#yes but only cause I can’t afford for this apartment rating to go down any lower I also play the owners and they are her parents

[anarchypumpkincowboy]

Playing the sims rn and I have wicked whims installed and I got really distracted by my strawberries/pomegranates/apples topped with a hazelnut cocoa spread for like several minutes I was devouring that shit and I looked up and see my sim having kinky lesbian sex with a ghost and you know what good for her she just lost her job she needed this

[titan-fodder]

Find a Way Chapter 1

|| m.list || next >>

Rating: M (mature, mdni)

Count: ~6.5k

Tags/Warnings: being a broke college student, medical talk, swearing, general cutesy back-and-forth

A/N: This is only the beginning, y’all. Big ol’ thanks to @whats-her-quirk who started reading this for me several months ago and still gets excited when I talk about it now. Love you, friendo. Anyway, enjoy~

Rice. Toilet paper. Phone charger. Dog food.

 That’s all you need. That’s all you’re here for. That’s all you can afford. 

 After grabbing a handbasket, you make your way through the grocery store. It isn’t crowded at all, nearly nine PM on a Tuesday evening, so there’s no need to push yourself against any shelves to allow other customers by, no waiting for someone to move out of the way so that you can grab something they’re blocking. It’s lovely. It’s why you like to come so late in the day.

 You grab the bag of white rice first—cheap, easy to cook, goes with just about everything. The electronics are on the other side of the store, and you keep your sights set on that far back wall, not allowing yourself to peer at anything else along the way lest you get tempted. Once you’re crouched in front of a row of different chargers, you grimace at the prices. 

 Ten bucks for a cord? Good god. 

 For the second time that day, you curse the little dog causing terror in your apartment. Getting a new phone charger wouldn’t be necessary if Remy hadn’t chewed up your old one, but no, of course he had to go for one of your absolute necessities. Why couldn't he have gnawed on one of the hardback books he used to love so much? Little fucker is lucky you love him as much as you do—enough to keep him. Enough to spend money on decent food rather than the shitty stuff most people feed their pets.

 Unfortunately, said decent food is on the highest shelf on the pet aisle, leaving you glaring up at the bag as if it’s at fault for being placed up there. 

 It seems like all you’ve done today is pout. Through your lecture. Through your lab. Through your commute home when that creepy dude wouldn’t stop staring at you. And, now again, you're huffing and swearing as you put your basket down and move to climb up on the bottom shelf to reach. 

 It’s because it’s a smaller bag. Small kibble for small dogs. They can’t put the seventy pound bags up here, you remind yourself. That’s just a disaster waiting to happen. 

 You snort at the image of a fallen shelf surrounded by mass amounts of dog food, about to hoist yourself up when a deep voice calls out. 

 “Need some help?”

 You drop back to the flat of your foot, turning to look in the direction of the speaker with wide eyes, hoping you’re not about to get reprimanded by a store employee.

 You’re met with the sight of a very tall man with sandy hair that he has to flick out of his face. He’s in a t-shirt, jeans, and Nikes, no apron in sight, so he’s definitely not an employee.

 He definitely is hot, though. 

 “Uh, yeah,” you nod, stepping back from the shelf. “If you don’t mind.”

 He doesn’t respond, just paces over and reaches the bag you were aiming for without issue, not much shorter than the shelves themselves. 

 “This one? Salmon and sweet potato?”

 “Yeah—yes,” you correct, your mother’s voice ringing in your ear: don’t say yeah. It’s yes. Yes, ma’am. Yes, sir.

 The stranger hands you the bag, and you flash him a grateful smile, murmuring your thanks as you retrieve your basket from the ground.

 “Not a problem.”

 Neither of you move for a few extremely awkward seconds, but you finally turn to walk away, telling the man to, “Have a good night,” from over your shoulder.

 The last thing you grab is the toilet paper, sighing wistfully at the extra soft rolls you used to buy while palming a pack of what will probably feel like fucking sandpaper. Desperate times call for desperate measures, though, and damn, have you been desperate as of late.

 There’s only one register open at the front of the store, the cashier—a teenage boy—looking bored out of his mind until you walk up and set your things down on the conveyor belt. 

 “This all?” He asks, scanning the four items without even looking.

 “Yeah, that’s it.”

 The total on the pin pad makes you cringe. $31.41

 You only have thirty on you, your debit card sitting uselessly at your apartment with five dollars in your account that’s keeping you from overdrawing.

 Muttering a quiet, “Damn,” you set the two bills on the counter, then continue to dig in your wallet in hopes of finding some quarters knowing damn well you spent your last four on a vending machine snack yesterday. 

 “Uh…” You glance at the bags and weigh your options. You need to be able to charge your phone, need to be able to feed your dog, and definitely need to be able to wipe your ass, which leaves, “Could you, uh, take the rice off?” You still have a few cans of soup in your pantry if you recall correctly. That’ll last you through the week.

 The cashier frowns, looks genuinely sorry for you, but does as he’s told only to be stopped by the same voice you heard on the pet aisle. 

 “Hey, I’ve got it.”

 This time when you turn to look at him, your expression is one of absolute incredulity. “No, it’s fine, you do not have to do that.”

 “It’s not a big deal,” he counters, walking forward and holding up a fifty pound bag of dog food as if it’s nothing. “Just put it all together.”

 The young boy glances between the two of you, obviously unsure of what to do.

 “I’d really rather you didn’t—”

 “And, I’d really like to make sure you eat tonight.”

 The way your mouth drops open must amuse him because the man breaks into a satisfied smile and pulls a metal AMEX card from his wallet. Left both shocked and irritated, all you can do is watch as the stranger shoves the card into the pin pad. He pockets the receipt once it’s handed to him, then hoists the large bag of dog food over one shoulder and slides behind you to make his way out of the store.

 “Wha—Wait!” You call, grabbing your bags and hurrying after him. “Wait, you can’t just—” You stop when you catch up to him, met with a pair of light green eyes when he looks down at you. “That was—I have food, okay!”

 “Well, now you have more,” he replies dryly.

 You know you should be thanking him. Again. He just did you a huge favor. 

 That doesn’t make it any less humiliating, though. Some random dude buying your groceries because you couldn’t cover them. God, you don’t think you’ve ever been so embarrassed. You would have been fine. You would have found a way.  

 Only the first few rows of parking spaces are taken up, the rest of the lot completely barren save for stray shopping carts and discarded plastic bags blowing in the breeze. The tall lights illuminate it well, much better than the street lights that line your walk back home, but you’ve never had any problems before, so you aren’t terribly worried about it. 

 You’re struggling to keep up with the man’s stride, his long legs carrying him much faster than yours do, and you feel a lot like a small child chasing after something which only serves to annoy you further. You have half a mind to keep arguing, to ask just who the hell he thinks he is, if he makes a habit of doing this, but the this you’re referring to is just a good fucking deed, just being a good person, even if it is mildly infuriating. 

 “Fine, fine, shi—” You stop and take in a deep breath, and the man in front of you slows down as well. You think it’s so that he can hear you better, but it turns out it’s just because he’s made it to his car—an ugly as fuck Mercedez wagon that makes you bite back a scoff. Okay, it makes sense. This dude just has money. Thirty bucks must not mean anything to him. 

 “Thank you,” you finally tell him, deflating in the face of defeat and once again remembering your manners. “I… Appreciate it.”

 He opens the back of the SUV and tosses his bag of food inside, then turns when the door is shut again. 

 “Like I said. It’s not a big deal.”

 I can see that, you almost say. Instead you force a tight-lipped smile, unsure of what else to do. 

 Tilting his head just slightly, the man looks at you for a moment, almost as if examining you. You want to be offended all over again, but this isn’t some kind of once over, his eyes never even leaving your face. A couple blinks later, he holds out a hand and introduces himself as, “Miche.”

 After shifting a bag over to your already full arm, you shake his extended hand and offer him your name and a, “Nice to meet you.”

 “Likewise.”

 His grip is firm and encompassing, long fingers curling around your palm and squeezing. More noticeable is how warm his hand is, almost radiating heat. It’s strangely comforting, cuts right through your irritation.

 Miche looks to be quite a bit older than you, at least a decade. There are faint lines at the corners of his eyes that hint at years spent smiling, and you think you see a bit of gray hair at his temples, but it could just be the parking lot lighting. None of it detracts from how attractive he is, extremely well built with a well kept yet rogish beard, and you’re finding it difficult to hold his light gaze. 

 “Well, anyway,” you transition. “I’ve gotta get home, but yeah, thanks again.”

 He nods, and you turn, walking away from him a little too quickly as you make your way to the sidewalk that will lead you to your apartment complex a block away. 

 That was without a doubt one of the weirdest encounters you’ve ever had, a mixture of mortification and flattery (mostly the former) that you’re ready to forget. 

 It was nothing more than a blip on your calendar, though, something you can easily look past, but that doesn’t stop you from telling Remy about it when he greets you at the door, your pitch high and stupid as you recount the tale as if your dog is a child capable of understanding you.

 “Can you believe that?” You ask, pouring food into his little bowl. “Can you believe a stranger would do that?”

 He chows down, snorting the whole time as you sit cross-legged on the ground next to him. He’s been stressed lately, probably because you’ve been stressed, which means he hasn’t been eating much. Tonight, though, as you pet him and talk, he doesn’t leave a single morsel. It’s probably because he was actually hungry, but it could be that your demeanor is just a little brighter than it has been the past few days. 

 You wind down for the night, putting up the few groceries you acquired then changing into pajamas. Brush teeth, straighten blankets, turn on Cosmos. You crawl into bed once you’ve completed your routine, plugging the new charger into your phone and cutting your eyes at Remy where he’s curled up at your side.

 “Eat this, and you’ll be finding a new place to live, got it?”

 His curved tail thumps on the bed twice, and he stares up at you with big brown eyes, too god damn cute for his own good. 

 “Who am I kidding? I could never kick you out. Even if you are the worst roommate I’ve ever had.”

 You snuggle up with the little mutt as Neil Degrasse Tyson explains the theory of the universe, and before you know it, the world fades to black.

 ~

 The afternoon shift at the bar is slow, just the few regular alcoholics patrons sitting on the stools nursing drinks for hours while watching whatever game is playing on the television above your head. Things don't pick up until around half past seven. You and Reiner have to start moving a tad quicker, and then it's all left to him when eight o'clock rolls around. 

 Porco is already tuning his guitar up on the small stage, eyebrows furrowed as he twists each little peg. He has a capo clipped on the end of the head for whenever he needs it, and it makes him look like he spends much more time playing in dive bars than the once a week schedule he agreed to. 

 Reiner takes your bar blade when you hand it to him for safekeeping then winks at you and nods to the stage, sending you off as he does every Friday night.

 You've been working at Marley's for a couple years now. The money isn't great, just barely keeps you afloat (though ‘treading water’ might be a little more accurate of a description), but the hours are flexible, and you get along with your coworkers wonderfully. 

 The redhead on stage—now tuning your guitar—is actually who recommended it to you, said that they were short staffed and looking for another bartender, preferably a cute female (he had wriggled his eyebrows at that), and that he knew most of the people who worked there. “They’re all idiots, so you’ll fit in just fine.”

 Plus, it's close enough to longboard to, so that's pretty helpful given your current no-car situation. You were pretty strategic when picking an apartment, made sure it was close to campus as well as some kind of grocery store, so getting the job at Marley’s tied it all together. Some days, mostly when it’s raining, you still have to shell out a few bucks for the bus, but it isn’t all that often, and if you’re lucky enough and your bar shifts match up with someone else’s, they’ll just pick you up on the way. 

 The stage area is always a little warm for some reason, so you tie your flannel around your waist as you step up onto the slightly raised platform, taking your guitar from Porco once you’re seated on the stool next to him. 

 Your sets are never long, just a few songs, usually covers unless you’re feeling especially full of angst and want to pour your heart out with an original. That, thankfully, is not on the agenda for tonight, just some modern indie plus a Fleetwood Mac song.

 You and Porco have been doing this for a little over a year now. You had met him during undergrad at a party and originally did not get along with him very well, but eventually you both got started on music and found that you shared some interests including but not limited to playing. You jammed together a few times, enjoyed it, and just never really stopped. What started out as casual playing in dorm rooms or the campus courtyard turned into playing coffeeshops for pocket change, and now you're both here singing to other poor college students and a handful of middle-aged men and women attempting to drown their sorrows. Perfect audience. 

 Porco uses his stage voice to introduce the two of you, all low and smoky and fake, but it turns a few heads, so you're not about to complain. His singing voice is similar, a surprise when you had first heard it and oddly complementary to your higher octave. Most of the time you just go back and forth, taking turns with verses and choruses, but it's easy to harmonize with each other when the song calls for it. 

 All in all, you and Porco make a good team and usually bring in about forty bucks that he lets you keep nine times out of ten. You argue with him about it but lose every time, reminded of the fact that he has two roommates and that they all make enough money to feel mostly stable. 

 "I mean, we don't really know the definition of a fucking savings account, but I'd say we're still doin' a shit ton better than you are right now."

 And, he has a point. 

 You get through one song, then a second and a third. Some fifty-year-old dude with a beer belly shouts at you to play Freebird but only gets a middle finger in return. It's a set like any other, ending with Dreams and earning a sparse and scattered applause after Porco thanks the crowd the same way he always does. 

 "Alright, thanks for listening. Please buy us shots," with his mouth up against his microphone so that he's barely understandable.

 You take both guitars to stash in the staff lounge until closing, and Porco grabs the shoebox the two of you use to collect tips, an extra piece of cardboard taped to one side and scribbled on with Sharpie. 

 Help our personal fight against starvation. (We are in college and tired of ramen.)

 After tucking the instruments away safely, you join Reiner behind the bar once again just in time for Porco to plop down on a stool on the other side. 

 "You guys sounded good tonight," Rei comments while rinsing out a couple of rocks glasses and setting them upside down on the drying mat. 

 Porco sucks his teeth. "Man, we always sound good, shut up."

 Reiner's eye roll is unconvincing when paired with his little grin, and he makes quick work of getting the redhead his preferred drink without Porco even having to ask for it. 

 It's routine for a while. Rounds of shots and too-sweet mixed drinks for the group of girls at a table by the counter. The regulars all flagging you down and getting huffy when you can't attend to them immediately, as if they're entitled to your undivided attention just because they spend more time here than you do. You break a glass when it slips out of your hand. Some asshole lectures you about how this can't be considered a real bar if the only IPAs you carry are Karbach Hopadilla and India Pale Ale. 

 "Sir, I don't order the booze, I just sell it," you brush him off. "But, if you go down to Ash street—you know, the one that's popular for being lined with different bars, I'm sure you'll be able to find all the IPAs your little heart desires."

 The khaki wearing motherfucker cuts his eyes at you and sneers before returning to a group of guys who all look exactly the same as him. Fuck, you're so over college boys. 

 "Hey," Reiner starts, slapping a hand on your shoulder. "I'm gonna go change the Budweiser keg. Need anything while I'm back there?" 

 "Nah, thanks, though."

 The blond nods then shoulders his way through the swinging doors that lead to the back. Porco is on his phone hunched over and chewing on the straw of his drink. He doesn't seem to need anything at the present time. In fact, pretty much everyone looks to be taken care of for now which is good considering the new figure who leans up against the end of the counter. 

 You actually do a double take when you first see him, only taking note of his height at first, but the glimpse you caught of his face has you turning all the way and tilting your head in confusion. 

 Though he is familiar to you, he is not familiar to Marley's. You know all the regulars by name and drink, and the college kids may as well be a single entity, their faces all blurring together but still belonging in the cheap, dingy bar. 

 Miche does not belong here, though—not with his nice tie and button up and certainly not with his fucking Mercedes you assume is parked outside. 

 Still, you stride over, twirling your bar blade and cocking a hip out once you're in speaking distance. 

 "You lost or something?" 

 Miche's mouth curls up at the corners, and he doesn't look surprised to see you, probably noticed you whenever he came in. 

 "Nope. I'm exactly where I wanna be."

 You raise an eyebrow. "In a badly lit bar with only two IPAs and a bunch of sad college kids?" 

 "Yeah," he chuckles. "That guy was really rude, by the way. I was about to say something, but you, uh, seemed to have it covered."

 "Oh, believe me, I've dealt with way worse. That was nothing."

 He doesn't seem pleased with this information but doesn't say anything on it, choosing instead to ask, "What whiskey do you have here?"

 "Uh, Johnny Walker, Wild Turkey, Dewars, Jameson, and Crown," you list, slapping your bar blade against your palm with every brand. "Nothin' too fancy."

 Miche only contemplates for a moment before making his request, "Can I get Wild Turkey on the rocks?"

 "Yeah, for sure. Single or double?"  

 "Double. Please."

 You twirl around to the metal shelves, searching for just a moment before finding the right bottle and pulling it. Glass, ice, a generous pour, then you're placing it on a coaster in front of him. 

 "Thanks." 

 Someone further down the bar waves to get your attention, and you slip away from Miche to help them. They ask for an annoyingly complicated shot but buy one for you as well which makes up for it. You knock it back, grimacing at the taste but enjoying the warm feeling that quickly settles in your stomach. 

 As you try to stay busy, you find yourself gravitating back toward Miche. He isn't watching you or calling you over, simply sitting on his phone while nursing his drink, finger curled around his straw to hold it out of the way as he sips from the rim of the glass. Why do so many men do that? You've never understood. 

 "Did you get home okay the other night?" He suddenly questions right as Reiner walks out from the back. He must hear because he raises an eyebrow and smirks as he passes you, but you wave him away with intentions of clarifying later. 

 "Yeah, I live, like, a block away from the store. I walk back and forth all the time."

 "That late at night?" 

 You scoff, grabbing a few clean glasses to put away just to make it look like you're doing something other than running your mouth. 

 "It wasn't that late. And, the neighborhood's safe enough. I mean, I haven't had any problems so far." 

 That may have had something to do with your ex-boyfriend walking with you everywhere, but that's not the point here. 

 Miche stares at you as he takes another sip of whiskey, not even making a face at the taste which is oddly attractive to your stupid brain. 

 "I thought about offering a ride, but…"

 "I would have thought you were a literal serial killer, so I'm glad you didn't."

 He snorts into his drink and nods as if to agree. 

 "Besides, you'd already done more than enough for me."

 You swear internally when Rei passes by once again, a suggestive little, "Mmm," hummed just loud enough for you to hear.

 You swat him with your dish towel and briefly consider tripping him, but with your luck, you'd end up actually hurting him, and then the bar would be short staffed again. 

 Plus, you can see why he's amused. Miche is even hotter tonight than he was on Tuesday. His dress shirt is a very light blue, purple tie making his eyes shine vibrantly even in the shit lighting. Shaggy hair is pushed from his handsome face, beard shaved a little closer and accentuating the angle of his jaw. 

 Stupid hot is how your friend Sasha would describe him, and she wouldn't be wrong. 

 "So, for real, how'd you end up here tonight?" 

 The idea that he could be stalking you flashes through your mind, but honestly, you don't know if you'd be flattered or creeped out if that was the case. 

 Miche shrugs very broad shoulders and twirls his glass a bit, answering, "My coworkers always go to the same bar, and I'm not really up for hanging out with them right now. Still wanted a drink, though, and this was the closest low-key bar I could find."

 "Rough day?" 

 "Yeah," he nods. "Just… Kinda shitty."

 You click your tongue and glance away to make sure nobody needs you, then lean your elbows on the counter to get a little closer to him. 

 "As a bartender, it's part of my job to ask if you wanna talk about it."

 "Is it really?" He asks with a frown that makes you laugh. 

 "I mean, it's not in my fucking contract, but it's kind of an unspoken truth."

 Miche laughs quietly again, and you fight your own. He has a nice smile—a little lopsided but showing off perfect teeth. 

 "Haven't had a bartender give me their utmost attention since I was in school—" you somehow doubt that, "—and that was usually just because they were trying to—" he stops himself and shakes his head. "Nevermind."

 You can guess where that thought was going. Usually just because they were trying to fuck me. No brainer. 

 "Right," you grin before getting the conversation back on track. "So anyway, what's eatin' ya'?"

 His lips push out in a little pout, gaze falling back to his glass, but he still tells you, "I had to break a baby's collarbone today."

 Your world stills for a second as you stop everything you're doing, not even trying to hide the look of shock on your face. 

 "Excuse me?" What in the fuck— "What do you do?" 

 "I'm a doctor." 

 He doesn't elaborate, and it takes you a second to catch on since breaking bones seems a little counterproductive to healing people, but you happen to recall a particular anatomy lecture where you learned about birth complications, that in some cases, newborns get stuck in the birth canal or are simply too large to pass through, and many times that results in a fractured clavicle.

 "You deliver babies," you state once it becomes clear to you.

 Miche nods, swallowing a rather large gulp and finally making a face at the burn. "That I do."

 "Are you, like, a surgeon or…?"

 "Well, yeah. C-sections, hysterectomies, stuff like that, but I spend most of my time doing routine exams and consults."

 You nod slowly, not sure if you're extremely aroused or extremely disturbed. On one hand, the surgeon thing is hot. He must be smart. Very smart. On the other hand, as someone with a vagina, you're feeling strangely vulnerable knowing that he looks at them for a living. 

 "Yeah, that's the expression I usually get," he comments, and you shake yourself out of your muddled thoughts and school your features so that you don't look so dumbstruck. 

 "Sorry, just processing," you tell him. "Can I ask how you got into it? I mean, most women prefer female doctors for that kind of thing."

 "Yeah," he breathes. "A lot of them do but not all."

 "Men are rougher sometimes," as if he doesn't already know. "I had a guy doctor once, and let me tell you, the way he shoved that speculum in was not very pleasant. Just, like, not enough lube, and too much force and…" You click your tongue, realizing you've rambled. "You don't need to know about that, so I'm just gonna—" 

 You turn away, cheeks painfully hot as you whisper to yourself, "Why? Why did you fucking tell him that, you weirdo."

 A few other guests need tending to, so you take care of them, mostly ignoring Reiner when he asks, "Who is that dude?" 

 "No one."

 "I've never seen him here before. He's hot."

 "And, you're nosy."

 "So, he is someone?" 

 "I'll tell you about it later, just shut up."

 He shows a satisfied smile but walks away to lean over the bar between Porco and his brother. You hadn't even noticed Marcel walk in. Must have happened when you were busy gawking at Miche. 

 Miche, whose glass is empty. You pour him another, sliding it over and muttering, "On the house. For having to hear me tell you too much personal information."

 "It's not a big deal," he laughs, and you remember those words coming out of his mouth a few nights ago. Maybe nothing is a big deal to him. Maybe that's what it's like to feel absolutely secure in life, like he can just let everything roll off his back. You wonder what that must be like. 

 "Okay, then consider it a thank you for serving female-kind or whatever," you wave. 

 Miche doesn't argue, but he does roll his eyes as he lifts the new glass to his mouth. You grab his empty and put it in the sink, then return to wipe away the small puddle of condensation on the counter in front of him. 

 "So, what do you do?" He asks curiously. 

 You grin sheepishly then hold your hands out to motion to the rest of the bar. "You're lookin' at it." 

 "Nothing else?"

 You're mildly offended by his prying because there's nothing wrong with being a server; it's a perfectly valid lifestyle choice. However, you have a feeling he doesn't mean for it to come off as judgmental. 

 Of course, that doesn't stop you from snapping, "Oh, I'm sorry. Not all of us can be fancy obstetricians."

 Eyes growing, Miche waves a hand defensively and begins to apologize only for you to smirk. "Chill, I'm just messing with you." When he relaxes again, you tell him, "I'm actually a student at Sina."

 "No shit?" 

 "None at all."

 Sina College of Medicine is one of the highest ranked schools in the country. You're still in shock that you got in despite attending for half a year already. Unfortunately, with prestige comes ridiculous fucking tuition, and your parents can only help so much—hence the playing the bar for money and having hot strangers buy your groceries. You are not living luxuriously by any means, but one day—one day—it'll be worth it. 

 "Do you know what you wanna go into?" 

 You answer, "Neuro," immediately because that's been the plan since you learned what a brain was as a toddler. 

 "Any particular reason?" Miche presses. 

 You shrug, eyes flicking to the woman a few seats down who's leaning over and snapping at you. 

 "Brains are cool and still very much a mystery, and I wanna learn as much as I can about them during my time here on Earth." 

 "Plan on being a surgeon or—"

 You hold a finger up to stop him, "One moment please," then dart off to help the lady who's now glaring at you like she's about to scold you. 

 "What can I get for you?" 

 All she orders is a bottled beer which is a relief, but she still mutters, "Finally," as she takes it from you. In her defense, you're a little off your game tonight. Wonder why.

 "No surgery for me," you sigh when you're across from Miche again. 

 "Squeamish?" He smirks. 

 You shake your head. "Not really, no, but I don't think I could handle the pressure that comes with tinkering with the organ that makes a person a person, you know?" 

 He snickers, repeating, "Tinkering," before taking a drink. "I can respect that. Know your limits."

You do know them. For the most part. You know them well enough to realize you’ve been approaching your breaking point for a long time. Between school, work, and fucking financials, you’re about ready to drop, and now, talking to Miche who seems to have the stability you desperately wish you had, you’re feeling a little unhinged, a little dizzy.

Then again, that could have something to do with the fact that all you’ve had to eat today is a basket of French fries from the kitchen and three shots bought for you by patrons. If Reiner found out he’d kill you, but if your boss, Theo, caught you stealing food, he’d fire you. You can sneak fries, but that’s about it.

