in his notebook. You never saw him wear glasses before while doing it…

“I hate you.” You say, your voice cracking. 

He nods in response.

You groan and lay back down. Lalo shuffles behind you. Sounds like he sets his notebook and reading glasses away. He moves closer, hugging you from behind. You shiver, making a displeased grimace. 

“Shh… It’s okay.” He almost whispers. “You stink. Let’s get this off you, baby.” He pulls on your top. 

You groan, pushing him away with your weak hands. He doesn’t stop.

“Come on. You have to pay me back.” He forces the top off you, running his hands over your chest.

He traces your scars gently, reaching out to circle the nipple. 

“Can you feel anything with those?” He chuckles.

You let the dry sob out and shake your head in ‘no’. 

“Claro.”

He strokes your curves and meets your skirt. He pulls it down. You let him do it. Watching Lalo smile. 

“How did nobody rape you yet? Young boys shouldn’t go out dressed like this, you know?” He pulls on your torn tights, taking them off as well. 

Does he actually think that? Or is he just being a bigot on purpose?

“I’m not— It’s not—” You sob and cover your mouth.

“Shh, shh, shh… It’s okay.” He unbuckles his pants. “Don’t worry too much, okay? I don’t want people to hear you cry.” 

That is not reassuring at all.

He pulls out his dick, already quite hard. 

“P-please, don’t do this…” You cry out as quietly as you can, your voice cracking again. 

That only makes his cock throb.

“Yeah, keep talking like that. Just don’t scream, okay? Be quiet for Daddy, okay?” He strokes himself while petting your hip gently.

Daddy? No way. You choke on your sob.

He moves closer, spreading your legs for himself. He gently puts two fingers in.

“You’re not a wet kind, huh?” Lalo looks up at you.

No you’re not, especially not without foreplay. First time was like that too…

“I’m sorry…” You cover your face. 

“No hay nada de qué disculparse…” He gets up to look for a lube that you obviously have. “We all are different…” His tone is gentle and quiet.

As if he's trying to catch a wild animal. One tree branch snaps and you’re gone.

He finds lube and comes back to you. He is gentle and slow. Doesn’t change much though… you still don’t want him. You just wonder why he didn’t do it when you were knocked out? Why do you have to be conscious for this?

He fingers your cunt, slowly stretching you out. You take three fingers easily, physically ready for him.

“Do you have to be a brat? Can’t you be at least somewhat thankful?” He stops.

You swallow a lump in your throat so you can speak. It doesn’t help, though. It only makes tears fall off your lashes.

“You hate me that much?” He chuckles. “I saved your life and that's what I get, huh?” 

He can’t actually believe his words, right? He is just being an asshole on purpose, right?

Lalo doesn’t wait for your response and just pushes himself inside you. He exhales in satisfaction. You want to push him away, but what if he has his knife? What if he will just kill you?

You break out crying.

“Oh, yeah, baby, that's good. Llora por mí. Llora por Papá.” He pulls you closer, almost hugging you.

You wrap your hands around him. Carefully, trying to feel the knife on his belt. He doesn’t mind it, just begins to move slowly.

There’s no knife, still he can just choke you to death… Like he choked the guy you helped him rape.

“You know why I like when they cry?” He is right next to your ear, you feel his chest and neck vibrate along with him talking. He pets you gently. Soothingly.

“W-why?” You ask, almost with no sound. Your throat is too stiff to talk.

“Their holes spasm around me. Feels great. Especially if I scarred them inside beforehand…” He keeps on with shallow, gentle thrusts. 

“Scarred?” You ask, though you don’t want an answer… Talking feels grounding somehow.

“Sí,” He picks up the speed slowly, “I fuck them with a knife or something else sharp, like glass. I wouldn’t put my dick in if it was glass, though… Tiny shards can get caught inside.” He is quite casual about it. Too casual.

He feels good though… His dick fills you up well, too well. How unfair. Perfect dick on a perfect man who has no soul. 

You make a tiny gasp, trying to keep yourself together.

“They—They— They must hurt f-from that—”

Lalo chuckles, changing position. Now he keeps you in a tight hug while still moving. Not so gentle anymore, but still pleasant. 

“Oh, ellos lo hacen. They scream and beg. Some pass out, some stay awake and watch me fuck their bleeding holes. Mggh—” Lalo breathes heavily, clearly enjoying this conversation.

“Ha-hh—” You speak up. “Like that— One— uh, serial killer… Ah— Do you— Do you put needles and lead balls in their— Their— Genitals too? Hah—”  And you finally relax in his hands.

Lalo laughs. Fuck, he is sick. Unfortunately, hot too…

“Where do you know all that from, huh? Your parents didn’t track what you were watching as a kid?” Lalo moves lower to kiss and bite your neck.

“Nh-nh— No. They didn’t care about me m-much.” 

“Right. If they did, you wouldn’t fuck a man as old as me…” 

Lalo bites and sucks on your skin, leaving marks, then he licks them as if he is a dog caring for a fellow's wounds. He pulls you up, sitting you in his lap, not stopping moving his hips, still hugging you. You hug him back again.

“Mgh— My baby is sick, huh? So lonely, he has to fuck old guys for a living?” He growls in your ear.

“I d-don’t f-fuck them!” You protest, hiding your face in his neck.

“Yeah? Why scam them, then? Holding a grudge? Your dad beat you or something?” He chuckles.

“Yellow…” You bite his shoulder.

“So you know what a safe word is, huh?” He locks his hands on your hips, leaning away to look you in the eye. “Then don’t complain about me raping you today. Sabías cómo detenerme.” 

With that he let himself loose, fucking you harder. Does he know what yellow means!? Guess it doesn't matter… You indeed let him. It is your fault, not his. 

He cums inside shortly after, insisting on making you come too. You hesitate, but It's nothing to him. You’re scared to say the safe word now… What if he will be upset?

He laps on your boypussy, paying close attention to your microdick, while fingering you until you are done.

He sits back, licking his lips, breathing heavily.

“Hope that wasn't fake…” He stares at you.

You swallow.

“I-I— I don’t know how to fake it…” You hold onto the sheets, violated and embarrassed. 

He raised his eyebrows in a comical, cartoony expression before breaking out laughing.

“Eres un chico afortunado, ¿eh?” He keeps chuckling. 

You look away in shame.

He lays next to you, pulling you closer. You let him embrace you. He kisses the top of your head while stroking your back.

“Tell me more about those scary stories you watch.” Lalo purrs.

“You know one where a real story about guys kidnapping and raping a girl for days was turned into a very graphic manga?” You ask.

“Nope, but… I’m intrigued.” You can hear him grinning.

[myloveforhergoeson]

tw: discussion of scars + childhood injury

“woah… what’s this?”

gingerly, roxy caught james’ left wrist between her calloused fingers, turning his forearm to face her direction as they cuddled on one of the many lounge chairs by the pool. with his well maintained tan from hours spent in the los angeles sun, the thin white line was almost impossible to spot; she’d certainly never noticed it before today.

thumb swiping over the scarred area, she felt james slightly flinch at her touch. “it’s nothing… old injury.”

removing the right arm slung around her waist, he shifted to the left a bit, dark sunglasses obscuring the look on his face. he covered the mark with his hand for a moment, palm over the area like a bandaid, before taking a breath and gathering his girlfriend in his arms once more.

with her ear to his chest, she could hear his heart race. though that might be due to their proximity, the feeling of his palms growing clammy on her bare skin told her otherwise.

she silently praised her choice of a red crop top for the day.

“i’ve got one on the back of my leg,” she said in response to the chill, moving her right foot into the air and wiggling it a bit to ease the tension she could sense radiating off of him in waves. “one of dani’s dogs didn’t like me very much. i got too close to her one day and she really decided to let me know… god, that shit hurt like hell.”

one of his brows raised, signifying she’d caught his attention. “you had to know that she didn’t like you. dogs are super vocal about that type of thing aren’t they? like, missy really hates logan. we think she can sense he’s more of a cat person.”

“i know you’re not blaming me for being viciously bit by a crazy animal right now. everybody else loves me! why should i assume bear felt any different?”

air shot out of his nostrils in a silent chuckle, tickling the top of her head, almost going unheard against the chatter of other hotel patrons on the deck around them. “the dog was named bear?! baby, you were totally asking for it!”

visions of the black labradoodle ran through her mind, much like how bear loved to run through dani’s family’s large, open property. “she was a total sweetheart when mag and dani were around her… maybe she doesn’t like gorgeous, talented women or something.”

james’ nose exhale turned into full on laughter, roxy practically bouncing off his chest as his body shook at her words.

from the table beside their lounger, roxy reached out to take a drink of the lemonade she’d picked up from the cafe, offering the cup out to her boyfriend as well.

after a long, slow sip, james’ free hand set it down before sinking into her long hair. instinctively, her arm draped around his waist. “i forgot to put the blade guards on my skates after practice one night. coach worked us so hard that day i was just happy to get off the ice and get home; too distracted by what my mom might be making for dinner to think straight. walked out of the arena with my bag in one hand and my stick and skates in the other, hit a patch of black ice before i reached her car, and ended up cutting myself up pretty darn good.”

just the thought of the sharp, stainless steel of an ice skate anywhere near her skin caused a shiver to crawl down the girl’s spine. “that must have been awful…”

“well a trip to the er, sixteen stitches, and a bunch of ibuprofen later i was feeling just fine. i think my ego was more bruised than anything. my mom was super freaked though.”

“well yeah,” roxy nodded, finger rising to trace the lines of the soft black tank top james wore, “any mom would be worried about such a substantial injury. i’ve never had stitches but i imagine sixteen means it was very big and very deep.”

closing his eyes, james took another breath. “deep? yes. big? eh. nothing like the time carlos got a metal plate put in his head.”

“jesus christ. i’m going to pass out just thinking of it…” her hand curled into a fist, taking the smooth fabric with it.

a few kids from their class were starting up a game of volleyball in the pool in front of them, sounds of shouting and splashing water distracting the writer from their conversation momentarily.

“but you’re right,” james continued. “my mom was worried - just not about me. more about the mark it would leave than anything… she even called an emergency meeting for her product development team to start work on a scar cream. i still use it to this day.”

roxy chose not to comment on the success of the cream if she was still able to see the mark that remained on her boyfriend’s skin, though her heart panged at his words. clearly, brooke’s concern had reached him, just for the wrong reasons. she saw it in the way he instinctively covered the area when she’d mentioned it, in the solemn way he discussed the product he still used, months, maybe years, after his accident.

without thinking, her fingers caught his wrist again from where they tangled in her locks and pulled his forearm to the sun once more. the scar stood out more prominently to her now, and now she couldn’t even remember what he looked like without it. it was part of what made james james. “she shouldn’t have made you feel that way... it was an accident; you were seriously hurt. who cares what it would look like in the future? what should have mattered was your safety in that moment and beyond.”

he didn’t respond to her, gaze somewhere off in the distance behind the tint of his shades. this time, when roxy swiped her thumb over the area, he didn’t jump.

“we all show concern in our own way i suppose,” he whispered into her hair, placing a kiss on her crown before resting his chin there.

as they cuddled by the pool, james hugged roxy just a little bit tighter.

[baronessblixen]

Mulder says yes when asked if he's the husband in order to stay with scully....go

Together with this prompt: Scully wakes up in Empedocles to see Mulder laying his head on her bed holding her hand. She asks how he managed to get in her room. He replies, “Well we might be married now.” Set in "Empedocles", obviously.

Fictober Day 11 | Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2022 | Wc: 1,224

Everything Will Be Just Fine

“Who are you? The husband?” Mulder makes his decision in a split second, looking at the ER nurse, seeing Scully being wheeled away from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Agent Doggett rush toward them. What is that guy even doing here? It doesn’t matter. What matters is Scully and that one question. Who is he, really?