The med school conversation continues for a little while—what year you’re in, how you’re liking it, etc. Miche’s expression is one of complete understanding when you complain about how little sleep you’re getting and how most of your instructors are “a little dickish”.

“Yeah, you should get used to that. There are a lot of doctors out there who have god complexes.”

“Do you have one?” You ask with a smile. “I mean, you're pretty much the bringer of life.”

“Yeah, but I am also the bearer of bad news and the breaker of infant collarbones.”

“For the record, I have a friend who had her collarbone broken at birth because she was a fat fucking baby, and she lives a completely normal life. You know, aside from the not being able to move her right arm at all.”

Miche chokes on his whiskey, coughing a couple times, and you know it probably burns like hell, but the way he looks at you in both fear and disbelief is a little hilarious, especially since, “I’m kidding. She’s totally fine.”

“That was mean,” he croaks in a hoarse voice. “Just mean.”

“Hey, I have to make my own fun. Sometimes it just so happens to be at other people’s expense.”

He cuts his eyes at you, but there’s no venom in the narrowed gaze. You give him another shot as well as a glass of water just for putting up with you, then flash him the smile Reiner always tells you is dangerous. “If you can get me all tingly with that look, how do you think it affects straight men?”

It’s nearing ten, so the bar is only getting busier. Talking with Miche becomes harder and harder as you run around behind the counter. You spare him a few words here and there, talking about bars, babies, and music. Your face heats horribly when he says he enjoyed the acoustic set you and Porco played. You didn’t think he’d been around for that, but here he is telling you that, “You have a nice voice. Both of you do,” in his own deep tambor, and there you are across from him, kicking yourself for getting all giddy and soft like you always do whenever a strong male character praises you in any way whatsoever. 

“Thanks. We’ve been playing together for a few years now.”

“Boyfriend?” Miche asks, and you snort while shaking your head. 

“No, we’re, uh… Not each other’s type.”

Looking over your shoulder, you see Porco standing on the bottom rung of his stool, leaning over the bar top while trying and failing to grab a beer that Reiner is holding out of his reach. The redhead swears rudely only to resort to begging, and when Rei finally hands the drink over, Porco glares while the other just grins and winks.

“Ah,” Miche grunts in realization. 

“Yeah, they’re great. Some of my best friends.”

You’ve never met a couple that fights as much as Porco and Reiner do, but they always come out on the other side, and that’s what really matters, you think. If you’ve learned anything from them it’s that if every fight you have leaves your relationship weaker instead of stronger, something is wrong. 

You don’t really want to dwell on that, though, not with a full bar. Not with a very handsome Miche sitting in front of you. He’s patient as you run back and forth, on his phone until you slide back over to him and pick up where you left off even if it’s just for a minute or two. 

It gets more crowded and much louder, and eventually talking is no longer an option. You open tabs and get refills, pour shots and mix drinks, and then you twist around to check and make sure Miche is still doing okay only to find he isn’t there any more. Instead, Reiner is wiping down the counter to get it ready for another guest, and you can’t fight the feeling of disappointment that rises in your chest.

However, it’s quickly pushed aside when the other bartender turns and looks at you with high eyebrows and a mischievous smile. Reiner paces over to you, holding folded dollar bills between his index and middle fingers, and his voice is almost melodic when he announces, “This was left for you.”

You pluck the bills from him and begin walking toward the register only to stop when you unfold the cash, finding a five, a twenty, and a fifty. Miche's drinks, including the ones he wasn’t supposed to pay for, only amount to $23. 72. You were planning on adding it all to the spill tab, so you’d been keeping track the whole time, but now…

“It’s for both of us,” you tell Reiner, but he just laughs in your face.

“Uh, no, it’s not.”

You yelp when he frisbees a fresh coaster at you, the cardboard hitting you right in the throat before falling to the ground, and when you bend to pick it up you find that there’s something scribbled on it. 

Inked in all capital letters just under the red Stella Artois logo is a short note. It starts with your name, then: 

THANKS FOR BRIGHTENING A BAD DAY. - MICHE 

“So,” Reiner starts, sliding up behind you to peer at the coaster over your shoulder. “You gonna tell me who he is?”

He stops you when you go to drop the largest bill into your shared tip jar, slapping your hand away with a harsh, “No,” that sounds upsettingly similar to the way you say it to Remy whenever you catch him eating something he shouldn’t be. 

“He left it for you, so keep it,” Rei bites, lifting his chin while peering over his nose in an expression that may as well read ‘try it’.

You groan, knowing you’re fighting a losing battle, and slip the fifty into your pocket. “Fine, fine, Jesus Christ.”

“Okay, now for real, how long have you been fucking that dude?”

“I’m not fucking him—I don’t know him!”

“What?” 

He looks legitimately confused, and you have just enough time to tell him about meeting Miche in the grocery store a few nights ago, but you can’t go too far into detail—not with the obnoxious group of frat boys that are circling the bar like vultures, asking for both drinks and phone numbers at an alarming rate. You and Reiner break apart to get back to work, and you do your best to treat the rest of the night like every other you’ve spent here.

Except it’s not like the others. Something was very different about tonight, and that something is about to keep you fed for the next couple of weeks.

[goodlucktai]

(I feel like I should finish your prompt first but. These ones are so good....feel free to ignore if you have too many asks but 29 or 33 with chocobros...?

PROMPTS LIST

33. “Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes.” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

ik i just did this one for natsuyuu but...........chocobros

x

They're somewhere in Duscae, near enough to the coast that each breeze carries a hint of the sea, on another errand for another stranger to scrape together enough gil to eat tonight.

They've stopped at the last little roadside cluster of shops before the countryside stretches far and wide and wild, stocking up on what meager supplies they can afford.

Noctis has never lived this way before. He's never gone to bed hungry before. Neither has Gladio or Ignis, for all their world-weariness and the general practical knowledge and common sense they walk around with that far surpasses Noctis' own.

Ignis can budget with the best of them, and Gladio is willing to eat literally anything at any time, but Prompto is the one who gets it.

He chats at length about all the times he's had to get creative with pasta or rice because it was all that was left in his pantry. Back in high school, when he could only work part-time. When someone should have been taking care of him, and instead he was left to figure out how to stretch a tiny budget much farther than made sense.

"Come on, Iggy," he said once when they were out shopping, half-laughing. Like he thought Ignis was joking. "Fresh produce? We've got like a hundred gil between the four of us and we're totally out of restoratives."

And Ignis paused, and glanced sidelong at him. He put back the crisp, flowery vegetables and pulled out his little notebook and asked for suggestions instead. It took Prompto a few minutes to convince himsef that Ignis was taking him seriously, but now they like, bond over canned fruit.

"I'm gonna kill this catoblepas with my bare hands," Gladio says with feeling, leaning against the car. "I'm so godsdamned sick of pasta. Don't tell Iggy I said that."

Noctis rolls an energy drink between his hands absently, brow furrowed. It's tricky business, and he's not very good at it just yet, but home-made elixirs save them a ton of gil. He feels guilty when they have to spend their money on something he should be able to do himself.

"I'm telling him," he says without missing a beat. "He'll never forget, and he'll give you shit every single time you make cup noodles from now on, forever."

"I can't stand you," Gladio tells him seriously.

The bell above the door of the convenience store rings brightly, and Noctis glances up to see Ignis and Prompto walking out looking a lot more cheerful than they did going in.

Gladio's face does something very subtle and specific when he sees them, there and gone in a second, before Noctis can pin it down and figure it out.

"What are you two chucklefucks up to?" he calls over. Ignis immediately narrows a disapproving stare at him, but Prompto beams.

"I got a commission, sort of!" he says.

"A commission?" Noctis parrots, sending the energy drink back to the Armiger.

"Sort of?" Gladio adds.

"While we were checking out, the store-owner saw my camera, and seemed really into it," Prompto says. "Since, you know. It's unique."

Noctis does know. The digital camera hanging at Prompto's side has been with him since Noctis first bought it for him three years ago. He would rebuild it every so often, bowed over a collection of impossibly tiny parts spread out carefully across a dish towel at the kitchen table in Noctis' apartment. To call it unique is a bit of an understatement.

Gladio frowns, sensing where this is going a split-second before Noctis does. "And?"

"And he offered me money for it! Like, more than it's worth probably. A lot more."

"I don't see how that could be possible," Ignis says smoothly, leaning through the open window of the Regalia to put the shopping bag in the backseat. "Since your camera is clearly priceless. Which is what I explained to the man."

Noctis relaxes, glad that Ignis and Prompto have bonded over shopping to the point that neither of them want to do it unless they can go together-- because if Prompto had been in there by himself, he 100% would have sold his camera. He would have hated to do it, but he would have done it. It's like he thinks he owes his friends something just for letting him exist.

"Good looking out, Specs," Gladio says gruffly. Prompto waffles a bit, looking torn between pleased and embarrassed. Noctis decides to rescue him.

"What commission, though?" he asks.

"Oh, right. Well, he was kind of bummed about the camera, but he asked if he could see some of my photos, and Ignis said we had time-- "

If it were literally anyone else, Noctis thinks, up to and including and especially the Actual Crown Prince, Ignis would have said they were in a hurry and not to show off.

"--and he seemed really impressed! With the photos! I told him we were going to take down a catoblepas, and he asked why, and I said for some cash, I mean, clearly," Prompto adds, gesturing at the four of them and their general road grime. "So he, ah-- well he's never seen a catoblepas up close before, and he said if I could get some good pictures of it, he'd pay me for them. He gave me a figure, and it's, like, better than some of the jobs I've done for Vyv."

He's delighted, clearly. He likes feeling like he's pulling his own weight. Noctis is always so relieved when Vyv calls, not because of the inherent payday, but more because it puts this light in Prompto's eyes that Noctis would easily climb a hundred volcanic mountains for.

"Damn, Prompto, at this rate you'll have funded our whole trip," Gladio says. He doesn't ruffle his hair anymore, because Prompto actually hates that, just sort of scrunches his fingers through it instead. Prompto doesn't hate that at all. It's adorable.

Sometimes in the early morning, when he and Noctis are the last to drag themselves out of the tiny camper, they'll do their affirmations together:

"Gotta be our best today," Noctis will say, and Prompto will put on this absurdly determined expression, bed hair hanging into his eyes and cheek still creased pink from the pillow.

"Gotta get those hair scrunches," he'll reply gravely.

"What else did he say, Prompto?" Ignis says in a pleasant tone of voice that Noctis hasn't trusted since he was seven years old.

"Um! Nothing. Nothing worth repeating, anyway, you know." He is looking completely away from them now, an avoidance tactic if Noctis has ever seen one. "Woah, is that really the time? We better get going if we wanna catch that cow before it gets dark!"

He turns toward the car and runs into Gladio's arm instead.

"He suggested that Prompto's talents would be put to better use in different company," Ignis says, his voice carrying clearly over Prompto's whine of 'nooo, Iggy, let it go.' "He said that if Prompto ever got tired of our lifestyle, his door would be open."

Ah, Noctis thinks, followed by, ouch?

"Oh, fuck that guy," Gladio blurts. "Let me go talk to him."

"No!" Prompto clings to his arm, throwing all his weight into keeping Gladio in place. The Shield, who could bench Prom's entire body weight in one hand, lets himself be detained anyway and pretends to be annoyed about it. "Ignis, why are you causing trouble right now?" Prompto says frantically.

"Transparency is important in a relationship," Ignis replies.

"There's transparency and then there's causing trouble. Noct, tell them."

"I think Gladio should go talk to him," Noctis says immediately. But then Prompto looks betrayed, and it makes Noctis feel awful. "Ugh, okay. Okay. We're leaving. Ignis, Gladio, that's an executive order."

"Are you sure I can't punch him in the face?" Gladio grumbles.

"Am I-- yes, dude!" Prompto half-laughs nervously. "Very sure!"

"What if I just broke his nose a little?"

"Then that would be treason, I guess, cause Noct just said no."

It's with the standard amount of bickering and noise that they climb into the car, the top rolling up over their heads as it starts to drizzle. Ignis pulls smoothly back onto the cracked asphalt road and reaches over to turn the radio on; a peace offering. From the backseat, Noctis can see the corner of Prompto's smile, framed by a flyaway piece of yellow hair.

They live this way now, but they didn't always. Noctis used to have the run of the whole Citadel, had his own penthouse apartment, grew up dodging banquets and lavish dinners. It's not like he likes sleeping on the ground and having nothing to eat. It's not like he chose to lose his home.

But it could be worse. It's not a bad way to live, just Noctis and the people he loves best and these countless hours together. There's a lot of hard work and sometimes he goes to bed hungry but he knows he'll remember these days forever. He knows he'll miss them.

"Hey," he says, over the quiet sound of rain on the windows and the catchy synth-pop crooning out of the speakers. "Don't ever sell your camera, okay?"

Prompto says, "I mean, I wouldn't ever want to."

"Seriously," Noctis presses. He doesn't want to let it go. It feels important. "Your pictures are-- they mean the world to me, Prom. I can't even tell you."

His friend looks bewildered. He's half-turned in his seat, and his eyes stray to Gladio, then jump to Ignis, then settle back on Noctis. Whatever he's looking for, he seems to find it, because he smiles.

"Okay, weirdo," he says, "one fully-documented roadtrip, coming up. I won't leave anything out."

Noctis is counting on it.

[breanime]

Intentions

Okay, here’s my shot at a Tommy Shelby fic... Let me know what you think, please!

Prompt:  “You think I would do this for just anybody?”

You weren’t entirely sure what possessed Tommy Shelby—the Tommy Shelby—to assist you, but you decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and just appreciate it. Ever since he’d overheard you telling Ada about the men who harassed you on the streets, Tommy had taken it upon himself to make sure you always had an escort home.

And for the last five days, that escort had been him.

“Really, Mr. Shelby—” you began, holding your purse in front of you as Tommy locked up the office.

“—Tommy,” he corrected you, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Tommy,” you repeated, “you don’t have to keep doing this, really. I can just walk.”

“You live 45 minutes from the office,” he said back, “and that’s not counting having to stop for fucking protests or some pieces of shite trying to pick you up. Then it’s around 56 minutes if it’s raining or snowing,” he went on, “More if it’s doing both at once,” he led you to his car, opening the door for you, “You work hard; you ought to have your boss make sure you get home safe.”

You bit your lip, trying to keep your growing smile in check. Tommy had no way of knowing that—the time it took for you to get home—unless he walked the walk himself. “Well,” you said, climbing into the car, “I really do appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well just appreciate it quietly, eh? Don’t need the other girls thinkin’ they can get a free ride out of me,” he glanced at you, giving you a small smile that made your heart flip in your chest. You watched as he started the car, and he turned to you, “Why do you stay in that neighborhood, anyway?” He asked you. “It’s so far from town, the buildings are old, the landlords are pricks…”

“It’s the only neighborhood that houses Blacks,” you answered, “Or at least it’s the only one that houses us at an affordable price.”

“Hm,” he nodded, looking ahead as he drove, the smoke from his cigarette billowing from his lips, “Am I paying you that poorly?”

You laughed, and you didn’t miss the way his lips twitched upwards as you did. “You pay me well above the usual rate. I’m just saving it up, is all. I can’t have you driving me around forever, Mr. Shelby—”

“—Tommy,” he corrected you.

You rolled your eyes, making him chuckle, “Tommy,” you amended yourself.

“I don’t mind it, you know,” he said, turning the wheel, “driving you. These last few days, it’s been… nice,” he paused, “I don’t get a lot of time for good company or conversation on me own.”

“Oh, so I’m good company, am I?” You said with a grin.

Tommy turned to you, those diamond blue eyes staring right into your soul, “You’re a smart girl,” he replied, “Loyal, Trustworthy. Hard working. And you’re bloody gorgeous so. Yes. You make for good company.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and your eyes darted down to your lap. You’d heard that Tommy Shelby was a charmer, and that he’d had pretty much every woman who’s worked for him—minus his aunt and his sister-in-law, of course—but you’d never seen him so… forward.

You liked it.

“Have I made you uncomfortable?” He asked casually, as if he was asking about the weather.

“No,” you answered, looking over at him, “You make for good company too.”

He gave a wry smile then. “Fishin’ for a raise, eh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Either I’m loyal and trustworthy, or I’m bootlicker. Which is it, Tommy?”

He laughed, and the sound made you warm all over. Tommy didn’t laugh nearly as often as he should. “Fair enough,” he nodded, “You’re not a bootlicker, that’s for sure,” he glanced over at you again, “I haven’t figured out what it is you are yet…”

“I’m a girl who isn’t gonna let you fuck her just cause you’ve given me a few rides,” you said back, speaking before you could stop yourself.

He raised his eyebrows, nodding. “Is that what you think is going on here?” He asked. “My driving you home from work? You think I’m doing this for sex?”

You licked your lips, nervous now. “Well, I mean no offense, Mr.—Tommy—but I’ve worked for you for three months now, and I think I know you well enough to know that you never do anything for nothing.”

Tommy smirked. “That’s true,” he stopped the car, letting a mother and her kids pass in front, and looked at you, his eyes staring into yours brazenly, “So, let’s have it. Give me your theories,” he started the car again, glancing back at you as he spoke, “Why, then, do you think that I do this?”

You paused. Maybe you were being presumptuous. Maybe he didn’t want to sleep with you. Just because he called you gorgeous, didn’t mean he wanted to fuck you, after all. Maybe he didn’t mean what he said—although Tommy always meant what he said. Maybe, though, he really was just concerned about your wellbeing. A woman walking home alone at night could be vulnerable to all kinds of dangers, and given the amount of enemies the Shelbys had… You looked over at Tommy. “You do this for everyone,” you surmised.

Tommy turned to you, an eyebrow raised. “You think I would do this for just anybody?”

Again, you paused. “Yes?”

“Well, I don’t,” he said back, “I’ve never driven any of the girls home—except for Lizzie, but that’s only because I fucked her,” he went on, blunt as ever, “This takes up a portion of my time, and I’m not a man who has a lot of time to waste,” he looked over at you, “I like being around you,” he confessed, “I like the way you talk. I like the way you think, and when I think of you alone at night… I can’t sleep. I can never sleep, but still…” He took his cigarette and tossed it, giving a humorless chuckle. “You make me ramble,” he went on, shrugging one shoulder, “I don’t ramble, least not since France...” He paused for a moment. “When I’m busy, and one of the lads takes you home instead, it ruins me night. It irritates me that I missed out on that time with you, and that another man got it instead,” he glanced at you again, “Is that alright to say?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I prefer it when you drive me,” you admitted, “Not that the others aren’t nice and all—they are—but… I do like this time with you, being alone with you…”

Tommy looked at you, his sky-blue eyes staring into yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Wordlessly, he pulled the car over, turning to face you fully. “Tomorrow is Friday,” he said, and you blinked, confused as to why he was telling you something you already knew, “Pay day. I’d like to take you out to dinner. Maybe see a picture after. Would that be alright?”

You felt your lips spread out in a smile, and Tommy smiled back, chuckling a bit at the excitement in your eyes. “Yes,” you answered, “yes, that’d be alright.”

“But I want to be honest with you,” he went on, “I respect you as an employee, and you’ve been a good friend to me these past months, and regardless of what happens tomorrow night, I will still make sure you have a safe way home after work,” he leaned forward a bit, his voice low and deep, “but I want it known that I very much do want to fuck you.”

His words sent a flush of heat through you, and you had to remind yourself that you were a lady, not a whore…no matter how much Tommy Shelby’s glimmering eyes and sharp jawline made you want to be… Biting your lip, you smiled at him, “I’m not going to open my legs for you on the first date, Tommy.”

He laughed, taking out another cigarette and lighting it, the flame reflecting in his ocean-colored eyes. “Mm, we’ll see,” he murmured, “So it’s a date then?”

“It’s a date.”

The rest of the drive passed quickly—too quickly for your taste. The two of you discussed work and your families and what movie you’d like to see, and before you knew it, he was parked outside of your building.

He opened the door for you and walked you to the front door like a gentleman. And you thanked him—

—with a kiss.

If the kiss took him by surprise, Tommy didn’t show it. As soon as your lips touched his, his arm was wrapped around you, keeping you close. The kiss was soft, but firm, and Tommy’s slender body felt magnificent against yours. You wondered, at the back of your mind, what your neighbors would think, seeing you necking with Tommy fucking Shelby of the Peaky fucking Blinders, but you couldn’t be bothered to care about what the gossips may say.

You were too busy trying to keep yourself from floating off in a haze of bliss.

You pulled back first, and Tommy let you. You couldn’t keep the smile off of your face. “I’m not letting you up, Tommy.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Like hell you didn’t,” you smirked, making him laugh.

“I’m a patient man,” he said back, taking a step back, “I can wait until tomorrow.”

You laughed at that, but the truth was, you were quite certain that tomorrow night, when Tommy pulled up in front of your apartment, he wouldn’t be driving off until the sun rose.

In fact, you were counting on it.

You watched him drive off from your window, a sigh escaping from deep in your chest, the taste of him—mint and smoke and a hint of whiskey—fresh on your lips. Tommy fucking Shelby…

…what had you gotten yourself into?

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

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! You guys know how I get when I write a new character; I always think it’s shit. So if it is, tell me! And if it’s not, tell me why, please! Should I write for him again, or nah? Cause I kind of have an idea for a Part 2, but IDK if anyone would be interested. 

 And if you really enjoyed it and you can send in a tip here, I would greatly appreciate it!

Everything Taglist: @sweetybuzz25​  @mrsjaxtellerfan​  @rhabakoli​  @encounterthepast​ @realduckvader​   @justvnash​ @knowles-morgan​  @ateliefloresdaprimavera @evanlys19​  @nyxxnoxx​ @carlaangel86​  @luminex3 @jigsawlover10  @gollyderek​ @otomefromtheheart​  @lexxierave  @amethyst09 @falsehopesndreams  @a-dorky-book-keeper @witchygagirl @glimmerglittergirl @fvckthisbxtchup  @ben-c-group-therapy​ @felicity-x0 @amirra88 @yourfellowangel @vibranium-soul @xserenax-13  @woahitslucyylu​​  @gemini0410 @ktiz90 @theoceanhathsolace @starrynite7114 @my-rosegold-soul @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​​ @abbiesthings @peaches007 @ifoundmyhappythought @tegggeeee  @bisexual-space-slut @mariaenchanted @thesandbeneathmytoes @sheeshgivemeabreak @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @venusis-inretrograde @shaelivia @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @yourwonkywriter​​ @fear-less-write-more​​

[dracoladon]

oh my god I absolutely ADORED lucid and born slippy, so the chance to prompt you with something is so so exciting!! as always, no pressure, but how about something about undressing each other? i've always LOVED the unlacing/undressing tropes in capri, and I bet it would be incredible applied to some lovely drarry. do with this what you wish!!!

sidjdjfnndkff thank you, and thank u again for this ungodly prompt. if there’s three things i love, they’re captive prince, drarry, and soft smutty tropes such as the one u hath so kindly bestowed upon me.

i accidentally made a fair few lucid references in here (prizes for all who can spot them, the prize is a poem about u as composed by me) so i suppose, if you’ve read that one and so wish, u can consider this part of the same universe. or smth ://

maybe i’m just hideously unimaginative when it comes to topics for my banter. anywho

rated e, 1732 words.

The thing about Draco’s work robes, is that they’re buttoned all the way up to the throat. Which, hm, doesn’t sound like an issue in and of itself. But becomes one, of sorts, when Harry is overcome by the need to unbutton them every time he lays eyes on pale, elegant throat, the column of it under stiff black fabric. 

The thing is, that Draco looks so austere, so tightly laced, and the thing. Is. That Harry just wants to unlace him. 

Draco is, of course, not austere. He’s in fact very, erm, flexible. Pliant. He told Harry once, when they first starting fucking, that his body reformed around Harry’s, and he liked the way he went malleable in Harry’s hands. 

���I can’t do that with anyone else,” Draco said. Then frowned. “That didn’t make much sense.”

But the buttons. The buttons. The high-necked buttons. They give Draco a look of frigidity, that he’s not to be spoken to, touched (all in a very sexy, aristocratic kind of way, of course), and it’s so bloody hot that Harry’s taken to banishing his glasses and burying his head under a pillow when Draco dresses in the mornings, just to stop himself getting so hard he goes properly blind with it. 

Draco asked him, the third time he burrowed under the bedclothes like a “demented ferret” (glass houses, Harry said), what he was doing. 

“The buttons,” Harry murmured. “Want to undo them.”

“The buttons?”

“The buttons.”

“You sick, kinky twist, Harry Potter.”

Harry unearthed himself, at that. “Shut up? It’s not about the buttons, you horror. It’s about what’s underneath the buttons.”

“How touching.”

And then more teasing, and Harry had it up to here and said, “I’ll burrow again.”

So Draco sat next to him on the bed, robes all secured, and said, softly, but still smiling like a git, “Tell me, love. Why the buttons?”

“You’re just—they’re, you know. So—God,” and then Harry had reached out and rent the sides of Draco’s robes apart, the little cloth covered studs clattering over his polished walnut floors, and pulled Draco down on top of him, and fucked him right there until Draco was late for work, and later still because they’d had to spend half an hour charming the wretched things back into place. 

Now, Draco says, “the buttons are still wonky from that little stunt you pulled.”

Harry can see only Draco’s legs (crossed over each other on the couch, back flat on the ground, because Draco feels it centres him to drape upended from the furniture at the end of a long day) from where he’s decanting the wine in the kitchen. “I’ve always been pants at tailoring charms.”

“Was that a pun?” says Draco, sounding pained. “I’m leaving you, if that was a pun.”

“But then who will do your bidding? Aerate your wine, iron your silk pants—”

“I’ll get a house elf.”

“—not finished, suck your brains out your cock, make you pasta with butter and cheese when it’s cold and you’re in a mood—”

“I’ll get a gigolo, too.”

“I still wasn’t finished,” Harry says, and Levitates the wine into the living room in front of him.

Draco says, “did you get the right glasses, this time?”

“You’re very funny,” Harry says, because after months of trying to educate Harry, Draco has finally accepted that his one true love is cheap beer, and sorted all the wine glasses he keeps at Harry’s flat into labelled little boxes. (‘This is a coupe, Potter. If you bring me red wine in it again, I’ll throw it at you.’ ‘These are for dessert wine — after dinner, before a good hard boffing.’)

“Why don’t you just go snag one of those fucking — sommiliars.”

“Sommelier.” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, happy because Draco’s wearing his work robes and speaking French and looking all twisty, and it’s Friday night, and there’s wine and music from the record Draco put on, and Harry gets to untwist him.

“Did you know,” Draco says, arching his back into a luxurious stretch before rearranging himself right side up and plucking a glass from the air, “that Amantea is starting her own firm.”

“God. Really?”

“Quite. It’s a pro bono thing, evidently. You know she’s been on the exec’s for months about how they direct all their mandatory hours towards corporations, not, you know, people who actually can’t afford legal counsel.”

“‘Course.” Harry distinctly remembers being cornered by Amantea when Draco brought him along to last year's Christmas drinks — he was a decent few in, and Draco kept palming at him through his formal robes when no one was looking, and he thinks he may have agreed to some kind of public crusade in the name of her cause that he doesn’t remember the details of to this day.

“Merlin, that’s incredible. She’s just quit, then? Starting it from the ground up?” 

Draco nods, sips his wine. “She asked me to come with her. Ford, too.” And then, into his glass, “Said yes.” 

Harry chokes, and Draco smirks at him behind the rim while he expires into his Pinot. “Bastard,” Harry coughs.

“Mm,” Draco hums. 

“That’s—fuck, hang on—that’s great, love. Draco, it’s brilliant.”

“Really?” Draco says, tangling his fingers in Harry’s. He can see now that he’s doing that Very Draco Thing where his eyes go a bit too wide and his tongue keeps darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Cause I haven’t quit yet.” 

“Of course. I think it’s really, really incredible.”

Draco rolls his eyes, but his cheeks flush pink. “Any more of that, and I won’t go near your cock for a week.” 

“I’m proud of you,” Harry says, smiling. 

“Two weeks.”

He leans on his haunches, hooks a blond tendril behind Draco’s ear. “I’m so proud of you, Draco. Everything you are.”

“A month. A year! Harry,” Draco complains.  

Harry snorts. Sits back. “Fine. So would you still be doing all the same work?”

Draco nods. “I’d still be a defence counsel. I’d just be, you know. Not getting paid. At least, not for a while.”

“Good,” Harry says. “We’ve got a horrific amount of money, between the two of us.” 

“I’m glad you think so, because we’ll be living off your salary alone. What’s the going rate for darling of the Wizarding world?”

Harry walks his fingers over Draco’s knee, daubed in the heavy black wool of his robes. “Several million a year darling. Are you excited, then?”

Draco shuffles around so he can rest his back against the couch, keeping Harry’s palm pressed to his knee with his own hand as he moves. “Yes. Very. I love my job, but the fees they charge our time at are outrageous. I was always thinking, Mother and I wouldn’t have been able to afford that right after the war. Had we even been allowed a solicitor, but don’t get me bloody started.”

Harry thinks that’s Draco down to his bones. He gives cold little glares to people he doesn’t want to talk to, and shrinks in on himself like a turtle whenever Molly tries to hug him at Sunday lunch, and he’s selfish about stupid things, like letting Ron have the last of his chips at pub night. 

And then he does things like drop lunch by Hermione’s office when he has afternoon meetings with the Wizengamot, or quit the job he loves so much, where he’s finally respected and secure, to work for free with Scary Amantea because he actually cares about the abysmal state of the Wizarding justice system, or rent out an entire Muggle theme park for Harry’s birthday, because he’d said, off handed, one night in Draco’s arms, that he’d always been left behind when the Dursley’s took Dudley as a child. 

“You’re so nice,” Harry says. 

Draco frowns. “Take it back.” 

Harry says, “Won’t,” and gives him a good, slow kiss that tastes like wine. Wine from a proper glass. 

“I have bad news, too,” Draco says into Harry’s lips. 

Harry can’t think of how anything could be bad, wrong, when Draco’s mouth is so soft and so close, but he murmurs, “What,” anyway. 

“No dress code, at the new firm.” 

Harry pulls back, stricken. “No more buttons?”

“Less regular buttons,” Draco amends, and Harry places a protective hand over Draco’s clavicles.  

“This is completely tragic,” Harry says. 

“Dare I say, Potter, you’ll just have to make the most of them. While you can.”

Harry nods, leans down again, a hand either side of Draco’s hips, and kisses him again. 

When he pulls back, it’s so he can get his hands on the reeling column of buttons that runs from Draco’s navel to his Adam’s apple. 

There was a certain carnal appeal in tearing them off him that first time, but now Harry likes this. His hands on Draco, his mouth following. Pushing the silken studs through the loops, undressing Draco inch by milk white inch. 

“Yes,” Draco says, as Harry licks and nips his way down every bit of skin he exposes. When Draco swallows, Harry feels the movement of it roll beneath his palm. When Draco’s legs fall open, Harry mouths at his hip bone as it shifts under his tongue. 

Harry disrobes himself with slightly less worshipping finesse. Pushes the tailored cloth off Draco’s shoulders, helps him arrange himself underneath Harry, ankles clasped lazily at his back. Fucks him slow, and sweet, and two more times. 

Really, Harry doesn’t know why the robes do it for him so utterly and completely. They look kind of like the type of thing a vicar would wear, which is also what Harry remembers thinking when he saw Draco in his dress robes at the Yule Ball (although now it’s more a very rich, very sleek sort of vicar vibe, and less of the fusty, I-took-a-celibacy-oath-at-thirteen-and-am- now-seventy-two thing he had going back then. With all the velvet. Draco looks much better in silk. Anyway.)    

On that, it’s probably because it’s a reminder that it’s Malfoy who he’s with. Malfoy, not Death Eater, tormentor, but pale limbs, plush, pink mouth and naked vulnerability before him. It’s how far they’ve both come, and how Draco presents himself to the world — so far away from what Harry gets to see. What’s Harry’s. What’s theirs. 

“Also,” Draco says, when Harry tells him this in bed that night, “I look positively indecent in black.”

[bamsywrites]

Mistakes Like These

Summary: Kakyoin never paid much attention to the younger Kujo. Who knew stockings and short skirt were all it would take change that

Rating: 18+, nsfw

Words: 4877

Warnings: cannabis mention, alcohol use

Tags: afab, fem pronouns, modern!au , doesn’t follow the canon like at all, very au, brother!jotaro x sister!reader, kakyoin x reader, soft dom kak, lots of pet names, plus size reader

Notes: I haven’t written any fanfiction in over five years so this might be rusty. I’m sorry for any mistakes made or if its not how the characters would act. I’m still new to the Jojos fandom but had this idea pop in my head and decided to get it out. I want to turn this in to a multi part story and have several parts already planned out, I just want to have feedback to see if people actually like it.

“Have a happy Holidays. Make sure to check in with your financial advisor about the spring semester.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you read the most recent email in your student inbox. Patience may be a virtue, but it was sure one you didn’t possess. At least not right now anyway. Tsking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you moved the mouse over to the refresh button and clicked. Your eyes followed the downloading icon in circles, fingers tapping anxiously over the desk.

“Have a happy Holidays. Make sure to check in with your financial advisor about the spring semester.”

You exhaled angrily through your nose and leaned back in your chair. Your eyes fixed on the ceiling for a few moments before you looked over to your bed where your cat, Miso, had woken up from his nap.

“I know I should be more patient. But this grade is what determines if I move on to the next course which I need if I want to graduate soon and get out of this apartment.” You spoke as if your cat had scolded you for your impatience.

Your apartment was nice. Super nice. Your friends often described it as “apartment goals.” You could have never afforded it on your own. Hell, you couldn’t afford it even when you graduated and got a job. Two large bedrooms with a spacious living room, modern kitchen, and a balcony that overlooked the cities skyline. There were only two major downsides: there was only one bathroom which had to be shared with your roommate and your roommate happened to be your older brother, Jotaro.

Now, you didn’t exactly hate your brother. He was like any older brother, he thought you were extremely annoying and wanted nothing to do with you most of the time, though there were times growing up where he’d come home with scrapes and bruises after dealing with someone who picked on you at school. As you were both older, you found each other more bearable than you did when you were younger. That didn’t mean, however, you wanted to live with him. Especially while you were in college, which was supposed to be your time to let loose and have fun while still receiving an education, of course. Your grandfather, however, had other plans.

Joseph Joestar was a real estate mogul and had some serious money to his name. He loved to dote on his two grandchildren and was upset that for the most part your parents chose to give you a “normal” life without the extravagance that he offered. Birthdays and christmas he would buy you each a present, until Jotaro turned 15 and started asking for money instead. He made your mother an offer that he knew she couldn’t deny: he would pay for the entirety of your schooling, from associates degree to PhD if thats what you wanted, in order for the two of you to focus on your studies he’d also give you a weekly allowance so that you wouldn’t have to work, and he’d buy you each your own apartment and pay to furnish it how you liked. Holly couldn’t turn down the offer, what kind of mother would deny her children an opportunity like that? However, she did ask that her father only buy a single apartment for her children to share. Her hopes were that it would strengthen your relationship and it also meant she could see both her darling children whenever she desired.

You didn’t want to seem ungrateful at all for what Jiji had done for you. You knew you were extremely privileged to have the opportunities that he provided you but, fuck, sometimes you wished you had your own place. You wanted the independence, to know you earned something but also because sharing a bathroom with Jojo was infuriating. He always moved your stuff, never cleaned the shower, and he never had patience for you to get ready in the mornings. A wishful sigh left your lips as you thought of your future, with just you, Miso, and the ability to use the bathroom whenever you wanted.

Your eyes moved back to the computer screen, clicking refresh, and rolling your eyes when you read the same email from the dean again. Like you expected anything different, you just turned the term paper in yesterday. You brought your cup of tea up to your lips but furrowed your eyebrows when you realized there was none left.

Pushing yourself up out of your chair you formulated a plan for the rest of your evening. You would refill your cup of tea, hop back on your computer to play Overwatch with your friends until the early hours of the morning, and then cuddle up with Miso and look at TikToks until you fell asleep. It was foolproof. No way that you would even think about your term paper grade.

And if you did, you could always refresh your email in between matches.

-----------

Your finger tapped your lip as you looked over all the snack foods in the pantry. While waiting for your tea, you realized that the only thing that could make your plan better was a good snack. You had just gone shopping so it meant that all the poky, ramen, and chips you desired were on the shelves and it made the decision extra hard.

In the middle of your contemplation, you heard the front door turn and the sound of your brother and his friends entering the apartment.

“You know it's true, Jotaro. Your apartments bigger. Its nicer. It has that view that drives the ladies wild. Our apartment is cramped and it smells like weed.” Polnareff’s voice was the first you heard as the trio entered the house.

“Don’t forget the upstairs neighbors who are always playing loud polish music.” Kakyoin added, plopping down to sit on one of the chairs in the living room.

You heard your brother sigh and could feel his annoyance. You never understood how the trio became friends, it was a mystery to everyone including them but they had been together since their days in primary school and the bond they shared was one that intrigued you.

“Yes, yes. The polish,” Polnareff nodded. “Known around the world for their ability to ruin the mood with a hurdy-gurdy.”

There was silence, and you could tell your brother was not budging a bit. A party was not Jotaros thing. Kakyoin wasn’t a partier either, from what you gathered he’d much rather stay at home playing video games and smoking weed. Sucking your bottom lip in your mouth, you made your decision, grabbing a bag of chips and a box of strawberry pocky. You did your best to hold those in one hand and your cup of tea in the other.

“Feel that Christmas spirit, Jo. Help Pol in his never ending crusade to get laid. The poorman is gonna end this year with, what, a batting average of zero. He’ll be a disgrace to French men everywhere.” The teasing tone Kakyoins voice almost made you laugh.

“Hey! Batting average of 3. You know this,” Polnareff shot back, causing his roommate to throw his hands up in mock surrender.

“Jotaro,” The french man turned his attention back to your brother, who simply turned on the TV in what seemed to be an attempt to drown out the sound of his friend's voice, “C’mon. I’ll buy your cigarettes for a month…..Two months?” His voice was getting more desperate, his head turned toward you. A smile stretched across his features as he jumped off the couch and threw his arms around your shoulder.

God, you just wanted to go to your room.

“New deal,” Polernaff declared, squeezing you to the side of his body as you tried not to splash your tea all over the floor. Kakyoin looked away from the TV, eyebrow raised, Jotaros attention never faltered from the knock-off Viagra commercial. “If you agree to a Christmas Eve party I will buy you cigarettes for three months, I will never ask anything of you ever again, and I will stop flirting with your sister.”

Kakyoin snorted, shaking his head and turning his attention to Jotaro. Since you had moved in with Jotaro, the frenchman hadn’t stopped making comments about how beautiful he thought you were or just giving you flirty winks whenever you walked through the room. You found it annoying at first, but you quickly got over it when you realized he did the same thing with every girl, and boy, that he saw.

“Good grief,” Jotaro sighed. “Its a deal.”

------------------

“I can’t believe you agreed to this.” Kakyoin mumbled as he and Jotaro watched their friend place the final touches on the decorations and food for the party. Y/N had already put up Christmas decorations earlier that month, there was some snowmen set out on the dining table and a cute tree with some presents neatly wrapped under it. However, Polnareff had decided that wasn’t enough. He had hung up snowflakes to come down from the ceiling, there was garland hung on every wall, and so much fucking mistletoe.

Polnareff had even requested that his friends dress festive. Jotaro, of course, didn’t listen and wore what he always wore. Kakyoin decided to humor his friend and wore a Santa hat along with a dark green v-neck and dark wash jeans.

“You don’t need the money, right? Grandpa Joestar’s allowance has to be enough for cigarettes.” He continued, watching his roommate place a bowl of peppermints by the door.

“I just wanted to get him to shut up,” Jotaro said with a roll of his eyes.

“You think he’ll actually follow through on leaving Y/N alone?”

Jotaro shook his head, “Out of all the people in this city, you’d think he’d leave the only one of limits alone.”

Kakyoin simply nodded, taking a sip of his drink.

-----------

You smoothed your hands over your outfit, turning to the side to get it from a different angle. You couldn’t decide if you liked it or not. The sweater was cute, it was red with a deep green christmas tree that had colorful little puff balls as the ornaments. Your make-up and hair looked nice, too.  That wasn’t what concerned you. It was the white pleated skirt and tight red stockings that caused you pause. You grabbed at your love handles that spilled over the top of the skirt a bit and your eyes traveled to how your thighs looked in the stockings.

Polnareff had told you you could invite some friends over. Which, of course you could, this was your apartment and you didn’t need his permission. You had told him as such and invited over your three closest friends.

You turned around to your bed and looked at Miso, who was comfortably curled up. “How do I look?” You waited a moment before turning back to the mirror and smacking your lips together. You were tempted to take off the skirt and tights and throw a pair of jeans on but something changed your mind last minute. Instead of heading to your closet to change, you instead grabbed the reindeer antler hand band and slipped it on top of your hair before heading out of the safety of your bedroom.

You were so distracted with the new decorations that you didn’t notice the pair of eyes that were glued to your form.

------

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime was playing for what seemed like the fifth time. Kakyoin had never hated Paul McCartney more than he did now. He was just now starting to feel the buzz of all the drinks he had had but it didn’t make the party any more bearable.

“She,” Kakyoin pointed to a blonde girl in a Santa dress, “is gonna hook up with him,” He pointed to a dark haired main that had for some reason felt the need to take his shirt off.

Jotaro simply grunted before eyeing more of the members of the party. This was a game they’d been playing for the past hour and a half, making bets on who was gonna hook up with who and who was gonna get the most shit faced.

“He’s gonna end up passed out in my bathtub,” The dark haired man stated, pointing to the only person dancing to the playlist Polnareff had created.

Kakyoin broke a smile as he watched the clearly wasted man's horrible dance moves. His attention was brought away from the scene by the sound of Y/N’s laugh. For what had to be the millionth time that night, the red haired man eyed her up and down. That outfit looked so fucking good on her but the smile streched out across her lips looked even better.

I wonder what the lipstick would look like smeared on my cock.

The thought slipped into his head and he couldn’t stop from staring at the red painted on your lips.

Does she feel as soft as she looks?

He took a sip from his cup. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about his hands running over her thighs or his fingers digging into her hips. It was strange that he was having these thoughts. He’d never viewed Y/N as more than just Jotaro’s younger sister. He never thought she was ugly, in fact there were multiple times that he thought she was down right gorgeous but it had never turned sexual. Something about that outfit had sent him over that edge.

The sound of Last Christmas brought him out of his trance. Kakyoin almost immediately rolled his eyes. He almost missed the hurdy-gurdy.

“Good grief,” Jotaro mumbled and grabbed the pack of cigarettes off the coffee table. “I’m heading out for a smoke.”

Kakyoin watched as his best friend got up but instead of heading for the balcony, Jotaro went out the front door. The red haired man was tempted to follow but as soon as that thought popped into his mind he heard the drunk voice of his other best friend call to him.

“Kak, you gotta show these guys the cherry thing!”

---------

It was well past 3. The party had ended and most of the attendants took an Uber home. The only people in the apartment were you, Polnareff, and Kakyoin. Jotaro had still not returned from that smoke he said he was going to take hours ago. The buzz had long worn off and the reality sank in that you had to clean the disaster of an apartment that was left in the christmas party’s wake.

There were red solo cups strewn about various surfaces and all over the floor, glitter seemed to have gotten everywhere, there were plates of food left half eaten, and there was a candy cane just stuck to the wall. Looking at the destruction, you almost wondered if the fun you had had was worth it. With your parents coming over tomorrow...or, well, today…..for Christmas, you had really no other option than to clean it, with that thought in your head you grabbed a garbage bag and started cleaning.

After a few minutes, you heard the familiar rustle of plastic as someone was opening a trash bag and you turned to see Kakyoin helping you with your task.

“Thanks,” You told him as you threw a plate of half eaten cake into the bag.

“No problem. Pol is passed out in the hallway and I gotta make sure Jo makes it home safe, so I’m kinda stuck here.”

You simply nodded in response and kept about your task in silence. A silence which seemingly bothered Kakyoin because a few minutes later he cleared his throat and broke the silence.

“So I, uh, noticed your man wasn’t here tonight.” He almost smacked himself for asking the question. You thought he was just making small talk, the thought of him having more devious reasons behind asking if you were single hadn’t crossed your mind.

“My….My man?” You quirked an eyebrow, looking back over your shoulder at him.

“Yeah, your man. I saw you with some guy a while back,” Kakyoin had put down the now full trash bag and was leaning against the counter top with his arms crossed as he spoke.

“Oh,” You suddenly realized who exactly he was talking about, “Yeah, um, we broke up six months ago,” You said with a laugh.

“Oh...Six months?” He titled his head to the side, “Are you sure? Hmm… Well, sorry I didn’t notice...I uh guess I should be more observant.

You shook your head, placing down your own bag and heading past him to the pantry to grab another. “Its alright, I’m not offended. I’m sure you find me as annoying as I find Jotaros friends.”

Kakyoin raised his eyebrows at your statement, “You find me annoying? I mean, Pol, I get. Yeah. He’s one of my closest friends and even I can’t handle him sometimes. But me? I never talk to you.”

You had busied yourself with cleaning the rest of the cups off the counter, “ I don’t know. You’re just…” You looked up and noticed his eyes quickly flick down to your lips before making eye contact with you again. “I mean, you did one time give me oregano and told me it was weed.”

“First,” Kakyoin started, his body shifted so it was turned toward you, “Thats not annoying. I would call that immature, maybe. But annoying? Nah. Second,” he threw up two fingers to emphasize his point, “ In my defense, you were 15 and I was worried about you finding our stash under Jo’s bed and I thought it would lessen that chance if I gave you your own stash.”

You laughed, setting the bag down and turning to look at him. You couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in that dark green shirt but you quickly willed that thought away.  “Kakyoin, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Hey, at the time it did.”

You tilted your head to the side, you had plenty of stories that you could use as proof that he was annoying, “ What about that time you and Jojo left me stranded at school because the new playstation came out?”

“Thats not fair,” He noticed the playful hint your voice was taking and it caused a small smile to tug at his lips.

“How about the time that you threw up in my make up bag?”

“Hey, that was all Frenchie. Not me.”

“Or…..” You were silenced by Kakyoin pressing a finger to your lips. You hadn’t noticed that the two of you had just kept moving closer and closer as you were talking. You could get a better look at him now, his eyes looked tired but there was a mischievous glint to them, proof to you that he found this just as amusing as you did.

“What about you, huh? You saying that you’ve never been annoying?” He cocked an eyebrow, giving you a knowing look that let you know he had as many stories about you that you had about him.

“Look, I never once implied that I wasn’t annoying. I’ll own up to it,” You shrugged, “I was a total brat.”

Kakyoin snorted, “Don’t act like you’re not still a brat.”

“How?!” You looked almost taken aback, “How am I still a brat? You hardly see me!”

Kakyoin loved banter and teasing with his friends, it was kind of his thing. It was how he showed affection. If he didn’t gently bully you how was he supposed to show that he cared? But this, this teasing between the two of you was different. It made the room seem hotter and his pants feel tighter. That coupled with how fucking cute you looked in that damn outfit, even if your make up had worn off a bit and the lipstick was smugged. He couldn't deny it was doing things to him.

“I see you now,” His voice was deep, his tongue sticking out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes trailed you up and down.

Your cheeks immediately turned a blushy pink and your skin was hot under his gaze. Your lips parted but no words came out. This was Jotaros best friend, there was no way he was flirting with you.

Kakyoin took a few steps forward so he was as close to you as he could be without touching you. “I see you now,” He repeated in the same low voice, this time keeping eye contact with you, “And I see a brat.”

He pushes a few strands of hair out of your face and behind your ear, a gasp hitching in your throat as his heated skin touched your check briefly, “Unless you’re gonna show me otherwise.”

“I…” You swallowed the lump in your throat, suddenly weak at his gaze. “H-how?”

You look into his eyes and you can see it. You can see how much he wants you and how intense that want is. No one has ever looked at you that way before and it made your stomach erupt in butterflies. Quickly, you turn your head away not being able to handle the intensity of his stare. You feel his fingers on your chin guiding you to look back up at him, holding you there so he can take in all the features of your face. Its like he’s looking at you for the first time. His fingers move gently from your chin down to your neck, your breathing hitched in your throat when you felt the soft pad of his thumb move across your lips.

“If you want me to stop, tell me sweetheart,” He’s eyes had gotten a few shades darker and his voice seemed more strained than usual. Kakyoins free hand traveled under the sweater your were wearing, fingers lightly dancing along your side as his other hand stayed on you face, gently tracing the outline of your lips with his thumb. “Tell me right now and I’ll go back to pitching solo cups and scrubbing counters.”

In the pit of your stomach you knew you shouldn’t. You knew that if Jojo ever found out he’d flip, he’d always done his best to keep you and his friends separate. You always thought it was because you annoyed him and he didn’t want to have to be around you more than you already were, Kakyoin knew that it was because no matter how the man acted, he deeply cared for you and would do anything to protect you. These thoughts of Jotaro’s reaction filtered through your mind but your brother wasn’t here right now.

You acted on impulse, your tongue peaking out of your mouth to coax Kakyoins thumb between your lips. He watched with heavy lidded eyes as you gently sucked on the digit, swiping your tongue along the length of it. His breathing picked up for a moment before mumbling a quiet, “Fuck.”

Almost instantly you were hoisted on the counter with his lips against yours and wasting no time to swipe his tongue into your mouth. His hands quickly traveled up your thighs, pushing your skirt to pool at your hips and quickly ripping the stockings down the middle. Your legs hooked around his waist, pulling him as close to you as possible as your fingers worked at undoing his belt.

He pulls away from your lips for a moment to help you pull down his boxers and jeans. You licked your lips as you admired his cock, already hard and glistening with precum. You felt his fingers on your face again directing you to look at him.

“My cock needs to be inside you, sweetheart. Can I do that?” He was breathing heavy, he had never wanted someone so much in his life. All he wanted right now was to feel your pussy around his cock. Consequences be damned. “Can I fuck you, princess?”

You whine when you hear him speak, his voice is like nothing you ever heard before. Lust and want seemed to be dripping off every word. The whole situation leaves you speechless. At the nod of your head, Kakyoin pulls your panties to the side and slides inside you. His moan and your whimper are the only noises in the quiet apartment, his eyes watching your face intently for any sign of discomfort or desire to stop.

“Fuck me,” You breath out when your vocie finally comes to you. “Please, Kakyoin. Fuck me.”

He groans and happily obliges, rocking his cock in and out of you. Your small gasps and whimpers only egg him on more as he increases the speed of this thrust, your hands bracing yourself against the countertop. His eyes break from your face to watch his own cock slide in and out, the sight of his cock slick with your wetness makes him moan.