“Yes,” he says, hoping she won’t have time to check Scully’s paperwork. “I’m her husband. I’m the- the-” How easy it is to lie about being married to Scully, and how difficult it is to spell out the true words. Who he is. To her, to the child she’s carrying. Who might be in danger.

It’s enough; the nurse pushes him through the double doors and into a whole new world before Doggett can speak to him.

Mulder’s only job in the ER is to hold Scully’s hand while they work on her. He picks up a few things here and there, not understanding much. Scully is the medical doctor, and she’s just lying there, with her eyes closed.

“You’re going to be okay,” Mulder mumbles, half to himself.

“You’re here,” she says weakly, trying to turn her head to look at him, but then another nurse steps in between them, making him let go of her hand.

“Sir, you better wait over there.” She points to the corner. “We need to make sure your wife and baby are okay.”

With one last look at Scully, who’s anxiously staring at the monitor, Mulder does what he’s told. He stuffs his hands into his coat pockets, feeling useless. He watches the doctors take care of Scully, talking to her. He sees her nod. Was that a smile on her face? He wants to know what’s going on, too. Later, he’ll ask her and she’ll explain it to him. Once they know the baby is fine.

The baby.

He’s seen it before. There were several sonograms pinned to Scully’s fridge. He observed every single one of them. Then, one night, he found one in his own bedroom. He stared at it for a long while, his finger tracing the tiny shadows again and again until tears fell from his eyes.

But today is the first time he’s really seeing it. Over there on the monitor is the baby – their baby – and its heart is beating. One beat after another, never stopping. Their baby is tough. Mulder finds himself drawn to it, wanting closer. Needing to make sure this is real.

“Your baby is okay, Mr. Scully,” a nurse says and he needs a moment to understand that she’s talking to him. Mr. Scully – that’s him. He’ll change his name, be anyone, if he gets to be here.

“My- my wife?” The word should feel wrong from his lips, but it doesn’t. Not even a little bit. It comes easily to him, like the most normal thing in the world.

“We’ll put her up in a room now. Everything is going to be okay,” the nurse says with a smile, and Mulder is so overwhelmed with relief that he almost hugs her.

*

He doesn’t know what they gave Scully to sleep, but it must have been the good drugs. What is it about them and hospitals? They’ve spent half a lifetime between bad cafeteria coffee and uncomfortable hospital chairs. His heart hasn’t quite caught up yet.

They’re going to be fine.

The doctor confirmed it again when Mulder walked into Scully’s room, now set up more comfortably. She was fast asleep, her head rolled to the side, just the way she’s been sleeping lately. The sight of her filled him with love. Lately, she’s falling asleep everywhere, her head falling against his shoulder more often than he’s used to. He wants to get used to it. Mulder wants to hold her hand through all of it, the good and the bad.

That’s why he’s still here, hours later. Scully hasn’t woken up once. Skinner has called him a few times and he’s told him in no uncertain terms that he won’t go anywhere until Scully wakes up. Exhausted himself, he rests his head on her bed, right next to her arm. Just for a moment. He closes his eyes, and listens to her even breathing. It’s always been his favorite lullaby.

“Mulder? Is that you?” Fingers run gently but uncoordinated through his hair.

“Hm? Scully? Hey, you’re awake.” He lifts his head to look into her droopy face. He’s never been more in love with her. “How are you feeling? Do you remember anything?”

“A little bit… the baby,” she says, putting a hand on her stomach.

“The baby is fine,” Mulder assures her, putting his own hand next to hers. “The doctor said you had a partial abruption. You’ll know better what that means.”

She nods and says, “I do. I guess they’ll monitor me for a while but we’ll be… we’ll be fine.” She poses it as a statement, but he sees the question in her eyes, the hint of uncertainty. He takes her hand into his, entwines their fingers, and kisses her knuckles.

“You’re going to be just fine. The both of you. Trust me, I pestered every nurse and doctor.” They smile at each other.

“Do I want to know how you convinced them to let you stay with me?”

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “We might be married now.”

“What?” Scully asks, smiling in disbelief. How he missed that smile. He doesn’t want to spend another moment without seeing it.

“It’s family only,” he explains. “The nurse asked if I was the husband and I-”

“You said yes.”

“I did. You’re not mad, are you?”

“I’m too tired and too drugged to be mad. But no, Mulder, of course, I’m not mad. I’m happy you’re here.” She squeezes his hand. From the looks of it, he won’t have much time with her before she falls back asleep. Any questions he might have wanted to ask will have to wait. There will be a right time for all of it.

“I saw our baby,” he says, awe-struck. “I saw its heartbeat.”

“Hmm,” Scully hums sleepily, her eyes closing, but her lips are curled upwards in a soft smile. “Maybe,” she trails off, her voice slow. He watches her, blinking slowly, fully prepared to not hear the end of her sentence. Then she surprises him, his Scully. “Maybe you can come to my next appointment. Husband or not,” she says without opening her eyes.

“I’d love that.”

“But first,” she says with a sigh. “First I want to have a pizza.”

He laughs, his eyes filling with tears. His Scully. Their baby. They’ll all be just fine.

“I think we can arrange that.”

[thenightlymirror]

The last year of living by myself has really made me feel like maybe I could live anywhere. I really wasn’t sure. My life is entirely my job now. When I go to see friends, it’s just the people who hired me.

I am a little surprised how few people I know despite the fact that I basically live in the same city I’ve lived in all my life. I go out on the weekend to get a slice of pizza, and other than the kids working behind the counter, it’s just me. Sitting in my car in the parking lot, it’s just me. Napping in my easy chair in my apartment for two days waiting for Monday, just me.

When I was feeling woozy and nearly passed out alone in my apartment two months ago, I drove myself to the ER in the hopes that I wouldn’t have a stroke and crash on the way there. Nothing happened. I just got fed up after waiting in the lobby for an hour and a half and drove back home, and felt woozy for another week or so after.

I just finally had some tests done and I’m fine. I’m very anemic. But, I think I probably just had inner ear vertigo from being out in the cold for several hours the day before.

A digression on anxiety. I know I spent about a year of my life being gaslit that I wasn’t dying when I was, but I feel like maybe I can account for some of my ailments as just anxiety if I can expand the term to include more than I intuit.

I know what anxiety feels like, I assume. An anxious person is easy to spot. Flittering about. Second guessing. Hesitating. Picky. Makes things difficult and needs things to be their specific way which sometimes makes them an asshole with or without any self-awareness of this fact.

I have a certain thing that happens to me, where I feel some ineffable problem coming on, like I’m going to lose control of my leg, or my arm. I imagine a blood clot roaming around, in my gut, in my neck, my eye. Losing focus briefly and thinking, “It’s in my brain now.” I woke up twice before my pulmonary embolism with my leg paralyzed. I think what I imagine is that I’m about to lose some part of my body from the map of my mind. Nothing ever happens. I guess that one time I felt like I was going to fall down, but I didn’t. For several days, I felt almost stoned. Like my consciousness was just “off”.

Is that anxiety? Maybe.

It could just be that my anxiety manifests itself in this very specific worry. It isn’t necessarily Multiple Sclerosis.

I’m when I felt that strange vertigo, I just told myself, keep walking, nothing will happen. And nothing did. After another two weeks (two weeks!) it went away.

I know there’s other things. I supposedly have social anxiety, though no one has ever seen it. When I had a therapist, she said my alienation from other people was trauma from being bullied as a kid. Otherwise groundless. Could you imagine? Anthony Cox has no grounds for feeling alienated from other people. He just has trauma from being bullied as a child. What if that was true? Could you imagine?

That makes me think of the last time I saw my brother’s wife. She was with us in Wisconsin when I went canoeing with my parents and some of their friends down the Namekagon River. She’s my parents’ age, scientist. (Church of Christ, Scientist.) Smarter than most people. She had no problem talking to my parents’ friends from the bar. Sports or TV or whatever. I hardly remember. But I tend to be sort of quiet and miserable in those situations. I really don’t want to be, or come off that way. This is almost ten years ago now. I don’t feel any differently now.

But my brother’s wife’s impression was that I’m insecure because I’m fat. Haha. You know, that her grandma was fat, and everyone loved her. So I shouldn’t feel so bad about it. Hahaha I DON’T. Hahahah I have never known anything else. I know my perception of human nature is probably a bit different from most people’s because I have never been treated nicely just because I was good looking to anyone. Amazing to me that anyone on Earth exists that can take this for granted, but it’s actually most people. Most people walk into situations with strangers and the strangers do not secretly find them horrifying. They walk into situations and 20% of the time, someone could imagine having sex with them. Or something like that. Some people might walk into situations and most people treat them nicely because they would like the opportunity to fuck them, or respect the fact that other people would want to fuck them. Absolutely wild to me.

But most people aren’t totally fascist or so victimized that they are ever even conscious of this. Every once in a while they just see an unpleasant looking person, cross themselves, and put it out of their minds.

Anyways. All I know is that most people bore me to death, and this boredom is, worst case scenario, probably something that precedes people and their interests. My boredom comes first, and it finds reasons later. I become interested in things that are obscure and I like them because no one notices them. And then I feel isolated when no one can relate.

But I’m not sure I’m even interested in things anymore. Culturally, Harper is interested in pretty basic stuff. Star Wars and anime and stuff. But she can have a conversation about anthropology or linguistics or music theory or Palestine. That means a lot to me. It feels like I live in the same universe.

Or, the other thing. I’ve been listening to Otherworld and just constantly in this paranoid twilight zone where I feel the schizophrenic color of life turned way up all the time lately. Is that just anxiety? A very specific kind of anxiety. But I’m just some kind of snowflake and I think my anxiety is special? I’ve got 12-dimensional anxiety.

I guess I feel a deep loneliness around people who don’t feel any anxiety. What the fuck is wrong with them? And I don’t even like to feel vain anxiety. I’m pretty chill honestly. The world’s just fucked and I’m pretty calm about it, considering. Sometimes people channel this anxiety into very specific vices and scapegoats and that can be boring too.

I try to be very tolerant and forgiving with all of it. I think there’s other people alive in this world, somewhere, a lot less tolerant and much more happy than myself. Never the twain shall meet. Some other universe, these people. A little self-respect and a lot of petty snobbery and they’re living off pure sweet fat of the hog, posting liberal memes on facebook somewhere. Drinking at the bar watching the Lion’s game. Doing the same shit as everyone else anyway.

[rn-zane]

LOCATION: The Emergency Room TIMING: Current SUMMARY: Chance has to go to the ER. Again. Zane is not a huge fan of reckless behavior.

It was always a strange sort of solace, clocking in at the ER. It was hectic and definitely heartbreaking at times but here, the pace of his thoughts finally seemed to match the outside world. Zane functioned here whereas back home, with Alma, he felt more like a child. It wasn’t a bad feeling, being protected and cared for but there was purpose to be found at the ER. And tonight was an easy one, assigned to the smaller cuts, bruises and dislocations. No fear of needing to call the crash cart or gnarly wounds that stayed glued to his retinas hours after he saw them. 

The last patient had made his heart swell, a young girl with a greenstick fracture in her forearm from being pushed at the playground. He’d taken a bit too long with her, Zane knew that, but placing a ridiculous amount of stickers on her cast after he’d put it on had seemed necessary. She’d had a predisposition for dinosaurs and had insisted on sticking one to his name badge before leaving. 

His next patient was older, 21 year old male with a sprained elbow. X-ray had come out fine so Zane just had to fix him up and send him on his way. There wasn’t much in the doctor’s note about the injury, not that it mattered, but an elbow sprain wasn’t too common in patients this age. 

“Hi, there. I’m Zane, gonna be fixing up that arm so it doesn’t get messed up further,” he said cheerily, still on a high from his new young friend from before, as he walked into the room. 