“Thats a perfect fucking pussy, sweetheart.” He breaths out so soft you almost can’t hear him over the slick sound of his skin on yours. His eyes find yours again, hand moving back to rest on your jawline and hold you in his gaze. He leans close and sucks your lip into his mouth, his teeth nipping at the soft flesh before soothing it with his tongue.

“You’re such a good girl,” Kakyoin tells you before pressing his lips against yours again. He picks up the pace because, goddammit, he wants to feel you cum on his cock. He pulls aways, resting his forehead against yours. Your moans are soft and the whimpers that follow cause him to smirk.

“Oh, fuck. That feels so good,” You whisper, looking into his eyes. He can see you getting closer and closer and its making it hard for him to keep composed.

“You take a cock so well, princess,” His lips brush against yours, he tilts your head to the side so that he can kiss down your neck, and then back up again. His lips find the lobe of your ear and gently suck on it. Your moans are getting more and more erratic, every now and then you’ll gasp out his name.

“You gonna be a good girl and cum on my cock,” Kakyoin whispers into your ear, his lips brushing against the shell of it. “Shit, sweetheart, I wanna feel that pretty fucking pusy come on my cock.”

It’s the sound of his voice whispering those dirty things in your ear that sends you over the edge.

“Thats it, princess. Fuck, sweetheart…I’m...shit. Can I….?” The red heads voice is ragged and incoherent but you knew what he was asking.

“Fuck, yes, please,” Its all you can do to get the words out. “Please, I wanna feel you come in me.”

You both come hard, his fingers digging roughly into the skin of your thighs and loud moans filling the space of the kitchen. The warmth of him spilling inside of you is enough to make you want a round two. After a few moments the two of you are left breathing heavy, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath.

You stay like that for a moment, trying to regain your composure and come to terms with everything that had just happened. This was a development in events that neither of you ever saw coming. Its you that make the move to separate, pushing against his chest and moving off the counter. You avoid eye contact with him, flating your skirt back down and picking up your, now ruined, stockings off the tiled floor. You could feel his cum drip out of you down to your thighs.

“That was….” Kakyoin broke the silence, buckling his belt and running a hand through his hair. You noticed he too was looking at anything but you.

“Yeah,” You nodded your head in response.

“You know we can’t uh…-”

“Yup.”

“Like, ever.”

“Trust me, I’m aware.”

“H-Happy...Happy Christmas.”

You just nod and quickly retreat to your room, throwing yourself on your bed and groaning into your pillows. After a moment, you crawled under the blankets and pulled your cat into your chest.

“Miso. I think I’m a slut….”

--------

Kakyoin watched as you retreated away down the hallway, his mind still wrapping around what had happened. The fact that he was the one that instigated it. He was the one that made all the moves and god, he shouldn’t have. But he had wanted to. He had wanted to get you in that position all night.

It was at that moment that Jotaro entered the apartment again, smelling of cigarettes and….perfume? Kakyoin was gonna have to ask him about that one later. “

“The prodigal son has returned,” The redhead teased his friend, doing his best to hide the guilt he had for what he had just done.

“Shut up,” Jotaro mumbled. He eyed his friend curiously, he was very observant and it was very naive of Kakyoin to think that he wouldn’t notice the change in his friend. “What’s wrong with you?”

I just busted a big one in your sister. And would probably do it again if the chance presented itself. No biggie.

“I’m, uh, I’m just tired.”

-----------

Thank you so much for reading this! I appreciate it very much. Let me know what you think of it and if I should continue the story. Merry Christmas!

[cyhyr]

Summer of Whump Day 15: Sleep Deprived

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: G

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi & Umino Iruka; Umino Iruka & Uzumaki Naruto

WC: ~3320

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: AU backstory for the purposes of I Wanted To.

A/N: This is just. I don't even know guys. I started writing and then it got bigger and bigger and I couldn't stop. It's just. A Lot.

~

Kakashi has not been able to take care of his sensei’s child the way he should, the way the boy admittedly deserves; and yes, absolutely, he takes that fault personally but also doesn’t do anything about it because really… what can he provide for this child besides instability? He’s hardly in the village anymore, though Sandaime has hinted that, if Kakashi asked, he could be assigned missions closer to home. Instead, Kakashi does what he can without bothering Naruto or letting the boy realize that he even exists. He ensures the bills are paid up in six-month increments, and has the utility companies know to charge to his personal account anything he misses due to being out on mission. He provides non-perishable groceries, placed in the pantry late at night every month or so: oats, rice, dried or tinned meats, beans and legumes. He’ll bring a small selection of vegetables with him at the same time, (no more than three or four items, so they don’t rot before Naruto feels obligated to eat them) usually pilfered from Gai’s garden so he knows they’re not poisoned.

And whenever he’s in the village, he makes a stop at Naruto’s apartment at least once to check in on the wards wrapped into the walls and window frames.

This is how he learns about Umino Iruka and the interest he’s taken in the village jinchūriki.

~

The wards when he gets to Minato’s son’s apartment this time are different. Odd. Not… well, actually, they might be stronger; Kakashi glances at the walls with the sharingan and finds himself mildly impressed. Whoever placed these wards knew about the ones Kakashi put up, and modified their own to augment and strengthen Kakashi’s.

Kakashi says modified because he’s seen these styles of wards before, but never used like this. The key in the front door jingles a bit, like the person unlocking the door knows Kakashi’s in here and is giving him time to leave. Kakashi takes the out for what it is and slips out the window, closing it quietly behind him. He stays plastered against the wall beside the window for a moment, however, wanting to get a glimpse of who’s taking care of his sensei’s kid in Kakashi’s stead.

The door opens and Naruto—gods, how old is he, seven? Eight?—barrels by the figure in the doorway with a grin and shoots straight for the pantry.

“Naruto-kun, take your sandals off first. I mopped for you just earlier this week, I’m not doing it again so soon.”

One arm balancing a paper bag of fresh groceries, a leather school bag over the same shoulder; hitai-ate and vest both neat, but his sleeves and pants legs are scuffed; and his fingers carry the faint dusting of chalk that hours of holding ingrains and a quick wash won’t wipe away. A teacher.

“Iruka-sensei, I can mop later; I’m hungry now!”

“I won’t ask you twice.” The man—this Iruka-sensei—walks barefoot through the apartment and sets the grocery bag down on the kitchen table. Naruto hangs his head and goes back to the door, and once he’s out of the room, Iruka looks at the window Kakashi is peeking in, scowling initially. The scowl lessens when he sees the Konoha ANBU mask, and he nods, but makes a slight shoo gesture.

“What’re we making tonight, sensei?” Naruto bounds back into the room, barefoot as his sensei.

“I’m thinking of teaching you breakfast for dinner,” Iruka says. “Miso soup, tamagoyaki, steamed salmon; how’s that sound?”

“Sounds great!”

“And if we make enough, you’ll have enough for the morning, too,” Iruka ruffles Naruto’s hair. “Go grab out the rice and we’ll get started, okay?”

Kakashi leaves. Iruka-sensei seems to have only good intentions.

~

Iruka is a new teacher, one that (if the very quiet rumors are to be believed) didn’t initially want to be the jinchūriki’s homeroom teacher. Something changed his mind, clearly, and now he’s spending every moment outside of class with the kid.

Every. Moment.

Kakashi notices the third time he’s in the village after meeting Iruka—notices how tired the man seems. He follows the teacher from just before dawn when he wakes up and heads out to Naruto’s apartment and fixes him breakfast. Kakashi watches Iruka herd Naruto around the apartment, brushing teeth, getting changed, gods Naruto where’s your homework I told you to put it right back in your bag last night after I helped you with it. Then they’re out the door and one of them locks the deadbolt while the other activates the wards (Iruka always double-checks the wards if Naruto does them) and they walk to the Academy together.

Iruka spends the day in the Academy staunchly refusing to play favorites. If Kakashi didn’t know that the man had made Naruto eat breakfast while searching for a clean shirt for the child to wear, he’d swear Naruto was Iruka’s least favorite student—based solely on the amount of yelling.

But the two of them have lunch together, talk and hang out during recess unless Iruka shoos him away to play, and then they walk together to either Iruka’s or Naruto’s apartment after school. Sometimes they’ll go out for ramen, or to one of the training grounds to work on a technique they started in class which Naruto needs more time to fully grasp. Iruka is a patient teacher, especially one-on-one, and even though Minato-sensei’s son doesn’t perform well on the tests in school he learns the techniques after class and gains the appropriate muscle memory.

Which is admittedly much more important than the grades Naruto earns. Iruka won’t say as much, but it’s obvious that he agrees when his teaching style puts emphasis on practicals rather than paper tests. Kakashi approves.

After a day of minding twenty-five ankle-biters, an afternoon of extra training for the village jinchūriki, and an evening of making sure Naruto is fed and happy and his homework is completed to the best of his ability, Iruka then helps Naruto get ready for bed. Against the kid’s token protests, they’ll read a story together (Kakashi suspects Iruka does this because Naruto’s reading skills are lacking, but he could also very well just be doing it because he enjoys it—the man’s motives are enigma to him) and Iruka will tuck Naruto in. He stays at the apartment until he knows Naruto is asleep, tidying up here and there or even just leaning in the bedroom doorway watching the jinchūriki’s chest rise and fall.

Only when Naruto’s asleep will Iruka leave, activating the wards and locking up after himself.

It took only two times of Kakashi watching these kinds of days go by before he realized that Iruka knew he had been watched all day. As he passes the tree outside of Naruto’s building, the only one that reaches high enough to afford a glance into his apartment, Iruka looks right up into the limbs where Kakashi is crouched, waves, and continues back to his own home.

(He had been underestimating Umino Iruka’s awareness. He’s intrigued.)

(But anyway.)

Once he’s home, Iruka rushes through grading and lesson plans and adjustments. He makes lunch for himself and Naruto for tomorrow. Cleans, if he remembers; showers, if he has any energy left. Then, Umino-sensei crashes hard around one or two in the morning.

All to start over again at five-thirty the next morning.

It can’t be sustainable. Kakashi is morbidly interested in how long Iruka planned to keep up this kind of schedule.

~

It starts out with checking out during lunch. Kakashi is lounging in the trees on the Academy grounds, pretending to read but listening intently to Naruto ramble on about some new topping Ichiraku is introducing on Friday and please Iruka-sensei can we go? Then the soft click of dropped chopsticks against a bento box made Kakashi look down to the pair sitting at the base of his tree.

“Iruka-sensei? Are you—?”

“Oh, I’m. I’m alright.” Iruka laughs it off, fumbling for his chopsticks. “I was just thinking too hard there.”

“You shouldn’t do that!”

“Hu—?”

“You tell me not to think too hard all the time,” Naruto pouts. “That I’ll hurt myself.”

Iruka’s laugh crinkles his eyes and he tips his head back. “Gods, Naruto, I’m sorry—no, not—um. Listen, forget it, okay? Ramen, on Friday, right?”

“YES!”

And it was forgotten. Except, Iruka is unconsciously rubbing his fingers together beside his hip and Kakashi can see it. Something happened to force the drop—likely, he lost feeling in his hand briefly.

~

Kakashi’s out of the village as it gets worse, but he hears all about it from Shikaku and Inoichi when he gets back. They’re in the hallway outside the Hokage’s office, talking in low tones like they were discussing an attack on the village.

“What could cause such a serious mood shift?”

“Genjutsu; one of the other teachers sabotaging him; another student practicing poorly.”

“Iruka-sensei?” Kakashi asks.

Both men look at him as he approaches. He’s still in his ANBU armor, but the mask is in his locker. It’s an open secret he���s in ANBU; only his codename is high-clearance.

Shikaku nods. “Shikamaru’s complaining about the man’s temper being shorter than usual.”

“My Ino confirmed this behavior shift. We’re understandably worried, if someone if trying to use an Academy teacher to attack the kids—”

Kakashi shakes his head. “It’s not that.”

“And you would know?” Shikaku prompts.

“He’s taking care of Naruto,” Kakashi shrugs. “It’s probably catching up with him, finally.”

“What is?” Inoichi looks honestly confused.

Kakashi tilts his head and then realizes. “Ah. That’s right. You’re both married. You have a way to share the responsibilities.”

Sakumo hadn’t ever been irate with him, but Kakashi can remember him being tired. He lifts his hand and walks away. “I’ll see if I can’t have a talk with Iruka-sensei,” he says, as though he speaks with the man on a regular basis instead of just waving back from his shadowed space in the tree at night when Iruka leaves Naruto.

~

He doesn’t get a chance to talk to Iruka for weeks. When he gets back, it finally comes to a head.

Kakashi is perched outside Iruka’s apartment where he and Naruto are preparing their dinner. Naruto, still talking a mile a minute, hardly notices that Iruka is dazed at the counter, his hands going through the motions of peeling carrots and separating pieces of broccoli without being fully cognizant. He’s much paler than the last time Kakashi peeked in on them—all except for the bags under his eyes; those couldn’t get much darker if they were black.

He flinches forward as Iruka drifts to the side. Naruto catches his teacher before Kakashi can take a step, and the clang of a knife hitting the floor is more than a little startling. Together, they stick Iruka’s hand under running water from the tap, and then Naruto disappears further into the apartment and returns a few seconds later with a first aid kit.

“What was that about, Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka takes a bit to answer. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” he says. “I’m a bit tired, that’s all. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Naruto says. He finishes caring for his sensei and then says, “How about I go get some take-out, and then we can clean up and you can go to bed?”

Iruka smiles tiredly. “We can bring the take-out to your place, okay? I’ll clean up when I come back home.”

“But—”

“It’s okay, Naruto,” Iruka puts his unbandaged hand in Naruto’s hair. “I’d rather make sure you’re fed and well-rested for school tomorrow. That’s what's important.”

“You’re important, too, sensei,” Naruto says.

Kakashi can’t help but agree.

“Let’s go get some ramen, and we can argue about this later.”

Kakashi flashes away to Ichiraku to put in their order and pay. It’s the least he can do, right?

Later that night, Iruka leaves Naruto’s apartment and like always, lifts his head to wave up at Kakashi in the tree. Only, his eyes roll back with the movement of lifting his head and his knees collapse under him and Kakashi makes it just in time to keep the sensei’s head from hitting the ground. He catches Iruka with one hand under his back and the other cupped behind his head and eases him down against his raised knee.

As soon as Iruka is horizontal, his eyes flutter back open. “Oh, ANBU-san,” he mutters. He’s dazed and foggy, but tries to stand up on his own anyway.

“Sensei, are you well?” Kakashi asks, knowing the answer but needing Iruka to admit it.

Iruka waves him away. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

It’s more than that if you’re slipping into micro-sleep, Kakashi thinks, but lets the man stubbornly stand up. He’s still holding his hands out, ready to catch him again, when after five paces Iruka tips sideways and falls again. Kakashi keeps him upright this time, arms tight around his waist and back.

Iruka stays under for a few seconds this time, and when he wakes he leans more heavily into Kakashi’s armor and groans. “What’s happening?” he murmurs.

Normally, he would stay and look after Naruto all night, but this seems more important. “Umino-sensei, I’m going to see you to the hospital now,” he says.

“But… Naruto?”

Because of course Iruka figured out that Kakashi—his ANBU persona at least—stays close to Naruto at all times. “Together, our wards are top-notch, sensei,” Kakashi says. “He’ll be okay for a night.” He slips Iruka onto his back, pulling his arms over his shoulders. Iruka’s light breath huffs past his ear as he says, “Hold on.” Then, they’re gone.

~

Iruka wakes up much later, Naruto tipped against his hospital bed, snoring. He feels so much better after however many hours of sleep he’s gotten. He wonders briefly why he’s here, and where the ANBU that brought him here is. If Naruto is here, that ANBU is likely closeby. Iruka lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and settles back down on the pillow to sleep some more.

When he wakes up the second time, it’s because he has to pee so bad oh gods. It’s night time and Naruto is gone—Iruka tries not to feel disappointed. His legs shake under him when he tries to stand to get to the restroom; whatever’s wrong with him, it’s making him weak as a newborn but he will not embarrass himself by not making it to the toilet. He pushes chakra through his legs, and, finally, blissfully, makes it.

He gets a good look at himself in the mirror as he’s washing his hands. His eyes are puffy and red, but he has some color back in his skin. His hair could use a wash and some heavy conditioning—he hadn’t had time for that in awhile. All in all, it’s not bad; but he’s still wondering why he’s here.

Iruka leaves the restroom and is halfway across the room to his bed when his chakra flares unexpectedly. He stumbles, collapses, and feels his eyes blur and begin to roll back.

Before his head can hit the tile, he’s caught and cushioned by Naruto’s ANBU. The ANBU gently picks him up, one arm under his knees and the other around his back, and it’s like Iruka weighs nothing as the ANBU stands and carries him back to bed.

“Thank-you, ANBU-san,” Iruka says, flushed. “I promise I’m not usually so weak.”

The ANBU fusses with the blanket and covers Iruka back up. He (Iruka assumes they’re a he, the voice and height lead him to believe it but he’s been wrong before) seems frustrated, in the way that ANBU show frustration: by being busy, and then by being absolutely still. He’ll make sure the water pitcher is full, and then stand silently by the window for a few seconds. Pace the width of the room from window to door and back, and then stand at the end of the bed.

“What’s going on, ANBU-san? Is Naruto—?”

“Uzumaki-kun is safe, healthy, and well-cared for,” the ANBU says, cutting him off. “You are a godsend to this village, if only to care for the uncared for.”

Iruka glowers. “Someone had to do it. He’s seven years old and living alone and has lived alone his entire life. I couldn’t—”

“I’m aware,” the ANBU holds up a hand to stop his rant. “Believe me, if I could have done more, I would have. But an ANBU is no role model, especially not me. I’m glad he’s had you. That said.” The ANBU somehow matched Iruka’s glower through the mask; he was suddenly glad for all the time spent in Sandaime’s office around the ANBU that he can pick up on these micro-aggressions for what they are.

Iruka folds his arms and waits for the ANBU to continue.

After a heavy sigh, the ANBU says, “Sleep deprivation.”

“I—what?”

“What you’re here for. You’ve been running yourself into the ground, sensei. You slept for twenty-two hours, and you’re still not fully recovered. The medics say it could take up to a week of proper sleep for you to feel normal again.”

Iruka flushes and ducks his head. “I… But, that doesn’t…”

“How much sleep have you been getting? Three, Four hours a night? And then you’re exhausting yourself all day looking after pre-genin and then Naruto.” The ANBU folds his arms. “This isn’t sustainable.”

“I know that. I just.” Iruka groans. “I don’t have time for—” He scrubs both hands across his eyes. Now that he’s actually gotten some sleep he’s really tired. “No one else takes care of him, not the way he needs it; he’s just a kid! It bothers me enough that he lives by himself—”

“Your immune system was compromised when you arrived, sensei.” The ANBU snapped, quieting Iruka’s tirade. “Who’s going to take care of Naruto the way he deserves if you’re stuck on your back with a perfectly, normally treatable form of the flu? What will happen to him if you critically injure yourself due to a micro-sleep at an inopportune time and find yourself off-roster for weeks? What then, sensei?”

The silence is heavy. Iruka picks at a stray thread in the blanket on his lap.

“I don’t know,” he answers, his voice small. “I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking that far ahead, I guess.”

The ANBU nods. “At least you’re aware now.”

There’s a long, awkward pause as Iruka wonders what else there is to say.

“You have a spare room in your apartment, yes?” the ANBU breaks the silence.

Iruka nods, slowly, not sure where this is going.

“Maybe…” the ANBU continues slowly, “maybe changes in Naruto’s living arrangements can be made. If Naruto were living with you, could you agree to a better sleep schedule—one with which you can better take care of yourself and Naruto?”

Iruka could kiss this man.

“Yes! Yes, please, I’ll—yes! I’ll take him, even if it means I have to lose him as a student, I’d take him as a foster.”

The ANBU chuckles. “I’ll speak with the Hokage. If he says no, well… There’s nothing saying that Naruto himself can’t choose where he lives, is there?” Then his micro-aggression is back, leaning over the foot of the bed with his arms wide. “My only stipulation is that you take better care of yourself. A sick guardian can’t very well keep up with any child, let alone a jinchūriki.”

Iruka nods. “Deal.” He covers a yawn with his palm and asks, “Can this taking care of myself clause start now, with me asking you to leave so I can go back to sleep?”

“I’m not leaving,” the ANBU says, standing back up straight. “If you’re to be the guardian of our jinchūriki, you’ll need to get used to the ANBU guard, sensei. But please, get some sleep.” He chuckles lightly, “I think I’ve caught you enough in the last thirty-six hours, don’t you?”

[scullydubois]

that terror that keeps me brave: a sex education fic

hi, hello, now that I am riding high off the excitement of season three, i am finally gonna start publishing the sex education fic that I began writing in uhh...february! it primarily follows jean, maureen, and jakob as they deal with the ramifications of the season two finale. again, i started this months ago so it is not influenced by season three, and you can read it without watching that. it will focus on jean's pregnancy and maureen exploring her sexuality in the wake of her separation.

chapter one is under the cut! 1.5k, rated T. read it on ao3 here.

I:

Jean taps her pen absentmindedly against her soft leather notebook, misery on the faces of the couple in front of her. It’s a classic story: the once-adoring wife who has seen the dream crumble in front of her and her unshaven husband. Jean’s eyes train on him as he squirms in his seat.

“So, to clarify, you experienced a nocturnal emission from a dream about your co-worker, and then when Cecelia asked what the dream was about, you told her the truth.”

The man nods. Jean shifts her focus to the woman.

“And now, Cecelia, you are mad at him because you believe that he cheated on you.”

“Yes,” the wife squeaks. “He got off on another woman! Am I supposed to be okay with that?”

Jean pulls her lips into a poorly drawn line. “But you don’t have any other evidence of his cheating, correct? You’re using this dream as the sole reason for your accusation?”

“The dream is the cheating, there doesn’t need to be nothing more.”

Jean glances at the woman over her glasses. “Let’s ask Brian, shall we?” She crosses her legs, turning her attention warmly toward the poor man. “Have you ever engaged in sexual intercourse or anything of the sort with this woman while you were awake?”

“No.” He shakes his head violently. “Never.”

“Would you ever do so?”

“No...Addison--that’s her name--is fine-looking, but I’m married and I love my wife. I would never do such a thing.”

Jean has seen her fair share of men who are bullshitting. Brian is not one. She closes her notebook. “See, Cecelia? You are the one he wants. Nocturnal emissions are involuntary physical responses to subconscious stimuli. Addison is Brian’s co-worker, which means he probably sees her quite often. This makes it more likely for her to turn up in his dreams. It’s neither an affront to you, nor a compliment to her.”

Cecelia pouts. “I just don’t feel right about it.”

Jean rests her glasses on the crown of her head. “This could easily have been you who had the dream about your co-worker, and what then? How would you feel if Brian were accusing you of something you couldn’t control?”

“I never have those nasty dreams,” Cecelia counters, scoffing. “Not even about my own husband.”

Jean can’t help but fight back a smirk. “Well, Cecelia, that may be an issue for another session.”

“Like hell it will be! I’m giving you money to tell me it’s okay for my husband to make love to another woman! What do I look like, a fool?”

Jean folds her hands over her lap. Nothing she hasn’t heard before.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Cecelia, but I’m glad you and Brian could come in and have this conversation today.” She exchanges a sympathetic look with Brian. “My ears are always open.”

“Thank you, Jean,” the man says, ushering his wife out of the office. “We’ll see you next time.”

And Jean’s sure they will, because they’ve had this exact session about five separate times. The only thing that ever changes is what woman features in Brian’s dream. Once, it was even Jean! Now that was a session. You’d think, by now, that Brian would just tell Cecelia that every dream is about her. The honest men are always the ones who can afford a little dishonesty.

This is what’s on Jean’s mind when she jaunts into the foyer and finds the most honest man she knows standing there like he’s waiting to be checked in. Grease streaks his clothes; he’s stopped by in between jobs.

“Jakob!” Her voice is taut and uncompromising.

“Jean!” His is cordial and languid. “That nice couple let me in, I hope it won’t be a problem.”

Jean shifts her weight onto one heel, stretching her free leg. “I have another session in a few minutes. You should go.”

“Such strict avoidance of an ex-partner is not healthy, you know. I’m sure they taught you that in therapy school.”

“And continuing to show up at your ex-partner’s home after they have indicated they do not wish to see you is called stalking.” Jean strides into the kitchen. His clunky footsteps follow her. “I didn’t need to go to ‘therapy school’ to learn that.”

“We didn’t have those kinds of laws in Sweden until very recently. It was viewed as an expression of fondness when I was growing up.”

“That’s a view universal to men around the world,” Jean retorts. “They can’t all be right.”

“I was let in here, remember?” Jakob points out. “I don’t believe that makes it possible to prosecute me for any crimes.”

“Well, if I see you grab a kitchen knife, I’m going to assume the worst.”

“If I touch a kitchen knife, you may arrest me.”

“Wonderful.” Jean starts the coffee pot and pulls her beloved honeycomb mug from the cabinet. Despite herself, she grabs another one and offers it to Jakob. “Coffee?”

“No thank you. I had my smoothie this morning.”

“Ah.” She should’ve known. She stands on her tip-toes to slide the rejected mug back on the shelf. When she turns around, her visitor is gone. This isn’t of particular concern to her, though it is rather strange.

She sets her mug beneath the coffee pot and lets it run. As the steamy liquid spews out, she surveys her kitchen. Following the trend of the day, curiosity gets the best of her. “Jakob?” she calls.

A familiar head pops out of the pantry. “You have not used your pan shelf.”

Jean takes her coffee and shuffles over. “No, I have not,” she confirms, mimicking his charmingly formal way of speaking.

“Is it not adequate?”

“I told you, I don’t need it.” She turns on her heel, gliding toward the table. “Now, can you get out of my pantry?”

With an amused smile on his face, Jakob slips out and shuts the door.

“How was the session?”

Jean casts a downward glance at him. “I’m not supposed to share--”

“My mistake.” Jakob sits down and settles his hands on the table, the epitome of patience. Jean feels a nagging tug in her stomach, and she can’t discern one potential cause from the other.

She sighs. Jakob’s eyes have always struck her as those belonging to a guard dog who’s sworn to protect. Their inability to deceive is a great comfort, and so different from most of the men she has known.

She presses the mug to her lips, drinking in the miracle roast that she has been meaning to cut back on. 200 milligrams per day, that’s the recommended maximum intake for expecting mothers. She’s keeping herself right at that.

It is hard to steel herself against Jakob when he looks at her with such genuine eyes, especially knowing that she can’t offer him the same.

She swallows her sip, sets the mug against the table. “Do you feel that a husband who’s having wet dreams about another woman is cheating?” She eyes Jakob like he’s one of her clients, someone she must pick apart.

Jakob eyes her in kind, deducing that this is not a trick, but an honest question. “Yes,” he responds in his frank tone. “That would be an emotional betrayal at least.”

Jean leans back in her chair. “Why do you say that?” She may as well have her notebook and pen in hand.

“Because he’s emotionally attached enough to this person to have those sorts of dreams.” It sounds completely sensible, Jean thinks, when he says it. And it makes her sound like a bitch for what she has to say, but a situation where she must leave her emotions out of the equation is exactly what she needs when it comes to him.

“Dreams occur in our subconscious, unbeknownst to our waking selves. We cannot plan them. And the physical response is involuntary. Nocturnal emissions happen without our intervention. He is neither choosing the subject of his dreams, nor is he choosing his sexual response to them. Therefore, no cheating is taking place.”

“So cheating is a choice then,” Jakob muses. The weight of this statement hangs between them. He searches Jean’s face for signs of apprehension.

She stiffens in her chair but holds firm. “Yes. It is.” She understands the implications of admitting this, and she hopes he does too. She has done him wrong, and the worst they can do is let it keep happening. Even this choice, though, does him wrong, and for that Jean is sorry.

The doorbell rings, no doubt the next sexual conundrum she must untangle. She slides her chair back, grabs her mug, and gives Jakob a look that’s almost apologetic.

He returns the look, his eyes both fire and ice. “Another pair whose relationship you will save.”

Jean breaks eye contact when she realizes he’s being serious, for that’s simply too sweet a thing for him to say. She walks him to the door, and it strikes her as all too familiar.

“Thank you for your help,” he utters when she opens the door to her clients. She sees what he’s doing and plays along.

“You’re welcome. See you next week.”

“Yes,” he says, fixated on her. “See you next week.”

[frenchpuppycormier]

Prom Night!

(ao3)

word count: 2k

rating: T

Shoutout to @krdnvrs for being my number one fan and cheerleader on all of my random ideas, and for listening to me complain. Another thanks to @red-cape-morgana for being my glorified cheerleader ;)

They were in Midvale, working a case, when it happened.

Somehow Lex managed to lace the water supply with kryptonite, the team got wind of it, and so they went to investigate.

Lena, now an integral part of the team, tagged along.

Alex, J’onn, Brainy, and Nia went first to make sure everyone was safe and that the kryptonite wouldn’t harm anyone, while also checking to see what kind of kryptonite it was and how it would affect Kara.

Kara and Lena are staying back at the town line. Waiting patiently. Some more than others.

“Will you please stop pacing? You’re stressing me out,” Lena rubs at her temples.

Kara stops mid-step, skidding on the loose gravel, and sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m just really anxious right now, and I’m scared of what they might find. I mean, what if—Eliza lives here! I can’t just—

“Hey,” Lena interrupts by placing both hands on Kara’s forearms. “It’ll be fine. Eliza isn’t even here. She’s out of town, remember?”

Kara lets out a deep breath and nods.

“Can I—Kara, can I give you a hug?” she asks, timidly. Lena won’t openly admit it, but Kara’s the only one she openly and freely gives hugs to. Anyone else and it’s touch and go.

Kara smiles, “Duh! You don’t even have to ask, you know that.” She wrangles her arms out from Lena’s hands and wraps her own around the CEO’s shoulders, burying her face in raven hair.

Lena grips her hands tightly around the hero’s back and inhales deeply, the sweet smell of honey and lavender from the blonde's shampoo, and the hint of earth which makes Kara, Kara.

The moment was quickly disrupted by a chirping in Kara’s ear. She steps back slightly so one arm is still resting on Lena’s shoulders while the other presses the comm. “Alex?”

Lena is moderately perturbed at Alex in this moment, but doesn’t let it show. Instead, she loosens her grip and slides her hands to rest on Kara’s hips, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“You guys should head into town,” Alex supplies.

“What is it?” Kara asks while absentmindedly playing with Lena’s hair.

“Everything’s fine, but you’re gonna wanna see this for yourself.”

Kara frowns. “Okay, we’ll be there shortly.” She clears her throat and Lena eyes her warily.

“So?” Lena steps back and crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“Alex says she has something to show us,” Kara replies. “So,” she moved her arms in a swooping gesture, “Ready to go?”

Lena shakes her head. “No. We are not flying there.”

“Suit yourself,” Kara laughs and begins to take off. Lena stops her with a hand on the wrist before she can. “Change your mind?”

“Just promise to go slow,” Lena huffs, giving Kara permission to scoop her up bridal style.

“Yes, ma’am,” she smirks.

___

“Blue kryptonite?”

Alex nods.

“What is his endgame?”

Alex puffs her cheeks up and releases hot air. “It seems he wants to get rid of your powers. And apparently he thought starting here would be the best course of action, knowing you grew up here and you’d come this way. Fool proof plan, really.” A sudden serious look clouds over her. "And I have a feeling this is only the first step in his nefarious plans."

Kara groans, "Well, is everyone okay at least?" She puts her hands on her hips, in the classic hero pose.

"As far as we know, it doesn't have any negative effects on humans. In fact, we think it does the opposite."

"Of course!" Lena interjects from her spot. She's stayed quiet and let the sisters discuss things, until now she remembers information that could help.

"Lena?" Kara raises her eyebrows in question.

"When Lex was researching ways to hurt Superman, he discovered blue kryptonite," she rolls her eyes. "Blue kryptonite can drastically improve the health of any non-Kryptonian organism, such as livestock, crops, and humans. Continual consumption of blue kryptonite-irradiated water puts humans in a perfect state of health. I'm almost positive he's been drinking the stuff for years."

"Well, fuck," Alex huffs.

Lena shakes her head. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. It doesn't make him super-powered or anything. Actually, now that I think about it, the blue rock makes humans more prone to mental irregularities. If that's the case, it would explain a lot."

"Is there a way to counteract it?" Kara asks.

Lena sighs. "If I'm hypothesizing correctly, I'd bet my life on lead getting the job done."

Kara nods and looks to Alex. "Okay. You got all the rock bagged up then?" Alex nods. "How long until the water supply is back to normal?"

"A week? Maybe two. Just don't go drinking the water at mom's house, got it?"

"I'll stick to bottled," Kara smirks.

___

As they’re flying to Eliza's later that night, Kara notices her old high school is bustling with people and everyone is gussied up. She gasps loudly in Lena’s ear. “Lena, look!”

“What?”

“It’s prom night!” she slows down and finds a spot behind some bushes for cover. Once grounded she practically beams. “Let’s break in!"

Lena guffaws.

Kara stares at her with a gleaming twinkle in her eyes.

“Are you serious?” She asks incredulously.

Kara nods furiously like a bobble head. “Yeah, totally! I remember you telling me once how you never went to prom, and then I promised you if the opportunity ever arises I’d take you myself. And I'd dance with you.”

“You said no such thing,” Lena states, highly amused.

“Okay, well," Kara visibly flusters, "Maybe I never said that part out loud, but I still thought it in my head. And...I mean it.”

“Kara, that’s very sweet, but look at us,” she gestures between them, “I’m dressed like I’m ready for a board meeting, and you,” she glances around to make sure no one can see or hear them and whispers, “You’re Supergirl.”

Kara looks down and pouts, “Oh. Right.” It doesn’t keep her down for long though, because she speeds away and comes back in a dress before Lena can even blink.

“Wow. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” Lena chuckles. “You didn’t think to grab anything for me?”

The hero frowns while looking Lena up and down with an intense gaze, causing Lena to feel immensely self-conscious. With a finger to her chin Kara says, “I think you look perfect. You’re basically wearing a suit, anyway, just one that probably costs more than anyone in that building can afford.”

Lena raises her eyebrows haughtily.

“Shall we?” Kara holds out her arm.

Lena rolls her eyes fondly, before relaxing, and hooks her arm through the blonde’s. “Alright, MacGyver, how are we doing this?”

“Easy,” Kara shrugs. “I’ll just open the door to the gym with my super strength, and sneak in the back. Piece of cake.”

“Famous last words.”

___

“Ha! Told you we could do it!” Kara exclaims as they make their way through the gym, where fairy lights are strewn about everywhere, and the ceiling is decorated with cheesy cotton drapes. Surprisingly, no one even notices the two women, and if they do they don’t care.

“The night is still young,” Lena points out.

“Oh quit being a downer,” Kara teases. As they find a secluded spot in the corner, a slow song starts to play. The lights cast a glow on Lena making her seem ethereal, and Kara gapes in awe.

"You look beautiful, Lena."

"I could say the same for you," she blushes.

“May I have this dance?” Kara playfully bends forward with one hand outstretched.

“You’re such a goober,” Lena laughs and takes her hand.

They slow dance for a while, the heat between them hanging in the air. As soon as Kara thinks about asking Lena the question that's been niggling her for the past few months, she notices a man poking around in the corner of her eye. He makes eye contact with her and begins making his way toward them. Kara panics.

“There’s a man coming our way. What do we do? He’s probably gonna kick us out!”

“Shit, I don’t know! This was your idea!” Lena hisses.

Kara thinks fast and makes a decision. A decision she never thought would happen, here in Midvale, in her high school gymnasium of all places. A decision that will inevitably change their lives forever.

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” Lena answers immediately, with a wistful smile plastered on her face.

Kara nods and takes a moment to compose herself. Just a tiny moment. Because they’re kind of running out of time here. Before she can second-guess herself, she takes Lena’s face in her hands and kisses her.

She kisses her like her life depends on it. She’s waited for this moment for so long and it’s finally here. At a high school prom she wasn't even invited to. The thought makes her want to laugh. But she can't, because she's kissing Lena. And Lena is kissing her back with just as much ferocity! It’s funny, she never imagined she’d be back here, years later, with the prettiest woman in the universe at her side, yet that’s what was in the cards for her.

When what feels like minutes of absolute heaven go by, Kara pulls back slightly, breathing heavy. She slowly opens her eyes and whispers, “Do you think it worked?”

“Excuse me?”

The voice startles them from their little bubble and makes the women jump apart in surprise.

"Gosh, you scared the crap outta me," Kara shudders, clutching at her heart. She gathers her wits and when she sees the man, realization slowly dawns on her. "Kenny?"

The man, presumably Kenny, frowns. "I'm sorry, do we know each other?"

"It's Kara. Kara Danvers!" she smiles with hesitancy. The gears in Kenny's head start turning and he puts his hands on his head in utter bewilderment.

"Kara!"

Being the tactile person she is, Kara envelops him in a bone crushing hug. When they pull back she asks, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm the principal," he replies bashfully. Kenny smirks and tilts his head. "What are you doing here?"

Kara blushes a deep red and clears her throat. "Um, well...I'm just visiting, actually." She adjusts her glasses awkwardly. "You know, see how everyone's doing since I left..."

"And who's this?" Kenny asks, peering behind her, effectively cutting off the inevitable ramble about to happen.

The blonde swallows. "Oh geez, where are my manners?" she bonks herself on the head and turns to Lena. Kara gently pushes her forward by the small of her back, and rests her hand there. "Lena, this is my friend Kenny from high school. Kenny, this is my....Lena..."

Lena chuckles and holds out her hand. “Lena Luthor. Nice to meet you.” His grip is firm when they shake hands.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he replies.

Kara grins after seeing her former (dead?) best friend meet her current best friend (maybe more?) chat with one another.

She explains why they’re there and that they essentially snuck in.

“I won’t tell a soul. You have my word,” Kenny winks at them. “Keep in touch, yeah?” Kara nods enthusiastically, and gives him one last hug before departing to the other end of the gym, where he sees a student spiking the punch bowl.

"So..." Lena starts, "That's the Kenny you told me about?"

Lena notices Kara's eyes crinkle and one corner of her mouth lifts up, in that cute way it does when she's thinking deeply about something. "Yeah. He died though, in my timeline." She frowns, and her eyes dart around the floor like the cracks and scratches have all the answers. "This whole universe...reset...thing is mind-boggling."

Lena reaches up and rubs softly at Kara's little crinkle with the pad of her thumb. When it disappears, she drops her hand and plays with the blonde's fingers instead. "Nothing's ever easy in our lives, is it?"

Kara hums an affirmation in response.

"You can tell me about it, if you'd like," Lena offers.

"That'd be nice," Kara smiles, then like a flip of a switch she's throwing her a flirty smirk. "But not right now," she joins their other hands together and pushes them forward and back, as if they're on the cusp of telling each other exciting news.

"No?" Lena plays along.

"Nope," she raises their hands up so Lena's rest on her shoulders, and Kara pulls her forward by the waist. "I was kinda hoping we could talk about that kiss."

"Mhmm, I was wondering if you were gonna bring that up," she inches closer so her forehead touches Kara's, and she encircles her arms around her neck, the distance between them practically nonexistent.

"I should've asked," she connects her hands on the other woman's back.

Lena shakes her head, the action causing their noses to bump. "You never have to ask to kiss me." Before Kara can properly respond, Lena connects their lips together again, shutting her up in the best way possible.

They still have a lot of things to figure out, a lot of demons to fight-both literally and figuratively-but Lena relishes in the thought that at least she has Kara.

At least they're doing it together.

After all, it is their life motto: stronger together.

[gohyuck]

pairing: lee donghyuck (haechan) x reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

word count: 1.5k

warnings: mentions of sex, nudity, some swearing... he almost eats the reader out. it gets super close

part of a series?: yes, 37.5% viewer ratings, my hyuck bday celebration

🎵 dizzy - renzo

☀️ mornings together

you wake up to the distinct touch of fingertips dragging gently across the bare skin of your side. the hand - disembodied by your groggy state and gaining its own identity for the moment - finds purchase right above your hipbone, pressing gently into your skin as a disembodied pair of lips meets your hairline.

and your nose. and your left cheek, then your right. suddenly, they’re all over your face, and they’re not so detached from reality anymore.

“hyuck!” you call out, half in laughter and half in exasperation. your eyes fly open to meet those of your boyfriend, the corners of his eyes crinkling before he leans in again, chastely pressing his lips to yours in a good morning kiss. as you get adjusted to the bright rays of sunshine that are filtering in unstopped through your window due to the curtains being wide open, you become aware of just how close donghyuck is to you: his right arm rests beside your head and his left leg is thrown halfway over you. he’s propped up on his right side, staring down at you fondly while you’re fully on your back.

you begrudgingly turn away from his warm gaze - and warm body, you’ll never cease to be in awe of how reminiscent he is of a furnace - to check the time on your phone. 6:06 glares back at you, and you can’t help but furrow your brow at how early you’ve been woken up.

“we forgot to close the blinds and the curtains last night, and it woke me up.” donghyuck mumbles, his mouth now against the curve of your shoulder. he must’ve noticed your questioning look. hyuck drapes an arm over you, palm splaying out flat against your lower stomach, and you’re suddenly extremely cognizant of how straight up naked you both are. he, at least, has the luxury of having boxers on; though, you can’t be too angry when you distinctly remember him offering to let you wear his shirt while sleeping and you outright rejecting the idea.

♕ ♕ ♕

“think of it like this,” you’d explained, cheeks as rosy as possible and chest rising heavily and painted with a light sheen of sweat. “i’m already heated, and you’re stupidly warm anyways, so why would i want to put on any layers? that, and waking up to me naked can be your present.”

“i like to think i’m smartly warm, actually - don’t hit me,” he’d broken off in a soft chuckle, catching your hand against his own heaving chest as you tried to smack him gently. “and it’s not my fault someone went and got me all hot and bothered.”

“you are so lucky we have great sex,” you’d rolled your eyes, kicking the sheets off of your overheating body and turning your back to your boyfriend. he’d immediately turned you back over, forcing you to look at his overexaggerated pout in response to your words. you’d rolled your eyes yet again, though you couldn’t hide the adoring smile that had overtaken your expression. before he could say anything else, you’d leaned towards him, capturing his lips against yours. one of his hands had come up to cradle your face, gently guiding your mouths, while the other had trekked down your back, resting, finally on your ass before giving it a good squeeze and pulling your body closer to his. you’d snaked your arms over his shoulders, letting him pull a moan from you as he’d tugged on your lower lip with his teeth, as he’d dug his fingertips into the skin of your thighs. the concept of bliss had found a home in lee donghyuck, who in turn had become your vice. this was nothing new. 

eventually, you’d both come up for air. you’d stared at him, eyes scanning his darkened cheeks and hazy eyes. he’d given you a once over as well, not hesitating to roll his lower lip between his teeth as a show of his appreciation of all of you. 

“i’d suggest a round 2, but i’m fucking wiped,” he’d eventually said upon separation, and you’d nodded in agreement, your head burrowing against his chest, excess body heat be damned. “you’re really not going to wear anything?”

you’d shaken your head, and he’d afforded you a laugh at the tickling sensation that came from your hair scraping across his skin.

“guess i’m getting one hell of a birthday gift when we wake up, then.”

♕ ♕ ♕

“hey,” you roll over within his grasp, finding yourself nose-to-nose with him. “it might be early, but at least it’s early on your birthday.”

“right,” donghyuck hums, the hand that’s lying over you shifting so it’s firmly clutching your waist. “looks like i’ve already unwrapped my first present.”

his words have his trademark, teasing lilt to them, and you think you’d feel as if he was getting ready to devour you alive if it wasn’t for the way his eyes are absolutely sparkling. hyuck is an even mix of sharp edges - you reach up a hand, tracing his jawline softly with the pad of your index finger - and rounded curves - you run a thumb over his cheek, right underneath his eye. from the fondness in his expression, he’s seeing you the same way you see him. donghyuck pinches your hip as delicately as possible and his smile grows as yours does.

as he beams at you, you can’t help but want to keep that expression on his face forever.

you place a kiss on the tip of his nose just to watch him crinkle it, all while his entire form is bathed in morning sunlight. by this point, your thoughts have already hung a turn towards ‘sappy’, and you don’t believe you want them to hit the brakes. 

“you’re so beautiful.” donghyuck breathes, and you realize he’s beaten you to saying the words that were about to fall off your own tongue. before you can respond with a glib ‘birds of a feather’ remark, he shifts the two of you, forcing you to lay flat against his pale blue sheets. both his forearms cage your head onto the pillow underneath it, one of his knees coming up to keep his entire form balanced exquisitely above you. 

“so,” he bends to mouth along your jawline, smiling against you when you let out a pleased sigh and allow yourself to sink further into the pillow. you reach a hand up to run it over his collarbone, and he captures it easily before pressing his lips to your knuckles. once he drops it, you reach up again, though this time your grip finds light purchase in his hair.

“fucking,” donghyuck kisses into the expanse of skin above your bellybutton. he’s actively using his knee to leverage him on his descent (and, consequently, your ascent) down your body. the honey in his skintone is made even more evident as the sun’s rays wash him with warmth. if you squint, you can almost make out a halo of light resting in his hair. there’s no way for you to dwell on this, though, not as he presses chaste - too chaste for your liking - kisses over your hipbones and thighs. 

“beautiful.” hyuck finally finishes his statement, looking up at you with a mischievous gleam in his eyes before sliding fully onto the floor at the foot of his bed. he straightens up onto his knees and gives you no warning before grabbing your ankles and dragging you to him, causing you to yelp loudly.

much to your chagrin, he just laughs at your reaction, his amusement growing louder as the furrow of your brow grows deeper. before you can chastise your boyfriend, though, he places his hands on your thighs, one on each, and pulls them apart from each other. donghyuck leans in to nip gently at your inner thigh, and you can’t help the breathy gasp that escapes you.

“wait!” you cry out suddenly, causing your boyfriend to pull away immediately. he sits up, concern replacing his expession instantly.

“baby? what’s wr-” he starts, only for you to interrupt him.

“it’s your birthday, not mine. i should be doing things for you, not the other way around.”

donghyuck goes silent, and so do you, and you watch as his expression becomes unreadable for a moment. you wait two, five, ten seconds for him to speak to no avail. you’re about to sit up when he shakes his head, placing his hands back on you again.

“i promise, i’m doing exactly what - and who - i want to. i’ll even spell it out for you, if you want: you look like a literal angel or some shit in the sunlight, and if you’ll let me, i almost need to take advantage of it. it’s my birthright. birthday right?” he quirks an eyebrow in confusion at his own phrasing, though that doesn’t stop him from leaning in, his hands running idly up and down your thighs as he waits for your response.

your resolve has already weakened.

“...shouldn’t i at least make you breakfast first?” you try, though you’re already situating yourself on the pillow again. you feel rather than hear donghyuck chuckle against your skin, though you don’t miss the dark excitedness in his tone when he speaks again.

“i already have my breakfast spread out for me.”

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 14

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 14 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 14/? SUMMARY: With the Doctor newly regenerated, he and Elise must now navigate their new relationship. The Doctor is an old man and Elise is a headstrong young woman. She is no longer the scared little girl the Doctor saved all those years ago. Will Clara be able to keep them from killing each other?

Clara was clearly getting ready for another date when Elise and the Doctor arrived.

The Doctor was watching her laundry spinning in the washing machine while Clara checked her makeup.

“The Satanic Nebula,” the Doctor suggested. He stared at her goldfish. “Or the lagoon of lost stars. Or we could go to Brighton. I've got a whole day worked out.”

“Sorry, but as you can see, I've got plans.” Clara gestured to her outfit.

“Have you?”

“Look at me.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“No, no, no. No. Look at me.” Clara flipped her hair.

“Yep, looking.”

“Seriously?”

“I think you look beautiful,” Elise told Clara.

“Thank you, Ellie.”

“Why is your face all colored in? Are you taller?” the Doctor asked.

Clara raised her foot. “Heels.”

“What, do you have to reach a high shelf?”

“Right, got to go. Going to be late.”

“For a shelf?”

“Bye.” Just as Clara was about to leave, the phone in the TARDIS started ringing. “There you go, you've got another playmate.”

“Hardly anyone in the universe has that number.”

“Well, I've got it.”

“Yes, from some woman in a shop. We still don't know who that was.”

“Is that her now?”

“There are very few people that it could be.”

“Maybe it’s Kate,” Elise suggested. It’d been a while since they’d seen the head of UNIT.

The Doctor reached out to answer it.

“Don't,” Clara said.

“Why not?” the Doctor asked.

“Because, if you answer it, something will happen.”

“What?”

“A thing”

“Huh. It's just a phone, Clara. Nothing happens when you answer the phone.” He picked up the receiver.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next thing they knew they were sitting at table, each holding a memory worm.

Clara and Elise screamed.

“Doctor?” Clara asked.

“Don't touch it.”

“Where are we? How did we get here?”

A man and a woman sat across from them at the table.

The man had half his head shaved with computer chips attached. “Who are you? Sorry, what's going on? I don't understand.”

The woman was dark skinned. Her cheeks transformed into the worm’s horns before fading. “Ah! What is that thing?”

“It's a memory worm,” the Doctor told her.

“What happened to your face?” Clara asked.

“Deletes your memories.”

“Did you see her face?”

“How did I get here?” the woman asked.

“The same way we all did, but we've all forgotten,” the Doctor said.

“And who are you?”

A metal case sat in the middle of the table. It played a recording.

“I am the Doctor, a Time Lord from Gallifrey. I have agreed to this memory wipe of my own free will.”

“I am Clara Oswald, human. I have agreed to this memory wipe of my own free will. Do I really have to touch that worm thing?”

“Yes, you do. And change your shoes. Elise, you’re next.”

Elise heard herself sigh. “Do I really have to do this?”

“Yes.”

“This is a bad idea. Fine. I am Elise Smith, daughter of the Doctor and River Song. I have agreed to this memory wipe of my own free will.”

“Okay, you're next, Psi.”

“I am Psi- augmented human. I have agreed to this memory wipe of my own free will.” Psi took a chip from his head and examined it.

“I am Saibra, mutant human. I have agreed to this memory wipe of my own free will.”

The case unlocked and a golden light shone from within. Two screens popped up. A golden K in a circle was shown on the screen before a hooded figure appeared.

“This is a recorded message. I am the Architect. Your last memory is of receiving a contact from an unknown agency. Me. Everything since has been erased from your minds. Now, pay close attention to this briefing.”

A planet appeared and zoomed in to show a bank. An advertisement started to play as the Architect spoke.