—--

Chance’s arm hurt like hell, but he was trying to stay positive. He also wasn’t particularly thrilled to be reminded how unfond of hospitals he was. He hadn’t been in an emergency room since he was a little kid, and for obvious reasons had avoided them like the plague ever since. The last few months had ruined that philosophy a bit. Between stitches and more than a few sprained limbs, Chance had spent more than a couple late nights lounging in the chairs of the lobby and waiting to be seen. It never stopped him from rushing from the place as soon as he possibly could.

He wasn’t convinced that his arm wasn’t broken. At least that was how it felt right about now. Chance had never had a particularly high pain tolerance, mostly because he had always avoided anything that could lead to injuries as much as he possibly could. His new lease on life had come with a questionable sense of self preservation. But what did it matter anyways? Once he was a zombie an injury like this would heal in no time. If anything, he should be annoyed that he wasn’t already dead. At least then the pain would be over quickly.

Chance wiped any doubt or emotion from his face as soon as he heard the nurse come in - replacing it with a bright and easy smile. At the beginning, the smiles seemed impossible to fake. Now, Chance had faked it so much that he was pretty sure he had made it. “Howdy Zane. My chart should tell you that I’m Chance. And should hopefully tell you that I’m good to go yeah? It’s not broken right?” He was going to tell himself that until it was true.

— 

This guy was peppy and, thankfully, not drunk. Zane didn’t really have a fondness for dealing with drunk people since they made everything twice as hard. “Well, Chance, you are actually correct. Badly sprained though, so you’re going to sporting one of these bad boys for a while.” Zane turned to the man, holding a roll of elastic bandage he’d need to wrap the arm up in. “Got a choice of plain blue or red with hearts. Also, got some painkillers if you want them.”

He brought both rolls and the plastic cup of pain meds over to the metal table situated next to Chance, dragging up a rolling chair to plop down onto. “It’s better than a cast but you’re still going to need to be careful for the next few weeks.” Glancing up at the guy, Zane wondered how he’d gotten the injury. He didn’t look like he’d been in a fight and tripping was uncommon without alcohol or icy sidewalks. 

“Doing alright? I’ve heard these can really hurt.” He paused for a second, making a motion for the man to uncover his arm. “How’d you sprain it?”

—--

Hell yeah, not broken! Wearing a sling wasn’t too bad, at least when compared to how bad the injury could have been. Once again, Chance scrapes by without major injury. Must be this positive attitude he keeps. “No contest. Red with hearts, obviously. I have a reputation to uphold.” He wasn’t quite sure what that reputation actually was, but it seemed like the right thing to say in the moment. “I may be an idiot, but I’m not a masochist. I’ll take the pain meds.”

Careful wasn’t exactly Chance’s forte, at least not anymore, but maybe he could manage to minimize his risks of injury at least long enough to get out of the sling. It would certainly keep Ariadne’s blood pressure lower for a few weeks. 

“Oh, it hurts like hell. But I’m powering through.” Chance grinned at the man, hoping that was an indicator of his attempt to ignore the pain. “Oh, it was no big deal. I was with a couple of friends at Champlain Falls and one of those dudes dared me that I wouldn’t jump off the falls” Chance said this as incredulously as he felt when the guy had first baited him, “Obviously I had to prove him wrong. And I did obviously. But I missed have hit something on my way down.”

—

Zane snorted out a quiet laugh at the young man’s choice of wrapping, having somehow suspected what the answer would be all along. It was nice to feel almost giddy at work for a change, all warm from the last encounter and the easy joking this one brought. Just as he grabbed the arm to make sure it was ready for wrapping, the cause of the injury made itself clear. 

“You what?” His eyes widened, staring incredulously at the younger man. A dare. A sprained elbow that could have ended broken or with him lying comatose somewhere, all for a dare? Like an unexpected slap, it hit Zane where he recognized the name Chance for. “You’re the humblebrag guy from online, aren’t you?” he blurted out, shaking his head at the realization. “No wonder you’re always in the ER if someone can literally tell you to jump off a cliff and you do it.”

A resigned sigh left him, good mood slightly spoiled now because people could be dumb. And what kind of friends would dare someone to jump off a cliff? Bad friends, at least in Zane’s books. He turned the arm in his grasp, gently despite the mild annoyance building up. This guy was reckless but a patient nonetheless. “What, someone else dared a friend to bite you, then?” 

The teeth marks on Chance’s arm looked pretty well healed but still visible, clearly just one of the many marks this guy had managed to litter his body with despite only being 21. 

—

The mood noticeably shifted once Chance explained the reason that he was there. He wasn’t exactly surprised. The emergency room staff never seemed particularly impressed with any of Chance’s injuries and even less so with the cause of them. Especially the nurses that had dealt with him on more than one occasion. That may have been how he had finally ended up with Zane. All the usual people passed him off. 

“Okay, well technically no. They didn’t tell me to jump off a cliff. They told me I wouldn’t jump off a cliff. And I have a thing about proving people wrong.” As if that was any sort of defense. Chance surprised himself with the small twinge of embarrassment he felt in that moment.. Something about being scolded by someone similar in age to him hit harder than when the nurses decades older did it. That feeling was doubled when the man spotted the bite. It wasn’t a big secret or anything, but it wasn’t something that Chance was readily prepared to explain. He could feel his cheeks blushing, but he persevered through them and maintained the same, easygoing composure that he always held, “Couldn’t tell you. I’d like to say it was a night to remember but… well, I don’t remember it.”

Chance sat helplessly while Zane inspected his arm, “Do you make it a habit of judging everyone that comes into the ER?”

—

Shit. Zane had felt the steady pulse heighten slightly as he… well, as he scolded the younger man. It was a bad habit, and unprofessional to boot, but worry tended to come out as annoyance. Chance’s cheeks were turning red and yeah, wasn’t that just a punch to the gut. Way to make sure he never gets any wound checked out ever again, Zane. 

Meeting the man’s gaze with earnest regret, he turned it so that the offending bite mark was no longer in view. “Honestly? Sometimes, and I shouldn’t. I scolded an old lady once for mixing up her medication and basically giving herself arrhythmia because she was too stubborn to get a prescription delivery.” She hadn’t deserved it and obviously, this guy didn’t either. People did stupid stuff and at least Chance had the good sense to get his arm checked out. “I’m sorry. Really. You wanna do a dare, that’s literally none of my business.” He offered what he hoped was a comforting smile, finally starting the task of wrapping up the guy’s arm so he could get out of here like he clearly wanted to. Instead, he’d gotten berated for his, admittedly stupid, choices. 

“Not like everyone doesn’t do stupid things from time to time,” Zane spoke up after a moment, eyes on the task at hand. “I think I was six or seven when I got dared to swallow a rock. Don’t think I’ve ever seen my mom that mad.” She’d eventually had to take him to the hospital, something their people really didn’t fancy doing (what’s the use for medication when the world will end soon, anyway), when his stomach pains had gotten too severe. “Probably would have cried if some nurse had basically hinted at me being an idiot.” The nurse had been nice, kind, and it was a nice interaction to remember instead of getting focused on his mother at this moment. 

“There.” Zane tucked away the end of the bandage, making sure it was all set in place. “No heavy lifting and maybe no cliff jumping for the next few weeks, at least?” A smile, hopefully conveying the message of a joke and not another jab at him. “Oh, and…” As an afterthought, Zane peeled the dinosaur sticker from his name badge, tapping it gently onto the already colorful bandage. “For me being a total dick. And you hopefully not complaining to my supervisor”

—-- 

Well, shit. Chance had thought the two were just building some rapport here, but apparently the only thing Chance had accomplished was making the man feel like a bad person and worse nurse. All Chance had really wanted to do was deflect from receiving any valid criticisms of his own poor decisions. Chance hated taking anything too seriously, but he also hated the idea of anyone hating him more. So some back peddling would need to be done. 

“Hey, dude. Just to be clear I was like one hundred percent joking.” Chance tried, attempting to keep the mood light while also becoming as somber as possible. “I am fully aware that jumping off a cliff wasn’t my brightest moment. I don’t actually care that you think I shouldn’t go cliff diving on a regular basis. We both know who is actually right here. Just like it was totally that lady’s fault for mixing up her medication.”

At least Zane’s anecdote gave Chance a good reason to smile again, “Hell yeah. So what you’re saying is that you’re a daredevil too? Or six year old you was, at least. I dig it.”

As Zane finished up wrapping the bandage, Chance realized that he’d be escorted out. He didn’t love the idea that he may leave with the nurse thinking he was actually offended by anything said. “I’ll try to refrain from cliffs. I’ll stick with steep hills or flights of stairs instead.” Chance studied the dinosaur sticker on his bandages and laughed, “This is adorable and I will cherish it until it inevitably falls off.” He used his unbandaged hand to pat the sticker down for good measure. “How about I consider not sending in a formal complaint if you consider hanging out sometime? Seriously, my cousin would be thrilled if I made a friend that didn’t dare me to dive off cliffs regularly.”

–

It was huge weight lifted, seeing the conversation and mood move back to solid ground. With relief that he’d neither jeopardized his job nor the odds of Chance returning with his inevitable next injury, Zane felt like he could (metaphorically) breathe again. “Oh yeah, totally wild,” he said sarcastically, a small smile playing on his lips again now. It was funny to think that under any other circumstances, this back and forth banter would have felt pretty much impossible. Something about being in the hospital, scrubs on and persona solidified, made it so much easier to talk to people. A confident guy like Chance would have had Zane either fumbling for words or keeping his distance if they’d met anywhere else. 

Eyes rolling at the joke, Zane made a decision not to comment on it, part of him feeling like there was maybe a little bit of truth to the words. Best keep away to spare the guy from another one of Zane’s worry scoldings. As he was wondering how many guys he’d met around his own age who would have, A, chosen a heart spattered bandage and B, been this happy with a dinosaur sticker, Chance caught him off guard. 

Hang out sometime. Was that something people were able to just casually ask each other without freaking out about the response? Also, he wanted to hang out with Zane minutes after proving just how uncool he was about literally anything exciting? A bit flustered, it took him probably a bit too long to respond, at least longer than anyone sane would have. “Uh… yeah. Sure.” Sounding much less enthusiastic than he actually was, he added, “I mean, if only for your cousin. Obviously.” Tearing a small corner off a nearby paper, he scribbled his details onto it, feeling much too self conscious as he passed it on. “Just… you know, hit me up or whatever. If that’s what people say. I should probably leave the hospital more.” One bandaged arm, one possibility of a new friend. 

[casspurrjoybell-17]

HEART'S REDEMPTION - CHAPTER 7

*Warning: Adult Content*

The more Ian Foley knows about Sam Asato the less he knows what to think of him. 

Sam had told Ian all about Demons and stuff over the seven hours they spent on the road today but to be honest he didn’t understand much. 

There were too many names to remember, too many ‘levels’ and ‘realms’ and too many rules. 

In the end, Ian gave up trying to learn anything and just listened. 

It keep Sam busy and Ian liked the sound of his voice. 

The most important thing, as far as Ian was concerned, is that Sam can see the damn things and tell if a person is possessed or not.

‘That’s good enough for me.’

There had been no trouble since the diner but they’d stuck to the back roads and they’d barely stopped all day. 

Ian’s truck already stands out an with a few bullet holes and and a busted rear window, it’ll be hard for anyone to miss it.

‘I need to get it fix as soon as possible.’

So when their route took them through this little hamlet and Ian spotted the garage with the sweet pick-up out front, he knew it was time to call it a day. 

Ian can tell Sam is nervous about stopping but he hasn’t had a good nights sleep in three days and he’s determined to sleep in a real bed tonight... demons be damned. 

Now that they have both settled in, Ian figures they might as well get some supplies and some things for Sam. 

‘Sure it’s not my habit to shell out cash for a guy I just met but Sam id different. He needs me and I want to help.’

The town is small... just a few streets... but it has a thrift shop and after making sure it’s demon free, they go in and manage to find Sam a few decent outfits. 

The rest of what they need they get from a drugstore nearby. 

As they are walking back to the motel, Ian’s eyes are drawn to a little street-corner pub and he proposes a detour. 

Sam ensures it’s possession-free and then Ian treats himself to curly-fries, a cheeseburger and a rich dark stout.

‘Not exactually heart-healthy but nobody lives forever, right?’

Sam orders a grilled-cheese and a cola and they pick a small table near the back, away from the window. 

When the server brings the food, Ian eyes him with suspicion... he’s not the same one that took their order... but Sam shakes his head in reassurance. 

Not a demon this time. Just a waiter.

“Here you go, handsome,” the waiter says, putting Ian’s plate down with a wink. 

“Enjoy.”

“Oh. Uh... thanks,” Ian replies, looking up in surprise.

The waiter flashes Ian a big smile and he’s almost certain Sam’s eyes flash red for a second but it might be a trick of the light.

“Name’s Carlos,” the waiter says.

“My pleasure to serve you this evening. If you need anything. Just... give me a call.” 

He winks again and saunters away and Ian finds himself checking him out. 

He looks to be in his late-twenties, has long dark hair in a ponytail, a medium complexion and a nice face.

“Is that your type?” Sam asks and Ian looks over at him to find him watching with an unhappy turn to his mouth.

“Er... no. Not really,” Ian says. 

“I was just surprised. People don’t usually peg me for being gay at first sight.”

“I don’t think he did,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. 

“I think he just took a chance because you’re hot.”

“I am?”

“Well... Yeah.”

Sam blushes, a light pink flush spreading across his cheeks. 

It’s adorable and Ian clears his throat and takes a sip of his beer to hide his smile. 

Unlike at breakfast, is almost too good and after the fourth time Carlos stops by to check on them, Sam tells him ‘We are fine’ with a tone that clearly translates as ‘fuck off’ and the waiter leaves them alone until they have finished their meal. 

When Carlos brings the check however, Ian notices the waiter has written his name and phone number on the copy of the receipt.

“Carlos, eh?” Sam smirks. 

“Are you going to answer that?”

“Nah,” Ian shrugs, leaving the receipt on the table with a nice tip. 

“I’m not after a casual fling and we won’t be here long enough for anything else.”

“But otherwise... you might?” Sam asks Ian as they leave and start walking back to the motel. 

Ian considers for a moment before answering. 

“No,” Ian says. 

“Probably not.”

“Why not?” Sam asks, frowning. 

“He’s hot and clearly into you.”

Ian doesn’t answer and Sam doesn’t press. 

Ten minutes later they are back at the motel and so much time has passed that Ian thinks that maybe Sam has forgotten about it and will let the issue drop. 

No such luck, as it turns out.

“You should have keep his number,” Sam comments, dumping the bags of clothes on his bed. 

“I mean, you never know.”

Ian takes a long breath, studying the awful, confetti-themed carpet at his feet. 

He’s been thinking how to say this or even if he should but Sam was leaving him no choice.

“Maybe I look like the kind of guy that goes after anything that moves,” Ian says slowly. 

“But I’m not. Not anymore, at least. My last relationship ended almost two years ago and I’m still not ready to try again.”

“Your boy broke your heart?” Sam asks, halting his inventory to look up at Ian.

“No it was my fault,” Ian says, wiping a hand over his mouth. 

“I hurt him.”

“You found someone better, you mean?”

“No,” Ian says quickly. 

“There was no one better. That’s not what I mean. I mean, I hurt him.”

Sam looks at Ian for a moment, startled.

“You mean... like... physically?”

Ian Foley nods shamefully.

“Just once. But like he said, once was more than enough. And he wasn’t the first. I had done it before.”

Ian takes another breath and scrubs his fingers through his hair.

“It’s like I get to a point in a relationship when the other person knows me pretty well and I just can’t believe that they still like me anyway. I feel like they shouldn’t... like I have to make them hate me as much as I hate...” Ian trails off, leaving the rest unsaid.

“So... you hurt them?” Sam asks quietly.

Ian nods again, feeling the shame burn his face and sting his eyes but refusing to look away from the young man.

‘It looks like Sam likes me for some reason and he needs to understand why it’s a bad idea.’

“Sometimes when I lose my temper or if I drink too much, I talk with my fist. You know, the ‘Form’ you take when you ‘Shift’ reflects your true nature?” Ian asks Sam, trying hard to conceal the crack in his voice.

Sam shakes his head but Ian goes on anyway.

“Ever since I first ‘Shifted’ and took the ‘Form’ of a bear, I’ve been afraid it means that I’m just a stupid brute. That it means... something inside me is bad.”

“But bears are really smart,” Sam says, frowning. 

“They are like really resourceful and playful too. Like if you were an alligator or something, I’d be worried,” he smiles. 

“I’ve watched a lot of nature shows the last few years.”

Ian looks up at Sam, realizing his eyes must be red with buries tears.

“Yeah? Well I’ve only met one other Shifter who took a bear form. He was my boss when I was working to get my contractor’s licence. At first it was such a relief. Another bear and a decent guy. And then,” Ian takes a deep breath and runs his hands over his hair. 

“He got arrested for all kinds of terrible shit... not the least of which was murdering his first wife.”

“Ian,” Sam frowns at him. 

“Just because he was a bad guy doesn’t mean that you’re a bad guy.”

Ian casts Sam a glance.

“I’ve hurt people, Sam. People I’ve cared about. People I’ve loved. They get hurt either by me or because of me and I’m pretty sure that’s bad.”

Sam looks like he wants to argue but Ian goes on before he can.

“That’s why I’m going to Alaska. There are a clan of Shifters up there that are all bears. I want to meet them... to understand what makes us take that shape. maybe if I see it with my own eyes, good people with the same nature as me... i’ll be able to forgive myself for my mistakes and maybe even convince myself that I won’t make them again.”

Sam regards the handsome red-head with his head tilted slightly to one side.

“I don’t know, Ian. I’ve seen a lot of bad people and you don’t look like one to me.”

‘His reassurances carries the lure of some sweet drug and I want it bad. I just can’t let myself have it.’

“Like I said. I hurt the people I love,” Ian snaps. 

“Not random kid-demons I barely know. Anyway, I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life that hurt someone again. So, No. I wouldn’t call ‘Carlos’ even if I wanted to.”

Ian looks at Sam for a moment and sees he looks suitably upset... and well he should after finding out the guy he picked to save him was no Knight in shinning amour after all.

“I’m taking a shower,” Ian says and retreats to the cramped mildew-scented bathroom to do just that.

When Ian is finished, Sam is sitting on his bed, watching T.V. 

He takes his turn in the shower and comes out in nothing but a pair of underwear and a tank top. 

Ian doesn’t know what he expected... pajamas or something... even though they didn’t buy any. 

He takes Ian off guard and the red-haired man’s eyes go on a little journey before his higher brain function can stop them. 

‘Sam is not tall compared to my six-four frame but he is trim and compact, his skin looks almost impossibly smooth and he’s got barely any body hair.’ 

‘I feel like a ginger beast by comparison.’ 

‘His form is graceful and his beauty lands somewhere just to the masculine side of androgynous.’ 

‘He looks back at me and dark lash-veiled eyes flicker up to meet mine and his pink lips part as though he too is taken by surprise.’ 

‘I feel a shock like a little bolt of lightening through my soul.’

And then the sexy human-demon hybrid laughs, breaking whatever spell he’d been weaving.

“Gotcha,” Sam smirks flopping onto his bed. 

“But you know,” he adds. 

“If you want this... it’s all yours.”

He trails his own hand up his leg to his hip and across his taut stomach.

“You said you would stop that,” Ian reminds him, feeling a little angry. 

“So, stop it.”

“Fine. But damn. You’re no fun, you know that?” Sam says, lying back with a puff of frustration.

“There are other ways to have fun you know?” Ian grumbles.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. You have to find that out for yourself. Where your passions lie... all that crap,” Ian informs him, lying down on his own bed and turning off the light. 

“You’ll help me though, right?” Sam asks quietly. 

“I mean, I don’t think I know where to start.”

Ian doesn’t answer right away, letting the silence settle between them like a curtain. 

Finally the older man lets out a breath he’d been holding and answers the young man.

“Sure,” Ian says. 

“I’ll help you.”

“Thank you, Ian,” Sam softly. 

“You’re a good... friend.”

Ian makes a noncommittal noise in return and closes his eyes. 

But the vision that was played in his brain... as the song says... still remains and he finds himself in a very uncomfortable state. 

A hard pinch and a good mental shake takes care of it though and pretty soon he falls asleep, listening to the quiet  drone of the T.V. as Sam sits up late.

[impishtubist]

“bye, bus!”

Okay, so this post keeps crossing my dash, and I tried to bully the Discord into writing a Wolfstar fic for it, only to accidentally end up writing Prongsfoot for it myself instead 🤦‍♂️ I blame @theresthesnitch​. 

----

“You’re sure you have everything?”

Teddy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Padfoot, I’ve got everything.”

Sirius crossed his arms, aiming a stern look at his godson. “You left your packing until an hour ago, so forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical.”

“If I left anything, you can just send it through the Floo, it’s not a big deal.”

“Maybe I’ll just keep it for myself.”

Teddy shrugged. “That’s fine, Papa will just buy it for me again. He’s rich, you know.”

“Oi!” Sirius reached up to ruffle Teddy’s blue curls, and the boy ducked away from him. “Don’t let Da hear you say that, brat. When did you turn into a teenager?”

“Three years ago, when I turned thirteen.”

“Two minutes!” Stan called from the door of the Knight Bus. Teddy’s luggage was already on board, so he picked up his smaller bag and slung it over his shoulder. Sirius felt a familiar pang behind his sternum. Teddy had spent one month with him every summer since he turned six, giving Remus and Kingsley a break while Sirius got to relentlessly spoil his godson. Teddy would be an adult by this time next year, graduated from Hogwarts and off on his next adventure. Who knew if he even wanted to spend time with Uncle Sirius after that?

“Stop that,” Teddy said, poking him in the side. Other passengers were saying their goodbyes and boarding the Knight Bus. “I’ll see you at the station on September first, yeah? And I’ll be home for Christmas. Besides, you’ll be so busy with your little rascals once school starts again that you won’t even miss me.” 

“You were one of those little rascals once, you know.” Sirius had been teaching at a magical nursery school for--Merlin, for almost twenty years now. He loved his babies to pieces, though now he felt painfully old. Where had the time gone? 

“Yeah, and I was a menace.”

“A very cute menace, though.” Sirius hugged Teddy one last time. “Travel safe, and call me through the mirror as soon as you’re home. Oh, and give your da a kiss from me.”

Teddy pulled back, a mischievous glint in his eye. “But not Papa?”

“Your papa can have a kiss from me when he sends me the Galleons he owes me from last week’s match.” 

Teddy was the last passenger on the bus. The doors closed, and Sirius raised his hand to wave as the engine roared to life. A few other wixen who had come to see loved ones off were also waving. 

“Say bye, bus!” Sirius said cheerfully, as the Knight Bus disappeared with a loud pop. 

“Bye, bus!” someone next to him said. 

Sirius froze. Oh, no. Two decades spent teaching little ones had instilled some ridiculous habits in him, like speaking cheerfully to inanimate objects and encouraging others to do the same.

Slowly, he turned to face the person who had unwittingly bade the bus goodbye, and found himself face-to-face with a man whose expression looked as mortified as he imagined his own did. 

“Er,” Sirius said lamely. “I teach toddlers.” 

“I have a six-year-old,” the man said. 

And then, they both burst out laughing. 

“I can’t believe I said that,” Sirius wheezed. “Oh, Merlin.”

“Do you--do you do that with everything?” the man cackled. “Do you say goodbye to cars too? What about broomsticks?”

“Stop it.” Sirius covered his burning face with his hands. 

“Do you talk to food while you’re cooking? ‘Hello, Mr. Tomato, are you ready to be chopped into tiny pieces today?’”