“This is the Bank of Karabraxos, the most secure bank in the galaxy. A fortress for the super-rich. If you can afford your own star system, this is where you keep it. No one sets foot on the planet without protocols. All movement is monitored, all air consumption regulated. DNA is authenticated at every stage. Intruders will be incinerated. Each vault, buried deep in the earth, is accessed by a drop-slot at the planet's surface. It's atomically sealed, an unbreakable lock. The atoms have all been scrambled. Your presence on this planet is unauthorized. A team will have been dispatched to terminate you.”

Someone banged on the door. “This is bank security. Open up.”

The video kept playing. “Your survival depends on following my instructions.”

“Open up and you shall be humanely disposed of.”

“There's another exit,” Saibra said.

“All the information you need is in this case,” the video said.

Psi took a chip from his head and plugged it into the case.

“What are you doing?” the Doctor asked.

“Downloading,” Psi told him.

“Ah. Augmented. Nice.”

“The Bank of Karabraxos is impregnable,” the video said.

The Doctor took a device from the case.

“Please stand away from the door. We do not wish to hurt you before incineration,” the guard ordered.

Elise rolled her eyes. How considerate.

“The Bank of Karabraxos has never been breached. You will rob the Bank of Karabraxos.”

Soon, the five of them were running down a corridor.

“Okay, okay, okay. Stop, stop, stop. Far enough,” the Doctor said, panting.

Can’t handle all the running, old man? Elise asked. She received an eyeroll in response.

“Augmented human. Computer augmented, yes? Mainframe in your head?”

“I'm a gamer. Sorry, who put you in charge?” Psi asked.

“You're a liar. That's a prison code on your neck.”

“I'm a hacker slash bank robber.”

“Good. This is a good day to be a bank robber. Mutant human. What kind of mutant?”

“Like he says, why are you in charge now?” Saibra asked.

“It's my special power. What's yours?”

Saibra sighed and took Clara’s hand. They watched as she transformed into Clara. When she let go, she was herself once again. “I touch living cells, I can replicate the owner.”

“Your face, when we first saw you...”

“I touched the worm.”

“You can replicate their clothes too?”

“I wear a hologram shell.”

“Like Christmas,” Elise said, even though only the Doctor and Clara knew what she was referencing.

The Doctor pulled out the object he took from the case. “Human cells. DNA from a customer, maybe? A disguise to get us in?”

“We're actually going to do it? Rob the bank?”

“I don't think we have a choice. We've already agreed to.”

Saibra sighed and touched her thumb to the object.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Elise had to admit that the bank was beautiful.

“How long can you maintain the image for?” the Doctor asked Saibra.

“For as long as I like.”

They entered the bank.

“Question one. Robbing banks is easy if you've got a TARDIS. So why am I not using it?” the Doctor asked.

“Question two, where is the TARDIS?” Clara countered.

“Okay, that probably should be question one.”

“Hopefully it’s not having a temper tantrum this time,” Elise said.

The Doctor turned to her. “At least we’re not stuck on a pirate ship with a murderous mermaid.”

An alarm started going off and security grills came down around all the exits. “Banking floor locking down.”

“They know we're here,” Saibra said.

“Banking floor locking down.”

A woman entered with two men dressed in suits. They walked up to a man with a briefcase.

A monster wearing an orange jumpsuit and a straight jacket entered. It had two eyestalks and was led by two armed guards.

Elise, instead of being scared, just felt sorry for the poor creature.

“What is that?” Saibra asked.

“I don't know. Hate not knowing,” the Doctor said.

“Excuse me, sir. I regret to say that your guilt has been detected,” the woman said.

“What? That, that's totally ridiculous,” the man said.

“Is it, sir? Well then, we will certainly double-check. The Teller will now scan your thoughts for any criminal intent. Good luck, sir.”

The man put down his briefcase.

“Interesting,” the Doctor said.

“What is?” Psi asked.

“The latest thing in sniffer dogs. Telepathic. It hunts guilt.”

The creature emitted a high-pitched noise that caused the man to grab his head in pain.

“What about our guilt?” Clara asked.

“Currently being drowned out,” the Doctor told her.

“What's he doing?”

“If he has a plan, he's trying not to think of it.”

“Ever tried not thinking about something?” Psi asked.

“No,” Clara said.

“You may have to,” Saibra said.

The creature roared.

“Ah, criminal intent detected. How naughty. What was your plan? Counterfeit currency in your briefcase, perhaps?” the woman asked.

“No, not at all. For God's sake,” the man said.

“It doesn't really matter, we'll establish the details later. The Teller is never wrong when it comes to guilt. Your account will now be deleted, and obviously your mind. Suppertime.”

The armored guards held onto the creature’s chains as it moved closer to the customer. It’s eyestalks came together and a ray was focused on the man’s head.

“It's wiping his mind. Turning his brain into soup,” the Doctor explained.

Elise felt tears well up in her eyes.

“Your next of kin will be informed, and incarcerated, as further inducement to honest financial transactions,” the woman said.

The man started screaming.

“We've got to help him,” Clara said.

“He's gone already. It's over,” the Doctor told her.

“He's in agony, look at him.”

“Those aren't tears, Clara. That's soup.”

The creature pulled it’s eyestalks apart.

The man stopped screaming and one of the suited men caught him. The front of his head was caved in.

“Account closed. Take him away. He's ready for his close-up. Apologies for the disturbance. Everyone have a lovely day.”

Elise was right. This was a very bad idea.

[tocrackerboxpalace]

Le Rêve - Part 4

Summary: George reflection chapter. What more is there to say?

Warning: R-rated

“Ringo, have you seen me favorite pair of socks? The black ones?”

George tore through his suitcase in agitation, carelessly tossing the clothing into a second-carpet on the hotel floor. He groaned in frustration when an uninterested “uh-uh” came from the other side of the room, where Ringo was changing into his pajamas.

“I can’t bloody find them anywhere.” George let out a defeated huff and sat back on his heels with a pout.

“Where’d you leave ‘em last?”

“If I knew that,” George tried, ever-so-patiently, “I wouldn’t be tearin’ the room apart, now, would I?”

“Did you leave ‘em in John and Paul’s this morning?” Ringo asked in a tone of voice that implied George absolutely did leave them in John and Paul’s that morning.

“I don’t know why you never get things for me when you find them,” George muttered, though the words were less pointed now. He threw his suitcase closed.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, Harrison. You’re a big lad now, you’ve got to be responsible for your own things.” Ringo shot him a grin. “Think of me as your personal… guide. I’ll give you hints and whatnot along the way, but I won’t do it for you.”

“Charming.” George rolled his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet, not bothering to gather up all of the other strewn-about items of clothing. “Well, I’m off to go get them. I can’t get sleep without them.”

Ringo cocked an amused eyebrow as he began to hang his suit. “You’re an odd fella, you know that, George?”

“Bah.” George swatted away the comment and pulled the door open. “Be back in a minute.”

John and Paul’s room was down the hall from theirs, though it was really only a few steps. The hotel was small, the rooms far from luxurious. The hall was a dull mess of gray and beige, the carpet a crisscross pattern and the wallpaper about a thousand years old. He scoffed in distaste of the place. They were the fucking Beatles now, for God’s sakes. You’d think they could afford some better living. George kicked at a spider on the water-stained trim as he approached his mates’ room.

He had just raised his arm to knock when a strange sound caused him to pause his movements. Intrigued, George inched forward and pressed an ear close to the frame. What was the harm in getting a little listen?

There was… moaning. And cursing. George nearly rolled his eyes. It sounded like Paul—richer than John’s voice, and clearer, too. He also ran with the hardly faint memory that Paul was quite vocal in bed. He should almost know the lad’s sounds by now. Part of him wondered where John had gotten side-tracked off to, because he could have sworn the three of them went up in the elevator together.

He half-laughed to himself. This guy was too good. George hadn’t even the slightest clue where Paul could’ve picked a bird up on his way from the lobby to the room. Gonna be sick, my arse, he thought to himself.

As George waited outside of the door, he pondered his options. He could wait until Paul’s little rendezvous was over (which, judging by the sounds, was not far off). He could knock and give them a second to dress or hide the bird. And finally: eh, what the hell. He’d seen worse before. If the door was unlocked, he could just slip in.

Besides, George really wanted those socks.

Ultimately, he decided that sneaking in was his best bet. He’d slip past the door and slither unnoticed to the bathroom, and go—yes! He remembered now!—behind the toilet. Pick up the socks and leave as quickly as he came. In and out in a jiffy.

George reached for the doorknob and gave it a slight twist when an expression from inside stopped him cold.

“Fucking hell, Paul.”

Paul was in there; he knew good and well. The question was what was… the other voice doing there? The boys’ closeness had never warranted anything more than an “Oh, shit, sorry,” when walking in on one another and leaving as swiftly as possible. Was the other voice… watching? Just hanging around in there?

George’s pulse quickened, his grip beginning to slip from the door as he desperately fought the pounding confusion in his head. He had to have misheard. It couldn’t have been that voice. He was delusional, imagining things, that’s all.

The voice called out again, breathless, grainy: “Christ.”

It was unmistakably John.

George remained frozen in front of the door, unable to tear himself away. Faintly, he registered Paul moaning John’s name. John was in there. And so was Paul. He had heard them call out to each other… for each other…

“John, I can’t—” Another pause, and bedsprings creaked incriminatingly. “John, stop, I-I’m gonna come—”

Before a second thought could cross his mind, George threw the door open and stood gaping at the scene in front of him.

The first thing he noticed was the sheer look of terror on Paul’s face. This was almost comical, considering the obvious next thing to notice was that Paul was stark naked, a furious burn in his cheeks as he scrambled to cover his intimacies. Intimacies that John was—was all over.

John had been touching him like a bird should. George’s eyes raked over John’s form. The man didn’t look nearly as terrified as Paul. In fact, he looked almost… smug. His cheeks were flushed pink, his eyes bright and teetering on wild. He laid propped up on one elbow, making the hard-on in his trousers conspicuously evident. Despite throwing himself off of his mate as fast as possible, he looked completely at ease, glaring at George almost daringly as a shadow of a smirk twitched at the corner of his lips.

George took this opportunity to switch stares back to Paul, sickened by whatever fucking game John thought he was playing. The ends of Paul’s hair were curled with the sweat that beaded on his neck and forehead. His hands trembled where they tugged at the bedsheet, which could have done more to hide him. There was something pleading in his eyes, something desperate. If only George knew what it was for.

There was nothing he could think of to say. Rather than waste time standing and waiting for someone to speak up, George turned on his heel and swiftly shut the door behind him.

—

George leaned with palms pressed against the door, chest heaving from exertion and overwhelming bewilderment. The scene had played over and over in his mind since the fervent escape. It was his fault, he knew—that was the worst part.

He had only been going to look for a pair of socks. And they were rather nice socks. His favorite, even. That’s all he had wanted. Socks.

George had heard about these kinds of people before. Seen some of them, even, in Hamburg. He was fairly certain that Brian was one. The ones in Germany always tried to make a move on him and the others, but he never saw why; he didn’t fancy any of them were that attractive, anyroad. George suddenly recalled a conversation, not so long ago, when John had gone on a slight rant about The Homosexuals in Hamburg, and Paul had nodded along disapprovingly. It was Ringo, eventually, who edged them out of the discussion: “Eh, come on lads. It’s none of our business what they do, anyway.”

What the hell just happened?

“Whasamatter, Georgie?” Ringo stepped out of the bathroom, words coming out garbled as a toothbrush dangled from his lips. He tossed it in the trash and turned to spit in the sink. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“J-John and Paul,” George stuttered, his mind working frantically to piece together what had just happened. It seemed to be the only coherent sentence he could form. “I saw—it was John… and Paul. With Paul.”

“No kidding,” Ringo gave him an understanding nod and a slight chuckle. “Intense fellas, they are. They give me a downright scare sometimes, too. Writing a song, then?”

“Ringo, you’re not hearing me,” George tried, his voice unsteady. “I saw them. Doing—together. It was both of them, with each other.”

Ringo’s brow knitted in confusion. George’s ramblings only seemed to perplex him more, draw him farther away from the conclusion. “I… Congratulations?”

George rubbed his forehead shakily. He wasn’t so much frustrated as just helplessly exasperated. There were no connections in his mind that made the situation make sense. He stifled a groan.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, mate.”

“They were shagging,” George blurted. On instinct, a hand flew to cover his mouth as soon as the words left his lips. The phrase sounded so bizarre, so wrong, and was yet the only thing he felt accurately characterized what he just saw. “Almost.”

Ringo blinked. “Shagging who?”

George began to pace back and forth across the small room. “John. Or-or Paul. Each other. They were almost-shagging one another.”

Ringo stared, looking just as baffled as George felt. “What do you mean?”

George continued slowly. “I went to go get my socks. I was gonna knock, but I heard something, and I didn’t know what it was. So I listened for a moment, and I just thought that Paul was in there with a bird. Y’know.”

Ringo nodded, no more convinced.

“But I heard another voice, and they were saying Paul’s name, and then Paul said it back, and it was John. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You went in?” Ringo didn’t sound surprised, just curious.

“I wasn’t thinking. I couldn’t believe it. I s’pose I thought I had to see for myself. And-and then I did.” His voice broke a bit. “I don’t know what to do, Ringo. What the fuck?”

“Where are they now?”

“I don’t know. I just left.”

Ringo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We can’t tell anyone.”

“We can’t.”

“We have to talk to them.”

“About what? D’you want me to go in there again and say, ‘John, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, what were ya doing in there, jerking Paul off? And Paul, ya bloody bastard, what were you doing enjoyin’ it?” George ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck. How are we supposed to talk about this? What about the band?”

“Hey.” Ringo’s voice was gentle as he took a step closer. “One thing at a time, mate. We’ll worry about the band when the band gives us something to worry about. Right now, we need to go promise them that we won’t tell a soul, and that we’re not judging them really, but that they need to be more careful, and—”

“Be more careful?” George was bewildered. “Ringo, they were in the privacy of their own room. How much more careful can you get?”

“Do you want to be the one to tell them to stop?” Ringo raised an eyebrow. “Because one, I don’t think we have the authority to do that. And two, if I know anything about John and Paul, it will only make them want to do it more.”

George pondered this for a second. “They’re going to kill me.”

“No, George, come on—”

“They are.” George began to panic. “I walked in on them. I never should have done it. I should have just left in the first place. I should’ve knocked before anything. Oh, Christ, Ringo. They’re gonna kill me!”

Ringo’s gaze was soft and sympathetic, but George could pick up on a hint of worry in the lines of his face. Not that he would blame him for it. It’d be one thing if George had walked in on Paul and the fantasy bird George had originally thought. It’d be one thing if George had walked in on Paul with a random guy, and it was decriminalized. It’d even be one thing if George had walked in on Paul with a random guy, period.

But none of that was the case.

“Look,” Ringo started, laying a hand on George’s shoulder to temporarily halt his pacing. “Let’s go back to the room. We’ll talk to them. I don’t know about what, yet, but they need to know that I know."

“Okay.” George sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

—

Paul was sitting up, staring off into the distance and frantically nibbling at his thumbnail. His expression was hard, the other hand drumming nervously on the bed beside him. He was almost dressed, but everything carried an air of distractedness: his fly was down, his shirt haphazardly buttoned, his tie draped across his shoulders. He barely acknowledged when George and Ringo entered, lazily casting his gaze in their direction.

“Paul,” George tried, attempting to take hold of the conversation early. Maybe, at least, if he was in control, it would be easier for both of them. No more surprises.

Paul blinked up at him, looking dazed. He didn’t speak.

“I’m not mad.” George spoke quickly: reparations for earlier. “I-I was just shocked. ‘M not angry at all. I didn’t know how to…” He cleared his throat. “Not make it… worse?”

“Hm,” Paul affirmed.

“Where’s John?” Ringo asked suddenly, tentatively, as if he were afraid to stir Paul.

“Fuck if I know,” Paul shot in response.

George and Ringo exchanged a look. This was certainly not the picture George had left only minutes earlier. The air itself was hostile, heaving with McCartney’s own breaths until the others swayed uneasily on their feet.

“We can talk about it,” George offered, despite every nerve screaming at him not to do so. It was the last thing in the world that he wanted to do, but he couldn’t conjure up any other consolation.

“What is there to talk about?” Paul’s voice was cold. He was refusing eye contact.

“Paul,” Ringo tried again, taking a step closer. “It’s all right. George and I, we don’t care if you guys…” He trailed off, looking at George pleadingly.

George filled in. “…Want to be together.” The end of his sentence unintentionally lilted up, posed as a question.

Paul had the audacity to look at them now as if they were mad. “What?”

George watched confusion wash over Ringo’s features, mirroring the perplexity he felt on his own face. He tore his gaze away and focused on Paul, who looked nothing short of furious. The two men stood awkwardly, neither making a move to speak, which George figured was a smart decision. Let McCartney talk his way out of this.

“What?” He said again. George shook his head.

Paul pushed himself to his feet, his eyes sparkling maliciously. “No, George, tell me. Just what do you think you’re implying?”

He began advancing towards them. Though part of him knew, deep down, that Paul would never actually get physical with him, George flinched back noticeably into Ringo, making the older lad stumble as well.

Something changed in Paul’s expression at the interaction. The fury melted into fear, and then, almost… despair. He reached out for George’s arm, then seemed to think better of the choice and pull his searching hand back.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked as he retreated. “I’m sorry.”

“Come now, Paul, it’s all right.” Ringo’s voice was unsteady, but his words were comforting and secure. He took a tentative step and placed his hand on their friend’s shoulder. “Just tell us what’s going on.”

“I don’t know, Ritchie,” He near-wailed. “That’s the problem. I don’t know what that was. What happened.” Paul raked a hand through his fringe. “I can’t tell you. And now John’s fucked off to God-knows-where, and he was already in a bad state. Oh, shit. This is bad.”

Again, George and Ringo exchanged a nervous glance. Paul could be moody, manic, bizarre. The lad could go seemingly weeks without expressing a single intimate thought or feeling. He could also have outbursts, usually at John, about the smallest of things. George had always believed it to be pent-up frustration and emotional suppression, but this? This was no typical McCartney venom. This seemed like something entirely different.

“I’m not queer,” Paul suddenly asserted, mostly to himself.

“I believe you,” Ringo lied through his teeth. When Paul’s gaze was cast downward again, Ringo gave George a helpless shrug. “But we can’t just sweep this under the rug if you want to move forward. We have to find John, too, and talk about it. A-and make sure it doesn’t get out, or that you’re caught again. Or—”

“I need a smoke,” Paul interrupted.

And with that, he pushed past the two and disappeared out of frame, leaving George and Ringo trembling in his wake.

[joaquinwhorres]

Best of Friends (Ch. 1) {Bucky x Reader}

SUMMARY ››››› When your best friend steals marries Bucky's best friend, the two of you are left with only one solution: to become best friends yourselves.

PAIRING ››››› Bucky Barnes x Reader

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,916

WARNINGS ››››› There is no abuse in this story, no drug use, no depression, and as the only warnings worth putting up throughout the series, will be based around major plot points and surprise, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG. 

A/N ››››› So I love and adore this story so much. I originally wrote it as an OC story and you can find those versions of the chapters on AO3 or FFN​

The pounding on the door was seriously the last thing you needed right now. 

The first thing you needed was a drink.

Unfortunately there was no way on God's green earth you were going to successfully parallel park that UHAUL, and the idea of going to a liquor store within walking distance of your new place seemed about as safe as letting in the person on the other side of the door. Something told you it wasn't the UPS guy causing the door to rattle against the frame.

You sent up a silent prayer that whoever it was would just go away and leave you to the excellent pity party you had been throwing herself.

The banging grew louder. Which was about right for today.

Since dying probably couldn't make you feel any worse than you did right now, you strode across the apartment and wrenched open the door. In the next second, you were pushed back into the apartment as someone hurled themselves at you. 

"You're here!"

Thank goodness. Bernadette. 

Your shoulders dropped as you wrapped your arms tightly around your best friend, squeezing your eyes shut and willing yourself to relax into the wave of relief. "Hi," you mumbled.

"Took you long enough to open the door," Bernadette complained, but you could hear the smile in her voice as she rocked you from side to side.

"I thought you were a crazy person."

Bernadette let out a wild laugh right in your ear, and you flinched but refused to let go. 

"She is a crazy person," a male voice interrupted your moment, and you opened your eyes to find two hulking figures leaning against the wall behind Bernadette. The brunette smirked at you--or maybe Bernadette--as the blonde seemed preoccupied with scanning the hallway. 

"Fuck you, Bucky," Bernadette lifted her middle finger for him to see without releasing you from the hug. 

Bucky just laughed in response. "I suggested texting you that we were on your way, but she thought you'd enjoy the surprise." His eyes glimmered with amusement as your eyes rolled on their own accord. 

"And you did, right?" Bernadette asked, pulling back enough to look at you eagerly. 

"Maybe we should get out of the hallway," the blonde suggested, putting a stop to the bickering and saving you from having to pick sides.

"Yes!" Bernadette's attention shifted as she released you from the hug. "Let's see it!" 

Your stomach constricted. "It's pretty rough."

"Of course it is. You just got here like thirty minutes ago," she dismissed, pushing past you. You sighed, opening the door and letting the men enter. 

“Hi Y/N. Sorry we didn't text,” the blonde greeted, giving you a quick hug on his way in. 

“It's fine, Steve,” you patted his back before dropping back down onto your feet.

“Your Honor,” Bucky grinned, entering the apartment. 

“Your Bestness.” You smiled back, following him in and closing the door behind you to keep anyone else from seeing the depressing state of your new reality. 

The three quickly fanned out to survey your apartment.

"This is a .....nice place," Bernadette smiled too brightly as she circled a pile of boxes in the kitchen to flip on the tap water. You watched as it sputtered a few times before picking up into a yellow-ish stream. She quickly flipped it off, turning to face you and see if you had seen. Making eye contact, she shrugged. "That clears up." 

Bless her. She had to be the best friend to ever exist. Because if you were her, you totally would have hit her with an 'I told you so' by now.

Bernadette had warned you that an affordable single apartment was suspicious. That sometimes landlords blurred the neighborhood lines. That you may need to fix it up in order for it to even be considered a fixer-upper. Everything she warned you about was true.

You had thought you were going to Williamsburg. Instead you were in Bed-Stuy.

The picture on the listing must have been from like 10 years ago. Or maybe it was a neighbor's place. Or straight photoshopped. Because exposed brick was one thing but crumbling walls were another. 

Add to that the three locks on the door and the fact that you were eight hours away from pretty much everyone you knew and loved, and you were feeling super great about this life decision. 

"Does it?" you asked, making your way over to the living room area where about half of the floor seemed to have been ripped up. 

"Sure," Bernadette nodded, moving out of the kitchen. "And if it doesn't, that's what Brita is for." 

"You locked the truck, right?" Steve asked from where he stood by a window, staring out to the street below. 

"Stop, the neighborhood's not that bad," Bernadette waved at Steve. She made a show of rolling her eyes as she moved past you to open the door to your bedroom."You did lock the truck, right?" she paused to whisper in your ear. You hummed a yes and turned to follow her. 

The bedroom was less depressing than the rest of the apartment in the way Mount Everest was less dangerous than K2. It was still a fucking mountain.

"Interesting paint job," Bernadette remarked, staring at the wall which was half royal blue and half blood red. And not even artsy diagonal halves. No, of course not. Vertical halves. "I think I've seen something like this on Pinterest." 

You groaned. 

Bernadette tilted her head slightly, considering the room. "I think you probably have enough room to fit a twin and a dresser in here if you line them up against the wall." 

"It's terrible," you whined. "The whole place is a complete shithole."

Bernadette gave you a sad smile. "It's better than I thought it would be,"  she brushed past you, walking back  into the living room. 

"There's a random hole in the kitchen ceiling!" You flung an arm out gesturing vaguely towards the kitchen. 

"It could have been way worse. I was expecting it to be like a fourth of the size or for there to be a random dude you had to share it with. And anyway, Bucky's handy."

Your eyes flicked to Bucky, who was surveying the hole in the kitchen ceiling.

"You can't see into the apartment upstairs, so that's good," he commented and Steve snorted. Bernadette slipped off her shoe and chucked it at Bucky. He ducked, and it hit the wall of the kitchen, knocking loose part of the wall. 

Whatever. 

Bernadette winced. "Sorry," she apologized to you, meekly, shuffling across the apartment to retrieve the shoe from Bucky's outstretched hand. Taking the shoe, she whacked him in the arm with it. Bucky laughed again, making eye contact with you and shaking his head. You allowed a single exhale of amusement to escape you. But that was pretty much all the humor you had to spend on the situation.

"Do you have the keys to the truck?" Steve asked, and you nodded, patting your pockets before finding them and offering the small keychain to him.  "Alright, Buck," he nodded with his head towards the door, and Bucky moved around Bernadette, giving her a wide berth as he went to follow Steve. 

She started to follow when Steve stopped her.

"We got it. It's just the heavy stuff, right?" he asked you. 

You nodded. "Yeah, I got most of the boxes up before you came." 

"Are you saying we can't handle the heavy stuff? Did I secretly marry a misogynist?" Bernadette asked, putting her hands on her hips. 

Steve shook his head, smiling. "We need someone to watch the stuff up here since the door's going to be open." 

"Steve--" Bernadette started to protest again. You weren't sure if she was about to argue about her physical prowess or the apartment's safety, but regardless of the argument this eternal optimist wanted to make, you were fairly sure Steve was right.

"That'd be great, you can help me figure out where to put things as we unpack."

Bernie brightened at the prospect. "I'm glad you said that, because I already have some ideas." She turned back to face Bucky and Steve. 