“You cannot tell anyone this happened,” Sirius said, lifting his head. “I’m going to make you swear an Unbreakable Vow.” 

The man’s laughter tapered off, though he kept chuckling, and he lifted his glasses to wipe his eyes. He had a mop of dark, messy hair on his head, brown skin, and a build like a professional Quidditch player. In short, he was fit, and Sirius’s heart tripped in his chest. 

The man put his glasses back on and considered Sirius, his eyes flicking from Sirius’s feet all the way up to his hair. 

“I might be persuaded to keep your secret,” the man said, “if you buy me a cup of coffee.” 

Sirius’s heart beat faster. Was he really--? 

“Thought you said you’ve got a kid,” he said cautiously.

“Divorced,” the man said. “You?”

“Single.”

“Great!” The man stuck out his hand. “I’m James.”

“Sirius, like the star.” 

James’s hand was warm, his grip firm. A shiver went down Sirius’s spine. What was wrong with him? Getting all flustered over a handshake. He wasn’t fourteen anymore! 

“Coffee, then?” 

Sirius grinned. “Coffee it is.”

[thenovelartist]

And there was only One Bed - Tears of Themis Headcanons

Premise: There’s only one room left in the hotel, meaning the guys have to be roomies with MC for a night.

Luke

Err… his cheeks are red now.

He’s having to check with MC if she’s okay with it. Not that they had much of a choice.

They take the room, only to discover one bed.

And forget his crush on her; that’s the least of his problems.

He knows she shifts in her sleep.

“You take half and I take half?” MC offers. “Like when we were kids?”

He sighs, lamenting his fate. “I’m so gonna end up on the floor.”

“Sorry.”

When it comes to who showers first: rock, paper, scissors.

He’s the least phased of all the guys by the whole “share one bathroom” situation. They grew up together. They sometimes used to have quick conversations through the bathroom door, normally just a question or two about what they wanted for dinner or if their phone went off and it was their parents.

Which happened this time. “There was a vending machine down stairs. You want anything? And if you mention that diet, I’m getting you two of your favorite candy bars.”

“Just one and only one.”

“You got it.”

(@gavin-plz-call-me once called them the “King and Queen of No Boundaries” and I will never forget it.)

Eventually, Luke makes sure MC’s settled in for bed while he’s planning to stay up a little and figure out tomorrow’s game plan.

Until she literally drags him to bed.

He can’t protest against her.

Contrary to what he thought, he did not end up on the floor.

But it was kinda hard to sleep when the girl of his dreams decided his chest was her new snuggle pillow halfway through the night.

He’ll cave and roll with it. Be selfish just for tonight and hold her there.

Come morning, she apologizes for disrupting him, he dismisses it. And both their cheeks are red.

But it doesn’t phase them. Give it half an hour, they’re back to normal.

(Bonus: “So, kid. Let me get this straight,” Aaron Yishmir started. “You spent the night with her, and you’re still not gonna tell her anything?”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“You’re hopeless.)

Vyn

Well… this is a predicament.

However, they come to some awkward agreement that if it’s the only place to sleep for the night, they’ll take it and figure it out as they go.

However, things only go from bad to worse when they learn there’s only one bed.

There were very few times since becoming an adult that Vyn ever found himself at a loss. And this was one of those times.

“Um… are you comfortable splitting?”

His glasses almost fell off his face at MCs suggestion.

Before he can even think about suggesting to take the chair, MC is putting up a blanket wall. “Like this?”

Er… aha…

Oh geez, this woman…

He caves to that deep, ugly part of him that’s begging “yes” and agrees.

Then comes the new revelation there’s only one bathroom, which rose the question of who was going to shower when.

He just lets her take the first shower while his mind is still storming.

During that time, he realizes this may be the only time he has the privacy to actually record his voice diary.

It’s a total disaster. He’s in mental turmoil and can barely think straight.

But MC is acting normal, meaning he’s got to try to act normal.

Normally, he takes his showers in the morning, but he takes it at night this time just so he can have another moment of privacy to get his thoughts in order.

This is just a practical arrangement. This is just a practical arrangement. This is just a practical arrangement…

Bedtime rolls around, and poor, unsuspecting Vyn believes they are each going to stay on their respective sides of the bed.

However, Author has a headcanon these two both sleep like dead logs.

Morning rolls around, and they’re still both asleep, only they’re totally entangled.

MC wakes up first, laying on top of Vyn.

And when she freaks, flailing and falling off the bed in the process, that’s when Vyn wakes, too.

It was… an interesting morning to say the least.

They come to the agreement to never speak on it again.

(Until a few years down the line after they’re together and can look back on that day with amusement.)

Artem

When the person at the front desk said there was only one room left, Artem about had a heart attack.

He cannot possibly share a room with MC. That’s super improper.

Will call around to any other hotel in the area, but no avail.

MC will literally have to drag this poor man up to the room.

“It will be fine, Artem.”

Except, it wasn’t. There was one bed.

Cue almost heart attack number 2.

He almost left to go sleep in the car. MC had to restrain him.

“We can share right? Like, if we—”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Not even if we put a blanket—”

“No. I’ll sleep in the chair.”

There was no convincing him to sleep anywhere else.

And MC tried.

Eventually, she had to surrender. “Fine. Then do you want the first shower?”

Oh… there was only one bathroom… that they’d be sharing…

Cue almost heart attack number 3.

Will legitimately leave the room while she’s showering. He just feels too awkward and like he’s invading her privacy.

Then bed time rolls around and he’s unable to sleep, so he works on his laptop for the time being.

Ends up pulling an all-nighter, which MC anticipated.

She set an alarm for early in the morning so she could then force him to bed for a few hours.

While he insisted he was fine, he was too tired to protest as she pushed him down into bed. “Sleep, will you. I know you didn’t sleep all night.”

Thought he’d have trouble, but he was so wound up all night over everything that had happened that he’s passed out in fifteen minutes.

And stayed out cold for a few hours.

When they left, MC made sure to thank him for being such a gentleman. She thought it was the least she could do for his troubles.

That, and she quite liked the way his ears and neck turned red.

(Bonus: He hopes Celestine never finds out what happened on that business trip.

But when she finds out curtesy of MC, she will never let him live it down.)

Marius

The moment he finds out there’s only one room, he actually gets super flustered.

And as he does, instantly goes in to deflective Playboy Flirt mode.

“Get your head out of the gutter, you little—”

MC shut that down, real quick.

Most he could do then is just say “It can’t be that bad, right? What’s the worst that could happen?”

Well, apparently only be one bed.

Flustered Marius = Playboy Persona

“That’s it,” MC says. “You take the bed.”

“What? Don’t you wanna share?”

“No.”

“Ouch!”

But really, he wants to find some way to get her to take the bed because he really will feel awful otherwise.

Then comes the single bathroom realization.

“You wanna shower together?”

“Marius, I swear I will kick you out of this room and take the keycard from you.”

“Oh, my feisty Miss Attorney.”

“Miss Attorney will sue you for sexual harassment.”

“Understood.”

He gets to shower first, and then ends up giving her some excuse for leaving the room entirely.

He loves teasing her, but this might be the most he’s ever pushed his luck. And he actually doesn’t want her to hate him, so he’ll give her this space at least.

As for the bed situation…

MC tries to sleep on the couch, but he can’t stand it, so he decides to push his luck and simply carry her to bed.

“I won’t pull anything, I swear.”

“The only reason I’m agreeing is because I know I’ll sleep better here than the couch.”

“See?”

“Marius.”

“I’ll shut up.”

Regrets his decision halfway through the night when Mr. Light Sleeper realizes Ms. Dead Log moves in her sleep.

She was snuggled up against his back, and his heart was going doki doki too hard to even think about going back to sleep.

Eventually, he rolls over and snuggles her, not just because he wants to, but he hopes it will keep her still through the night.

Unfortunately, she was not happy in the morning.

“Can’t we talk about this?”

She kept her face turned away from him the rest of the day, but he knew it was red with blush. “Shut up.”

[giggly-squiggily]

Are you still doing sentence requests? If so, I'd like to request lee Takeda and ler Ukai from Haikyuu with "I like a little pudge"

Heyo! This was a sentence starter sent in after they were closed, but the pairing plus the prompt was so cute, I couldn't resist turning it into a full dabble! Admittedly, it's a tad light on the actual tickles, but I hope you like it nonetheless!

CW: Body image, insecurity

Cloud 9 (Taglist)

@myreygn, @thatbigbisexual29, @duckymcdoorknob,

Takeda never put much thought into his body. Beyond making sure his clothes were straight and his hair was neat, he rarely put much thought into the state of his figure.

After becoming the assistant coach for the volleyball team however, things somewhat changed.

Looking in the mirror now, he poked at the pudge forming around his torso, brows furrowing. He was always a little pudgy- life as a teacher meant he spent most of his days at desk grading papers and eating convenience store hot buns late into the night. A little chub never hurt anyone, he always said.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel insecure. Especially when his fiance was in great shape, keeping up with their boys during runs and even winning a few play matches against them.

To him, Ukai was like an olympian god.

And he…felt more like kirby.

“Oi, are you ready? We’ve got practice in an hour.” Ukai walked into their bedroom, shirtless with a toothbrush hanging from his mouth. “I can’t believe they're making us go all the way to the school in this weather- aren’t snow days a thing?”

“They are, if it’s snowing.” Takeda laughed weakly, suddenly feeling self conscious. He reached for his sweater, face burning when he caught Ukai watching him in the mirror. “I-I’ll be ready in a few.”

“Hm…” Ukai tilted his head curiously before tossing his toothbrush into a nearby mug. Takeda was about to say something about it when the blonde appeared before him, eyes watchful. “Takeda, what’s up? You seem uncomfortable.”

“What? No- no, I’m fine.” The shorter man laughed, waving his hands in what he hoped to be a “don’t worry about it” gesture. “I’m just, er-”

“Worrying about your appearance?” Ukai raised a brow. Takeda flushed.

“How long were you watching me?” The jig was up, he’d been caught. Feeling ashamed, he looked away, only to be blocked when Ukai gently guided his face back to eye level.

“Long enough to know you're unhappy.” He leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I don’t know what you're seeing that’s so bad, I love every inch of you.” He kissed his nose. “Everything from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.”

“Even…even my pudge?” Takeda asked, hands coming around his torso in a shield like manner. Ukai tsked before turning him around gently, hugging him from behind.

“I love your pudge.” Ukai smiled in his hair, hands coming around to gently vibrate against Takeda’s stomach, making him yelp with a giggle. “I think pudge is great. You're so soft to cuddle with! And it’s the cutest pudge ever!”

“Uuhuhuuhuhkahahhahai!” Takeda snorted, squirming in his lover's arms as the younger man carried on, listing all the things he liked about pudge while tickling the other breathlessly. “Yohohoohohu dohoohoohn’t need to gihihive a lihihiihihihist!”

“Of course I do! How else would you know I love you?” Ukai smiled, turning the other around so he could press their foreheads together, fingers worming over his ribs in a gentle dance. “For every one thing you don’t like about yourself, I’m gonna add another 30 to the list. Every single one is gonna be a reason why you’re special to me.”

“Yohohoohohur suhuhuhuhuch a sahhahahhhap!” Takeda wheezed, lightly punching the taller man’s chest.

“Heh, I have my moments.” Ukai grinned, finally easing his tickles before wrapping his arms around him, hugging him close. “But I mean it- every word.”

Takeda hid his face against a warm shoulder, trying to fight off the growing smile on his lips. “Hehehe…you really do…” He looked back up to Ukai’s warm expression, leaning up and kissing him softly. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime.” He rested his head on top of Takeda, rocking him back and forth gently. “Hmm…you think I should cancel practice today?”

“Do you think the boys would be upset?” Takeda mused, feeling suddenly sleepy.

Just as he said that, small snowflakes started raining from the sky, threatening to fall full force. Within an hour, the entire town would be snowed in.

“I don’t think they’d mind.” Ukai grinned, leaning in for another kiss.

I hope this was good!

[princehrry-writings]

Legal Guardian

ugh this took way too long lol, but here it is!!! i forget exactly that sparked this but i thought it was a cute idea.

warnings: injuries (nothing major), hospitals, cursing, harry being a protective dad 🥺, talks about adoption and legal guardians, crying

wordcount: 2481

harry styles x reader, stepdad!harry x reader, stepdadharry x oc!stella

masterlist

Stella gets hurt and Harry is the only one there- but he has no legal jurisdiction…

.

.

.

It all happened really fast. Harry can’t even recall how it started, but he knew very well how it ended. A sobbing Stella strapped into her car seat as he raced to the emergency room, frantically calling Y/n who was in a different state on a work trip.

The 5 year old didn’t understand what was going on, she just knew she was hurting… really bad. And that she wanted her mommy and daddy.

The traffic seemed to be working against him, getting in his way at the most inconvenient times, all the while he was trying to console his weeping daughter, crying out “Daddy it hurts so bad!” effectively shattering his heart into a million little pieces.

Stella had been playing happily in the backyard at home, showing off her wonderful dance moves to Harry who watched with an adoring smile on his face, taking little videos to send to his fiance, when suddenly she was laying on the ground, clutching her ankle, and crying for him to come get her. He rushed into action, not having seen her take the fateful step into what must have been a hole in the ground or something.

Screeching into the hospital car park, he stops somewhere he obviously wasn’t supposed to but he couldn't care less. His mind was racing. What if she broke her ankle? Or tore a ligament? What if she has to get surgery? All of this is what he worries about as he flings the back door of his car open, trying his best to appear calm for his daughter (but it’s not really working), and scoops her carefully into his hold, bringing her inside and shouting for someone to please help him.

A few nurses rush to his side, asking him different questions and asking for someone to “Page Dr. Robbins, tell her we need a peds consult.”

Stella is whisked away from him and before he can start to follow after her, a hand is placed on his chest, stopping him in his place.

“Sir, we can’t have you in the room with her. You’re not on her file as a legal guardian!” A doctor tells him. In that moment, he sees nothing but red, steam pouring out of his ears.

“The hell I can’t, I’m her father! I’m not going to let her sit in there all alone while strangers poke and prod at her!” He all but yells at the man. Harry is not violent. He really isn't. But he’s not afraid to lay somebody on their ass when it comes to his girls. With kindness or course. And maybe a black eye.

From the room she was taken into he can hear her crying for him.

“Wan’ my daddy! Daddy!” Harry didn’t think his heart could break any further than it already had but he was proven wrong by the ache in his chest that only grew stronger the longer he was kept away from his lovebug.

“Doctor, respectfully- if you don’t move the hell out of my way, I will move you myself. That is my daughter, and my fiance is in a different state right now on a business trip so I am the only parent she has right now. If you try to keep me from my child I will take legal action against the hospital and sue for everything you’re worth. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Harry is seething, trying to move past the man in the white lab coat and light blue scrubs. Again, he is stopped.

“I will call security, sir!”

“DADDY!” Stella is now screeching, her little voice hoarse from all the yelling and crying.

“Don’t you fucking hear that? She needs me, and you’re telling me I can’t go be with her! What the hell kind of doctor are you?” Harry is in the man's face, pointing at him vehemently. He doesn’t care that people are starting to watch the scene. Doesn’t care that some people have recognized him and are recording the ordeal. Let the people see him fighting for his family. He doesn’t give a rat's ass if his “image” takes a hit. His daughter is on the line and he won’t back down.

“She’ll be fine-”

“No she won’t! Go ahead and call security. My daughter needs me and you’re not going to stop me from being in that room with her.” With that he pushes past the doctor (who must be an intern or something with how he’s handling this situation) and rushes into the room where his baby is screaming for him. He’s at her side in a matter of seconds, wiping the tears from her face, peppering kisses onto her head, petting her wild hair back from her face, just consoling her in any way that he can.

How fucking dare they try to keep him from her, especially when she’s in a state like this.

“It’s ok baby girl, daddy’s here now. I’ve got you. You’re ok, you’re ok!” He mumbles into her hair, doing his best to stay out of the way of the people examining her but still close enough so she knows he’s right there with her.

Little tears still streamed down her face but she was much calmer now, her breathing more even and body less tense.

“Mr. Styles we’re bringing in the portable x-ray to take a look at her ankle, so you’re going to need to wear this.” He nods and takes the vest given to him, putting it over his shoulders like he sees the others do. A similar article is placed over Stella, who is clinging to Harry’s hand, fearing that she’s going to have to be without him again. But he promises he isn’t going anywhere.

As they’re taking the x-ray his phone starts ringing in his pocket and he checks to see that it’s Y/n calling him back.

“H, what’s wrong, is she ok?” Her panicked voice rushes out as soon as the call connects.

“We’re in the ER right now and she’s getting an x-ray to see what’s going on with her ankle-”

“You’re in the room with her right? She’s not alone?”

The little shards of his heart keep breaking into smaller and smaller pieces as her voice breaks.

“Yeah, I’m right next to her. Don’t worry m’love, she’s not alone!” He glared at the doctor that tried to keep him out as he said that, letting him know he hadn’t forgotten.

“I’m gonna facetime you so I can see her.” She said and he nodded, waiting for it to come through. When it did he quickly accepted it, seeing the love of his life’s face on the screen, with her puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks as she wiped away the remaining tears so she didn’t freak out her baby.

“Stell, mumma’s on the phone, she wants to talk to you.”

“Hi baby girl!” Y/n said as soon as Harry held the phone so Stella could see her mom. The little girl's tear stained cheeks looked exactly like her moms, and her heart broke for her baby.

“Hi mumma,” Stella pouted into the camera, clutching onto her daddy as tight as her little hand could. Harry was a little uncomfortable but he would take this over not being in here at all.

“How do you feel, baby? You ok?” She asked.

“My foot hurts and they wouldn’t let daddy in here and I was scared, but he’s here now so I’m ok.” The little girl rambled off. Y/n almost missed how she said they wouldn’t let Harry in the room but when it finally registered, she was fuming. Absolutely, royally pissed.

“What do you mean they wouldn’t daddy in there?” Stella shrugged and looked up at Harry for an answer. He brought the phone back so he could see her after looking around at the doctors in the room, all doing their job and pretending they weren’t listening to this conversation, but a few of them winced when Y/n asked her question.

“Some bloke tried to keep me out of the room while Stella was being examined but she was on the verge of a whole breakdown. It was like Disneyland in Paris all over again.” He said, referencing the time Harry took his girls to Disneyland while they were in Paris and Stella got separated from her mom and dad. She had never not been able to see at least 1 of her parents before. Needless to say… she didn’t handle it very well. Screaming, crying, and hyperventilating (which freaked her out even more- causing her to scream louder and cry harder) ensued very shortly, disturbing every person around her. But it made it easy for them to find her and she spent a very very long time clutching her tiny arms around her daddy’s neck, not letting him set her down for anything. That was an interesting trip to the bathroom …

“Why would they try to keep you out of the room? You’re her father!” Y/n was on the verge of popping a blood vessel. Of course the one time her baby really needs her, she’s hours away.

“Uh, Mr. Styles, I’m so sorry to interrupt! But the x-ray is complete. There’s no break, it looks like a sprain at worst. Also, about why my intern was saying you weren’t allowed in the room, not that I was listening to your conversation, with ped’s cases we typically only allow legal parents or guardians in the room and your name isn’t anywhere on her file or on her records so he was just trying to follow safety protocols. He didn’t go about the situation as well as he should have because we always want to make sure our patient has what they need and that was obviously you- but that is the reason why you initially weren’t let into the room. You’re not a legal parent or guardian. Based on your situation- you’re legally considered a step-parent and that title doesn’t come along with any legal jurisdiction.” Dr. Robins explained, in quite a few words Harry thinks, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Just sits and realizes that while for the better part of a year and a half, he’s been calling himself Stella’s dad but the whole he’s not been anything… not legally anyway.

Y/n realizes this too and makes a mental note to call their lawyers to do something about that.

“That makes sense… Thank you, Dr. Robbins! I have her mum on the phone, but you knew that, so if there’s anything else I legally can’t do, she’ll have to take care of it like thi-”

“Mr. Styles, we won’t tell if you don’t! Anything else that needs to be signed, we’ll just go ahead and have you do it. Save the hassle for everyone.” Dr. Robbins interrupts him and he smiles, silently thanking her.

“Daddy, what's a legal guardian?” Stella asks after a quiet moment.

“A legal guardian is someone who takes care of you because the law says they can. So because I didn’t help mumma make you and I came into your life a little later, I’m not a legal guardian of you. Not yet anyway.” He mumbles the last part but Y/n catches it.

“Does everyone have a legal guardian?” She hiccuped, rubbing at her eyes with the hand that wasn’t clutching Harry’s.

“At one point yeah, but once you get older you don’t need one anymore because you can take care of yourself.”

The girl pauses, thinking about her daddy’s words before muttering “Don’t wanna take care of myself. Wanna stay with you and mumma forever.”

All the little shards of his heart slowly start to piece back together.

“I want you to stay with me and mumma forever too lovebug.” He cooes. Y/n’s eyes light up, her gaze filled with adoration for her little family.

. * .

*

“The documents are all drawn up Mrs. Styles, everything is ready for your husband to sign.”

“Thank you so much Ben!”

. * .

*

“Baby, c’mere. Wanna talk to you about something.”

“Yeah mommy?”

Y/n took a deep breath, trying to quell the tears she could already feel threatening to fall. Her newly wed husband sat beside her on the couch, running his hand along her back and squeezing her shoulder and letting her know he was there if she needed him.

“Do you remember when you and Daddy had that conversation about legal guardians?” The woman asked, pulling her baby into her lap, brushing her hand over the girl's hair affectionately.

“Uhhh, kinda.” She murmured, curling into her mom.

“Do you remember what a legal guardian is?” Y/n rephrased, hoping to jog the girl's memory. Stella nodded and when prompted by her mother explained that “It’s someone who takes care of you until you're old enough to take care of yourself.”

“That’s right baby, very good!”

“And do you remember when we were at the hospital and that doctor was being mean, not letting Daddy into the room with you?” Harry chimes in, scooting closer to his girls. She nodded with a roll of her eyes and a huff of breath, causing a little giggle to erupt from her parents. She really is her mothers daughter.

“Didn’t like him.” She mumbles.

“Do you remember why they didn’t let him into the room?” Y/n asks, knowing she should probably get to the point before her little one checks out and gets bored.

“Cause daddy’s not my legal guardian.” Stella huffs again, rubbing her eyes and nuzzling further into her mom.

“Do you want him to be?”

Stella’s quiet for a moment, tapping her little finger on her chin like she’s thinking hard. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? You want that baby?” Harry asks, pulling her into his lap. The girl wraps her arms around his neck and lays her head on his shoulder, nodding.

“Yeah, Daddy. Want you to be able to come to the doctors with me.” She mumbles sleepily.

The tears Y/n had been fighting off finally broke through, despite her efforts. It’s official. Harry is going to adopt Stella and they would be a family in every sense of the word. No one would be able to take Harry's little girl away from him. All he had to do was sign the paper. Harry felt tears spring to his eyes as well, smoothing his hand along his baby’s back.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that…” He says, squeezing her a little tighter. Y/n snaps a quick picture before she snuggles into them.

“Love you Mommy, love you Daddy.” She murmurs before falling asleep in Harry's arms. Something that isn’t new, but feels different now for some reason. Things felt a little more official and he hadn’t even signed the papers yet.

[phoenixyfriend]

The Family Tree is... a Disaster

Takes place in the TCW Leverage AU. It does contain a few deviations, namely that the narrative ended up shifting Plo's role in Ahsoka's life, and Ventress's role overall.