"Bucky, make sure he doesn't overexert himself. I need him fully functional tonight." You hoped that everyone mixed the grimace that crossed your face. Steve blushed slightly, and leaned down to whisper something in Bernie's ear. A grin spread across her face, and you were very thankful Steve was not one of those people who couldn't whisper.

"Ah newlyweds," Bucky made eye contact with you again, and you couldn't read the look on his face. He seemed almost like he was waiting for you to get the punchline of a joke. Maybe if your brain was operating at all correctly, you would have gotten it. Instead, you snorted before turning to Bernadette.

"Kitchen should be easiest and least in the way, right?"

"As long as we get it done in time for Bucky to take a look at the ceiling. And the bit of wall he knocked off." 

You knew Bernadette well enough to see the red herring for what it was. You were not going to get distracted with holding her accountable for further destroying your shitty apartment.

"I'm not going to ask Bucky to fix my ceiling," you said, gathering the utensils out of the box and sticking them in a drawer by the stove. 

"It's not a big deal--" Bernie dismissed, crossing paths with you to take the utensils and stick them in one of the mason jars you'd already unpacked.

You shook your head, "It's weird to ask one of your friends to fix my ceiling--"

"He's your friend too," Bernadette argued, taking the napkins out of your hands and disappearing with them. 

"I've met him twice." 

Bernadette came back and rustled through the open boxes, the sound of glass clinking and metal shifting against each other in her wake."Yes, but the second time you spent four days practically attached to the hip with him." 

"Because he was the best man, and I was the maid of honor. It was our job to be attached at the hip and make sure everything went well."

"Was creating cute little nicknames part of the job as well?" Bernadette asked, pausing to pin you with a look.

"It's just an inside joke, and they're not that cute."

"Oh, they're pretty cute," Bernie smirked, bending back down to go through a box. "Where did you put your dish towels?" 

You stood up from your box, coming over to join her in looking through the box. "I mean he calls you Bernie."

"Everyone calls me Bernie now," Bernadette dismissed. "Besides he has two nicknames for you." 

"K is not a nickname. It's a taunt."

"You mean flirtatious teasing."

"I mean a jab at how I'm a shit texter."

Bernadette looked you dead in the eyes before shooting you what was probably supposed to be a sultry wink. " 'k." 

You threw the dish towels you'd just dislodged at her and she laughed, picking them back up from where they fell in the box, and moving over to the open drawer. "Setting aside the two nicknames and their quality, he volunteered to come help you. I don't think he'd mind taking a look." 

"Maybe," you conceded, knowing Bernadette wouldn't stop until she'd had some measure of success. It's what had to make her such a good law student. You had given in enough times on the promise of maybe that with a glint in her eye she dropped the subject.

It took Bucky and Steve a little over an hour to unload all of your things from the truck. It was another forty-five minutes of Bernadette reimagining the floor plan and forcing the four of you to continuously shuffle the furniture around before she was satisfied. When all was said and done, the apartment did look marginally better. At least some of the punched in outlets were hidden and the worst of the floor was covered.

"Well," Bernadette said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "That's it. You're officially a New Yorker." 

"And you can officially stop sending me those sketchy Craigslit ads and Monster listings," you nodded, placing your hands on your hips and surveying the apartment. 

"Neither of you are New Yorkers," Bucky shook his head, navigating the words around a hair-tie as he fixed his bun. Bernadette turned to glare at him, and he laughed, slipping the hair-tie around the bundle of hair.

"You married in. Doesn't count."

"Excuse you, I’m fluent in Subway Announcement and I’ve had a rat steal some of my food. If that doesn’t make me a New Yorker then I don’t know what does,” Bernadette huffed.

"You're a New Yorker," Steve soothed, putting an arm around her, and kissing the top of her head. 

"Well," you sighed, hoping to stop another bantering fight from breaking out between Bucky and Bernadette. "I need pizza. And beer. And to get out of this apartment. Anyone else?"

"Oh," Bernadette's face fell as she glanced quickly up at Steve and then at you. "I wish we could, but Steve and I have reservations. I wasn't even thinking when we made them, and it's such a long wait list…" she trailed off, frowning sympathetically "I'm so sorry, babe."

"I'm free," Bucky offered. "And I actually know a decent place that's not too far from here. Since I'm a real New Yorker." The jab effectively stopped the sly grin that was growing on Bernadette's face.

"I--"

"What line did we take to get here?" Bucky asked, and Bernadette sulked. "It just slipped out."

"It's a tourist mistake," Bucky shook his head, tsking. "The green line." 

"Well," Bernadette hmphed, "Steve and I are going to take the G train back home to get ready for dinner." She moved over to you, placing a kiss on your cheek. "I will see you for lunch sometime soon because we can do that now that we live in the same city!" 

You smiled, and reached up to hug Steve as he bent down to say goodbye. 

"Bucky, please do not take my best friend to any godforsaken hole in the wall back alley pizza joint that's definitely just a front. I don't care how good their pizza is," Bernadette cut off his protest and he smiled, shaking his head. 

"You're missing out on all of the best food."

"Ok," Bernadette dismissed, her disbelief dripping from each syllable. She took Steve by the hand, and you and Bucky walked them to the door. "Love you both." And with that, Bernadette and Steve were gone, leaving you alone in your apartment with Bucky. 

He sighed, running a hand through the roots of his hair, despite the fact that it messed up his perfectly done man bun. 

"You don't have to get pizza with me," you said, flashing a quick smile at him. 

"Trying to get rid of me?" Bucky asked, looking down at you amused. 

You shook your head, turning away from him quickly to try to locate your purse amongst the boxes. "No, I just--didn't want you to just come along to be nice. Or because you felt bad that Bernadette ditched so I'm all alone."

"How could I feel bad when you put it like that?" 

"I didn't mean it like--" you started, stuttering and Bucky stopped you, coming up beside you with your purse hanging from his finger. 

"I know. Just rest assured that I'm happy to put up with you for pizza." 

You snatched the purse from him, slinging it across your body as Bucky laughed at you. "Ready?" 

You nodded and the two of you headed out the door.

For all of the inconveniences and tragedies that had befallen you today, the walk to the pizza place was not one of them. In fact, second to seeing Bernadette at your door, it was probably the best part of the entire day. The walk was short, and the September evening air was pleasantly warm. With Bucky and his MMA fighter build next to you, navigating through the neighborhood didn't wrack your nerves as much as it could have. Although, it might not have been Bucky's muscles as much as his easy conversation that provided the comfort. He told you about his job, where to find the best bodegas, and one embarrassing story of Steve growing up. By the time you arrived at Tony's Pizza Spot, you had almost forgotten about how awful your day was.

"Hey Tony," Bucky called out, entering the place, and the owner looked up from where he was cutting a pizza. He jerked his head up in a nod. It was a small wood paneled shop with no tables or counters to sit at. Instead, there was one large display case with different meats and breads. You looked up at the simple menu, and Bucky stood closely next to you despite the fact that you had a feeling he didn't need to look at the offerings.

"Pepperoni and sausage ok?" Bucky asked, and you nodded, scanning the drink refrigerators for any sight of beer. "And for your milkshake?"

You raised your eyebrows at him. "I'm getting a milkshake?"

"You are," he nodded. 

"Well," you looked up at the board. "Cherry vanilla." 

"Excellent choice," Bucky smiled, approaching the counter as Tony tied off the pizza box with twine and then approached. 

"What can I getcha?" he asked his eyes flicking between you and Bucky. 

Bucky placed the order quickly, and Tony nodded, quickly tallying it up on the register. You reached into your purse for your wallet, but Bucky waved you off. "I got this."

"Pretty sure it's customary for the person who just subjected you to two hours of moving stuff to pay for the pizza. "

"Nah," Bucky shook his head, already handing the cash over to Tony."Think of it as a housewarming gift." 

"Just moved to the neighborhood?" Tony asked, passing back Bucky his change, and you nodded. "Welcome." 

"She's right down the street," Bucky said, dumping the change into the tip jar and stuffing the bills back into his pocket. "Figured I'd show her the best pizza spot in town."

"Damn right," Tony grinned, moving away to grab out an already prepped cheese pizza.. "How's Clint doin'? Didn't see him last week."

Bucky shook his head. "Broke his wrist last week, so Kate's placed him under house arrest to make sure he doesn't make it worse like last time. I'm guessing one of them will be in soon." 

Tony had the same look of exasperation as Bucky as he ladeled sauce onto the pizza. "It's always something with him. Broken bones. Concussion. That boy's a walking accident."

You sorted through your memories trying to remember if you had met Clint at the wedding or either of the times you had been up to visit Bernadette at school. The name sounded familiar enough, but you couldn't picture the face. If Bernadette was here she could jog your memory. She'd remind you who Clint was give you a few facts about his life and a quick story so you felt like you knew him already. But she wasn't here. She was off being married, and you were in this tiny pizza shop with a boy you hardly knew who was doing his best to keep you company.

"You ok?" Bucky bumped shoulders with you. You hadn't realized their conversation ended and Tony had moved away to make the milkshakes.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you shook your head trying to clear your thoughts. 

Bucky shot you a very disbelieving look. "I can't tell if you're a bad liar or just too tired to try to be good at it."

Your shoulders dropped. Frankly, it was both. "It's nothing...it's stupid," you dismissed.

"Bummed you're stuck here with me instead of Bernie?" Bucky guessed. Very correctly. 

"No," you sighed.  "I just wish she was here too."

"Yeah, I get it," Bucky nodded, facing back forward to watch Tony making the milkshakes. 

You felt bad. After all, Bucky had volunteered to give up his Monday evening to helping you move in. He probably had a whole list of things he'd rather do after work than lug a bookshelf up your stairs, but he'd done it, hadn't complained, and then treated you to pizza. And here you were wishing he was Bernadette. 

"It was kind of rude of your best friend to steal my best friend," you commented with a half smile.

Bucky snorted. "Sorry, your honor, but your best friend stole my best friend."

"What?"

Bucky looked back down at you. "You weren't there. He was gone long before she was. Pretty much the second he met her  it was over for him."

"What, and you were there the second they met?" you sassed back, placing your hands on your hips. 

"Actually, yes," Bucky said, reaching forward to grab a milkshake Tony placed up on the counter. He peered into the top of the cup and passed it over to you. "Steve volunteered both of our services to move in Bernie's stuff."

"I didn't realize you were there," you said, accepting the dessert from Bucky.  "She only ever mentioned Steve."

"Maybe he did steal her away fairly instantly then." Bucky shrugged. "Anyway, you realize there's only one solution to our problem, right?"

You gave him a flat look. "I'm not going to kill them."

"Holy shit, no," Bucky laughed. "That's where you went first?" Your face heated up, and you quickly busied yourself with a sip of the milkshake which was very good. Better than alcohol good. "And?" Bucky asked. 

"It's delicious," you said, returning for another sip before looking back at him. "But what's the solution?"

"We'll be best friends."

"You want to be my best friend?" you asked, with a small smile.

"More like I want you to be my best friend," Bucky said. "Steve's been doing a shit job recently, and you moved all the way from North Carolina to be with Bernie--I like that kind of effort." 

You laughed, and Bucky grinned back, taking his milkshake from off the counter.

"Alright," you agreed, feeling a little bit lighter. "I'm not replacing Bernadette though. You'll just have to be the substitute for when she's not up to par."

"I can work with that," Bucky nodded. "And as my first act as your substitute best friend is to demand to throw you a housewarming party. Don't make plans for next Saturday."

The smile slid off of your face. "No, thank you.  I don't want anyone walking into my trap house apartment."

"Your apartment is not that bad."

"Bucky. It's terrible."

"Your Honor, Steve and I shared a glorified closet for our entire sophomore year of college. We couldn't both stand in our kitchen." Bucky leveled you a glance. "And our friends still came over to visit us."

You mulled it over, stirring your milkshake with the straw. It wasn't a terrible idea. It was bad,, uncomfortable, ill-thought out, and overall not good, but it wasn't terrible. You nodded. "Alright, Your Bestness. Saturday."

"Excellent," Bucky grinned, grabbing the box Tony slid across the counter. "We'll discuss details over pizza." 

Masterlist

[walkerismychoice]

Rumor Has It (Raleigh X MC)

Book: Platinum

Pairing: M!Raleigh X MC

Rating: PG-13 (just a slight bit of language)

Author’s note:  This is a request from @withbeautyandrage for Day 7 of the Choices February Challenge - Gossip. Yes I realize I’m already 2 days behind, but better late than never right? Subsequently other requests are running behind as well but I promise to complete them all.

Word Count: 1679

Every morning on her walk to the recording studio, Aria makes a point to take in the sights and sounds of the city. A small town girl at heart, she doesn't know if she'll ever get over the wonder that is New York. As much as she she still feels a bit out of place among the bustling crowd of natives zooming along the sidewalks with their heads down and only their destination in mind, she hopes to never become as jaded as so many of them are.

She's gotten a later start today so she has to skip stopping for coffee. That doesn't keep her from appreciating the rich aroma wafting through the air as she passes her favorite cafe. She pauses a moment, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply. Smelling it almost as good as tasting it. Never mind, it just makes her want it more, so she picks up the pace to ensure time for her weekly, somewhat self-indulgent ritual.

“Hey, Joe!” Aria waves at the news stand owner.

His face lights up when he sees her. “How’s my favorite customer this morning?”

“Lacking caffeine, but otherwise decent. Got anything for me today?” Sure actual print media is falling out of fashion and she can get all the latest news and gossip in real time at the tip of her fingers, but there’s something about seeing herself on paper that makes it all more real. Some might think that’s vain, or just downright lame, but it’s all still new to her and she’s going to enjoy it while the novelty lasts.

“There’s a blurb about your collaboration with Avery in People and you’re mentioned in a couple of the rags.” Joe hands her the magazines.

“Thank-” Aria begins as she takes the stack only to be stopped in her tracks by the cover image facing her. "Uh, thanks Joe. Gotta run." She takes some cash out of her pocket, places it in his hand, and takes off, not evening waiting for him to offer the change she always refuses.

Once inside the busy Overnight Records lobby she plops down in a chair off to the side to collect herself. Staring at the pair on the cover and reading the accompanying headline her heart sinks once again: Reformed bad boy Raleigh Carrera and America's sweetheart Jaylen Riaz are the new “it” couple.

Aria wants to scream. She wants to tear up the magazine and chuck it across the room. But she can't afford another public meltdown spurred on by her rivalry with Jaylen. Ugh, she wasn't even trying to be anyone's rival, but their competition fueled it, and then when Jaylen got to sing Aria's song she lost it. She's spent enough time trying to ensure the public that she's not the hot-headed lunatic they saw on TV that day. Jaylen won't get the best of her again.

Just toss it in the bin, Aria's brain tries to convince her body to act responsibly, but curiosity gets the best of her. She opens up the publication to a nauseating two page spread and her stomach turns - Raleigh and Jaylen dancing too close in a club, sitting cozily in a booth, holding hands on their way out. However, none of those cause as much pain as the the one of Raleigh standing with his arm around Jaylen, an enormous smile on her face as he's whispering in her ear.

That's not all though. The worst part, the final insult to injury is Raleigh's hand down low straddling the the small of Jaylen's back and the curve of her ass, or at least that's what she assumed from experience. Throughout Aria's "relationship" with Raleigh that was the one thing, a simple intimate gesture both playful and protective in nature and hidden from view, that led Aria to believe what they had wasn't just for show. What a fool she had been.

Before Aria can listen to rational thoughts telling her that this could possibly be another publicity stunt, she's distracted by an inset with a broken apart picture of her and Raleigh.

"Rumor has it Raleigh broke Aria Campbell's heart when he left her for Jaylen?!," she can't help but read aloud, her voice escalating much more than intended. A nearby man in a suit looks over at her, and Aria takes a deep breath and vows again she's not going to fall apart. Out of patience and out of time, she throws the tabloids away, no longer interested what any of them have to say.

The click of her heels on the marble floor sounds extra loud as she stomps off in the direction of the studio. Aria’s fine, she really is. Her little thing with Raleigh was never supposed to be real, so what he’s doing now is none of her concern. Out of sight, out of mind...until he’s not.

“Fuck!” Aria blurts out, clasping her hands over her mouth as she comes to a dead stop.

“Well it’s nice to see you too, darling. Didn’t you miss me?” Raleigh stands inches away looking as smug as ever.

“What are you doing here?” Aria dodges his question with one of her own. 

“You know we are signed by the same record label....”

“But you weren’t on the schedule today,” Aria says before realizing she’s given away too much.

Raleigh smirks. “You stalking me Campbell?”

“Just an observation,” she replies coolly. “Anyway...I’m running late, so see you around.” She breezes past him without waiting for a response and doesn’t look back.

Aria’s recording session goes well - exceptionally well actually. Music has always been a safe space to channel her emotions, where she can feel without thinking too much. In fact, she’s almost forgotten she was so upset about Raleigh this morning, when she walks out the studio door to see the living, breather reminder once again.

“What, are you stalking me now, Carerra?”

“Touche.” Raleigh chuckles but then his tone becomes more somber. “I did check the schedule because I wanted to talk to you before you left. Something didn’t sit right after I saw you this morning. “Are you upset with me?”

Such a loaded question. Yes she’s mad at him even though she has no right to be, or maybe she does. Their relationship started out fake but somewhere along the way there was a shift, at least for her. But then he just let her go like she was just a contractual obligation that had been fulfilled.

“How’s Jaylen?” She deflects yet again, but she can't help getting right to the point. 

Raleigh shakes his head and lets out a sigh. “Is that what this is about? Jaylen and I are just friends, if you could even call it that. You know damn well how easily the media makes assumptions and how much the label encourages it. It's more like a work thing.”

"Just like I was a work thing? Did you fuck her too?" Aria fires back, almost in disbelief over her newfound boldness.

For the first time ever, she's the one to leave him lost for words. His eyes wide before they begin to soften Raleigh takes a step forward and tries to place a hand on her shoulder but she flinches and backs up against the hallway wall.

"Aria....it's not like that, we weren't like that."

"There was never a we. Once our little stunt was done, you seemed perfectly fine to wash your hands of me."

"But I thought-" Raleigh runs a hand through his through his hair. "Look, I'm used to women throwing themselves at me. I've never had to question if someone was into me. I really thought that you genuinely liked me, and the feeling was mutual, but then you talked about how relieved you were it was over and that we weren't forced to spend time together anymore. I may not have shown it, but that hurt."

Oh my god. Aria cannot believe what an idiot she had been. Unlike Raleigh, she'd never had such confidence in relationships. She doesn't want to say she had been testing Raleigh, but that's basically what she had done. She didn't want to face rejection, so she'd thought if she played it cool, Raleigh would have an easy out if he needed it.

"And I thought since you didn't fight me on it, you didn't really want me. God, I ruined everything."

Raleigh takes another step closer, and with her back against the wall Aria now has nowhere to go, but she doesn't want to either. He brings a hand up and she lets him rest his palm against her cheek, fingers twining in her her hair.

"Well then, to be clear, I want you Aria, I always have."

Raleigh's words and the sincerity in his voice create a spark that ignites a flame inside her. And when he leans in to kiss her, lips softly brushing hers until her response lets him unleash the hunger that's been lingering, that flame sets her whole body alight, like fireworks illuminating the dark night sky.

When they finally break for air, Aria can't speak. Raleigh has literally taken her breath away.

"Convinced yet?" Raleigh asks the question he already knows the answer to, amusement in his eyes and a smile playing on his lips. Aria just nods and he goes in for another kiss.

"Wait..." Aria turns her head and pushes her hands against his chest. "Aren't you supposed to be with Jaylen? Shouldn't you clear that up before anyone sees us? We wouldn't want to create any more scandalous rumors."

"But scandalous rumors make for the best publicity." Raleigh chuckles.

Aria laughs but shakes her head. "Your reputation may be bulletproof, but I don't need to add mistress to my list."

"Okay, okay. I'm texting Fiona to help handle my 'break-up' with Jaylen effectively immediately. Once the word is out, you're all mine and I don't care who sees it. Deal?"

"Deal." Aria shakes his hand as if they are entering another business deal, however this time it's anything but.

[anotheronechicagobog]

Bulletproofness and Playing God Jay Halstead x reader

written by: @anotheronechicagobog​

requested by @confusedpimp​, I hope you like it!

warnings: swearing, addiction, Hannah Asher is NOT porprayed well in this you have been warned, malpractice, emergency c-section complications, involves Chicago Med episode ‘Do No Harm’, police being idiots and assholes, warrants served incorrectly, drugs, drug dealers, bad neighbourhood created by systematic oppression and gentrification, Will is a prick with issues, and canon compliant violence

A/N: I am very sympathetic and supportive of people who have addictions because not only are there a tone of genetic factors that weigh in on it, but environmental factors that most people have very little to no control over. That being said, I am strongly against people with addictions working in healthcare, first responding, and/or law enforcement who spend most of their time with vulnerable people who don’t have much of a choice about whether to trust them or not. If someone works in an area where they have someone’s life in their hands they cannot be addicted to a substance that will control their ability to make judgements, affect how/their ability to work, and function as a whole.

In the past eight months, a warrant has been served to your apartment twenty-one times. You haven’t done anything wrong, the name on the warrants was always for your upstairs neighbour, did this make being woken up and the fucking crack of dawn and being interrogated (sometimes arrested) any easier? Not even a fucking bit. So you weren’t surprised when at 3:28 am, your door was busted open (again), heard shouts of “Chicago PD!” (again), and heard your house being “cleared” (again). You groaned and sat up, holding your hands up. Your bedroom door was thrown open with a bang. “I am unarmed, Marcus Evans lives in the apartment upstairs, and I have no association to him.” In the blandest voice possible, you recited the statement the legal aid at your university wrote you. “Uh... Sorry? Hey, Sarg, I think I’ve figured out why there were so many unsuccessful warrants on this place.” The blonde man was still pointing a gun at your head, but more members of his unit came to surround him.   

“Can I put my hands down now? I have documents that prove I am innocent, that the warrant was served to the wrong address, again, and that the only connection I have to Marcus Evans is that he is my annoying upstairs neighbour.”

They all sheepishly looked at you. The Latina woman spoke up, “the apartment is clear of anything even remotely illegal. Well, aside from the power lines attached to her box outside that show that her neighbours have been stealing power and internet from her.”

‘Sarg’, an older man with silver hair with a surprised look on his face nodded. “Alright, put ‘em down and get us the papers.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite all the evidence that the warrant wasn’t meant for you, they still insisted on taking you down to the station. You refused since they couldn’t arrest you and had no grounds to hold you on, and Sergeant Voight did not like that. “I’m too tired to give a shit about what you want. I have three jobs, student loans, and university to deal with. The only things of value in my apartment are my crappy laptop and internet access. The only time I am ever here is to sleep. You already disturbed what little sleep I was able to get, and I have work in... Forty-five minutes. Just great. Please leave, and can one of you, for the love of all things holy put a note in the system that this is NOT Marcus Evans’ apartment?!” Everyone flinched at your outburst, all looking both sympathetic and annoyed except for Detective Halstead, he just looked very sad for you. “Of course,” he said as he handed you a business card, “if you could call me when you have time, we have some pretty important questions.” Sargent Voight shot him a look, one that clearly said ‘what the fuck are you doing? That’s not your call.’ “Okay. Now seriously, please leave.” Irritated and muttering under their breath, barring Halstead who gave you a smirk and a wink, they all left stepping over the splinters of the door you replaced three weeks before.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day after entering your sparsely decorated apartment, dropping dead on your bed/couch, you heard the distinctive sounds of a door being broken down, followed by the police announcing themselves, and an apartment being searched... Above yours. They finally got the right apartment! Despite the ache in your muscles and bones, you jumped up and cheered. Complete and utter elation surrounded you and your soul. A few minutes into your dancing and celebrating there was a knock on the door. Smiling brighter than you had in years you answered the door. “Good morning detective!”

“Well, good morning to you too, Ms. Y/L/N. You’re in a much better mood.”

“To be fair, you guys busted into my apartment at three in the morning, again, and I just heard everything that happened upstairs, you guys finally got the right apartment!”

“Hey, we never served more than one warrant here.”

“Your unit only served one, but your brothers in blue served twenty-one. Destroying property, unlawful arrest, causing severe anxiety, and just general harassment for eight months. The only reason I didn’t move was because I couldn’t afford to. I’m just happy it’s over now, I’ll never have a  Marcus Evans warrant served at my apartment again!” Halstead looked happy when you opened the door and your conversation began, but when you finally took a breath you noticed how guilty he looked. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, looking like he was in physical pain, before he nodded at you and walked away, leaving you feeling incredibly confused.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two days later you returned from two ten-hour shifts to Jay Halstead in front of your door. “Detective?”

“Please, call me Jay.”

“Alright, Jay, what are you doing here? Is everything okay with Marcus’s arrest?”

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine with that. I came here because of this.” He handed you a large manilla envelope. “What’s this?”

“Compensation. For everything that happened over the last eight months. And apartment listings in better neighbourhoods. Seriously, you need to get out of here, it’s way too dangerous.”

“Thanks for the advice, and the compensation, I’ll think about it. But it just might not be doable for me.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You couldn’t afford to move, something that irked Jay to no end. So he came around often. Dropping by with coffee and Irish breakfasts. Sharing his Netflix password and watching B99 together. Driving you home from work or university when it was late. The days grew shorter, and your hours of work grew longer. Jay worried. About you. About the number of hours you worked. About how much university work you had. About your health, how much (or little, really) you slept and ate, how you didn’t see the doctor as often you should (ironic considering you were in med school), and about how you never took time to relax, always jumping from one task to the next. 