This is mostly just dialogue where I outline the fuckery that is the disaster lineage family tree, not actual fic. It stemmed from my incessant need to justify "25yo Obi-Wan somehow got custody of 9yo Anakin without Shmi dying."

Warnings for: canon character death (modernized), canon violence (modernized), and references to Nazis and white supremacists (Palpatine collects WWII weaponry as a parallel to his canon display of Sith artifacts in his office as chancellor, and Ahsoka thinks it's sketchy)

----

"Okay," Cody says, setting down a glass of whiskey as he drops into the seat across the table. "What the hell is your family tree like?"

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, and continues cleaning off the definitely-not-stolen crystal komodo dragon he'd won in today's job. "I beg your pardon?"

"You and Skywalker," Cody says, gesturing between Obi-Wan, who is just sitting there minding his own business, and Anakin, who is across the closed-for-tonight bar and doing something inadvisable on the pool table. "You've said he was your brother, and mentioned raising him, which, sure, I'm over twenty years older than my youngest brother, people take over parenting roles all the time. But you have different last names, have mentioned stepfamilies that the other doesn't have, reference things as 'your aunt, not mine,' and I am just getting... very confused. I figured it was personal and I could leave well enough alone, but considering your older brother almost shot us today--"

"Okay, Xanatos is not my brother," Obi-Wan immediately says. "Just. I just have to stop you right there. Xanatos was a student of my father's for a time, but I promise he's not family. Nobody except maybe Komari would consider him even close, and she doesn't count since she's in prison for life and the farthest thing from stable."

Cody gestures. "That, Obi-Wan. That's what I'm talking about. I don't even know who Komari is."

Obi-Wan purses his lips in a failed attempt to not smile. "Do you actually want the explanation? It's long and unnecessarily complicated."

"So's mine," Cody snorts. Obi-Wan waits, patient and pleasant, and is rewarded when Cody sighs. "Please."

"Of course, my dear. To answer your first question, though, Anakin is my half-brother." With a smile, Obi-Wan digs a piece of paper and a pen from his briefcase. "So, center of the chain: me, my father Qui-Gon, my grandfather Yan, and my great-grandfather Yoda. With me so far?"

"Easy enough. Do you have to go back that far?"

"Great-grandfather Yoda is still alive and regularly escaping the old folks' home to terrorize younger relatives, so yes," Obi-Wan says. "Given that you may just meet a tiny, meddling relative of mine when he's bored, we do in fact have to go back that far."

"...how old is he?"

"We don't know for sure. A hundred and eight-ish is the best guess." Obi-Wan shrugs. "It's not a huge deal, mostly he likes bothering Anakin these days. Anyway, grandfather. Yan Dooku. Inherited a minory duchy from his maternal grandfather decades back. Mostly hangs around there because he's on terrorist watchlists in the States."

"Oh, lovely."

Obi-Wan grins. "Trust me, it gets worse. Anyway, grandfather never actually married, but spent most of his time with his 'best friend' Sifo Dyas, who died about a decade back."

"Gay?"

"Well, we know that now, but they got together in the seventies, and this was back when they were both working government jobs, so, you know. It happens."

"Good to know," Cody says. "So, Yoda's kid is Yan, who inherited a title and land from a maternal relative, and had a life partner but never married. With you so far."

"All of Yan's kids were adopted," Obi-Wan continues, sketching out the first branch away from the Yan/Sifo partnership. "Rael was actually grandfather's cousin, maternally, and ended up in his custody after getting orphaned at five. These days, he does most of the stewardship duties at the Serenno Duchy. His daughter Nim is teaching military history at a university in Germany."

Cody nods. "Uncle number one is named Rael, technically your dad's cousin, has a daughter. Got it."

"About a decade after Rael, they adopted my father, Qui-Gon. He and grandfather fought, frequently, but they did care for each other. My father was a botanist, did bio-engineering. We'll get back to him later, because he's where things get complicated." Obi-Wan made sure to leave room around the name. "Just a few years older than me was--is--Komari Vosa. She is... serving a life sentence. I think she fought Jango once."

"She fought my father?"

"To the best of my knowledge, they both almost died, yes," Obi-Wan says. "She's in maximum security these days. She was an assassin. I'll get a call if she breaks out, and I'll let you know along with everyone else."

"Bad news auntie, got it."

"Last adoption, sort of, is Ventress," Obi-Wan finishes off. "A few years younger than me, is technically grandfather's personal assistant and does secretarial work and the like, but we all know he's planning to leave as much of the inheritance to her as he is to the rest of us. She's aggressive and unpleasant, but she takes care of him and hasn't actually threatened to kill any of us yet, so that's fine."

"How'd she join?" Cody asks.

"Ky Narec was a friend of Qui-Gon's; Ventress was his daughter. Ky died a few years after Qui-Gon did, and Ventress was a mess, after." Obi-Wan shrugs and scratches that connection into the little sketch of a family tree as well. "Grandfather offered her a job until she got herself back together, and then she just kind of... stuck around."

"Youngest aunt, more of a cousin." Cody summarizes. "Now we go back to your father?"

"Qui-Gon Jinn was a man of many skills," Obi-Wan says drily. "Adequate birth control was not one of them."

It's almost a pity that Cody wasn't drinking anything, because going by the way he chokes, Obi-Wan's pretty sure the spit take would have been spectacular.

"I'm sorry," Cody says. "Can you repeat that?"

"I was an accident," Obi-Wan says, not even bothering to hide his smile. "So was Anakin."

"So that sounds like... a story."

"It is," Obi-Wan confirms. "My biological mother has never been in the picture. They had a fling, she wasn't sure if she'd want to abort or give me up, just that she wasn't ready to be a parent, and Qui-Gon volunteered to take full custody so she could go back to her life after the birth. I've never met her, but I kept her family name. You can consider her irrelevant beyond that."

Cody nods.

"So, when I was about a year old, Qui-Gon reconnects with an old flame, they get married two years later. Step-mother number one is Tahl. Lovely woman, I absolutely adored her, and she had a daughter, my stepsister, Bant Eerin."

"I met her, right?" Cody asks.

"Yes, she was the doctor who patched up my bullet wound a few months ago," Obi-Wan says. "With the giant glasses that make her look a little fish-eyed."

"She was nice."

"She is," Obi-Wan agrees. "At any rate, that was our family for a while, and then Tahl died when I was fourteen. Bant wanted to go to a magnet school for medical studies, and Qui-Gon's grief was... not optimal for taking care of multiple teenagers, shall we say, so Bant moved in with her paternal uncle, Kit Fisto, and Kit's son Nahdar. He's a marine biologist, incredibly friendly, and has no idea of any of the rest of my side of the family's questionable activities. If you ever meet him, you will pretend that we are a legal firm with a team of security consultants."

Cody raises a brow. Obi-Wan despairs. "Best you could do?"

"We're not that likely to run into him." Obi-Wan draws out a new line. "So, Qui-Gon deals poorly with grief. This is also around the time that Xanatos came around to ruin our lives a little. He was a very rich and unpleasant man, but he's dead as of four hours ago, so you don't have to worry about him. Or his son."

"His son?"

"Anakin handled that," Obi-Wan says. "Thoroughly. Granta Omega is no longer an issue. He's not dead, but... well. Anakin has his ways. Er--I should probably mention Feemor; he was my father's assistant at the university for a long time. Anakin and I still call him our uncle."

"Also a person to avoid mentioning criminal activity to?" Cody prompts.

"Well... no, but only because I don't think he'd care. The man is, forgive me, more of a 'walking sweatervest' than I am. He's a very bland and unassuming man. He once described himself as the background character of the soap opera that is my family's existence."

"Sounds like a charmer."

"Oh, he's very kind and clever, and witty as well. I adore him, and he really is family. He's just also very, very normal. Not boring, but..." Obi-Wan trails off and shrugs helplessly. "He's an editor for an agricultural research journal. Also not someone I anticipate us running into."

"Noted."

"Right, so, Qui-Gon dealing poorly with his grief didn't involve much drinking, but there were a few months of him trying to... lose himself in the pleasures of the flesh?" Obi-Wan tries, and then deflates at the look on Cody's face. "He was slagging around. Shmi got pregnant with Anakin, who was born when I was sixteen. Shared custody at first, Qui-Gon got him weekends and every other holiday, that sort of thing, and then they got married because they actually did like each other well enough, and it was easier on the taxes."

"So Shmi is stepmother number two."

"Shmi is stepmother number two, yes." Obi-Wan sketches in Anakin and Shmi. "About nine and a half years after Anakin was born, Shmi and Qui-Gon were in a car accident with... well, it later turned out it wasn't an accident, there was a hitman called Maul involved, he's actually Ventress's second cousin or something, I don't know. Grandfather handled most of that problem. Qui-Gon died, Shmi was in intensive care, and I got custody of Anakin as his nearest adult relative. We weren't very close before that, because I was off at university by the time he was old enough to form memories, but that changed once he started living with me. I more or less raised him as a single parent from that point."

"This is why he jokes that you're like a father to him."

"Precisely," Obi-Wan says. "Shmi took about a year to recover enough to move again, and grandfather covered the costs. She still had to live with a dedicated carer and attend daily physical therapy. At that physical therapy, she met Cliegg Lars, whose son Owen was also a patient there. They hit it off, and three years later, they married. When Anakin refers to his stepfamily he's talking about the Lars out in Nevada."

"Nevada?"

"They have a farm. A very, very normal one. We don't drag them into our activities, unless we have an at-risk person who needs a safe house." Obi-Wan pauses, and then decides this really needs to be stressed. "This is important to me and Anakin, that we don't get them involved unless there's absolutely no other choice. Shmi's been through a lot, and the Lars are busy enough running the farm."

"Works for me," Cody says. "We've got enough safe houses that it shouldn't be an issue. I'm guessing this story doesn't end there, though."

Obi-Wan grimaces. "My own love life has been... a bit of a mess."

"I already know about Kryze, at least."

There's that. "I was temporarily engaged to a friend, Siri Tachi, shortly after high school. We were in a relationship, but this was mostly something done to appease a relative of hers that was getting overbearing to the point of absurdity, and she couldn't just cut them off. We broke off the engagement after the relative passed, and we're still friends."

He notes that down, then adds the other embarrassment of his early years. "First marriage was actually a drunken joke between myself and my best friend when we were in college. We got it annulled a few months later because we just didn't have time to drop by the courthouse before then, and he's actually engaged to Asajj now."

"Asajj?" Cody asks, watching in fascination as Obi-Wan tries to mark in both his own short marriage and the newer, long-term engagement without crossing any lines. He settles for just writing the name twice and including an asterisk with 'this is the same person.'

"Ventress," Obi-Wan clarifies. "Yeah, Quinlan's a fun guy. His little sister, Aayla, treats Anakin like a beloved younger cousin."

"Are they also off-limits for criminal activity?"

"No, Aayla's the one that taught Ahsoka how to vent-crawl," Obi-Wan says. "And I'm pretty sure Quinlan has contacts in every major government branch, criminal organization, and Fortune 500 company on the planet. I reach out to them regularly."

"Resources, then."

Obi-Wan nods. "Some time later, I married Satine. We had a son; you've met Korkie. We split due to incompatibility a year and change before Qui-Gon's death. Satine doesn't engage in criminal activity, but Bo-Katan is..."

"I've met Bo-Katan. I know what she's like, Obi. You don't have to explain."

"She works with Maul sometimes."

"...the man who killed your father?"

"Yes. It's all very stupid and convoluted." Obi-Wan still writes her in. "So, that's them. Korkie goes to boarding school, and I try not to involve him in anything. Anakin and Ahsoka like to teach him self-defense and the like, but Satine is adamant that he stay unaware of my less legal dealings until he's an adult."

Cody shrugs. "Makes sense. Is that every--wait, no, Skywalker's married."

Obi-Wan grins. "Yes, and Padme's got twins on the way."

"I was there when he told us," Cody says drily. "He was very loud about it. Okay, how does Ahsoka fit in?"

"Hold on, I forgot Beru," Obi-Wan mutters. "Owen's fiancee. Same rules as the Lars. Okay, you asked about Ahsoka. Right. So. Um."

He dithers. Cody waits for him, and then Obi-Wan just gives up. "Ahsoka, dear, would you like to explain how you joined the family, so to speak?"

Ahsoka looks up from whatever she and the boys are doing--there are multiple beer glasses and straws and duct tape involved, and Obi-Wan doesn't really want to know--and then flips off the table and over to Obi-Wan and Cody. She looks over the family tree chart, and then says, "Oooh, did you tell him about the cult?"

"You were in a cult?" Cody demands.

"No, Komari was. She was head priestess or something. I dunno, it's why she's in prison and stuff."

"I did not tell him about the cult," Obi-Wan mutters, already regretting this. "The Bando Gora aren't a problem anymore. I've already gotten to explaining how you and Anakin know each other."

Ahsoka rolls her eyes, steals his pen, and starts sketching in around Quinlan's name, over by Asajj since Obi-Wan's section is too crowded. "Okay, so, Quinlan's adopted. His dad is Tholme, and Tholme's dad is Plo Koon. Plo Koon is good friends with my Auntie, Shaak Ti, who raised me. They live next door to each other, out in the country, and I'd play in his yard a lot, because he had puppies, and he took me to visit his bees. Whenever Auntie needed a babysitter, she asked Quinlan or Aayla to do it since she knew and trusted them, and Aayla needed pocket money."

"This is so unnecessarily complicated," Cody mutters.

"It is!" Ahsoka chirps. Her grin is far too sharp. "So, this one time, Aayla was watching me when I was fourteen, and she was just helping me with my physics homework. BAM, the door slams open, and in stumbled Skyguy with his arm missing. I've never met him before, and my first introduction is him shortly after he's gotten an unplanned amputation."

Anakin, on the other side of the room, giggles. Obi-Wan just sighs. The Fett brothers appear to be in the land of 'horrified fascination.'

Ahsoka revels in it. "There's blood everywhere, I'm screaming, Aayla's panicking, Anakin's halfway to unconscious and insisting we can't call the hospital, and nobody can get Obi-Wan on the phone. Quinlan's in another country, and Auntie Shaak and Uncle Plo are at a movie, so they've both got their cellphones off. Tholme was faking his death at that point to get away from an incident with the Irish Mob, so we didn't even try him."

"What the actual fuck," Rex breathes.

Ahsoka continues with relish. "We get Bant to pick up, and she's there an hour later with Padme, because Padme knows how to drive the way Skyguy does, and the entire drive there is just Auntie Bant on speakerphone telling Aayla how to stop the bleeding and get him stabilized while Padme's screaming at traffic at the top of her lungs."

"I owe Aayla a fruit basket," Anakin muses aloud. "The anniversary of her saving my life is coming up, it's warranted."

"Five years, baby!" Ahsoka crows. She fist-pumps.

Obi-Wan just drops his head into his hands. "You're killing me, children."

Anakin shrugs, grinning. "You know, I think Fett Senior might have been involved in that fight."

"My shitty dad cut off your arm?" Rex demands.

"No, I think he was busy fighting the Interpol guy," Anakin says. "But he was definitely there. I think. Blood loss kinda got to me after a bit, but I'm pretty sure Jango Fett was there, and also Boba might've been hiding in the getaway car?"

"I need another glass," Cody mutters. He doesn't stand up, though.

"Wait," Rex says. "So who cut off your arm?"

Anakin shrugs with an unsure noise. "Someone tried to convince me it was Grandpa Yan, but he was in the middle of a court case in Italy for some kind of parole violation when it happened, so he had an alibi."

"...did he actually violate parole?" Cody asks, and Obi-Wan thinks he looks like he doesn't know if he actually wants an answer.

Ahsoka shrugs. So does Anakin. Obi-Wan carefully looks at a spot behind Cody, and doesn't explain anything about wine tastings used as covers for illicit arms deals.

"The arm?" Rex prompts, sounding a little desperate to get back to the question he likely thinks is the most important.

"I still say it was Skeevy Sheev," Ahsoka chimes in.

"It wasn't Palpatine," Anakin snaps.

"Your creepy older friend who took you to operas and gives you fancy gifts and knows way too much about swords who was conveniently there to talk to the police and cover for you so you didn't get arrested for getting in the middle of a gang war in the first place, yes," Ahsoka says, dropping into a chair and sighing dramatically. "The guy who definitely hasn't been trying to convince you for a year and change that your wife is cheating on you with your older brother."

"Ahsoka!"

"What? He is."

"Anakin," Rex says, "your life sounds like a trainwreck."

"I'm not going to assume a frail, elderly man cut my arm off!" Anakin protests. "Even if he wanted to, he doesn't exactly have the muscle for it!"

"Grandfather's older," Obi-Wan points out, even though he knows it won't help. "And he definitely still could."

"Ha!" Ahsoka shouts.

"He could have hired someone?" Cody suggests. "Doesn't need to do it himself, if he has enough money."

Obi-Wan has a sneaking suspicion that Cody is deliberately stirring the pot as revenge for Anakin sending him eighty-seven cat memes inside an hour during last night's dinner.

"You all suck," Anakin declares. "Also, what the hell do you mean 'knows way too much about swords,' Ahsoka? You know way too much about swords!"

"Yeah, but I'm like ninety-percent sure that his antiques are Prussian and mid-century German military officer dress uniform relics, and pairing that with the Nazi pistols he's got on display--"

"He's just a history buff! And his family's German, of course he prioritizes that region, it's not like he doesn't have Russian or French or English antiques in there too, it's all sides of the war and--"

"I'm just saying he's almost definitely sending me sketchy glances like he thinks I'm planning to steal the silver on the three occasions you've had me with you when you stop by, and I'm pretty sure it's got less to do with my criminal record and more to do with me being, you know, not white."

Anakin looks ready to blow, so Obi-Wan interrupts. "Ahsoka, you were explaining how Anakin passing out on Aayla and scaring us all half to death led to your friendship?"

Ahsoka blinks at him, and then sticks her tongue out at Anakin and turns back to the chart. "So basically, Skyguy had to recuperate in Uncle Plo's living room for a week or two, and I kept showing up to bother him because he was bored and nobody would give him a laptop for 'security reasons,' because he had to lay low and stuff. He made me help him sketch out designs for a prosthesis and do all the writing for the math he had to do for the 3D printer, and we got to chatting."

Ahsoka hops up and back onto a table, legs swinging below her. "I decided he was cool and started following him around while he was getting used to only having one hand, mostly because I was bored. He showed me how to hotwire a car, and explained the best places to put a bug if you were looking to make it sneaky, and he picked my pocket to show off so many times when he was walking around Uncle Plo's house that I made him teach me that, too. And, uh, then Aayla found out and they got into a shouting match about it and decided they both needed to teach me parkour so I could get out of any mess I got myself into, since I was obviously going to follow them into a life of crime."

"And you did," Anakin says, far too proudly. "You're the best thief in this half of the country."

"Only because Aayla moved out east."

Anakin rolls his eyes and pulls Ahsoka into his side, digging his knuckles into her skull. "Best thief! You are the best thief! Be proud of yourself!"

"Let go!"

"Never!"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead. "Children, please."

"You're not my dad," Ahsoka growls out at him. "Skyguy, I'm going to bite you!"

"Good luck, the only arm you can access is the one that's going to break your teeth."

Ahsoka shrieks in outrage and stomps on Anakin's instep.

It's almost funny, for all that Obi-Wan's seen it play out a million times before, but the really interesting part is seeing Rex's look of fond dismay.

Obi-Wan thinks he might be adding a branch out to the Fetts soon. He's not actually sure if Rex is interested in Anakin or Ahsoka, and he's smack dab between them in age, so that's not a help either, but... well. The expression is familiar enough.

"Please tell me you don't match-make," Cody mutters to him.

"No, I plan to let the pieces fall where they will," Obi-Wan responds, just as low, and far more amused. "I'm simply trying to predict where those landings are to be."

Cody looks at him, and then back at the roughhousing trio, and sighs heavily. "You know, I really didn't think that you technically being minor royalty was going to be the least convoluted thing in your story, Obi-Wan."

He laughs, because it's true. "I'm first in line to inherit the title, since Rael denounced his claim. Nim isn't interested, and Qui-Gon's dead, so... I'm next."

Cody makes a face. "Delightful. I'm guessing that's not a connection we can safely make use of."

"No more than the Kryze or Naberries, I'm afraid." Obi-Wan claps him on the shoulder. "Chin up, I've plenty others in the metaphorical rolodex, all far less legitimate and far more amenable to work with our little outfit."

"Rolodex, really?" Cody snorts. "You're not that old."

Obi-Wan smiles winningly. "You don't know how old I am, Cody. All my IDs are fake."

"Anakin's twenty-four, and you're sixteen years older than him, going by the story you just told me," Cody points out. "I do know how to do basic math, Obi-Wan."

"I had to try," Obi-Wan admits. "I threw a lot of information at you all at once; I'd hoped you missed some of the ages in there."

"I have eight brothers," Cody scoffs. "And literally dozens of cousins, plus niblings, uncles, aunts, and so on. I have experience on this."

"If I asked you to list of the age of every single relative you have, you'd be able to do it?"

"Do you want me to draw a chart? I can draw a chart."

Obi-Wan can't help but laugh. "I'd be delighted, my dear."

Cody rolls his eyes, but Obi-Wan thinks--it's hard to tell in the dimmed lights of the closed bar--that there's a hint of a blush on the man's face. Obi-Wan lets himself slouch to the side, drops his head to rest on one fist, indolent debauchery in every line of his body. Cody does his best to ignore him, but Obi-Wan knows how to smile lazily and blink slowly and draw a man in.

(The whole 'indolent debauchery in every line of his body' phrasing is Anakin's, from back when he was a teenager trying to read highbrow literature to impress a cute girl... and to come up with new insults for his older brother.)

"So," Cody says, with a cough meant to somehow distract Obi-Wan from whatever's showing on the man's face. "Why, uh, why is your grandfather on terrorist watchlists?"

"Well, he didn't initially do anything," Obi-Wan says. "He was just a gay man who didn't hide it quite well enough, and had too much money and too white a face for someone to just call the cops on a faulty report. The Red Scare was technically over by that point, I think, but if a few people made suggestions that he was more loyal to the country that gave him a noble title than to the United States... he received a few warnings, of course, and it could have all blown over..."

"But?"

"But my grandfather is not a man to do things by halves, and instead decided that if the government was to list him as a threat, then he would oblige and make himself a threat," Obi-Wan finishes. "Living up to their labels, rolling with the assumptions, whatever you'd like to call it. It all irked him, and so he made some incredibly questionable decisions to make the government's lives harder. Some weren't bad, like donating to anti-war foundations that were protesting the Gulf War and the interventions in Yugoslavia, that sort of thing, and some were... nobody really looks well on gunrunning, you know."

"For fuck's sake..."

"Indeed," Obi-Wan chuckles. "Ironically, he has minimal opinion on the optimal form of economics, for all that virulent xenophobia and the remnants of anti-communism were involved in the whole mess. He just wanted to create problems for the people that were causing him problems."

Cody shakes his head. "I want to judge that, but you've met my father."

"Jango Fett is, indeed, also not a man to do things by halves," Obi-Wan agrees, attempting to nod gravely but breaking into a smile at the end. "That man is absurd."

"At least he's not dragging Boba into it anymore," Cody mutters. He drags over the fresh sheet of paper and pen that Obi-Wan offers him. "Okay, right, let's start with Jaster..."