You slumped against the passenger seat of Jay’s truck, exhausted after working for thirty hours straight, ten at each of your jobs. “Okay, seriously, you can’t keep living like this. I have a spare room, I can get you a civilian job at my precinct. You are wearing yourself to the bone. Please, Y/N.”

“I get my residency assignment tomorrow. I quit today.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“All three.”

“And you’ll move out of your apartment?”

“Nope.” Popping the ‘p’. Jay sighed and shook his head, before looking at your half-asleep form. “I’ll take you to the shithole you call a home.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

TWO YEARS LATER

Jumping up and down you waited for Jay to open the door. The envelopes sitting on his coffee table glaring at you. You flopped onto his couch (that didn’t also double as a bed) and huffed impatiently. Fidgeting.

The door opened and you jumped up, startling your best friend. His cop/ranger instincts taking over. He stiffly dropped his jacket and yanked out his gun before aiming it for your head. Panic coursed through you, tightening your chest. Reflexively you put up your hands, not able to control the words that bubbled out of your throat. “I’m bulletproof... But please don’t shoot me.” Jay lowered his gun, laughing. “‘Bulletproof’? Really?”

“Hey, I panicked, shut up.”

“What’re you doing here, anyway? I thought you were taking another shift?”

“I was, but then Sarah’s plans fell through so she decided to take her shift back, plus I got my fellowship applications back!”

“Where did you get accepted?!”

“I don’t know I was waiting for you to get back to open them!”

“Well I’m here now, so open them!” 

“Okay, okay, here we go; Honolulu general, accepted, Seattle Grace, no, but they had a bomb blow up there recently so I’m not heartbroken, Chicago med, yes, and Miami Dade Memorial, yes. Okay 3/4, that’s great! What do you think?”

“Well I’m biased, so Chicago Med, but it would be fun to visit you in Hawaii.” 

“Hawaii is so expensive though, I’d probably have to have a part-time job to make rent.”

“In a decent apartment this time.”

“Two part-time jobs, then. So Hawaii is out, now Miami... It is hot there, beaches, the ocean, the food, but Miami Dade Memorial isn’t very prominent in the research department and the crime rate is awful in the part I’d need to live and work in. I mean I know isn’t a whole lot better but... It would feel a bit like moving from bad to worse, especially on my budget.”

“So that leaves Chicago...”

“It does, but I think I need to find a new place that’s closer to Med and filled with less dug dealers.”

“Please tell me this was a subtle way of asking if you can move in with me.”

“It wasn’t, but now that you bring it up, would that be okay?”

“YES! Oh thank fuck, you’re finally moving out of that rat’s nest! C’mon, let’s go get your stuff now!”

“But Jay I just paid this month’s rent-“

“Let’s gooooooooooo!”

——————————————————————————————————-

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Because your apartment was in such a “great location” (in the same building as three drug dealers) your landlord was willing to give half of your rent back. It had only taken you twenty-something minutes to pack your things and leave. Now you were starting your surgical OB/GYN fellowship, excited to not be working multiple jobs at once for the first time since you were twelve. While Jay’s brother, Will, worked at Med as well he worked in the ED while you worked in the gynecology unit and you were thankful you only had to work together for consults or in an all hands on deck situation because he could be a fucking prick. When you first met him years ago he spent two hours quizzing your medical knowledge, and he got annoyed when you got everything right and he couldn’t correct you. So when you got a consult from him your first week there, you were apprehensive. “Hey Y/N, treatment room four.”

“Thanks, Maggie.” You pushed back the curtain and were met with the sight of a pregnant woman clearly in immense pain and a frustrating ginger. “Dr. Asher is her OB but we can’t find her anywhere. She was on-call but I, and a couple of nurses, and her secretary have been blowing up her phone and we’ve got nothing back. This is her patient Sienna. She’s in a lot of pain but is refusing painkillers, you’ve been working with her a lot lately-“ You snorted. His facial expression hardened. “Just come out and say it Y/L/N.”

“First of all it’s doctor Y/L/N, second of all, I haven’t been ‘working’ with her, I’ve been taking care of ‘her’ patients because she’s almost never at work. She just cancels the appointments short notice and since these women are kind of on a timeline their appointments get reassigned to other doctors. She’s listed as their doctor on all the forms but she’s never even met half of them. Sienna is the only patient that Dr. Asher has seen more than once.” 

“Don’t talk about her like that, you don’t know-“

“That she’s an addict? The entire OB floor knows we just don’t have enough proof to do anything about it. And don’t get me wrong, I know that there’s a lot of genetic components to addiction and I would be sympathetic if she wasn’t responsible for multiple lives at a time on a daily basis.” You turned on your heel and entered the room, done with Will Halstead and his bullshit. “Hi Sienna, my name is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, and I’ll be filling in for Dr. Asher, I understand that you don’t want any drugs and while that’s fine, if your condition gets bad enough we may have to intervene but we’ll do everything we can for you and your baby, okay?”

“Where’s Dr. Asher? I need her here, she understands!”

“Okay, we’re still trying to find her okay?”

—————————————————————————————————

“So I heard that you and my brother locked horns today.”

“Your brother is a prick.”

“I know that he is, I’m just wondering what happened this time.”

“He’s doing this weird ethical-puppy love-guilt trippy-Romeo and Juliet level of doomed-unnecessary drama-thing going on and it’s completely affecting how he treats his patients. We already had one loose cannon we couldn’t disarm, now we have another. It’s come to the point that I’m genuinely worried about the patients that come into Med, and I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry, I wish there was something I could do.”

“Just try not to antagonize Will, okay? He’s more on edge and that makes him erratic, I would really appreciate it if you wouldn’t make it worse.”

“Okay. I’ll leave him alone.”

“Thank you. I’m starving, what should we do for dinner?”

“Vietnamese is on the way.”

“Have I told you how amazing you are today?”

“Yes, but I would love to hear it again.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Asher’s medical negligence had finally caught up with her, and for once Will wasn’t even remotely involved. He and Asher were having one of their silent spats again when Asher dropped the ball, or baby rather, during an emergency c-section of a patient she misdiagnosed and mistreated because she was in need of a fix. The only reason the mother didn’t hemorrhage and baby didn’t crack his skull was because of your observations and quick reflexes. The baby was healthy and mom was recovering and you were fuming. After scrubbing out you approached the, understandably distressed, father and told him that on your best medical opinion he and his wife should file a malpractice suit for missing an easy and obvious diagnosis, screwing up a routine surgery, and almost killing his son seconds after he was born.

You met with him, his lawyer and Asher two days later in a conference room with Goodwin and Peter the Stressed Out Lawyer. You accused her of having an addiction. The father requested a drug test. Goodwin glared, you glared back. If she didn’t want it handled like this then she should have dealt with it months ago when you brought it up your second week at Med. She tried to approach you in the hall, condescension on the tip of her tongue when you levelled her with a glare so fierce it rivalled that of Godzilla. “You do not get to scold me like I am a child. I told you when I first got here that she has a problem. That she is a danger to everyone who comes into her care. That she is a danger to other doctors. That she is a liability. Do not bitch to me when I told a husband and father who almost his wife and son to her recklessness to sue. To get angry and fight back. Do not take that petty, catty, condescending tone with me because I went around you. You have absolutely no ground to stand on. Because. You. Were. Wrong.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were surprised you had a job to come back to the next day. So was a very pissed off and ‘heartbroken’ Will Halstead. He kept running around to your colleagues, badmouthing you, trying to get them to join in and turn on you, but that didn’t happen. They not only agreed with you but rallied around you. Doctors are not gods. They do not get to ignore a patient’s wishes or act like they don’t have restrictions and limitations. It came to the point that Will told Jay he didn’t approve of you and that he had to dump you... Despite the fact that you weren’t dating.

Jay had rolled his eyes and pushed Will out of the apartment before giving you a hug and made you pancakes for dinner. “I’m sorry that I messed up your relationship with Will.”

“Don’t be. We’re brothers, we fight from time to time, and sometimes those fights are bigger than others and that’s okay. Will, well Halsteads in general, are pretty good at torpedoing any and all romantic relationships.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“My parents only got married cause my mom got knocked up and fought non-stop, Will was and still is in love with Natalie but he was too controlling, secretive, and refused to tell her about Burke, and me... Lindsay and I were on a break before we left because my Vegas wife refused to divorce me and I didn’t tell her I had even been to Vegas.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s a little true, but it’s not because you’re bad people or  Even just saying ‘yes there’s something going on but I don’t feel ready to talk about it with you’ would go a long way. Cause all you Halstead guys say is that you’re fine but you never are and if you lie to yourself you lie to your partner.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. And tell Will when his head is surgically removed from Asher’s ass. You’ve seen that he follows her around like a puppy, right?”

“Yup, everyone on the OB floor has been talking about it nonstop since he started his whatever it was with Asher.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

Because of the suit, the hospital conducted an internal investigation in relation to Dr. Asher that pretty much everyone could confirm. Erratic behaviour and attendance, leaving other doctors to tend to her patients while keeping her name on the case files, and horrifying evidence of being high while working. Granted that had only happened twice and she literally just sat in her office staring at paperwork the whole time. Still, she was fired, the suit was settled, and Asher lost her license. You had destroyed her career and while there was a part of you that felt guilty, you knew that in the end she did the right thing. She refused help and kept carrying on in a way that would have been detrimental to more patients if other doctors hadn’t stepped in. Will still wasn’t talking to you and had started avoiding Jay recently because you two started dating.

Barring the tension from all the Will stuff, your relationship was doing well. You had great dates (both out and at the apartment), were radiating happiness together, and Jay was taking your words about communication to heart. Not once has the phrase ‘I’m fine’ dripped off of his lips. If he didn’t want to tell you something or was more comfortable talking about it with his therapist or Upton before you he’d let you know. Most times he would just talk about what was bothering him, even if it was only bullet points sometimes you both felt relieved that functional relationships were actually possible. 

You were on a date with Jay at your favourite Jamaican restaurant when you ran into Hannah Asher. She did not look pleased to see you and quite honestly you could have lived the rest of your life happily if you never had to see her again. After a few seconds of glaring at you and your boyfriend, an annoying ginger put his arm around her. “Hi Will. How are you?”

“My girlfriend and I are doing well Jacob.”

“Really Will? You’re using my whole name because my-”

“Okay, you know what? Let’s go our separate ways. It looked like you guys were just leaving, and we’re probably confusing our poor hostess. So let’s both just walk away.”

“You ruined my life.”

“Asher-”

“You took everything from me!”

“Do you have any idea how many patients you almost killed in your time at Med? Because I do, and it’s a triple-digit number. You shouldn’t have been practicing in your condition and you know it. So you need to drop the victim act and walk away.” You saw her face contort into complete and utter rage, then everything is hazy. There were lights, bright red ones, and screaming, you were pretty sure Jay was there, and there was... Copper? Why did your mouth feel like it was full of liquid pennies? There was gurgling, was there a baby? Were they okay? You tried to speak, get up, look around, but you were too tired. You were begging yourself to move, to do something, but it felt like your bones turned into melting iron.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t remember waking up, or falling asleep for that matter, you were just looking at the glass door and suddenly it came into focus. You didn’t even know how you got to the ED, what happened at the restaurant. Dr. Choi entered your room apprehensively. “Y/L/N? How are you feeling?”

“Like I was mauled by a tiger.”

“That’s... Actually pretty close to what happened, honey.”

“Jay?”

“Hey, I’m right here. So, what’s the prognosis Choi?”

“Multiple contusions on the right side of the abdomen, lower back and around your neck, multiple lacerations all over your abdomen, forearms, and two on your head. Your liver was also perforated, we couldn’t stop the bleeding so we had to remove half of it, which you know means it’ll take a couple of months to grow back and you won’t be able to drink for around a year. We’re going to need to monitor you and run some tests, so you’re gonna be here for a few days.”

“Well I should hope so. What? Why are you two looking at me like I have eight heads? I could’ve died.”

“... You actually want to stay in the hospital and be cared for by your colleagues?”

“I trust you, besides I’ll only make things worse if I check myself out AMA, doesn’t matter how good of a doctor I am. It’ll be hard and I’m not going to enjoy it, but I have to stay here and get treated regardless so I might as well be as positive as I can about it.”

“You are officially my favourite patient.”

“And I love you even more.”

“Thanks guys, I appreciate it.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What happened Jay? I don’t remember anything after telling her to walk away.”

“She went berserk. Attacked you. I tried to pull her off but Will lost his mind, telling me not to hurt her. I managed to toss him after a couple of seconds but I was too late. She’d already slashed you up and stabbed you twice. I grabbed her but she managed to get a bunch of kicks in while I was hauling her away from you all while screaming that she was going to kill you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you. She’s sitting in a cell at the 21st right now with Platt breathing down her neck. We also did a drug test on her, she was high as all hell.”

“Please don’t feel bad Jay, I know that you reacted as fast and did as much as you could. And I know that Will did what he could to stop you. How is Will by the way?”

“He’s in the cell next to hers. He assaulted a police officer and was an accomplice in assault. Voight’s been asking if I want to drop the charges against him because he’s my brother. And I just don’t know, I wanted to talk to you first.”

“I don’t want to charge him. And I don’t want you to press charges either, but I won’t stop you if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want him to go to jail, I want him to go to therapy. He needs it.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, but he really does. And I think you need to be the one to bring it up with him. We can do some research, too, and find psychiatrists that have their own practices so that it’s not connected to the hospital at all.”

“That sounds like a great idea, but I think you mean I do the research cause you are supposed to be resting and not doing any physically or mentally strenuous tasks.”

“Fine, fine. Just give Will a hug from me when you see him.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ONE YEAR LATER

The day of the trial had finally arrived and you were pissed off about it. The date of the trial was the same day as your due date. The defence had done everything they could to delay the trial, and when they finally settled on the worst possible day three weeks ago, you’d tried to have it delayed again because you didn’t want to give birth in a courtroom. The defence had convinced the judge to deny it, so here you were, sitting in a sweltering room that smelled like old wood and seventies carpet for five hours beside your husband behind the district attorney doing your best not to glare at the judge. “It’s going to be okay, honey, she won’t get away with anything, it’s cut and dry. The only real thing to do is to determine her sentence.” Jay kissed your forehead and placed his hand on top of yours on your protruding stomach. You winced. “She just kicked again, Jay.”

“That’s seven minutes apart.”

“I’m in labour, we need to go.” Jay nodded to your lawyer who motioned to the judge for permission to speak. “Your honour, my client is in labour, may we adjourn so that she and her husband can go to the hospital?”

“Objection your honour!”

“Ms. Asher, do not interrupt the prosecution. I’ve heard and seen more than enough evidence. Ms. Asher, you are hereby sentenced to twenty-five years in prison for aggravated assault and attempted murder. The court now is adjourned. Oh, and Dr. Y/L/N and detective Halstead? Congratulations.”

[reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle]

BOOK ONE, PART ONE — Yubi Meets Bolin

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Yubi, the firebender for the Turtleduck Trio, tries to raise some entry money and meets a handsome stranger.

Downtown Republic City was as busy as ever — cars rolling down the street, the sound of horns honking and people laughing echoed against the tall buildings. Several smells floated in the breeze, from the sour smell of exhaust to the sweet smell of street food. From her booth at the end of the street, Yubi could smell the distinct scent of Water Tribe cuisine — a smell she’d grown to know as her dear friend Toanok’s cooking. As usual, it smelled incredible, causing Yubi’s stomach to rumble at the prospect of snagging some leftovers when her allotted time came to an end.

The afternoon sun had finally creeped behind the tall buildings of downtown, something Yubi felt grateful for as her warm skin began to cool in the shade. For a moment, she thought that maybe she should have splurged for an actual tent, something that would keep her shaded under the blazing sun, but she knew deep down she wouldn’t have been able to afford it. She was lucky to have even gotten a spot at the downtown market. The spot alone was seventy-five yuans up front, and only for half a day — though, in all honesty, the market owners could have been hustling her. A seventeen year old wanting to sell handmade clothes downtown on a busy day? She must have seemed like a joke.

Luckily enough, business had been good. The spot at the end of the street had been a good one, though she had doubted it at first. People would probably have spent all their money by the time they reached her, she had originally thought — she never accounted for the people coming in from the other side of town, and came to the conclusion that the market owners probably didn’t either, when they had charged her such a ridiculous price. The joke was on them, though. She had already made up the money she paid out of pocket and then some. At that rate, with a few more odd jobs here and there, she’d most likely be able to pay her share of the Pro-Bending Tournament entry fee.

30,000 yuans, Yubi thought, shaking her head slowly. So ridiculous.

When she had decided to join Amka and Genji in pro-bending, she thought she’d at least be winning more money than she was paying. If she didn’t love it so much, she would have given it up long ago to pursue something a little more lucrative. She was thankful for Amka, who spent most of her days waitressing at a tea shop uptown just so they all could make ends meet. They were all lucky that people uptown were able to tip so well.

Yubi and Genji made money for themselves, sure, but they were both practically unhirable when it came to steady jobs. However, Genji had found a place in an underground fighting ring — but the money wasn’t always what was promised — and Yubi was doing alright selling the clothes she made in her spare time, when she wasn’t doing various demolition jobs around the city. As it turns out, the only people who would even think about hiring a combustion bender off the streets were demolition squads. They didn’t pay well either.

But the three girls seemed to make it, sharing a small apartment near Republic City’s port. Amka had gotten very skilled at stealing ingredients from the tea shop when no one was looking, and Genji was a very good cook, so they never had to go hungry. Nothing else really mattered, as long as they had each other. It had been that way as long as Yubi could remember.

Yubi had always believed they were all fated to meet each other. Looking at the three of them, it seemed unlikely that they would all get along as well as they do — tall, refined Amka; short, excitable Yubi; and even shorter, chaotic Genji, who looked, for lack of a better term, absolutely feral. They loved — and fought with — each other like siblings. If their connection wasn’t evident from the way they interacted with each other, it was on the pro-bending field. They moved as a unit, agile and skilled, acting as though they could hear each other’s thoughts. Toanok had mentioned many times that it was truly something to behold.

Yubi reckoned it was the biggest reason she couldn’t give up pro-bending. She loved being out on the field with her friends, the rush of working with one another towards a win, the determination they provided each other. She felt most connected to them when she was on the field.

In retrospect, while ridiculous, thirty thousand yuans didn’t seem like a lot of money when she compared it to how valuable that time with her friends was.

Which is why at the end of her shift, she didn’t mind that she had spent half of the day on her feet. She had earned a killing, nearly a fourth of the money she would need. She could easily make up the rest.

As she packed up her things, Yubi picked up the faintest hint of the smell of street food. She turned around, following the scent, to find Toanok with four boxes of food in his hands.

“How did it go, Yubi?”

Yubi beamed at the older man, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Really well, actually. I made quite a bit this morning!”

“Don’t suppose you still have that blue shawl, do you? I saw it while I was setting up earlier and I think my wife would love it.”

Yubi’s eyes lit up and she let out an excited squeal, “Of course I do! I saw you eyeing it, so I hid it away, just in case.”

Toanok placed a hand over his heart, an appreciative smile on his face. “How much do you want for it?”

Yubi shook her head fervently as she turned around to pull it from the box she had been packing. “Don’t be silly. You and Sina have done more than enough for me. It’s on me.”

“You don’t be silly,” Toanok shook his head slowly, “I’ll give you twenty yuans for it.”

“Ten.”

“I don’t think that’s how you haggle, young lady.”

“I would never dream of haggling you, old man.”

Toanok let out a hearty laugh, the wrinkles of his crow’s feet deepening. “Tell you what, I’ll give you twenty yuans and you can make a delivery for me, yes?”

Yubi pursed her lips. “I suppose you’ve got yourself a deal, my friend.”

“Glad to hear it.” Toanok smiled, as he leaned forward to place his boxes on the table. He then reached into his pocket to produce twenty yuans. “Those three boxes are for you and the girls, but that fourth one needs to go to Bolin. He’s midtown, doing some sort of street performance with his fire ferret. Can’t miss him.”

Yubi gave him a nod as she handed him the shawl. “Pleasure doing business with you, Toanok.”

“And you, Yubi. Don’t let my yuans go to waste — you enter that tournament and you win it, you hear?”

Yubi beamed. “You can plan on it!”

Toanok had been right about Bolin’s performance — it was hard to miss.

A little fire ferret danced around the square, doing tricks and chittering excitedly. Yubi’s heart practically melted as she watched.

“How cute!” Yubi squealed as the fire ferret ran around her, brushing up against her legs to say hello. “Hello, little friend!”

“He likes you!”

Yubi looked up from the ferret to see who she deduced to be Bolin, a tall, broad, handsome young man, staring down at her with a goofy smile on his face.

“I like him too.” Yubi grinned, looking back down at the fire ferret. “What’s his name?”

“Pabu.”

Yubi crouched down carefully, gently stroking Pabu’s back as he stood up to sniff at the boxes in her hands. “Hi there, Pabu. I’m Yubi.”

“Yubi…” Bolin repeated, with a sigh, the goofy smile on his face growing wider.

Yubi moved her hand to scratch behind Pabu’s ears, scrunching her nose at the small animal as it chittered again. “He’s very cute.” She mused.

“So are y-“ Bolin’s voice trailed off as he caught himself, before clearing his throat. “Yes, he is. Very cute.”

Pabu shifted his attention from the boxes of food to Yubi’s face, sniffing up against her nose and cheeks. Yubi let out a quiet giggle, and it grew louder as Pabu scurried up onto Yubi’s shoulder.

“Oh!” Yubi cried out, excitedly. She stood up, slowly, and smiled up at Bolin. “He’s so friendly!”

“Pabu’s a sucker for a pretty face.” Bolin waved his hand dismissively, before flushing profusely at his statement.

“Must be why he hangs out with you.” Yubi retorted, causing Bolin’s blush to deepen. He was nearly as red as Yubi’s blouse.

Bolin clammed up, his eyes darting back and forth as if he was trying to figure out what to say, but Yubi beat him to the punch.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Yubi held the stack of boxes out toward Bolin, “Toanok sent me with some food for you! That top one is yours.”

Bolin let out another dreamy sigh, “Thank you, Toanok!” He murmured, taking the box from the top of the stack. His stomach let out a loud rumble, and he dug into the food immediately, scooping a large portion into his mouth.

Yubi let out another giggle. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” Bolin groaned, his mouth still full. “I haven’t eaten all day. Been too busy trying to rack up some money to enter the pro-bending tournament.”

Yubi’s eyes lit up. “No way! Me too!”

Bolin’s expression shifted to match Yubi’s as he swallowed. “No way! You play?”

Yubi nodded enthusiastically. “I do! I play for the Turtleduck Trio!”

“I play for the Fire Ferrets!”

“That’s why your name sounded so familiar!” Yubi snapped her fingers, “I’ve heard some of your matches on the radio!”

“Now that you mention it, I think I caught the end of one of your matches the other day!”

“Wow!” They both exclaimed, laughing along with each other, before letting it die down, turning into nervous sighs as they realized how close they had drifted towards each other. Bolin cleared his throat as they both took a step backward. Pabu chittered sadly.

“Soooo…” Yubi forced herself to look away from Bolin, shifting her gaze up to Pabu instead. “Have you made any money today?”

Bolin shook his head. “Not really. I made a bit, but not nearly enough if we’re serious about entering.”

Yubi nodded slowly, pursing her lips. She looked down at the satchel around her waist, then back up at Bolin, then back down at the satchel. She could spare a few yuans, right? After all, it was for a good cause. Pro-bending brought her so much joy, it was only right of her to share that joy.

Yubi reached down into her satchel, producing ten yuans, holding them out to Bolin. “I know it’s not much, but-“

Bolin gently pushed her hand away. “I can’t take that, you just said you were trying to raise your own entry money!”

“It’s really fine, I can spare a few yuans!” Yubi thrust her hand out again.

Bolin shook his head fervently, pushing her hand away again. “I’m not taking it!”

“Come on, Bolin!” Bolin seemed to freeze as Yubi said his name. “I just wanna see what you can do in the ring! How am I supposed to do that if you won’t take the money?”

Bolin, still frozen, only shook his head again. Yubi let out a dramatic groan as she yanked on his hand, pulling him closer. He nearly dropped the box he was holding as he let out a yelp. Once his face was level with Yubi’s, she scowled at him. “Take the money.”

Bolin gulped, his face flushing again. “You’re stronger than you look.”

“You have no idea.” Yubi beamed, the scowl melting away. She looked down at Bolin’s empty hand and took it in both of hers, prying it open and placing the money in it. Bolin’s face was red once again as her hand slid over his.

“There!” Yubi closed his hand and gave it a pat. “No take-backs!”

As if to further her statement, Pabu crawled down Yubi’s arm and onto Bolin’s closed hand.

Bolin gulped again. “Fine. I will take the money. Thank you.”

Yubi gave a small shrug, a sly grin forming on her face. “It’s no big deal. You’re gonna wish I hadn’t given it to you when we beat you, anyway.”

“You are so scary.” Bolin sighed out, with a dreamy look on his face.

“Wait ‘til you see me on the field.” Yubi winked, reaching up to scratch behind Pabu’s ear. “Nice to meet you, Pabu! And you too, Bolin.”

“Yeah, good to meet you too.” Bolin called, as Yubi had already started walking away. “So good.”

lok taglist: @hughstheforcelou (let me know if you’d like to be added to my lok taglist!)